Deep Sea Embers

Chapter 776: Cold Night

Beneath the subdued glow of an oil lamp, Heidi carefully placed a sheet of paper on the table. This paper bore news from a world beyond their small, quiet living room, illuminated only by the lamp’s cozy light and the comforting presence of her mother’s soft, watchful eyes.

Heidi was no stranger to tales of distant adventures. The Vanished, including her father, frequently sent letters home, their words filled with mentions of the borderlands and the grand voyage that lay ahead. She had always known that her father, alongside a renowned captain, was destined for the far reaches of the frontier. Yet, it was only upon receiving official word through the city-state’s networks that the reality of their departure truly sank in for her.

This realization transformed what had been a distant, abstract idea into a palpable truth. As she stared at the concise message, it dawned on her that their journey had truly begun.

Her father, the man she looked up to the most, had set sail into the vast unknown in the cover of night.

“They will be safe,” her mother assured her, pulling Heidi back from her reverie. Her voice was as steady as it had been years ago, during a tempestuous night, as she offered comfort, “You needn’t worry so much, Heidi.”

Heidi turned towards her mother, her expression somewhat vacant: “Is it because of the skilled captain they’re with?”

“No, it’s because of your father—he always makes it back safely,” her mother responded, her smile warm with nostalgia. “He’s taken on many daring endeavors, more than you could imagine. Yet, he always returns to us, eager to share tales of his supernatural ventures… This time will be no different. He’ll come back with stories from worlds beyond ours, and you’ll get to hear an amazing story from him, just like I have.”

Heidi absorbed her mother’s words in silence. After a brief pause, she whispered, “Father, and Vanna… they’re part of something truly monumental, aren’t they?”

“Indeed, embarking on such a journey is always a significant endeavor.”

“First, you should wrap yourself in a warm coat, then head outside to the community gathering spot. Share this latest update with our neighbors. They’re still awaiting news on the generators and the food supplies,” her mother instructed gently. “Inform those who can’t read, help alleviate their worries, and dispel the fear and tension that’s been spreading. Encourage them not to succumb to despair, to stand strong against the darkness of this prolonged night. Fulfill the promise you made when you graduated from the academy, and then return home safely. I’ll prepare your favorite mushroom vegetable soup.”

Her mother gracefully rose from her seat, setting aside the needlework she had been engrossed in and walked over to Heidi. With a tender touch, she began to smooth out her daughter’s hair, saying softly, “Heidi, these tasks are significant too.”

As her mother’s fingers gently combed through her locks, Heidi paused, caught in a moment of contemplation, before offering a soft nod of agreement. Her eyes lingered on the makeshift “newspaper” spread out on the table, etching its message into her memory once more.

Meanwhile, far off in the northern seas, a unique vision unfolded under the cover of night. A thin, pale golden sheen that could be mistaken for “sunlight” blanketed the ocean, casting a glow over the waters. Amidst this surreal light, a colossal, glowing geometric structure floated on the surface of the Boundless Sea, resembling a crystal mountain. Surrounding it, at the fringe of this illuminated zone, various warships of different sizes patrolled the darkness, their movements reminiscent of a school of fish cautiously encircling their prey.

From the vantage point, Sorenna observed the scene with a somber demeanor. Standing on the bridge, he peered through the expansive windows at the sea stretched out before him, where the artificial sunlight gently spread. At the sea’s horizon, he could just make out the silhouettes of two small speedboats maneuvering ahead of the fleet, their movements deliberate, neither too bold nor too withdrawn, like probing tentacles.

These were the advance guard of the Morpheus navy, cautiously testing the defenses of the Cold Port navy.

Nearby, several warships adorned with black flags sailed close to the zones controlled by the Cold Port and Morpheus navies. Basking in the faux sunlight, these flags bore the barely visible insignia of the “Death Church”. The main cannons of these warships were fully exposed, ready for confrontation.

Sorenna mused that the clergy aboard those church warships must be feeling the weight of the moment, a thought that briefly sparked a twinge of guilt within him.

However, this fleeting guilt was quickly replaced by a steely determination.

Just then, the communications officer received an external radio transmission. After processing the message, the officer looked up at Sorenna, reporting, “Commander, the ‘Mourner’ has reached out. They’re requesting that we and the Morpheus navy’s vanguard each pull back five miles to clear the danger zone.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Sorenna responded firmly, “Inform them that the other side should withdraw first. Make it clear once more that Cold Port needs that ‘sunlight.’ This isn’t up for debate—it’s an ultimatum, a necessary outcome. The Cold Port navy will maintain its position here until we achieve our objective.”

A palpable tension filled the bridge, the atmosphere turning icy as if the cold wind from outside had infiltrated the room, circulating a slow, chilling breeze.

The signalman was ready to relay Sorenna’s message to the church warship, which was acting as the intermediary in this tense negotiation. However, before he could transmit the response, a new communication broke through on the radio’s open channel.

“…Commander, we’ve got a message from Morpheus’s navy.”

Sorenna’s expression turned to one of concern. After a brief pause, lasting only a second or two, he approached the communications desk and lifted the receiver to his ear.

The voice that greeted him was familiar, one belonging to a middle-aged man who Sorenna had known for years: “Sorenna, I knew you’d answer personally. Listen, I’m aware of the dire situation in Cold Port, but things are even more critical here in Morpheus. An unknown entity is attempting to make landfall on our coasts. Despite numerous efforts by our defense forces to push them back, they persistently reemerge from the depths… we’re in desperate need of sunlight, if only to temporarily halt the ‘anomalies’ encroaching upon our shores…”

Sorenna replied with a calmness that belied the gravity of his words, “Farview Cliff vanished twelve hours ago, as though cleanly severed from the island.”

An unsettling silence followed his statement.

Sorenna continued, his voice measured yet carrying an underlying chill, “Cold Port is fading into the darkness. Hobo, after all these years, you know what’s at stake here.”

The response from the radio was delayed, filled with tension, until finally, it came through with undeniable urgency: “Your nephew is in Morpheus! He’s part of the coastal defense!”

“…The people of Cold Port will honor his memory.” With that, Sorenna hung up the receiver with a deliberate motion.

In the ensuing cold silence, he turned to face his crew, who awaited his command.

“…Spare the church’s warships,” he instructed, the calm in his voice masking the storm within. “Focus our attack on the ‘Harp.’ Their command center is located there.”

“Understood!”

The bridge crew sprang into action, following Sorenna’s orders, setting in motion the targeted assault. But their efficiency was suddenly shattered by a sharp cry of alarm.

Upon touching the control stick, a sailor found his hand instantly frostbitten, the skin freezing to the metal. In a state of panic, he ripped his hand away, leaving behind skin already turned to ice.

It was only then that the reality of their situation became painfully clear to everyone on the bridge. The cold that had stealthily enveloped them was now impossible to ignore. Their thoughts slowed as if caught in the grip of the frost, the intense cold biting into their flesh and bones. A mist of ice, thick with crystals, filled the air, swiftly encasing nearly every instrument and control panel in a fine layer of frost.

Reacting swiftly, Sorenna made a dash for his captain’s chair, intending to activate the fleet-wide alarm. Yet, he barely managed two steps before being halted by an arm, dry and cold as steel, that obstructed his path.

The bridge was quickly enveloped in a chilling fog, and through this mist, a ghastly figure barred his way. Dressed in the attire of Frost’s navy, the figure stood divided, its body gruesomely severed at the waist as though cleaved in two by a cannonball. The figure’s head slowly turned towards Sorenna, its skull-like face cracking into a macabre smile as it greeted him, “Good afternoon, sir, please, try to remain calm…”

Frozen in place next to the captain’s chair, Sorenna’s gaze shifted sideways, witnessing one horrific figure after another materialize from the dense, icy fog, each one seizing control of his crew members. Within moments, the bridge was overrun by these spectral invaders.

Out of the corner of his eye, Sorenna noticed the sea itself seemed to be rebelling, with vast swathes of white fog roiling over its surface.

This icy mist swiftly condensed upon the sea, rapidly freezing the waters and entombing the area in ice. Amidst the shifting, fracturing icebergs, a ghostly fleet emerged as if conjured from the depths – a massive warship accompanied by a flotilla of both large and small vessels materialized, veiled in a shroud of ice crystals. Cascades of freezing seawater poured from their hulls like waterfalls while their deck guns ominously swiveled to target every ship in sight.

The eerie symphony of metal contorting and warping filled Sorenna’s ears.

Turning towards the source of the noise, he witnessed the metal wall beside him undergo a bizarre transformation. The steel seemed to liquefy, displaying an unnatural fluidity before the molten segments coalesced into a chilling visage, complete with a single eye masked in frost.

“Sorenna, it’s been a while.”

“Captain Tyrian… or is it Governor now?” Sorenna’s body tensed, his voice low and strained as he kept a wary eye on the Morpheus fleet. “You’re certainly making a dramatic entrance.”

“I usually prefer not to resort to such displays of power against the city-states’ navies – mostly to avoid unnecessary tensions,” the admiral replied, his tone suggesting a rare departure from restraint. “But it seems… today’s atmosphere is already beyond tense.”

Silence fell between them, lasting several seconds. During this pause, Sorenna’s focus remained fixed on the Morpheus fleet.

There, too, was no sign of resistance – a clear indication that the undead had also seized control of their flagship.