Deep Sea Embers

All around him after riding a small boat, the undead sailors – their once human forms marred by hideous disfigurement – watched Eddie with an intensity that suggested they were observing a creature of rare and exotic nature. The secretary, accustomed to the relative tranquility of an office, found their unblinking gazes discomforting and unnerving as the legends suggested.

In a voice thickened and twisted by the ravages of undeath, one bloated sailor addressed Eddie, an unexpected note of surprise coloring his words, “I really didn’t expect you to come alone,” he said, “Our captain specified that three individuals were permitted to come onboard.”

Eddie responded with a dismissive shake of his head, “The difference between three people and one is negligible,” he said, “Had Admiral Tyrian permitted it, I would have gladly brought along an entire delegation of advisors and assistants. But with a limit of just three… it’s as good as coming alone.”

A harsh, wheezing laugh erupted from one of the undead sailors, “You could have brought two soldiers for moral support.”

“I have no need to shore up my courage, soldiers would serve no purpose,” Eddie replied, his tone brooking no argument.

His steadfast demeanor did nothing to endear him to the undead sailors, prompting one to mumble disdainfully from the bowels of the small boat, “…Just a grandstanding bureaucrat.”

Upon his arrival, Tyrian was met by an envoy from the city-state – a man in his prime, impeccably dressed in a suit, sporting gold-rimmed glasses and hair combed to precision, looking as though he had just stepped out of an afternoon tea break at an office. The fact that the envoy was alone left the grizzled pirate somewhat perplexed and even a touch disconcerted. He had anticipated the first envoy to board the Sea Mist to be a military representative.

Quickly, however, Tyrian discerned the strategy behind the city-state’s decision: the strained relationship between the Mist Fleet and the city-state, sitting on a ticking time bomb for half a century, had escalated to a tipping point. In such a precarious climate, dispatching more military personnel would serve no purpose. On the other hand, sending a bureaucrat seemed to offer a glimmer of conciliation.

On the deck of the Sea Mist, Tyrian took a moment to study the “diplomat” from the city-state. He noted the taut nerves behind the man’s attempts to project calmness despite the irregular breathing patterns. It’s a good attempt, but this facade was ineffective against a captain who led an undead armada. Tyrian could even detect each thud of the man’s anxious heart.

Similarly, Eddie took the opportunity to size up the pirate who stood before him – this man who had once fought for the city-state but had since transformed into the embodiment of nightmares for the residents of Frost. Tall and imposing, silent yet commanding respect, with a single eye that radiated a penetrating, evaluating gaze, each look felt as though he was passing judgment.

Standing in front of the formidable pirate, even the simple act of breathing felt like a monumental effort for Eddie.

“Admiral Tyrian,” Eddie took a moment to draw a few deep, steadying breaths, standing as tall as he could to face the pirate’s assessing gaze. “I am here on behalf of Frost to formally greet you. It is indeed an honor to set foot on this legendary battleship.”

“Half a century,” Tyrian replied, maintaining his composure as he looked down at the somewhat shorter man. “It took Frost that long to finally find the courage to engage in a dialogue with me?”

Eddie was unfazed by the baiting tone in Tyrian’s words. Keeping his composure, he continued, “I’m here on a mission. We can’t deny that there are underlying tensions between Frost and the Mist Fleet, but that’s not the purpose of my visit today. You must be well aware of the current predicaments the city-state finds itself embroiled in. We’re here to discern the intentions of the Mist Fleet – specifically, Admiral Tyrian, we’d like to understand what your aims are and what you’re planning to do.”

“Admiral… discard that title, it brings me no pleasure,” Tyrian replied, briefly glancing at Eddie before slowly pacing towards the ship’s edge. “As for my intentions… aren’t they obvious? I’ve established a blockade around your city-state, now teetering on the brink of collapse, to contain your problems and prevent them from impacting my ‘trading partners’ in the Cold Sea.”

“Trading partners?” Eddie questioned.

“I believe it’s an accurate descriptor – they offer payment, and in return, the Mist Fleet ensures their safe passage through the treacherous waters of the Cold Sea,” Tyrian replied, turning back to face Eddie. “Don’t you agree that it’s a mutually beneficial trade relationship?”

A slight twitch tugged at the corner of Eddie’s mouth, but he swiftly concealed the fleeting expression. Casting a cursory glance at the undead sailors surrounding them, he gradually made his way closer to Tyrian: “Are you implying… that your intention is merely to assist Frost in managing this crisis?”

“That’s quite a self-serving interpretation, but if it comforts you to think so, then it doesn’t really matter,” Tyrian responded nonchalantly. “I don’t require anything from you, only that you avoid causing any further complications.”

Eddie remained silent for a couple of beats before cautiously posing another question, “…Might I inquire why you are willing to extend your assistance?”

Tyrian, leaning against the ship’s railing with his back to Eddie, responded: “Is the rationale truly of such importance?”

“I need a valid reason to present to my superiors and colleagues. It would help to put their minds at ease.”

“Ah, Mr. Eddie, so you require a reason that is palatable to your people,” Tyrian chuckled, turning his gaze back to Eddie. “Then I shall provide you with a justification – it’s simply a command given by my late father.”

Eddie was momentarily taken aback.

Seconds later, his expression morphed into one of utter astonishment.

“You seem to have caught on. Yes, it was indeed my father’s command. Consider it a directive from the ghost of subspace. He instructed me to lay siege to your rather pitiful city-state – so go relay this to your superiors: the Mist Fleet is merely implementing a command from subspace,” Tyrian said, a playful lilt in his tone. “That should allow them to rest easy.”

Tyrian’s amusement was quite apparent, reflecting in his gleaming eyes. Eddie finally managed a response – or so he believed. He exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and wiped away the sweat beading on his brow, “That’s quite a tall tale, Captain Tyrian. I comprehend your sentiment. If you choose not to elaborate further, I shan’t pry.”

Tyrian calmly observed the “Diplomat from Frost” before him, and after a moment of contemplation, he clicked his tongue in disapproval.

Truth seems to have lost its appeal in this day and age. Yet, he found himself in high spirits.

Observing this straight-laced senior official from Frost unravel before him was quite the spectacle.

“Your presence is no longer required, Mr. Eddie,” he said, maintaining a polite demeanor, “We don’t have a dinner planned for you on board.”

Eddie appeared taken aback, “Ah? Hold on, I still have…”

“You might be brimming with questions concerning the future of the Mist Fleet, the issue surrounding Dagger Island, the queen of bygone times, and the Abyss Project, but I have little to divulge to Frost,” Tyrian stated calmly, “You’ve accomplished your goal, fulfilled your mission. Return and report to your superiors. In future, if there are any concerns, they may directly reach out to us via radio. There’s no need to send anyone – any open frequency will suffice.”

Eddie was momentarily stunned but quickly gathered his wits, a spark of relief flashing across his face, “Ah, very well, Captain Tyrian, I greatly appreciate your understanding…”

But he paused as if a sudden thought had occurred to him, then hurriedly continued, “Ah, hold on, there’s one more question, the final one!”

Tyrian arched an eyebrow in interest: “Oh?”

“Regarding… the mysterious light signal you dispatched towards our scout boat earlier,” Eddie appeared somewhat awkward, meticulously picking his words, “We invested a considerable amount of time decoding it upon our return…”

Tyrian remained silent, merely observing Mr. Envoy before him until Eddie began to squirm under his gaze. Then, Tyrian broke out into a sudden smile.

“It was merely a malfunction due to lackluster maintenance by the sailors.”

Eddie: “…?”

Tyrian finally couldn’t hold back his laughter.

Eddie’s face went through a spectrum of expressions, his hand absent-mindedly adjusting the buttons on his suit, but gradually, he too joined in, his laughter mingling with Tyrian’s boisterous guffaws.

But Tyrian’s laughter abruptly ceased.

He extended a hand, placing a firm pat on the shoulder of the “Diplomat from Frost” standing before him.

“They’ve chosen well, Mr. Eddie. You’re a man of quality. I was nearly persuaded to offer you an invitation to join us for dinner.”

“Regrettably, I must return to my ship without delay,” the mirth in Eddie’s voice faded, and he gently shook his head, “The anxiety runs high among my people. We can’t afford to expend all our energy on fostering mutual distrust and conjecture.”

Tyrian remained silent, merely offering a slight nod and gesturing towards the side, signaling that it was time for his guest to depart.

Eddie returned the gesture with a subtle nod of his own, then straightened his suit and adjusted his bowtie, ready to traverse the ladder leading off the ship’s deck.

However, something unusual in his peripheral vision halted his progress.

Caught off guard, the Ambassador from Frost gravitated towards the ship’s railing, peering down at the sea in bewilderment: “…Captain Tyrian, what is that?”

“Hmm?” Tyrian knitted his brows in confusion, directing his gaze towards where Eddie was pointing.

What he saw then was an unusual shadow.

Beneath the rolling sea surface, at a depth difficult to estimate, a nebulous shadow was darting across the expansive space between the Sea Mist and a handful of escort vessels, propelling towards the horizon.

The shadow appeared ethereal and translucent, reminiscent of the reflected image of a ship in the water, albeit devoid of any discernible structure. Tyrian studied it for a while, but all he could determine was that it seemed to resemble… the hull of a ship, as though an inverted vessel was sailing under the water’s surface.

Tyrian redirected his gaze upwards, staring intently at the direction towards which the shadow was heading – Dagger Island.