Deep Sea Embers

Agatha found herself navigating the eerily deserted city streets that she once knew like the back of her hand. The once bustling urban vistas, which were typically brimming over with the vitality of life, had now fallen into a deeply unsettling silence, their vibrancy replaced by a disconcerting, deathly calm. She couldn’t shake off the nagging feeling that unseen eyes were observing her from within the towering structures hidden depths, flanking her from behind the firmly shut windows and locked doors. It felt as if she were being stealthily pursued from every concealed nook and cranny.

She was on a relentless quest to find a way out of this chilling, otherworldly realm or, perhaps, to escape from the sinister being who had trapped her within its confines.

Every site or item that seemed out of place, even in the slightest, could potentially act as a gateway, a subtle fold between her actual reality and this uncanny, parallel dimension. However, up to this point, she had been unable to locate any such tear in the fabric of this chilling version of her home city.

The only certainty she could cling to in this bewildering situation was that she had somehow made contact with the ever-present shadow that had perpetually loomed over her city. Whether this contact had been a fortuitous accident or a deliberate trap set by a hidden force, she had successfully crossed the “barrier” that had always clouded her perception.

This place, uncannily similar to Frost, was surely the source of the odd string of events that had disrupted the city’s peace in the recent past.

In the distance, the creaking sound of a carriage wheel rolling over the cobblestone road reached her ears, mingling with the soft chimes of a bell tolling and the eerie creaks of doors swinging open and shut.

When Agatha turned her attention to the origin of these noises, she was greeted by an empty street. However, farther off, she observed shadowy figures that hinted at carriages shooting past intersections and vague outlines that might have been pedestrians hurrying along their paths.

There were indeed “inhabitants” in this city, but, for the most part, she could only catch fleeting glimpses of distant, ghost-like apparitions. Similarly, she could pick up the muffled sounds of conversations but often could not determine their source.

The entire setting had the feel of a surreal, twisted dream.

As Agatha’s shadowy form blended with the darkness at yet another intersection, she stopped in her tracks. She came to the realization that aimlessly wandering was a mere waste of her precious energy and time. What she needed to do was to scrutinize her surroundings with a keen view.

She closed her eyes, allowing her senses to broaden and absorb the environment enveloping her, painstakingly dissecting the various stimuli from her surroundings – the complex orchestra of sounds, the distinct aroma that marked the city, the direction of the wind, and most importantly, the life-giving warmth that emanated from living beings.

Following a brief moment of stillness, Agatha decisively spun on her heel and ventured in a particular direction. Her eyes remained closed, yet she navigated around the hindrances in her path with an accuracy that suggested clear vision. She skillfully traversed narrow alleyways, bustling crossroads, and meandering lanes. Her journey spanned what felt like an endless duration until she eventually halted in front of a structure tucked away in the corner of a street.

When Agatha finally unveiled her eyes, she discovered she was standing in front of a charming, lively restaurant. The place was washed in the warm glow of inviting light, and from its heart flowed a stream of animated chatter.

These sounds were palpable, a soothing affirmation of the presence of living entities within the building.

Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, Agatha extended her hand and gently pushed open the door of the restaurant.

With her entrance, the door set off a high-pitched jingle from a bell announcing her arrival. The restaurant’s interior spread out before Agatha’s gaze, momentarily leaving her disoriented and questioning if she had somehow managed to slip back from the eerie parallel reality into the familiar world she yearned for.

The restaurant was radiant with light, teeming with customers and bustling with busy staff members. A bartender could be spotted rushing about behind the counter. The audible clinking of cutlery against dishes filled the air, punctuated by the gentle hum of conversations touching upon mundane topics like the weather, work affairs, and commodity prices. The earlier ominous, ghostly silence of the outdoor streets seemed to have been swept away by this lively tableau of normal existence.

Yet, Agatha soon noticed the stark anomaly of the scene. Despite the diners appearing to relish their meals, their plates and cups were disturbingly void. The bartender, who seemed engaged behind the counter, was simply pacing in place, relentlessly cleaning the same glass in his possession in an endless loop.

Each individual resembled a marionette, accurately programmed to imitate the daily tasks of life, their simulation so perfect it could easily fool a casual observer.

A frown etched lines into Agatha’s forehead. Having deciphered the peculiar reality, the ambiance within the restaurant now felt even more disquieting than the desolate streets she had left behind. However, she didn’t retreat. Instead, she stepped further into the heart of the restaurant.

The weirder the place, the stronger the clue that she was moving in the correct direction.

With Agatha’s inaugural step into the restaurant, the animated chatter abruptly came to a halt with all the patrons – their faces frozen mid-sentence, hands still in the act of dining. Once the voices had been snuffed out in the wide-open space, the only remaining sound was the monotonous tinkling of dishes and cutlery clashing in the ensuing silence.

As Agatha boldly took a second step forward, even the mechanical clattering of dishes and cutlery ceased abruptly. Every individual present in the restaurant froze in their actions, their bodies rendered motionless beside their square tables as if a master controller had instantly switched off their life force.

Upon her third step, the restaurant’s patrons methodically lowered their utensils. Rising from their seats akin to an assembly of the undead, they rotated their heads, focusing their numerous vacant gazes on her in eerie unison.

Subsequently, Agatha swept her gaze over to the counter situated in front of her. The bartender, who had been perpetually engaged in cleaning the same cup, finally discontinued his repetitive motion. However, unlike the zombie-like, expressionless customers surrounding him, the bartender slowly lifted his head, a soft smile adorning his face as his eyes met Agatha’s gaze.

His smile carried a subtle warmth bordering on an almost friendly demeanor.

“Welcome, Miss Gatekeeper,” greeted the youthful man acting as the bartender. Boasting neat, cropped blonde hair, he was undeniably attractive, attired in a flawless white shirt paired with a stylish black jacket. His manner was polite as he addressed Agatha, exuding the aura of a professionally trained host attending to a distinguished guest. “We are honored by your visit. What do you think of our delightful city?”

“It seems like you’re the catalyst behind all this,” Agatha retorted, maintaining a cool composure as she scrutinized the blonde “bartender” standing before her, “Unearthing you turned out to be easier than I expected.”

“Or perhaps not as uncomplicated as you believe,” the blonde youth responded with a chuckle, “What would you like? Maybe some poisonous muddy water? Bread made from soil? Or… an empty bowl? We have an abundance here.”

Choosing to disregard his sarcastic tone, Agatha lifted her staff, swinging it through the air with authority.

In an almost immediate reaction, the young man positioned behind the counter was enveloped by swirling layers of pale, spectral flames that materialized seemingly out of nowhere. Deploying her gatekeeper’s “cremation” ability, she incinerated his counterfeit exterior to cinders within mere moments, leaving behind only ash that pirouetted in the air before resting on the counter.

However, Agatha’s facial expression remained undisturbed. Even before she invoked the flames, she had sensed the void of life force within the young man.

A peculiar, squishy noise attracted her attention from a neighboring table. Agatha shifted her gaze to see a “diner” standing stiffly by a table, their body beginning to twitch uncontrollably. The next instant, the figure’s form started to melt like a wax figure, a dark, viscous substance frothing and reconfiguring on their exterior. Within moments, the individual had morphed into an identical replica of the young blonde man, donned in the same white shirt and black jacket.

“That’s quite a discourteous welcome,” the reborn young man lamented, nonchalantly dusting off his attire with a pretense of helplessness as his eyes met Agatha’s, “Miss Gatekeeper, surely you don’t believe that’s the last of me. Do you really think I’d recklessly expose my true form in such a dangerous setting?”

“I’m aware you’re not physically present,” Agatha shot back, her face a stoic visage, “But at least it might grant me a brief respite from your chatter.”

“Fine, fine, it seems you’re not in the mood for idle small talk — quite the serious woman you are. By comparison, Professor Melson’s final spectacle was far more entertaining,” the young man shrugged nonchalantly, “But I suppose that’s alright. As long as you remain here passively for a while, I don’t mind hosting a rather lackluster captive.”

Upon hearing the name “Professor Melson,” Agatha’s typically placid expression showed a hint of alteration. She was reminded of the enigmatic disappearance of Dagger Island and the chain of explosions that had jolted the island just prior to its vanishing. Most importantly, she registered the implications carried within his latest comments.

“What are you insinuating with your recent words?” Agatha demanded, her voice icy as a chilling winter breeze directed at the blonde imposter before her.

“Nothing significant, merely proposing that you stay here as our guest for a duration,” the young man replied, his laughter echoing around with an uncanny cheerfulness. “You needn’t worry about what unfolds ‘above’. Soon enough, another version of you will step into your role there. She will rally the guardians, just as you would have, and then prepare a report detailing the real state of affairs at the wastewater treatment facility…

“Rest easy, she will document every detail meticulously, including the pollution at the core and the changeover in personnel. Then, as per the routine, she will travel back to the cathedral to present her findings, engage in conversation with Bishop Ivan, and thereafter, set off on her patrol of the city-state, continuing to tackle the countless issues tormenting the city and pursuing the investigations you had to relinquish… nothing will be overlooked.”

On hearing these revelations, Agatha’s usually composed demeanor turned absolutely glacial. She leveled an intense, piercing stare at the blonde man standing in front of her: “You even concocted a ‘double’ of the gatekeeper?!”

“Is that really so unthinkable?” The blonde man’s smile gradually faded, meeting Agatha’s fiery gaze with a hint of scorn. “True, she lacks your unique abilities, but other than that, she’s a near-perfect copy, surpassing any previous imitation in every respect. Would you like to know how flawless she is? She… she isn’t even aware of her own falseness.”

Agatha’s demeanor morphed into icy resolve, her knuckles bleaching as she gripped her staff with an ironclad hold. “A counterfeit won’t deceive the cathedral. There are countless perceptive eyes vigilantly watching there.”

“Countless perceptive eyes, yet all of them human nonetheless. You might be overestimating your comrades,” the blonde man countered Agatha’s chilly glare, his tone unruffled and composed. “And regarding counterfeits… do you genuinely believe there exists a substantial difference between you, your comrades, and the ‘double’ you’re referring to?”

His laughter reverberated through the room once again, slowly raising his hands as if a holy sermonizer revealing the obscured truths of the universe: “Miss Gatekeeper, there never were any counterfeits to start with, or perhaps… we are all counterfeits. That’s the unadorned truth.”