Deep Sea Embers

This is translated and hosted on bcatranslation

Several individuals, dressed in dark coats and cloaks with hoods, ventured deep into the core of a thick forest.

As they traveled, a soft, smoky mist surrounded them, giving the environment an eerie feel. Sinister chains, originating from within each person, extended outward, appearing as if they were bound by these chains. Alongside these figures floated sinister, spectral beings, like manifestations of their inner demons. Among these travelers was Richard and his group, whom he referred to as “brethren.” They had been navigating this dreamlike forest for stime, guided by information provided by creatures known as the death crows. Their destination was an mysterious place known as the “Silent Wall.”

Their journey, however, suddenly cto a standstill.

The ambiance of the forest seemed to transform. A previously unnoticed thin mist began to emerge, snaking its way through the spaces between the trees. As the mist becthicker, the forest, which was once filled with natural sounds, beceerily quiet.

Dumont, one of the travelers, remembered that when they first entered this dream realm called the Dream of the Nameless One, the forest was alive with various noises. The sounds of unknown birds taking flight and distant roars of unseen creatures filled the air. They might not have seen these mysterious inhabitants, but their audible presence was constant.

Yet now, the vibrant sounds of the forest had faded. Only the soft rustling of leaves and the gentle murmurs of the wind remained, making the silence even more pronounced.

Changes in the Dream of the Nameless One were a sign of potential danger.

One of the group members, known as a disciple of Annihilation, whispered with concern. This disciple was accompanied by a ghostly jellyfish-like entity, which looked like floating particles of dust. The tendrils of this creature vibrated in the air, signaling distress. “My demon feels a sense of dread and worry… It’s as if this forest itself is emitting these emotions.”

Dumont responded with a serious tone, “The Dream of the Nameless One is alive in its way. It’s like a massive living mind. If its mood has changed suddenly, it could mean someone or something has disturbed its innermost thoughts. Perhaps someone has discovered the ‘Silent Wall’?”

A fellow disciple, who was bound to the ghostly jellyfish, inquired, “Could it be one of our comrades?”

“I can’t confirm that,” Dumont answered. “We’ve lost touch with other members sent into this dream world by our council.” He then directed his attention to Richard, who seemed distracted, “Richard, what are you up to?”

Startled, Richard noticed he had been mindlessly scratching his skin near his neck and waist. Upon inspecting his hand, he found tiny white threads embedded under his nails. These threads resembled…

“Cotton,” he murmured.

Dumont looked at him quizzically, “Cotton? What do you mean by that? You seem distracted.”

Shaking his head, Richard responded, “I’m okay. Just a bit itchy. This mist is makinguneasy.”

Dumont gave a thoughtful nod, showing no signs of suspicion. Addressing the group, he announced, “We are most likely now within the periphery of the Silent Wall. Based on what those ‘envoys’ told us, we’ve entered the ‘Vigilance Zone’ of Atlantis. I urge each one of you to be on high alert. If you notice any anomaly, anything that wasn’t evident in the forest earlier, inform everyone immediately.”

As Richard absorbed Dumont’s words, a deep feeling of discomfort welled up within him.

It was evident that Dumont had naturally taken on the mantle of the group’s guide and commander. His unyielding confidence, bordering on arrogance, had always rubbed Richard the wrong way. Richard believed that he was better suited for such a leadership role, not Dumont.

“Why does this feel so wrong?” A soft, almost seductive voice echoed in Richard’s mind. “Rabbi believes you’re being overlooked. It’s heart-wrenching, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Richard muttered, just loud enough for only him to discern. “But the saint chose Dumont for a reason… He does have his strengths…”

“Isn’t it mostly because of the prying eyes of many, complicating matters?” The voice continued with a soothing, trusting undertone. “If there was no one to judge or compare, you’d shine even brighter…”

Richard’s brow furrowed in thought, sensing something wasn’t right. He whispered, “What should I do…”

“Be patient, my precious. Rabbi is only planting seeds of thought. But remember, there will ca time… perhaps when someone feels alone…”

Clasping his temples, Richard’s emotions swirled. “But acting on it… they’re like family…”

“Yes, they are your kin, my treasure. You shouldn’t harm them. In fact, Rabbi desires to see unity amongst you all—so you should assist them.”

“Assist? In what way?”

“Can’t you tell? Your kin… they’re hollow. Void of the comforting touch of cotton. How truly sad. Cotton provides warmth, embodies a soul, fills the void… You, dear one, have been touched by cotton. Share your warmth with them. Rabbi will ensure you never run out of cotton, provided… you reciprocate the gesture…”

As the gentle, coaxing voice in Richard’s mind gradually faded, a sense of disorientation washed over him.

Emerging from his daze, Richard tried to recall the mysterious conversation that transpired within his psyche. Yet, it felt increasingly distant, leaving him questioning its reality.

Lifting his eyes, Richard observed Dumont leading the group, seemingly engrossed in their mission.

The group looked so vulnerable, so incomplete.

Devoid of the essence of cotton.

Engrossed in the task at hand and unaware of Richard’s internal struggles, Dumont said, “…Let’s establish our markers right here.” He started allocating roles according to their pre-defined strategy, adding, “From this vantage point, we can tap into the very heart of Atlantis. It’s our perfect gateway.”

The disciples around them nodded in unison, then reached for their ritual tools. They each pulled out peculiar knives from their possession. These knives had twisted, charred blades that seemed to have absorbed the darkness around them, making them appear even more enigmatic.

Watching this unfold, Richard, feeling a sudden surge of anticipation, delved into the depths of his robes and extracted his own ritualistic tool—a knife crafted from bone.

The bone knife, though compact and fitting snugly within the palm, was a work of art in its own dark way. The bone from which it was crafted was deep and dark, carved with intricate, haunting designs that seemed to pulse with a menacing energy. Memories flowed back to Richard about the origin of this knife—it was forged from the remains of demons who had perished during failed summoning ceremonies. Rituals that aimed to merge human and demon weren’t always fruitful. When they failed, the unfortunates—both human disciples and the demons they attempted to bind—met grim fates. The disciples often paid the price with their lifeblood, while the remains of the fallen demons were repurposed, their bones transformed into these specialized tools.

While this background was fundamental knowledge for those ascending within the priestly ranks of the disciples of Annihilation, remembering it now made Richard feel as though he was hearing it for the first time. This strange sense of unfamiliarity briefly derailed his thoughts.

Pushing the fleeting distraction aside, Richard turned his attention to Dumont and proposed, “Given our limited tin this dreamscape, it might be prudent to place as many ‘markers’ as we can. Perhaps if we divide our forces and work in tandem, we can cover more ground quickly.”

Dumont seemed to weigh Richard’s words carefully before replying, “But dividing means vulnerability.” He then paused, looking intently at Richard, and added, “You of all people should know this, given past mishaps. Our brethren, when isolated, were easy targets for ‘his’ loyalists.”

It was evident that Dumont was trying to offer sincere advice. His words lacked any blatant condescension. However, Richard detected a slight, almost imperceptible smirk in Dumont’s gaze. It felt like a subtle jab, reigniting Richard’s simmering anger.

But before that anger could fully manifest, a calming rationale swiftly doused it. Richard marveled at his sudden equanimity.

Meeting Dumont’s eyes squarely, Richard responded with a calm, reasoned voice, “I’m not suggesting we operate in complete isolation. We could form teams, maybe pairs or trios. This way, we ensure that there’s always backup. Also, based on my past observations within this dreamscape, ‘his’ followers don’t seem as adept or nimble in this realm as we have proven to be.”

Richard’s earnest demeanor and the evident logic in his argument made a compelling case.

Dumont found himself genuinely contemplating Richard’s suggestion. Here was a fellow disciple, one who had traversed dreams multiple times, offering sound advice. Although Richard had suffered setbacks in their previous expedition, the insights he now provided were undeniably astute.

Rejecting such a well-reasoned proposal might paint Dumont as being dismissive and undermining his emerging leadership. Accepting and integrating valuable input from experienced members could only enhance his stature as a leader.

Dumont was now leaning towards agreeing with Richard’s proposition.

Moreover, in the event that any mishap occurred, it was clear who would bear the brunt of the blame—Richard.

“Very well, we’ll divide ourselves into pairs and strategically set our markers along the fringes of the mist,” Dumont concurred, quickly orchestrating the formation of the teams. As he directed his gaze towards Richard, he said, “Richard, considering your insights, I believe it best if you partner with me.”

“With pleasure,” Richard responded, his smile revealing a trace of satisfaction.

It was a decision that suited Dumont well.

“Everyone, let’s proceed.”

With a newfound vigor, the disciples of Annihilation mobilized.

Operating in their designated pairs, each armed with their unique, darkened blades designed for marking, they branched out, each pair choosing different routes that led deeper into the misty woods. As they delved further, the dense canopy above and the looming trees soon hid each pair from the others’ view.

As Richard and Dumont ventured together, Richard clutched his bone-carved dagger with anticipation. He would patiently wait for the right moment—when they were isolated from the other teams, and when Dumont was engrossed in their shared mission.

Then, he would offer his own brand of “help.”

“Just wait for the perfect moment, my precious,” the mysterious voice in his mind murmured softly.

“Shall we begin, Dumont?” Richard echoed the sentiment, his voice laden with determination.