Deep Sea Embers

In all fairness, Vanna believed that the elderly Morris did have a valid argument.

When it cto executing a sacred ritual, the three essential components were flame, sanctified oil, and incense. Although in rare circumstances one could use alternatives to these elements, substituting all of them with mere kitchen ingredients seemed almost preposterous.

Yet, she was resolved to attempt it.

For one, she had improvised in this manner multiple times during her journey on the Vanished. Furthermore, her search for the proper ritualistic materials in the so-called “Witch’s Mansion” had proved fruitless.

“I should’ve known that a witch’s abode wouldn’t have items like consecrated oil,” Vanna remarked with a hint of remorse to Morris, “I admit I’ve been rather complacent in my planning.”

Muttering under his breath, Morris remarked, “Ever since you managed to conduct a ritual on the ship using unconventional items, you’ve grown negligent about ritual preparations.”

In a half-joking manner, Vanna gestured towards the street through the window, “In that case, would you mind fetching the necessary items for me?”

Morris peered outside, noting the eerie movement of the tree shadows. Given the current tumultuous state of Wind Harbor, he thought it wiser to keep his thoughts to himself.

Upon hearing their exchange, Shirley quickly approached with Dog in tow. With an impish glint in her eyes, she cheekily suggested, “How about adding sginger and garlic?”

Vanna, genuinely perplexed, enquired, “For what reason?”

With a playful smirk, Shirley responded, “Once your ritual is finished, you can ask Luni to whip up a meal. I’m starving.”

Vanna’s countenance shifted to one of seriousness, mildly affronted. She rebuked, “You shouldn’t jest about such things!” With a stern look, she added, “This is a sacred ritual. My improvisations are out of necessity, given our situation.”

Rather than retort, Shirley simply moved herself and Dog away from Vanna.

Puzzled, Vanna inquired, “Why are you distancing yourself?”

“I might not grasp the intricate rituals of you ‘holy practitioners’,” Shirley began, waving dismissively, “but common sense dictates caution. If, by chance, lightning targets you, I’d prefer not to be splattered.”

Vanna was at a loss for words.

Choosing to regain her focus, Miss Inquisitor sidestepped the spectators by the doorway. Drawing a deep breath, she honed in on the task at hand: initiating the ritual to open a psychic conduit.

As she began, flames lept up, and the oil started to bubble fervently.

Yet, at its core, fire remained a primal element. Its ignition, throughout history, has been a testament to human advancement. By lighting it, mortals offer a symbolic gesture to the divine. And the essence of this gesture resonates with a simple message: “I am present.”

Vanna, renowned as one of the most exceptional clerics of her generation within the Storm Church, had always been known to harbor beliefs that veered off the traditional path. These beliefs could even be described as heretical, given the longstanding doctrines of the church. While such unconventional sentiments were only sporadic in her earlier years, recently, her deviations from the established teachings had becmore frequent and pronounced.

The tranquil rhythm of the sea waves seemed to whisper secrets, filling the ears of this inquisitor who had grown more unorthodox in her spiritual convictions. A fleeting sensation of being watched washed over her. The sensation was gentle, almost comforting, and she felt someone’s affectionate gaze briefly linger on her before redirecting its focus. Then, like a window appearing out of thin air, a psychic “channel” manifested before her. At the distant end of this connection, the unmistakable voice of Bishop Valentine resonated.

“Vanna?” The seasoned voice of the elderly bishop conveyed a hint of astonishment. “This is unexpected. Why have you reached out so abruptly? And… what is that strange scent around you?”

Choosing to bypass his query about the scent, Vanna gathered herself and responded with an unwavering voice, “Bishop Valentine, the matter of the smell isn’t of concern right now. I have pressing issues that require your attention. Please, remain calm.”

Intrigued, he prompted her to begin: “Go on. What seems to be the matter?”

With a note of urgency, Vanna said, “The ship’s captain will soon arrive at the cathedral. He’s seeking intricate details about the Vanished. He demands complete disclosure on its construction and history.”

……

In the sterile environment of the hospital room, Duncan’s posture was tense, his brow creased with anxiety. Heidi stood beside him, her expression a somber mirror to his as they both looked down at the fragile figure of the young elf on the bed.

“He was admitted just this morning,” Heidi whispered, the edge of her voice betraying her distress. “And he’s not alone. There are numerous others like him. Elf settlements are gripped by terror. Families are living in fear, wondering who will be the next to succumb to this mysterious ailment or disappear without a trace. The scale of the affliction seems to have supernatural origins. Although the church has sent its guardian forces to protect these communities, their primary solution has been to bring the affected elves here. Beyond that, they seem clueless.”

Taking a step closer, Duncan leaned over to get a better look at the young elf’s state. The patient looked almost ghostly, as if he were on the cusp of evaporating, with only a faint silhouette remaining anchored to the bed.

It was evident that this wasn’t just a more severe form of the previously identified “sleeping sickness.” No conventional medical approach could possibly address this.

“He’s fading, almost being erased from our realm in a manner that defies understanding. This isn’t something a typical psychiatrist can tackle,” Heidi continued, her voice reflecting her helplessness. “For those with milder symptoms, I tried probing their minds. It felt as if their thoughts and essence were being siphoned off by something… overwhelmingly vast. It’s as though there’s a powerful force, a black hole of sorts, yanking these elves out of our dimension.”

Absorbing Heidi’s account, Duncan’s expression beceven more severe. He paused for a while, then finally declared, “It’s Atlantis’s doing.”

Heidi looked at him, puzzled. “Atlantis?”

Duncan replied, the weight of his knowledge evident, “It’s the force behind the vortex you mentioned. I’d advise you to stop your mind-reading attempts. If this entity detects your actions, it might mistake you for another elf and pull you in as well.”

The realization of Duncan’s warning visibly rattled Heidi.

Suddenly, his attention shifted as if sensing a distant event. The Vanished was nearing Wind Harbor, transitioning from the ethereal realm. Vanna had relayed a message; she’d successfully made contact with the Storm Cathedral in Pland. Bishop Valentine was getting all the preparations in order and was anticipating the “Captain’s” arrival.

However, turmoil continued to dominate Wind Harbor. The vast expanse of its surrounding forests, which once seemed serene, now felt like a threatening, unending verdant abyss to its denizens. Even the seasoned city militia and the guardian forces were struggling to manage the escalating situation. Amidst the chaos, Lucretia was proactively stepping up, doing her best to offer help and find a solution.

In the remote northern region known as Frost, a city-state renowned for its icy landscapes, the affliction dubbed the “sleeping sickness” was making its grim presence felt, much like in Pland.

This indicated a chilling likelihood: the outbreak was not just confined to Pland and Frost. Considering the rapidly worsening situation in Wind Harbor, the grim prospect emerged that elves across the entire world might be on the brink of a catastrophe, potentially being devoured by the mysterious Atlantis.

But the questions that loomed large were: Why was this happening? Why was the World Tree, an entity deeply etched in the ancestral memory of the elf race and revered as a protector, undergoing such terrifying transformations?

Lost in thought, Duncan was jolted back to the present by a soft, unusual sound originating from the bed.

The elf patient, previously in a deep slumber with his form becoming increasingly ghostly and faint, showed unexpected signs of life. There was a slight twitch in his body, and a low, resonant hum vibrated from deep within his throat, hinting at the possibility of him regaining consciousness.

Heidi’s instincts kicked in as she dashed to the elf’s side, hoping that he was awakening. But as she did, a chilling scene unfolded: every other bed in the room began to display the ssymptoms.

One after another, the previously inert elves started to shake, emitting hauntingly identical hums. The chilling simultaneous activity sent a wave of fear crashing over Heidi. Instinctively, she looked to Duncan, seeking direction. Then, as abruptly as it began, the strange sounds from the elves ceased in unison.

In the next eerie moment, each of the slumbering elves opened their mouths, speaking as though a collective consciousness was using them as vessels. They intoned in a singular, harmonious voice –

“I am Ted Lir, dwelling deep within the Dream of the Nameless One.

I convey this message to the material realm through every means at my disposal. To those hearing this, disseminate it far and wide – Atlantis has lost her sanity.

She seeks to absorb every elf in a bid to make her way into the tangible world, aiming to root herself anew.

She is no protector; she does not shield us.

We are putting up resistance against Atlantis’s dominant consciousness, striving to thwart her invasion into our reality – but the odds are stacked against us.

We implore you for aid – safeguard the elves of the material realm from Atlantis’s clutches, preventing them from fading away or succumbing in slumber. This may stall Atlantis’s ascendancy. I reiterate, we desperately require assistance…”

As suddenly as it had started, the eerie chorus ceased.

All the afflicted elves returned to their enigmatic slumber, making the event seem almost illusory – the link between Ted Lir and the tangible world had been abruptly terminated.

“Ted Lir…” Heidi’s voice trailed off momentarily, the weight of the recent revelation sinking in, “Isn’t he the Truth Keeper from Wind Harbor?”

A mix of fear and shock was evident in her eyes. The dire message and the suddenness with which it had been delivered underscored the depth of the crisis at hand.

Seeking assurance and direction, her gaze landed on Duncan, the “Captain”, anticipating sguidance or a plan of action in response to this startling development.

Duncan appeared deep in thought, his brow creased with concern. Although the abrupt message from Ted Lir had caught him off guard, he quickly marshaled his thoughts and began formulating a plan of action based on the limited yet critical intel he had received.

“There’s no tto waste,” he declared, looking squarely at Heidi, his voice firm and decisive. “I must set out immediately. We need to tackle this problem at its source.”

As he spoke, Heidi, overwhelmed with concern for the immediate situation at hand, interjected, “And what of the situation here? How do we handle it?”

“Stay the course,” Duncan urged, “Do everything in your power to stave off the ‘consumption’ of these elves—endeavor to anchor their spirits to our world for as long as you possibly can. We’ll handle the broader issue. Just keep them here.”

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