Deep Sea Embers

Chapter 764: Sailing into the Night

Meanwhile, in the warmer climate of Mok, the entire lower district found itself engulfed in a bizarre fog of a crimson hue that carried a repulsive odor. The fog’s arrival coincided with the malfunctioning of lights across several blocks, and this ominous mist even seeped into churches and night shelters for a brief period. It was only when the city-state’s guardians managed to clear the fog, which had mysteriously formed during the night, that the affected districts reported several unnerving disappearances, including two technicians who had been out checking on the steam hubs.

From the Parman Islands, there were reports of a mysterious fleet suddenly appearing in the nearby waters under the cover of darkness, making its way toward the city-state. Despite being issued a no-docking command and being directed to a designated waiting area, the fleet seemed perplexed by the ongoing “Long Night,” inquiring about the night with confusion and claiming it was experiencing “normal daylight” with “warm and bright sunshine” on their decks, even going so far as to question the sanity of the city-state’s inhabitants.

As the fleet disregarded the orders and continued its approach, the city-state’s navy was left with no alternative but to engage, resulting in the destruction of the unidentified ships amid a chaos of terrified screams, desperate curses, and pleas for help, leaving the sea littered with burning debris.

The nature of the ships the navy destroyed that night remained a mystery, as did the source of the “sunlight” they claimed to be basking in.

Now, on this twenty-second night of uninterrupted darkness, the world’s usual order is desperately clinging on, and the fragile semblance of “peace” is gradually eroding in this seemingly endless night.

In the lower district of Pland, outside Duncan’s antique shop, a gas street lamp cast a weak yellow glow, standing guard on the deserted streets where other lamps flickered with an almost imperceptible green flame.

Inside, Duncan was seated next to the shop window, meticulously cleaning a brass ornament while idly browsing through an old book.

The book was a treasure from Morris’s collection, a renowned work by the infamous “mad poet” Puman, cherished for its brilliance and madness alike.

On the page before him, Duncan admired the elegant cursive script that flowed across the paper:

“We shall have a long journey…”

While Duncan didn’t usually find the poetry of his world particularly captivating, the pervasive silence that had swallowed the city-state made any distraction welcome, even the rhythmic beauty of verse.

It had been ages since the last customer had entered his antique shop. The stories behind each item in the shop seemed to have aged along with their physical forms, doubling in richness, and Duncan had resigned himself to the likelihood that this quiet would persist.

However, this solitude was abruptly interrupted by the sound of the door creaking open. The bell above it rang out clear and sharp, pulling Duncan from his thoughts. He lifted his gaze to the entrance and saw a man and a woman stepping into the light from the enveloping darkness outside, their movements tinged with a cautious nervousness.

“…How rare,” Duncan observed them with a fleeting glance, noting their unmistakably human appearance, which piqued his curiosity, “to see people wandering about at this hour?”

The young man, evidently unsettled, adjusted his jacket and quickly surveyed the room before responding, “We noticed your lights were on… it seems every other place is locked up tight…”

“We’re employed at the steam pump station and the power facility,” the young woman chimed in hastily, her words laced with an eagerness that suggested they were eager to assert their reason for being out so late, “We carry passes that allow us to be here.”

“Oh,” Duncan responded with a nonchalant tone, setting aside the brass ornament he had been cleaning and regarding the two with a flicker of amusement in his eyes, “So, what brings you here? Looking to purchase something?”

“We were hoping to find a pair of porcelain plates, the decorative kind you might place on a mantelpiece,” the young man said, quickly specifying, “…Nothing too pricey.”

To Duncan’s surprise, they had come with a purpose.

Raising his eyebrows in mild intrigue, Duncan rose and made his way to a shelf, remarking over his shoulder, “This is an antique shop, so our items aren’t what you’d call cheap—though given the unusual circumstances, I’m willing to consider a discount, reducing the price from over four thousand to merely twenty-six…”

He paused, turning to look back at the couple with a curious gaze, “But I have to ask, why now? What I mean is, what’s the urgency of making such a purchase during these times?”

The couple shared a look, and the young woman offered a shy smile before replying, “We’re getting married.”

Surprise flickered across Duncan’s face at this revelation.

“We’re in the process of setting up our new home,” the young man elaborated, “and we wanted to add some decorative touches… With most places closed, we heard rumors of your shop remaining open and thought we’d take our chances here…”

“…To think, amidst this enduring darkness, I’d meet a pair of newlyweds,” Duncan murmured almost to himself as he selected a few ornate porcelain plates from the shelf, his voice tinged with wonder, “Why not wait for daylight to return?”

“What if daylight never returns?” the young man countered abruptly.

Duncan paused, turning to meet the young man’s gaze squarely.

“Now, with the future so uncertain… Our wedding was initially planned for the week before last, but we ended up delaying it until now. However, we’ve come to realize there’s no point in waiting any longer,” the young man explained, his voice carrying a mix of resolve and a hint of defiance against the unending night.

“Our ceremony will be a modest one, in compliance with the night’s curfew restrictions. We’ve arranged for the church’s priest to officiate at our own home. Should the sun choose to never grace us with its presence again…”

The young woman’s voice trailed off after she broached the grim possibility of an eternal darkness, her attempt at a smile betraying the effort it took.

Their words may have been simple, but the depth of their message was profound, echoing a sentiment that transcended eloquence: Life must continue, regardless of the circumstances. No amount of fear or lament could hasten the sunrise.

“Pick any that catches your eye,” Duncan suddenly offered with a warm smile, gesturing towards the illuminated shelves adorned with exquisite plates, each accompanied by a wooden stand for display.

After a moment of contemplation, the couple selected a pair of light green plates adorned with intricate golden patterns reminiscent of the craftsmanship of southern elves. They watched Duncan carefully wrap their choice in protective paper, and then, with a hint of timidity, the young woman inquired about the price.

“It’s on the house,” Duncan declared casually.

The surprise at his unexpected generosity was evident in the couple’s eyes.

“Let this be my wedding gift to you. The night may be long, but may this gesture bring a bit of luck your way,” he added, his voice imbued with a sincere wish for their happiness.

“But we couldn’t possibly…” the young man began, only to be interrupted.

“Don’t let time slip by; your pass has its limits,” Duncan gently reminded them with a smile, moving towards the door of the shop, “And don’t worry, you’ve already provided ample ‘compensation.\'”

Puzzled, the young man asked, “Compensation? What do you mean?”

As Duncan opened the door, letting the light from the street lamps spill into the shop, he gestured towards the illuminated path that stretched into the night. “A moment of joy,” he said, sharing the source of his contentment.

With the couple gone, the shop once again surrendered to the quiet of the night. Duncan lingered at the doorway a moment longer, his sigh blending into the silence as he retracted his gaze from the street.

Meanwhile, at Wind Harbor, a different scene unfolded under a surreal, golden pseudo-sunlight.

The Vanished, with its towering masts, began to show signs of life as ethereal sails, as translucent as ghosts, billowed into existence. The exploration vessel leaned into its journey, departing from the harbor with a quiet dignity.

Not far off, the gleaming Bright Star activated its paddle wheels, the sound of the sea accompanying its departure.

“What’s making you so happy, Captain?” Alice asked with curiosity after noticing Duncan’s rare smile on the deck.

Turning away from the receding view of Wind Harbor, Duncan’s eyes lingered on the city-state they were leaving behind. With its myriad lights dimming into the distance and the faint, struggling sunlight fading from the coast, the island was gradually engulfed by the omnipresent shadow of the night.

Duncan took a moment before responding to Alice’s inquiry, his answer laced with a sense of optimism, “There are indeed moments of happiness to be found.”

Alice, still not entirely understanding but sensing the significance of his words, cast a lingering glance back towards the fading lights of the city-state, her voice carrying a note of hope mixed with uncertainty, “Will we ever return there?”

In that brief pause, Duncan seemed to weigh countless thoughts and considerations about their impending journey, the myriad of paths that lay ahead, and the vast array of futures that could unfold from their decisions. Yet, he settled on a simple yet resolute affirmation: “…We’ll come back.”

This assurance brought a noticeable lift to Alice’s spirits.

Duncan, too, allowed himself a small smile at her reaction, then took a deep breath, easing his hold on the helm, symbolically letting go of the immediate concerns and focusing on the journey ahead.

They had now officially departed from Wind Harbor. Their next destination was the designated “rally point” on the eastern frontier, where they would join forces with the Storm Church’s border fleet. Together, they planned to navigate towards the Eternal Veil, tracing the path once charted by the Sea Song in a bold quest to uncover the truths that lay beyond the known world.

For Duncan, this expedition was more than a mere voyage; it was a crucial step in gaining a broader perspective on their world, to “observe this shelter from the outside,” and perhaps, to understand the larger forces at play.

However, before embarking on this grand adventure, there was a matter Duncan felt compelled to address directly.

He turned his attention to a solitary figure that seemed to shrink away at the edge of the helm, a gaunt and hunched presence trying to make itself as inconspicuous as possible.

“Sailor,” Duncan called out gently.

At the sound of his voice, Anomaly 077 stiffened, a mix of surprise and apprehension flashing across his features as he stammered, “Ah… Ah?!”

“Come here,” Duncan said, his voice warm and inviting as he took a step back to make room, gesturing towards the helm of the Vanished with an encouraging smile, “Take hold of it.”