Deep Sea Embers

Chapter 802: The Only Cook on Board Takes the Helm

The tranquil sea breeze swept effortlessly across the ocean’s mirror-like surface, causing the flags on the ship to flutter gently. Amidst the quiet of the night, an escort fleet composed of numerous large warships advanced steadily. Within this fleet, a colossal phantom slowly materialized from thin air.

Onboard the Ark, which resembled a miniature city-state, stood a grand cathedral with towering spires reaching towards the heavens. The light emanating from these spires bathed the nearby sea surface in a soft glow, with imposing towers and connecting corridors that seemed to guard the church’s main structure, resembling giants stationed at the Ark’s perimeter. This was the pilgrimage Ark of the Storm Church, which, after spending several days in the southern waters, had finally made its way back to the central region of the Boundless Sea.

Atop the highest tower of the Grand Storm Cathedral, Helena stood on the terrace, gazing out at the serene sea under the cover of night, with a middle-aged priest standing silently by her side, his head slightly bowed in reverence.

“The condition of the Goddess appears to be deteriorating,” Helena abruptly remarked, “No one within the expanse of the Boundless Sea can discern Her voice with any clarity anymore.”

The middle-aged priest nodded in agreement, adding, “The Death Church has relayed similar reports. Moreover, there have been occurrences of unrest among the deceased in numerous city-states that have long been engulfed in darkness. These incidents aren’t confined to those under the protection of the Death Church but have spread to others as well.”

Helena listened in silence, and after a brief pause, she sighed softly, her fingers tracing the Storm Goddess’s amulet on her chest—a symbol composed of sinuous lines imbued with enigmatic significance, which remains undocumented and unexplained in the ‘Storm Codex’: “…Both the domains of Death and Storm are receding from the world.”

The priest remained silent, offering only his quiet presence in response.

Turning to face him, Helena inquired, “Is there widespread unease among the people?”

“Recently, there has been an uptick in individuals seeking solace in confessionals and preaching halls, but the overall condition of the Ark and the escort fleet remains stable. The clergy’s faith is unshaken. We have always understood that the world would face periods of decline, and we’ve been preparing for this—the waning of the Goddess’s influence is a trial we were inevitably destined to confront,” the priest explained, pausing before he continued with a note of hesitation, “However, in some of the more remote city-states, a palpable sense of unease is spreading. While the chief priests maintain their faith, they are finding it increasingly challenging to manage the growing discontent among the believers and the clergy.”

Helena responded with measured words, “Preserve order, and collaborate with the city-states’ authorities on management and emergency procedures. Even if prayers prove futile, the might of steam and machinery remains intact, and we still have the unfaltering support of fire and steel.”

“We must demonstrate to the believers that regardless of the Goddess’s fate, the Storm Church will unwaveringly fulfill its responsibilities. Above all, it is crucial to divert everyone’s focus away from ‘prayer’ and towards other forms of support.”

The middle-aged priest bowed deeply in acknowledgment: “Understood.”

Helena acknowledged his response with a noncommittal hum, her gaze remaining fixed on the distant sea. She found herself muttering, “Lately, there’s always this peculiar feeling I get about the sea… but then, whenever I try to grasp it, it seems like nothing more than an illusion.”

Noticing her concern, the priest raised his head, his expression one of puzzlement. “The sea… is there something wrong with it?”

After a brief pause, Helena’s expression turned thoughtful, and she eventually dismissed the topic with a wave of her hand. “No, it’s nothing—just some baseless musings. You may go now; I have other duties that require my attention.”

Once the priest had departed, Helena remained alone on the terrace, taking in the sea breeze for a few moments longer before she turned back towards the cathedral tower. She descended a spiral staircase and navigated through a short corridor, making her way deep into the cathedral’s heart to her private prayer room—a place where she spent the majority of her time.

The prayer room was aglow with light, with oil lamps nestled in wall niches and candles flickering before the altar. In front of the Goddess’s statue, a fire basin burned with an unquenchable flame. This ethereal fire, nearly transparent and ghost-like, cast an aura of surrealism around the room.

Approaching the fire basin, Helena added spices and essential oils to the flames, watching as the smoke began to rise. Suddenly, a cacophony of murmurs and whispers filled her mind, disorienting her with a barrage of “noise” that seemed to taint her soul. Yet, she quickly regained her composure and addressed the flame, “Frem, I wish to speak with you.”

After a few crackles from the flame, the voice of Pope Frem, known as a Flame Bearer, emerged, sounding slightly distorted. “Is this concerning the ‘Archive’?”

“Yes,” Helena responded, indicating her awareness of his plans. “I understand you’re moving your Ark northward, towards the perpetual ice region, correct?”

Frem’s voice, still altered by the flames, conveyed a sense of urgency. “That eternally frozen ice field is believed to be a ‘fragment’ that could persist after the world’s end. For years, the Flame Bearers have been gauging our world’s ‘focal points’ across the Boundless Sea, seeking areas stable enough to withstand the ebbs and flows of history and time. Our findings have led us northward.”

Helena, showing a hint of hesitation, inquired further, “Have you pinpointed the exact location?”

Frem’s calm response came through the flame. “No, only that it lies to the north. Our time for precise measurements is running out. The mortality rate for priests venturing into historical voids for measurements is increasingly unacceptable—I cannot justify further risks… Now, our only option is to set sail northward, and I will personally determine the exact focus once we arrive.”

Helena gave a slight nod, her mind evidently churning with thoughts before she finally broke the silence. “I will dispatch a fleet to rendezvous with you. They will join your Ark before you venture into the icy waters. These ships will be carrying the most significant and invaluable documents that the Storm Church has amassed over the years.”

The flames within the basin responded with a lively crackle and leap, signaling a brief pause before Frem’s voice emerged once more: “That’s a prudent move. I’ve reserved space for them.”

Helena drew in a deep breath, releasing it slowly, a gesture of gratitude. “Thank you,” she said, her voice carrying a mix of relief and appreciation.

“It is our responsibility as the Flame Bearers,” Frem’s voice replied, emanating a sense of solemn duty from the fire basin.

…

In a space devoid of distinct features, a uniform expanse of gray-white surrounded the Vanished and the Bright Star, casting them into what appeared to be an endless void. The monotonous backdrop made it difficult to discern any movement, leading Duncan to occasionally entertain the unsettling thought that the Vanished was immobilized in a static, unchanging pocket of space-time.

However, Duncan was acutely aware that the ship continued its journey, navigating the intricate and turbulent structure of space-time beyond the known frontiers. Glimpses of the fragmented phantom of the New Hope occasionally visible above both the Vanished and the Bright Star served as fleeting assurances that the “jump” through space-time was still in progress.

Alice, positioned at the stern’s helm, looked ahead with a gaze that lacked focus. Her hands remained firmly on the wheel, yet her usual vibrant demeanor was absent, replaced by a vacant and cold expression as if she had become a mere puppet. Her consciousness had extended beyond her physical form, intertwining with the Vanished and New Hope to ensure the stability of their journey through the jump channel.

After observing Alice’s condition, Duncan made his way back to where the crew had gathered inside the cabin. In the dining area, Shirley sat at the table, a look of concentration on her face as she aimlessly stirred a bowl of soup whose color and texture seemed slightly off.

Having circled her spoon through the soup more times than she could count, Shirley finally raised her eyes to Morris, who was seated across from her, her expression troubled. “Perhaps I should take a turn at cooking next time?”

“There’s no need for that. You’re the youngest among us; it’s not yet your responsibility,” Morris responded dismissively, his curiosity piqued as he noticed Shirley’s reaction to the soup. “Does it not taste right, the dish I’ve prepared?”

Shirley’s response was a mixture of reluctance and forced politeness as she slightly recoiled, “Actually, it’s… it’s okay.”

Morris, intrigued by her reaction, sampled the soup himself, his expression turning contemplative. “This is exactly how Heidi instructed me to make vegetable mushroom soup,” he mumbled, bewildered. “Where did I go wrong?”

“It’s difficult to pinpoint exactly where the mistake occurred, but I’m confident that the vegetable mushroom soup Heidi makes doesn’t resemble this at all,” Vanna interjected, her gaze fixed on her own bowl with a mix of concern and resignation. “Let me take over the cooking next time. While I can’t guarantee a gourmet meal, at the very least, it won’t turn out as odd as this.”

“I do miss the pies and the fish soup Alice used to prepare,” Nina softly expressed her nostalgia for the culinary delights once served aboard their vessel, specifically Alice’s fish soup and pies. “Once you removed the fish head, the soup actually tasted quite decent…”

It was precisely at this stage that Duncan made his entrance into the dining area. The crew’s subtle murmurings and mild complaints didn’t escape his notice, prompting a complex mix of emotions to flicker across his face. “Back when Alice was in charge of the kitchen, I don’t recall hearing so much praise for her cooking. Now that she’s taken over the helm, it seems her culinary talents are suddenly in high demand,” he remarked, his tone laced with a mix of amusement and irony.

Upon noticing their captain’s presence, the crew promptly rose to their feet in a sign of respect. Nina, ever playful, stuck out her tongue in a lighthearted gesture as she stood up. “Perhaps I should take a turn at cooking next time. Back at Pland’s, I was known to be quite the chef,” she quipped with a chuckle, her tone brimming with a newfound confidence.

Duncan couldn’t help but respond with laughter. Taking his seat, he shared a moment of collective trepidation with the crew as they all glanced at the less-than-appealing meal before them. The air was thick with anticipation, a silent plea for a culinary miracle.

After a brief pause, Duncan’s actions brought a sense of magic to the room. With a snap of his fingers, a phantom flame danced across the table, morphing into a dark, mirror-like surface. Within this mystical display, the image of Lucretia, affectionately known as Miss Witch, gradually emerged, seated comfortably in the dining hall of her own ship, the Bright Star, surrounded by an array of sumptuous dishes.

“Good afternoon, Papa,” Lucretia greeted with a warm smile, extending her pleasantries to the rest of the crew. “And a good afternoon to everyone else.”

Curious, Duncan leaned in to inquire about the feast before Lucretia. “Preparing to enjoy lunch?” he asked, his interest piqued.

Lucretia confirmed with a nod and a smile, detailing the menu crafted by her crew: “Baked apple pies, grilled steaks, creamed corn soup, and vegetable patties. Today, Nilu, though still a novice compared to Luni, managed to contribute a salad. She’s rapidly learning and starting to assist me with various tasks,” Lucretia shared with evident pride.

Nilu, the twin doll and newly minted crew member of the Bright Star, made a charming appearance, peeking over the table to warmly greet everyone watching from the other side of the mirror.

Unable to contain her curiosity, Shirley leaned in with a hopeful glance, her voice tinged with hesitation. “Does it taste as wonderful as it looks?”

The smile that Lucretia offered in response was enigmatic yet affirming. “Luni’s culinary prowess has even drawn accolades from renowned chefs,” she assured, her pride in Luni’s skills unmistakable.

The conversation turned playful, with Lucretia teasingly awaiting Shirley’s next words, prompting Duncan to intervene with a sigh. “It seems we’re without a chef aboard our ship again – Alice has taken the helm,” he stated, a hint of resignation in his voice.

Lucretia’s graceful and restrained laughter echoed through the dining hall. “Well then, it looks like we were right to prepare in abundance. I had a feeling it would come to this,” she remarked, her laughter mingling with a sense of inevitability.

As the crew, now visibly eager, began to rise from their seats, their gazes converged on Duncan. With a resigned yet amused smile, he gestured for them to proceed. “Don’t wait on my account – Ai will see to your transport to the Bright Star. I’ll remain here. With Alice at the helm, I prefer not to leave the ship unmanned. Just be sure to bring some food back for me,” he advised, his tone lighthearted yet firm.

Shirley and Nina’s excitement was palpable as they prepared to depart, while Lucretia’s voice, still emanating from the mirror, offered a final reminder. “Remember to bring your own tableware! I haven’t prepared enough for everyone… Shirley, please, put that basin back!” she called out, her voice a blend of amusement and wary caution.

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