Deep Sea Embers

In the graveyard, the deceased were emerging from their coffins with an unsettling persistence, their bodies meandering through the tombstones. They roamed without direction, posing questions with evident confusion, or positioned themselves on the cold, hard surfaces of the morgue slabs, lost in a bewildered state. They engaged in futile reflections and deliberations amidst the lingering discord that remained after the collapse of the familiar world they once knew, attempting to come to terms with the discomfort and ominous shadows that now plagued their existence.

The caretaker, whose duty was to oversee the cemetery and thwart any disturbances that might awaken the dead, found himself in an unusual role. He was now shepherding these resurrected beings, guiding them from their temporary graves back to their earthly homes.

The dimly lit streetlights cast a ghostly illumination over the scene, intensifying the surreal atmosphere. Agatha, despite being disconnected from the sensations of the living, felt an icy chill creeping from the depths of her being. She stood frozen by the pathway, her eyes fixed on Duncan as he escorted the reanimated deceased, one by one, out of the cemetery. It was as though she was caught in an eerie, dreamlike state.

“You’re the last one,” Duncan eventually announced to the final departed soul, a young man whose life had been claimed by violence, evidenced by the stark wound across his chest. With a blend of gentleness and assurance, Duncan assisted the newly risen from his resting place, advising, “You recall the route to your house, don’t you? Proceed home. It’s expected to feel a sense of breathlessness; this sensation will become familiar in time… Head home, reunite with your family. Avoid overthinking; live your life to the fullest – depart from this place, move forward, and never glance back. For the foreseeable future, there’s no necessity for you to return here.”

As the last of the departed staggered off, the faint glow of the streetlight followed his departure until he merged with the obscurity of the night.

Duncan then made his way to the gatekeeper, Ms. Agatha. Beneath layers of bandages, his eyes conveyed a warmth and serenity: “My apologies for the delay, Miss Agatha.”

A wave of bewilderment washed over Agatha, bringing with it a premonition of forgetting something crucial. However, she quickly regained her composure, pressing a hand to her forehead while whispering, “The line separating life and death has blurred… Captain, what’s unfolding? There’s a strangeness permeating… the cemetery… it’s far from normal…”

She tottered slightly, her consciousness flickering as though she was on the verge of collapse.

“Take a moment, Agatha,” Duncan reassured her, extending his arm for support and guiding her gently towards a morgue slab to rest beside a coffin.

“Try to remain composed, whether you’re breathing or not,” he advised, echoing the comfort he had offered to the restless spirits earlier, “It’s normal to feel weak and a bit anxious; these feelings will diminish shortly. Tyrian has already adjusted, and so will you.”

Comforted by his presence and words, Agatha felt the turmoil within her mind begin to ebb, her thoughts stabilizing. After a brief silence, she softly inquired, “How much longer?”

“We’re on our way to the final point now, the realm ruled by the god of death. Based on what we’ve encountered before, it’s likely to be a journey of about two or three days. After we reach there, I’ll be able to assess Bartok’s condition accurately,” Duncan said, locking eyes with Agatha, whose gaze was obscured by a black veil. “However, if you’re inquiring about what lies beyond that, the ultimate end… it’s going to require more time.”

“…And what will become of our world?”

Duncan remained silent, offering only a steady, contemplative look in response.

At that moment, he was reminded of a future the Black Sun had shown him – a future where the sea forgets the motion of waves, where life loses its grasp on the art of dying, where flames no longer know how to ignite, where the wind ceases its journey, where clouds descend from their lofty heights to meet the sea…

Gods would fade into nothingness, and the world, in its descent into obscurity, would forget – this was the “decaying future.”

It stood as a bleak counterpart to the “future of flames.”

Agatha’s question went unanswered, but she sensed an understanding of the inevitable outcome within Duncan’s gaze. As the familiar conflict and contradictions in her mind began to resurface, she faintly realized… such cataclysms might not be the first to this world.

“…I’ve been through the most rigorous training and trials. I honed my abilities within the temple walls, fortified my resolve. I took an oath before the sacred statue of the Lord to use my strength and faith to safeguard those under our care…”

Her words trailed off, a chilling sensation penetrating her consciousness as if her thoughts were being encased in ice. Her voice, carrying through the cold night air, seemed to originate from one grave and resonate into another.

“But how can I safeguard them under these circumstances? Captain Duncan, when the very foundations of our world are crumbling…”

“You are safeguarding them, and everyone in this city is contributing to its protection in their own unique ways – preserving the way of life, the memories, everything,” Duncan interrupted her with a deep, resonant voice. “I understand that despite our efforts, everything is gradually inching towards oblivion. The ‘memory’ of the world is slipping away, like sand escaping a clenched fist. Holding on tighter might slow the process, but no one is to blame.”

He then turned his gaze towards the cemetery path and the morgue slabs alongside it, which had now fallen silent.

Some slabs still displayed the scars of bullets and blades, adorned with flowers laid by the living in memory of the dead, and even… what appeared to be fresh tear marks.

This place had witnessed conflicts over the border between life and death, mourners paying tribute to those who had departed, and now it rested in silence. It was likely that, for a considerable time to come, it would no longer welcome any “visitors.”

Over time, the significance of cemeteries would fade from collective memory, leading to their inevitable neglect. The transition from life to death would become a mere change of state, eliciting no concern or attention. Bartok’s role within the priesthood would grow dim, and the notion of a church dedicated to death would evolve into a concept that, while natural, remains beyond the comprehension of many, with no one seeking to understand it. In this dwindling world, a new adaptation would arise – “ignorance” would emerge as a kind of mercy bestowed upon beings. This ignorance serves to shield the fragile minds of mortals from the harsh reality of rot and decay that festers unseen.

Agatha experienced the chill of the air filling her lungs and then slowly releasing. It dawned on her that she hadn’t taken a breath in quite some time. After her physical demise, she had increasingly embraced her identity among the deceased, gradually losing the instinct to “breathe.”

But in that moment, she found herself breathing effortlessly once again.

The darkness of the night tenderly wrapped around the world, clearing the fog from her mind, soothing all her disquiet.

Beside her, Captain Duncan’s voice resonated, his words offering calm and assurance.

“Agatha, did you know? Humans are actually capable of seeing their own noses – it obstructs a significant portion of their field of vision. When both eyes focus, it casts a theoretically unavoidable shadow.”

“Yet, your brain has adapted to this ‘problem.’ It learns to overlook the shadow, cleverly filling in the gaps in your perception with its remarkable imagination. Only from certain angles and in specific conditions does the existence of this ‘blind spot’ become apparent.”

“Furthermore, owing to the way our nervous system is structured, we actually perceive the world upside down. The brain expends considerable effort to invert the images relayed by our nerves to present them the right way up – leading to situations where neurological anomalies cause some individuals to perceive everything upside down, struggling to navigate their environment.”

“Such are the imperfections of human beings that their brains must engage in a process of ignoring, forgetting, and even deceiving themselves to navigate this world logically.”

“Similarly, this world possesses a ‘correction’ mechanism akin to that of the human brain – concealing those dreadful inconsistencies and contradictions under its guise. Though these issues continue to accumulate, and the world gradually declines… this arrangement represents the best effort ‘They’ could muster.”

“Agatha, this world is so flawed that its architects had to rely on a strategy of neglect, oblivion, and self-deception to ensure you could live sensibly within it. And now, we are approaching the limits of this process.”

“It’s like sand escaping between our fingers.”

“But ‘They’ did the best they could.”

Duncan withdrew his gaze from the horizon, his attention returning to the gatekeeper seated on the morgue slab.

“…I will return to the cathedral,” Agatha declared softly.

A faint greenish glow emanated from within her shattered form, concentrated where her eyes once shone with life.

“People will flock to the cathedral in search of solace, and there will be other clergy like myself, momentarily lost in confusion and distress. They depend on me – and beyond that, when this ‘phase’ momentarily ceases, I shall persist in performing my sacred obligations… I belong among the faithful, ensuring the continuity of their lives, even if it’s just for one additional day. And then…”

With a gentle sigh, she gracefully descended from the morgue slab, her movements reflecting agility.

Standing in the darkness, she resembled a resolute monument, her past days of devotion within the cathedral, garbed in long ceremonial robes, in no way lessening her presence as a guardian.

“Then, the situation may deteriorate further,” Duncan’s voice resonated nearby, “Life has lost its grasp on the concept of death, and perhaps flames will next forget their essence to ignite. Wind and clouds, light and darkness, numerous elements will slowly succumb to this relentless decay – and the ‘correction’ mechanisms of the world will be stretched to their limits. There will be those who awaken in the darkness, confronting the true terror of our existence. By that time…”

Agatha lifted her gaze, meeting Captain Duncan’s eyes with determination. A gentle wind began to stir around her, and her form started to disintegrate into ashes, carried away by the breeze.

A smile graced her face.

“I will continue to uphold my duties and wait with patience – we all have our respective roles to fulfill, don’t we?”

Duncan offered a soft nod in agreement.

As Agatha’s essence transformed into a whirlwind of ash, it blended into the nocturnal air, leaving the silent graveyard behind.