Deep Sea Embers

Chapter 446: A Pleasure to Be a Father

As soon as Duncan stepped into the grandeur of his captain’s quarters, he found himself pausing, his attention irresistibly drawn to the commotion resonating from the forward part of the ship. The sounds emanating from there were undeniably those of Shirley and Dog, engaged in their usual playful mischief. However, there were no warning signs, no alarms to indicate an emergency.

“They’re turning their responsibilities into a circus act again, aren’t they?” Duncan whispered to himself, a small grin spreading across his face. His attention then shifted toward the expansive nautical map that spread across a large table, depicting the endless waters they sailed upon.

The wooden figure that served as his helmsman, sitting dutifully at the navigation desk, made a creaking noise as it turned its head toward Duncan. Crafted from oak, its eyes were made of obsidian, so dark they appeared bottomless. Yet, as Duncan entered, they seemed to glow softly, lighting up at the sight of their captain. “Ah, the magnificent Captain Duncan honors his faithful first mate with his esteemed company! Today’s catch is—”

“Skip the catch,” Duncan interrupted, eyeing the wooden carved goat head that functioned as the figure’s head. “With the recent disturbances in the Frost region, I’d be surprised if we could fish anything worth mentioning.”

The talking goat head hesitated, its wooden neck emitting a series of creaks as it tilted left and right in a momentary confusion. Finally, it spoke, “Ah, well, if fish are not to be had, at least the morning is calm, Sir. The wind is gentle, the sun is generous; it’s a splendid day for a voyage. We could chart a course for Cold Harbor, if you’re inclined.”

“I’ve no inclination to get the Vanished anywhere close to a city-state at this point,” Duncan said, cutting the rambling goat head short. His eyes moved slowly over the large sea map that dominated his quarters.

A ghostly mist hovered over the map, weaving and dancing lazily. A clearly marked route indicated their northward progression. Symbols on the map represented their ship, the Vanished, docked near the icy city-state of Frost and situated at the edge of where the Sea Mist was parked, which glowed in a haunting green light on the map.

“The Sea Mist seems rather tranquil today,” Duncan observed, a half-smile forming on his lips as if a satisfying thought had occurred to him. “It would appear that things are proceeding without a hitch.”

“Without a hitch? Captain, are you brewing another one of your magnificent strategies?” The goat head was instantly alert, its wooden neck stretching closer to the map in anticipation. “What’s afoot? Are you aiming to destabilize the already frail city-state? Or perhaps you’re thinking of reclaiming the renegade ship, the Sea Mist? Your plans are nothing short of—”

Duncan cut off the wooden first mate with a sidelong glance. “Is that really all your imagination can produce? Plots of thievery and subversion? Have you never considered more virtuous alternatives?”

Caught off guard, the wooden goat head took a moment to recalibrate its assumptions. “Might you be intending to help Frost stabilize its governance during this tumultuous period? Or perhaps you’re planning to steer Tyrian away from his rebellious tendencies and guide him back to a more righteous course?”

Duncan raised an eyebrow at the goat head. “Where did you get those ideas?”

“Captain, you may overlook it, but I do have some capacity for observation. During our time together, I’ve gained a deeper understanding of your character,” the goat head replied, its voice tinged with a curious mix of pride and comfort. Its obsidian eyes remained expressionless as it turned its wooden neck deliberately. “You’re not the type to simply ignore what’s happening in Frost. Unlike Pland, Frost is deeply wounded by the ongoing calamities. Neglecting it could trigger catastrophic repercussions, and you—”

The wooden goat head paused, its creaking neck momentarily still as it searched for the right words. Then, with a tone of unexpected sincerity, it spoke again: “And you, you’re a man whose heart is imbued with compassion.”

Duncan didn’t respond right away. He studied the goat head, its eyes as black as if crafted from voids that could absorb all light. After a protracted silence, he finally spoke, “You’re quite observant.”

For a moment, the goat head seemed to tighten, emitting a low creaking sound. “That sounds like something one might say just before… permanently silencing a witness.”

But Duncan just laughed, shaking his head dismissively. “You still haven’t quite figured me out, have you? I appreciate observant company. Saves me a great deal of trouble.”

With a casual wave, Duncan dismissed the goat head and stood up, directing his gaze to an ornate, antique round mirror positioned nearby.

As he looked into it, his eyes sparked with a soft glow, and the mirror’s surface transitioned into an abyss of darkness. Out of this play between light and shadow, the figure of Tyrian began to emerge, rushing into view.

“Good morning, Tyrian. I hope I’m not interrupting your rest,” Duncan said, his voice filled with a calm assurance as he studied the panting figure in the mirror. “Did you sleep well?”

Tyrian in the mirror appeared tense, taking several deep breaths to collect himself before offering a rigid smile. “Father, good morning. I was actually on my way to find you. Ah, yes, I slept well, thank you for asking.”

“Why so formal? There’s no need,” Duncan adjusted his posture, a playful smile spreading across his face. “Has my previous demeanor intimidated you?”

“No, not at all!” Tyrian abruptly straightened his posture, resembling a student caught off-guard by a teacher’s question. “I just have great respect for you, that’s all.”

“Ease up. No matter how I act, you don’t have to be so tense around me,” Duncan said, shaking his head. “Now, you mentioned you were coming to find me? What’s the matter?”

Tyrian hesitated as if he was gathering his thoughts and choosing his words carefully. “It’s about Frost. I’m not sure how best to articulate this, but it seems that they want to—”

Before Tyrian could complete his sentence, Duncan interrupted, “Let me guess, they’re offering you a significant role? A generalship? A high-ranking city position? Or have they simply offered you the governorship?”

Stunned, Tyrian looked up in amazement. “How did you know…?”

Duncan smiled, a touch of smug satisfaction in his expression. “It’s simple. I suggested that the Mist Fleet be granted entry into the city. Do you really think that an administration as chaotic as Frost’s could make a unified decision so quickly otherwise? You’re familiar with their bureaucratic labyrinth, aren’t you?”

The look on Tyrian’s face was one of bewilderment, tinged with a modicum of exasperation—as if he were internally debating whether his father was an enigmatic sage or an elaborate prankster. His eyes seemed to say, “I spent an entire sleepless night contemplating life and my future, only to find out my father has been pulling strings?” Opening and closing his mouth a few times, he refrained from voicing the irreverent thoughts that were swirling through his mind. Instead, he looked at Duncan with a face full of conflicting emotions. “Why would you do something like that?”

“It’s quite straightforward, Tyrian. Frost needs you, and you need Frost,” Duncan’s face transitioned from a playful smirk to a look of grave seriousness as he spoke. “From an internal standpoint, Frost is embroiled in chaos and could benefit greatly from a force strong enough to stabilize it. Externally, the Frost Navy has suffered significant losses, and the city-state is in dire need of formidable protection. Who else boasts both a strong track record in administration and command of a powerful fleet?”

Duncan leaned slightly forward, capturing Tyrian’s gaze with his own intense stare.

“I gather you’ve accepted their proposal, which aligns perfectly with what I’ve said: Frost needs you, and you have something to gain from it as well.”

Tyrian’s eyes momentarily avoided Duncan’s gaze. “After fifty years of piracy, a change of lifestyle doesn’t seem like a bad idea.”

“Be honest.”

Tyrian sighed. “You personally intervened to save Frost. I don’t want to see your efforts go to waste.”

“Be honest.”

“Fine. I admire the resilience of the people of Frost. They didn’t buckle under the weight of catastrophe. Even when you weren’t there, they held their own. I have to admit, I can’t bear the thought of them suffering more in the future.”

Duncan simply watched Tyrian, saying nothing.

Tyrian shrugged, “I also don’t want to see a land once under the protection of Queen Ray Nora descend into a long and irreversible period of darkness.”

Duncan still remained silent.

Finally, Tyrian sighed, a note of resignation in his voice. “That’s it.”

“That’s good. Honesty is especially valuable when you’re in front of me,” Duncan said, resuming his earlier, more relaxed posture. “So, what’s your current situation?”

“They’ve offered me the governorship,” Tyrian admitted, his smile tinged with a mix of emotions. “They’ve even drafted a slew of contingency plans for me.”

Duncan paused for a moment, deep in thought. Eventually, he exhaled softly, “That’s a bit bolder than I had anticipated.”

Tyrian looked at him expectantly, “Do you have any advice for me?”

“Why would you need my advice?” Duncan chuckled. “You’ve followed the Frost Queen and commanded the Mist Fleet for half a century, interacting with every city-state in these treacherous waters. I hardly think I can instruct you on ‘how to be a governor.'”

“I’d still like to hear your thoughts,” Tyrian insisted.

Duncan took a moment before speaking softly, “Just do your best. In a world as unforgiving as ours, there’s very little else for people to fall back on.”

“I understand,” Tyrian nodded.

“Hmm,” Duncan acknowledged before suddenly shifting his attention to the sea map beside him. “There’s also one more thing.”

Tyrian immediately sat up, attentive. “What would you have me do?”

Duncan’s eyes lingered on the map, where the phantom image of the White Oak was becoming increasingly visible, its position almost overlapping with that of the Sea Mist.

He turned back to Tyrian and flashed a quick smile. “Brace yourself.”

Tyrian looked puzzled. “What?”

With a casual wave of his hand, Duncan extinguished the ethereal fire in the mirror. As the mirror’s luminosity dimmed, Tyrian’s voice reverberated from its other side, sounding both bewildered and anxious. “Wait, what’s happening?!”