Deep Sea Embers

Chapter 705: The Eerie Atmosphere of the Border

Chapter 705: The Eerie Atmosphere of the Border

As the sinister shadows cast by entities from the spirit world quickly retreated, the ominously dark sea gradually returned to its natural, vibrant shade of blue. The ship was now enveloped in the real world’s daylight, while a delicate mist, seemingly alive, drifted around, blanketing the entire oceanic expanse.

Driven by curiosity and a sense of adventure, Nina dashed from her room to the deck. There, she immediately spotted an unusual and massive ship not too far from the Vanished. It was almost completely wrecked, with eerie green flames engulfing it, a testament to a catastrophic explosion it had endured. Despite its severe damage and being driven solely by the ghostly flames, it continued forward at a slowing pace. Its path was directed toward a “border” that, until today, Nina had only read about in dusty old textbooks.

This border was nothing short of majestic—a towering wall of thick fog that stretched from the lofty skies down to the depths of the sea. It resembled an ethereal waterfall of clouds cascading from the heavens, creating a fine mist that shrouded the entire ocean. In its formidable presence, all else seemed trivial and insignificant. Even Nina, who had become accustomed to the supernatural during her time aboard the Vanished, instinctively widened her eyes in awe before exclaiming a lengthy, impressed: “Wow—”

Just then, Shirley burst onto the scene, rushing to the ship’s railing to join Nina in her amazement. As she peered into the distance, she too couldn’t contain her astonishment and echoed Nina’s sentiment: “Wow~”

Her exclamation was abruptly interrupted by Dog’s voice emanating from the shadows: “That’s precisely why I always encourage you to read more. If you possessed a richer vocabulary, you wouldn’t be confined to just ‘wow’ upon encountering such a splendid spectacle as this border…”

Shirley shot back a glare, her voice tinged with defiance: “Nina expressed her amazement with ‘wow’ too! Why don’t you criticize her?”

Dog, materializing from the shadows with a dismissive shake of his head, replied: “Nina’s ‘wow’ stems from her belief that the word perfectly captures this moment. Your ‘wow’ is merely a reflection of your limited vocabulary. There’s a distinct difference between the two of you…”

Hearing this, Shirley’s cheeks puffed up with indignation as she retorted, “I… I know plenty of words! It’s just that the captain and Old Morris always restrict what I can say! If I were given the freedom to speak my mind, I…”

However, her protest fell on deaf ears. With his fierce yet wise appearance, Dog had already shifted his attention to the more pressing matter of the border. He prowled cautiously, his senses attuned to the surrounding environment, alert to the presence of auras emanating from other dimensions. After a brief pause, he muttered to himself with a hint of concern: “…This region is far from the safety of known waters… Unstable energies are rampant here, and even though we’re anchored in the real world, I can still detect the faint, unsettling scent of the spirit realm…”

As Lucretia’s voice emerged, accompanied by a whimsical dance of colorful paper scraps in the air, she began to unveil the ominous nature of their surroundings. “This is the border, merely the most superficial layer of its countless strange and perilous characteristics,” she declared. “Here, the very fabric of ‘reality’ starts to fray, and things that lurk dormant in safer waters awaken with a vengeance. Machinery is prone to possession, books become magnets for increasingly malevolent entities, various objects on the ship might inexplicably spring to life, and sometimes, particularly when we unwittingly intersect with unseen ‘fields,’ these hazards can intensify exponentially.”

She drifted to the deck’s edge, her eyes locked on the distant, swirling fog, and continued in a voice laced with introspection and a hint of nostalgia. “That’s precisely why almost no rational explorer ventures to the border to ‘test their luck.’ Here, one doesn’t find glory or riches, just a chilling, odd environment, and a fate filled with peril and horror. The handful of ‘lunatics’ who dare to tread here have devised their own bizarre ‘operating rules’ for survival, such as prohibiting any idols or paintings with human features aboard, refraining from raising one’s voice in the fog, avoiding prolonged stares into mirrors, and so forth…”

As Lucretia, known as the “Sea Witch,” recounted the ominous and spine-chilling realities of the border, Shirley’s eyes widened in growing terror, and she couldn’t suppress a shudder. “I… holy shit… that sounds terrifying…”

“Yes, it is profoundly terrifying. Typically, novices to border exploration like you should steer clear of this region—but you needn’t worry, for this is the Vanished, and you are part of the Vanished Fleet,” Lucretia responded, her voice steady and calm as her gaze lingered on the sea.

“My father and this ship… they’ve changed beyond my childhood memories. If it’s the Vanished of today, I’m confident that even if something ‘really’ manages to sneak aboard and opens your door, it would courteously apologize and shut the door upon its departure…”

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No sooner had she finished her sentence than a voice emerged from beside her: “Generally speaking, they don’t even get the opportunity to shut the door and apologize.”

Lucretia turned to find Duncan, who had silently made his way onto the deck without her noticing.

“”

“We’ve just intercepted a psychic dispatch from Vanna. The Storm Church’s vessel, known as the ‘Tide,’ has reached the nearby waters and is expected to make its presence known shortly. Additionally, the Death Church’s formidable battleships are in the vicinity, deploying smaller scout boats to ascertain the maritime conditions around us,” he reported with a certain gravity in his tone.

Lucretia nodded thoughtfully, her eyes reflecting a mix of concern and determination. “That’s good to know. We need to fully understand the situation here—in that regard, the church fleet that patrols the border year-round certainly has more expertise than we do.”

Duncan hummed in agreement, his words few but his resolve clear. He began maneuvering the Vanished slowly towards the designated “guide ship,” while the Bright Star, having emerged from its spectral state, followed at a relaxed pace, a silent escort in the eerie waters.

Ten minutes had passed when the Vanished and Bright Star drew near the wrecked vessel, proceeding with a deliberate, unhurried cruise. As they approached the enigmatic “curtain,” the sea mist seemed to thicken, swirling around them like ghostly veils in a spectral dance. Even the green flames that typically kept the fog at bay from the Vanished were struggling to pierce through this denser shroud.

Upon Duncan’s command, the trio of ships halted their advance as the fog grew increasingly impenetrable.

“Let’s hold our position until we’ve fully regrouped and then proceed,” Duncan instructed from the Vanished’s bow deck, his gaze piercing through the fog-blanketed sea. “First, let’s illuminate our surroundings.”

With a purposeful gesture towards the “guide ship” leading them, he snapped his fingers. In response, the green flames engulfing the large ship surged with newfound vigor. The spectral fire ballooned and soared, erupting into a luminous display powerful enough to slice through the enveloping fog!

In an instant, a makeshift “lighthouse” of ghost flames stood defiantly in the misty border seas, casting a fierce glow that began to thin the obscuring mist around the ships, reclaiming visibility from the clutches of the fog.

As the ships basked in this newfound light, Vanna and Morris emerged on deck, drawn by the spectacle. Morris, ever the curious one, peered over the side, observing how the sea’s color appeared even more profound within the dense fog. The dark blue waters, usually lively with the ocean’s pulse, now seemed eerily calm, with only gentle, sluggish ripples disturbing its surface. The water moved so slowly, so thickly, it resembled a vast expanse of detailed, viscous grease.

Vanna, her brow furrowed in concern, watched the suspiciously still sea. After a moment of contemplation, she retrieved a small wooden amulet—a talisman carved from the rare sea-breath wood—from around her neck and cast it into the peculiar waters below.

The talisman, embodying the faith and protective essence of the storm deity, performed a peculiar dance upon touching the sea’s surface. It bounced as if it had struck a solid barrier, remarkably not causing a single ripple nor sinking into the depths below. Instead, it lay motionless atop the slow-moving, gelatinous sea for several moments before it began to absorb the deep blue hue of the surrounding waters, silently dissolving into the sea as if it were part of it all along.

Vanna watched this unforeseen event with a mix of surprise and intrigue. Yet, despite the strange behavior of the sea and the amulet, the familiar, soothing sound of waves lapped at her ears, a comforting constant in this eerie place.

Oddly enough, it seemed that the blessing of the Storm Goddess Gomona, was not only unimpeded by these abnormal conditions but perhaps was even invoked a touch more swiftly than usual in this unusual sea.

As she pondered this, Vanna’s attention was abruptly drawn to the distant, fog-laden sea. In sync with her gaze shifting, a long, clear steam whistle pierced the quiet of the border waters, signaling a change. A faint light began to pierce the dense fog, and behind this beacon, the vague outline of a massive ship started to emerge from the mist.

The ambient sound of gentle waves grew slightly more pronounced, and through this psychic resonance, Vanna received confirmation from her fellow church members. Simultaneously, the emerging behemoth and its accompanying smaller vessels began to decelerate at a measured distance, each ship materializing from the fog like specters at dawn.

Through the meandering fog, the newly arrived ships, along with the Vanished and Bright Star already present, commenced a ritual of mutual recognition—a critical and ongoing procedure in the enigmatic border seas.

This continuous verification of identity was essential because, in the dense, disorienting fog of the border, one could never be too sure if the figure beside you remained the same entity from one moment to the next.

“It’s the Storm Church’s ‘Tide’ and its accompanying fleet,” Vanna quietly informed Duncan, who stood contemplatively at the helm, “Confirmation has been made through psychic resonance.”

Duncan gave a firm nod in acknowledgment: “Good, permit them to draw nearer. Let them come into the area illuminated by our flames.”