Deep Sea Embers Chapter 423: Moving Forward

Deep beneath the protective walls of the city-state, hidden in the mysterious and pitch-black depths of the ocean, a powerful ancient god reached out into our world. Its otherworldly tentacles penetrated the reality we knew, growing stronger with each day as it remained cloaked in an impenetrable darkness.

Though its presence was undeniable, merely understanding or comprehending it was challenging. The grotesque appearance of its tentacles was terrifying enough, but the true mystery lay in its intentions. These tentacles reached far beyond the depths, piercing through the very foundations of the city-state and into the heart of its rich metallic mines.

“Ms. Gatekeeper,” Winston began, his voice heavy with emotion, “we are entirely at its mercy. We stand on ground that was once solid rock, but this deity has turned them into extensions of its own eerie body. Even separated by over a kilometer of stone and water from where it began, this part of it beats in time with the main body. Each beat draws a mirror image of our city-state nearer to our world. Can you feel it? The pulsing, the contorting flesh, the whispering… This place is alive.”

With deep reverence, Winston gestured around him. His hands moved slowly, attempting to trace the limitless void and the web-like extensions that interwove in the surrounding shadows. Glimmers of light danced around them like ghostly fireflies. As time went on, Agatha could hear it too, the soft beat… thump, thump…

This peculiar chamber, deep inside the metallic mine and of unknown size, had the rhythm of a living heart.

Agatha’s own heartbeat began to match this mysterious rhythm until a sudden warmth snapped her back to herself. Her face hardened, and she locked eyes with Winston.

“You’ve been affected, Governor Winston. This place has taken hold of you.”

Winston shrugged, a hint of sadness in his eyes. “Maybe you’re right. At first, I believed I could calm this ancient god, just as the queen did. Then, I hoped to at least slow it down. In the end, I just wanted to keep my sanity. Have I already lost that battle without realizing?”

“You mean to say that the Frost Queen tamed this ancient power fifty years ago?” Agatha said, grasping the implications of Winston’s words. “Did she manage to put this Nether Lord to sleep?”

Winston chuckled softly, amusement tinting his voice. “Have you ever pondered the true reason behind the catastrophic cliff collapse decades ago?” he asked, hints of deeper meaning in his tone.

Agatha’s eyes widened in realization. After a moment, her voice trembled as she said, “You mean the calamity right after the queen’s execution? When the very earth beneath the execution site tore open, and the sea engulfed everything? Are you implying that this wasn’t just a random act of nature?”

Winston’s face remained eerily calm as he nodded. “Precisely. The collapse was orchestrated. The queen, and those who betrayed her during the early stages of the rebellion, were the unsuspecting victims,” he elaborated. “Tragically, many of the rebels who led the charge against her and those present for the execution were also consumed in the devastation. We kept the true narrative of the event hidden, only a select few aware of what actually transpired. While thousands perished, a significant number of civilians miraculously escaped the devastation. Even if they were inches from safety, the sea showed no mercy for those overtaken by the tidal waves, sealing their fate instantly.”

He paused, choosing his words carefully, “Following that catastrophe, the bizarre growth within the metal ore mine stopped advancing. The first governor then realized this was all part of Ray Nora’s grand design. The chilling truth was passed on to him through a key the queen had left behind. Just as she predicted, the responsibility now rests on our shoulders.”

Absorbing the revelation, Agatha took a moment to process. Her eyes shimmered with a mix of shock, anger, and sadness. “So, you aim to replicate the sacrificial act from that bygone age…”

Expanding on his narrative, Winston said, “The entity is stirring. The knowledge in the key indicates we must connect with its consciousness to prevent another calamity. Five decades ago, its force was dormant beneath the ocean, leading the queen to offer herself to the watery depths. Now, with its energy permeating our city, this location is ideal for establishing a connection. This strategy was the queen’s legacy inscribed in the key. Every governor since, upon receiving the key, has been burdened with this mission, preparing for the inevitable throughout their tenure. I’ve set the stage for this crucial juncture. However, one detail eluded my expectations…”

Winston’s lips twisted, though the gesture held no joy.

“Not everyone possesses the same resilience as Ray Nora.”

Upon Winston’s concluding words, Agatha seemed lost in thought, her gaze cast downward, fixated on the ornate brass key she held tenderly in her grasp.

This key was a testament to the Frost Queen’s unparalleled power. The monarch had somehow managed to infuse it with both the vast “knowledge” she had discovered and a shard of her very “consciousness.”

In Agatha’s heart, the key had always represented more than its apparent worth. She felt an intuition, one she couldn’t quite articulate, that it was not merely an anchor tying successive Frost rulers to an age-old duty.

Governor Winston’s explanations, while illuminating, couldn’t sate her burgeoning curiosity, leaving Agatha in a labyrinth of uncertainty.

The true essence of this enigmatic domain gradually unfolded before her. She discerned that crossing the stone barrier had not transported her into an alternate physical locale. Instead, she found herself seamlessly woven into an immense nexus of otherworldly, deviant matter.

Winston’s path seemed to lead inexorably towards his demise. In contrast, Agatha’s fate felt intertwined with this strange matter, beckoning her to merge with it.The most uptodat𝓮 n𝒐vels are published on n0velbj)n((.))co/m

Studying her hand, she observed her skin, especially where it touched the key, undergoing a transformation. It softened and began to ripple unnaturally. A dark, tar-like substance began to ooze from her pores, enveloping the brass key in its embrace.

Despite the unsettling metamorphosis, a magnetic pull from the surroundings lured her further into its depths.

“Is there perhaps an alternative course we might embark upon?” Agatha inquired, her gaze piercing into Winston. “Or have you resigned yourself to a predestined end?”

“Death has already taken a seat at our table, Ms. Gatekeeper. We’re but reminiscing over past struggles as the curtain descends,” Winston lamented. “There’s nothing left to be done. Like me, perhaps it’s best you yield to the impending tranquility.”

“You’ve fulfilled your role, having borne the mantle of Frost’s governorship and valiantly confronting this supposed ‘curse’,” Agatha asserted, her tone imbued with respect. “Inaction doesn’t equate to failure.”

Winston gave a rueful smile, shrugging, “In our world, impotence is an unforgivable flaw.”

“I’m drawn to forge ahead, to wade through this ‘maze’ and seek its culmination,” Agatha proclaimed, determination evident in her eyes. “Will you accompany me?”

Winston murmured a hint of weariness creeping into his voice, “That ambition holds no allure for me now, Ms. Gatekeeper. Should you wish to venture on, proceed. I choose to remain, for my journey is at its end.”

Taking in Winston’s somber presence, Agatha observed him closely before extending the ornate brass key in his direction. “Governor Winston, this rightfully belongs to you.”

Winston hesitated, his gaze lifting to lock onto Agatha’s unwavering eyes. “Keep it,” he responded gently. “Once it’s been entrusted to you, it becomes your possession. This ceremonial handover has been the age-old practice.”

After a brief moment of consideration, Agatha tucked the key securely against her person.

“Very well,” she declared, her voice filled with determination. “I shall embark on this odyssey alone.”

After bidding a silent farewell to Winston, Agatha pivoted, planted her staff firmly on the ground, and set out towards the sprawling, mysterious abyss that lay ahead.

However, Winston’s voice, tinged with melancholy, halted her progress. “Lady Agatha, do you genuinely believe there’s merit in your quest?”

Pausing, she turned slightly to address him, “Why question me now?”

“Assuming you manage to decipher the puzzles that await, and even if you journey through this dense maze to reach the ancient entity’s lair, what can you truly alter? You lack the capability to prevent the unfolding events or even convey these discoveries to the external realm. Without a means to disseminate your findings, they remain inconsequential.”

Agatha stopped dead in her tracks. A lengthy silence ensued as she reflected on Winston’s words. She finally spoke, her tone gentle yet unwavering: “As the Gatekeeper of Frost, I’m duty-bound. And…”

She paused, her fingers instinctively clutching the brass key, pressing it close to her chest.

An icy sensation surrounded her. The chilling sensation of her blood crystallizing within her veins intensified, yet paradoxically, she felt an innate warmth radiating from her heart. This ethereal warmth, akin to an unseen ember, bolstered her determination.

Images and emotions, alien yet familiar, swirled within her psyche. Amongst these cascading thoughts, one sentiment shone bright—a profound yearning. The culmination of this longing was seemingly nestled beyond the thicket at the grand “destination” she ardently pursued.

“It isn’t in vain. I’m convinced that I’m not journeying in isolation, and while I lack concrete proof, I staunchly believe that my discoveries here will eventually resonate with a discerning soul beyond.”

Winston’s voice carried a note of respect, “Such conviction is indeed admirable. Lady Agatha, your steadfast dedication to your principles, even in the face of adversity, is truly commendable.”

His voice slowly faded away, leaving an echoing void in its wake.

Upon turning around, Agatha’s eyes fell upon a dimly lit lantern, its glow illuminating a desiccated “stump.” Propped against it was a middle-aged figure donned in a regal blue coat.

A grisly bullet wound marred his forehead, bearing witness to his untimely end. And clasped in his limp hand was an ornate revolver, an undeniable instrument of his tragic fate.