A young girl, barely surpassing the age of eleven or twelve, was stationed by the door. She was petite in stature and enveloped in a comforting white coat. Atop her head rested a woolen hat, from which a faint wisp of steam gently rose, suggestive of her brisk journey. The hastiness of her trip was evident in her heavy breaths, still evident as she laid eyes on Morris. Her initially panting expression swiftly transitioned into a radiant smile.
“Are you Grandpa Morris?” she inquired. “My mom requested me to deliver this to you.” With this, she stretched out her tiny hand, revealing a key. “This is the key to the basement. Mom confessed that she inadvertently omitted to hand it over when she departed.”
“Oh, thank you, young lady,” Morris replied appreciatively, receiving the key with a nod of his head. “Would you care to come inside to get warm?”
Just as the girl was poised to respond, a familiar voice resonated from behind Morris. It was imbued with a touch of surprise, “Annie?”
Peering over the old scholar’s shoulder, Duncan observed the little girl standing on the doorstep, his face reflecting astonishment.
The girl was Annie Babelli, the offspring of Captain Christo Babelli of the Obsidian. Duncan had encountered her previously at the cemetery gate.
With a jolt of realization, Duncan grasped the unfolding situation. Whether it was a simple coincidence or a testament to the ‘compactness’ of their city-state, Duncan had once again crossed paths with the Obsidian captain’s daughter. The dwelling that Morris and Vanna had hastily procured within a single day happened to be the abode of Annie.
Upon identifying the towering figure that suddenly materialized before her, Annie’s eyes instantly widened in shock.
The unexpected turn of events left the young girl somewhat disoriented. It took a few seconds for her to overcome her initial hesitation and awkwardly acknowledge his presence, “Ah, it’s the uncle from the cemetery gate… hello?”
Her final greeting was steeped in hesitation as her mind recalled the events that transpired at the cemetery gate. The memory of flames soaring skywards as Duncan made his exit was particularly vivid. Although she hadn’t attached much significance to it at that point, the episode had undeniably left a lasting impression on the young girl’s psyche.
Despite her tender age, Annie was aware that these events were the work of supernatural powers. This knowledge was deeply ingrained in the curricula of all city-states and disseminated among all citizens. Basic comprehension and protective techniques against supernatural forces constituted the fundamental survival skills for ordinary people in their world.
However, the precise nature of the power remained elusive to Annie. It wasn’t discussed in her textbooks, the cemetery caretaker hadn’t elaborated on it, and her mother hadn’t furnished any details when she relayed the story upon her return home.
The situation seemed shrouded in a mystery, typically concealed from the comprehension of children.
Annie found herself transfixed by Duncan, standing opposite her, her mind slightly muddled. The caretaker’s earlier caution echoed in her ears, prompting a sense of unease. The towering figure suddenly stepped aside, his voice carrying a peculiar mix of firmness and softness, “Please come in and take a break. It appears the snow has begun to fall once more.”
It was only then that Annie turned around to observe the renewed flurry of snowflakes descending from the heavens. A few adventurous flakes found their way onto her neck, carried by the chilly breeze, inducing a shudder.
Under the spell of the moment, she meekly stepped inside, her gaze darting around the unfamiliar surroundings.
A strikingly beautiful blonde woman, possessing an air of nobility, stood in the living room next to the dining table, casting curious glances in her direction.
She had removed her veil to reveal an enchanting visage — arguably the most beautiful face Annie had ever beheld.
“My mom asked me not to trouble the tenants unnecessarily,” Annie stated tentatively, meticulously wiping the slush and grime off her petite boots onto the doormat. “She told me that Grandpa Morris is a distinguished scholar, and it would be discourteous to bother him unnecessarily…”
“You’re not causing any disturbance. We were merely acquainting ourselves with our new surroundings,” Morris interjected, having pieced together the situation by now. “Moreover, with the snowfall outside, it wouldn’t be safe for you to venture back via the narrow path. Why don’t you take a break here? Vanna will accompany you home later.”
Annie craned her neck to glance up at the towering figure of Vanna and nodded almost reflexively.
She then turned her attention to Duncan, and after a moment’s hesitation, she finally voiced her question, “So… do you also need a house to live in?”
“Certainly, I too reside in a house,” Duncan responded with a chuckle, leading Annie to the plush comfort of the living room sofa. In a conversational tone, he continued, “Aren’t you worried about wandering around alone like this? Doesn’t it concern your mother?”
From Duncan’s perspective, Annie was taking undue risks — her solo excursion to the cemetery early in the morning and her navigation through adverse weather conditions to deliver keys to unfamiliar new tenants seemed incredibly audacious and worrisome.
“No worries. Everybody around here is familiar with me. My mom always says that half the people residing in these two streets are friends of my dad,” Annie responded nonchalantly. Perched on the sofa, she swayed back and forth, her hands providing support to her thighs. “Also, mom tends to be quite occupied. She handles accounting and paperwork for others, and sometimes she assists at the local chapel. I’m accustomed to my independent adventures.”
After contemplating for a moment, Duncan queried, “So… did you share with your mom what I told you when you returned home?”
“I did tell her,” Annie confirmed with a nod, her expression morphing into a peculiar one. “Initially, she dismissed it as childish rambling. But when I recited the words of the cemetery caretaker, she secluded herself in her room… When she reappeared, there were signs that she had been weeping… Yet, she managed to put on a brave smile and told me we were having fried fish and sausage stew for dinner as it was a day worthy of celebration.”
Annie ceased her rhythmic swaying, her face clouded with confusion. Looking up at Duncan, she voiced her puzzlement with an air of curiosity and uncertainty, “I don’t… quite comprehend.”
“That’s alright, you will come to understand with time,” Duncan reassured her with a smile. “Some things may be too intricate for you to grasp at this stage.”
“Uncle, you sound a lot like the caretaker. He tends to say things like that too,” Annie commented, shaking her head in thoughtful contemplation before raising her gaze once more. “Uncle, do you… prefer not to be disturbed?”
Duncan, intrigued, inquired, “What makes you say that?”
“Based on the way you dress and the way you vanished after leaving… My mom mentioned that the elusive members of the cathedral or reclusive folks in societies… behave in such a manner. I believe ‘behave’ is the term she used.”
Duncan found himself at a loss for words in response to Annie’s insights, but she did not wait for an answer. After mulling it over briefly, Annie abruptly announced, “I won’t tell a soul. The caretaker issued the same warning to me. He advised me to pretend I’ve never seen you and refrain from discussing it with anyone, except my mom.”
Duncan couldn’t help but break into a smile. Before he could utter a word, Annie hastily added, “May I share it with Grandpa Caretaker, though? Inform him… that you’re residing in our house?”
Upon hearing Annie’s words, Morris and Vanna, who had drawn closer to the sofa to partake in the lively conversation, exchanged knowing looks. Simultaneously, Alice turned to look at Duncan.
They all sensed a certain strangeness surrounding the situation.
However, Duncan only exhibited a moment’s hesitation before nodding in agreement, gracing her with a warm smile, “It’s alright, I have no objections.”
…
Concurrently, in the vicinity of the eastern port, the task of collecting samples from the wreckage of the “Seagull” had commenced.
A fleet of light speedboats launched from the dock, cautiously navigating towards the area where remnants of the polluted “mud” and residual flames lingered on the water surface. Each speedboat was outfitted with a priest, holy artifacts, and nitroglycerin explosives for emergency situations.
Along the shoreline, the port’s garrison had mobilized in preparation for the salvage operation.
An unoccupied warehouse was selected as a provisional storage facility. Priests and guardians, who had promptly arrived from the Silent Cathedral, had completed the sanctification and preventive measures across the entire area. In addition, Gatekeeper Agatha had left behind a squad of elite followers to handle any unforeseen incidents during the wreckage sample collection process.
Standing at the edge of the dock, Lister kept a watchful eye over the salvage operation unfolding on the water, while his reliable aides kept tabs on the progression of the recovery work.
“Is it truly safe to bring those entities ashore?” asked one of the followers with a hint of anxiety in his voice, “Of course, I’m not challenging Gatekeeper Agatha’s discretion, but those things… Just a few hours ago, they were hurtling towards Frost at a terrifying speed. Are they truly dead now?”
“Miss Agatha has repeatedly confirmed via spiritual consultations that these entities no longer display any signs of activity,” Lister clarified with a composed demeanor. “They can indeed be ‘neutralized’. Judging from Agatha’s approach and action plan, I’m inclined to believe that the main church might have even confronted similar occurrences in the past.”
“Similar instances? They’ve already infiltrated the city-states?” a junior officer questioned, taken aback. “I haven’t heard anything of the sort…”
“If you haven’t been informed, it implies that the information isn’t deemed fit for public disclosure, at least for the time being. The Church and City Hall exercise their own judgment,” Lister dismissed with a shake of his head. “In any event, Agatha is dependable. She wouldn’t jeopardize the city’s safety. Our duty is to trust the expert’s judgment. Priests are far more adept at handling these peculiar occurrences than soldiers.”
The follower held his tongue, but at that precise moment, the sound of hurried footsteps disrupted the calm. A soldier was seen racing towards the dock.
“Commander!” The soldier, panting, approached Lister, saluted, and handed over a document that had been expedited via a high-pressure air pipeline. “Orders from City Hall.”
“It seems the formal order to impose a blockade on Dagger Island has arrived,” Lister announced, accepting the document. However, as he skimmed through the contents, his expression altered dramatically.
One of the followers picked up on this and queried, “Commander? What seems to be the issue?”
“It’s an order to enforce a blockade on the shipping lanes, but it’s not limited to Dagger Island,” Lister relayed, his voice heavy with seriousness. “To be precise, it’s not restricted to Dagger Island – the order calls for the blockade of all shipping lanes leading into and out of Frost and mandates all garrisons to adopt a state of high alert.”
“A blockade… encompassing the entire Frost waters?!”
“The Mist Fleet has surfaced in the nearby waters,” Lister stated with a weary sigh, his face a shade darker than the gloomy sky overhead. “The entire Mist Fleet.”
