Agatha gingerly held the dispatch – a seemingly unremarkable piece of parchment slipped inside an envelope made by a local paper mill, inscribed upon with everyday ink. However, the origin of this parcel was far from ordinary, having made its journey from Cemetery No. 3. If it weren’t for her faith in the old guard’s inability to toy with her in such a way, Agatha would have questioned whether this missive had actually been transmitted to her by an entity of a higher supernatural order, one that defied human comprehension.
She could not detect any spiritual energy radiating from the letter, but after conducting several basic investigative procedures, she verified its otherworldly provenance.
A subtle crinkling of fabric resonated from the shadowy recesses of the hefty coffin, and the lid began to creak open, unveiling a distinct, haunting aroma. An entity swathed in bandages, resembling an ancient mummy, gradually arose from the coffin’s depths.
This spectral figure was none other than Ivan, the Bishop of Frost. Decades prior, a catastrophic event had disfigured his physical body, yet the potent magic of Bartok enabled his spirit to persist. The majority of his existence was spent in the seclusion of the meditation hall’s “soul coffin,” only making appearances in public during significant religious ceremonies. Despite his limited exposure, he remained the most admired and trusted bishop in Frost’s history.
His deep understanding and significant contributions to the metaphysical field were unquestionable.
He ascended from his coffin and accepted the “dispatch” from Agatha’s outstretched hand. His single visible eye, left uncovered by the swathes of bandages, scrutinized the parchment with an intense gaze. He fell into a lengthy silence, causing an eerie quietness to permeate the room.
“You…” Agatha stammered, attempting to puncture the oppressive silence.
“Grant me a moment,” the venerable and well-versed bishop requested, his voice muffled and distant.
Agatha’s impatience eventually took the better of her, and she asked again, “Are you feeling better now?”
“Are you certain this is the source?” Bishop Ivan inquired without answering the question, his gaze finally lifting from the letter to meet Agatha’s, a hint of bewilderment clouding his yellow-tinted eyes. “Did you…”
Agatha, well aware of Ivan’s concern, responded promptly. “It seems extraordinarily mundane, yet when I sought to interpret the inscriptions on the parchment through my spiritual lens, I experienced a 15-minute memory lapse.” She nodded solemnly, continuing, “It’s shrouded in an overwhelming energy, beyond the comprehension of mere mortals. Its simplicity could merely be an eccentricity of the entity that has sent it.”
Upon processing Agatha’s words, Bishop Ivan fell silent once more, appearing to still be gathering his strength. After a prolonged pause, he spoke in hushed tones, “The revelations contained within this letter… are deeply disconcerting. You’ve already encountered the ‘Seagull,’ and if the claims made in the dispatch are accurate, this is just the tip of the iceberg. The uncontrollable events on Dagger Island signify just the commencement… Whether it be the cultists embedded in our city, the contamination resulting from the raw essence, the return of the ‘Seagull,’ or the irregularities on Dagger Island, every sign seems to be directing us towards the dark depths of the sea, alluding to the Abyss Project that was initiated half a century ago.”
“I’ve dispatched an alert to City Hall and have requested to access the classified archives sealed away for the past fifty years. Later today, I also plan on examining the church’s historical records. Moreover, I’ve delegated additional resources to intensify the citywide search and apprehend any lurking cult members,” Agatha declared, her words filled with determination. “However, this is not sufficient. It is imperative that we ascertain the current situation on Dagger Island. The major source of contamination appears to emanate from there.”
Bishop Ivan contemplated for a moment before letting out a soft sigh. “If all the signs indeed lead back to the Abyss Project… then the recent emergence of the Mist Fleet in the vicinity of Frost seems less of a mystery.”
Agatha furrowed her brow in consternation, “Could all these occurrences be part of the Frost Queen’s grand scheme from the past? Could it be due to a directive she left behind for that ‘Iron Admiral’ that has caused the Mist Fleet to surface now?”
“I cannot say with certainty,” Bishop Ivan shook his head, then, with a sudden intensity, turned to look at Agatha. “In your perspective, Agatha, who was the Frost Queen?”
Caught off-guard by the question, Agatha paused to gather her thoughts before responding, “A once great sovereign who, after a short-lived yet glorious reign, was tainted by the abyssal powers of the deep sea and transformed into a perilous ‘mad queen.’ Her obstinacy led the erstwhile Frostbite Kingdom into forming ties with the monstrosities lurking in the ocean depths. Even after fifty years, her terrifying plan necessitates being sealed away, hidden from the eyes of the common folk. Her life was a blend of tragedy and danger.”
Bishop Ivan nodded at her analysis, “A conventional response. As a member of the younger generation privy to some classified information from that era, your summary is fairly accurate.” He then steered the conversation in a new direction, “However, you haven’t truly lived through it.”
Agatha didn’t respond, choosing to remain silent, her gaze fixed on the bishop before her.
“I, on the other hand, have. I was merely twenty-six, serving as an ordinary bishop at a humble chapel in the dock area, you see? That quaint church was situated right next to the Abyss Project testing grounds. I even conducted blessing ceremonies for some of the soldiers and officers. I later discovered that these individuals sought blessings as they were designated to operate the ‘submersibles.'”
As Bishop Ivan narrated his past, his voice took on a nostalgic tone, resembling a small stream flowing from the river of forgotten memories. With each word, he slowly unveiled long-concealed, untold tales hidden beneath his layers of bandages.
“After the rebels infiltrated the palace, most of the information related to the Abyss Project was classified. The ensuing chaos, triggered by the cliff’s collapse at the execution site, resulted in further destruction of valuable records. Thus, even you, a ‘gatekeeper’ with privileged access, are only privy to the very tip of the iceberg of information. What if I were to reveal to you that on the eve of the city guard rebellion, the Frost Queen had visited that small church and requested me to conduct a soul-sending ceremony for her… what would your thoughts be?”
Agatha’s eyes grew wide in astonishment.
“She was labeled the ‘Mad Queen,’ and truly, her actions in her final months could only be described as ‘insanity.’ She stubbornly drove forward with the project despite it hurtling towards disaster, with individuals disappearing, losing their lives, or succumbing to madness daily. She shut the doors of the palace, incarcerated the remaining ministers who dared offer counsel, commanded the gendarmes to seal off the port, and detained anyone attempting to escape the Frostbite Kingdom… With such actions, it was inevitable that the rebels would revolt, and her fate as a queen was bound to be a tragic one… However, despite all of this, I cannot believe that she ‘went mad’… On the contrary, she seemed incredibly lucid, and even…”
Bishop Ivan abruptly halted as if the effort of dredging up these ancient memories was overwhelming, or perhaps he was struggling to find the right phrasing to express the oddity he had perceived all those years ago. After a moment, he resumed, “Even amid the chaos, it was as if she was the only one in the city who truly remained awake.”
Intrigued, Agatha instinctively leaned closer, “Why do you say that?”
“She entered the church devoid of any entourage, her gaze lucid, as if she had already accepted her impending fate. She approached the statue of Bartok on her own, lit the incense herself, and then gently patted my shoulder – much like this.”
Bishop Ivan raised his arm, seemingly recreating the encounter from half a century prior.
“She patted me and said, ‘Wake up, you’re the only one in this city who is truly awake with your eyes wide open. Assist me with something, I’m on the brink of death.'”
Agatha felt her breath hitch suddenly as if caught in a bout of sleep apnea. In the following moment, she instinctively reached up to touch her forehead, feeling her heart thudding violently within her chest. Struggling to digest the revelation, she voiced the confusion foremost in her mind after a few moments of stunned silence, “What did she imply by saying you were the only one with your eyes open?”
“I haven’t completely unraveled that mystery,” Bishop Ivan confessed with a sigh, his voice muffled by his bandages, “She told me to awaken, but I was already awake. After that, she offered no explanation and merely instructed me to follow her commands… She lay on the mortuary slab, as still as a corpse, and then… I performed the rites typically reserved for the deceased.”
“But how can a living person undergo a funeral rite?” Agatha gaped in disbelief, “Did you actually follow through with the ritual?”
“Certainly, a living person cannot participate in a funeral rite. I simply conducted the entire procedure as she commanded, and naturally, nothing transpired when the ritual was completed,” Bishop Ivan shook his head, “I assumed the ritual was meaningless, but it appeared that the Frost Queen had accomplished her objective. She departed without further ado, leaving behind a final directive before she exited…”
“One final directive?”
“She instructed me to remain silent about the events of that night, stating that the rebels would surely take my life if they discovered the truth. As she delivered this warning, exactly twenty-four hours remained until the first city guard launched their attack on the armory.”
Agatha lapsed into silence, and after a lengthy period of contemplation, she finally murmured, “You never shared any of this with me…”
“I never disclosed this to anyone,” Bishop Ivan said with an air of tranquility, “At the time, I was merely a humble bishop.”
“But subsequently, you rose to the rank of city bishop, and no one could hold you accountable for your actions during that era. This secret…”
“I had resolved to carry this secret to my grave, so why would I unveil it now?” Bishop Ivan raised his gaze, his slightly clouded yellow left eye quietly meeting Agatha’s gaze, “I understand the gravity of this revelation. The knowledge that the queen anticipated the rebels’ actions in advance and even faced her impending demise with a calm acceptance could shock many… but aside from its shock factor, it serves no practical purpose. The Abyss Project would remain sealed, and the preservation of the city’s stability is paramount to the vast majority of its citizens. The final thoughts or actions of a queen who was executed half a century ago hold little interest for anyone. But there’s a more critical reason…”
Bishop Ivan paused momentarily, then released a soft sigh.
“A more pivotal reason – the Abyss Project has concluded, the reign of the queen has ended, everything has found its resolution, or so I thought… for the past fifty years.”
