Agatha sat before the mysterious entity, her words flowing freely and without reservation. She felt this being deserved her complete honesty, especially considering it had already used its invisible influence to save her city, Frost, from the brink of disaster.
She had two main sources of information to share. The first set of insights came from her own keen observations and logical deductions, which she had gathered while navigating the eerie, reflective maze of Frost’s mirror-image city. The second set was a compilation of stories and reports from her trusted subordinates, as well as various religious figures in Frost. These accounts formed a complex narrative of the events that transpired in her absence while she was trapped in that mirrored world.
Interestingly, these stories mirrored her own experiences—ones that were lived out by her own doppelgänger in that parallel reality.
The crux of her information revolved around the essential metal ore mine at the heart of Frost. This mine, which had been declared barren since the reign of the so-called Frost Queen, harbored an enigmatic secret. A series of governors, culminating in Governor Winston and the mirror version of Agatha herself, had vanished deep within the labyrinthine depths of the mine. Before her disappearance, the mirror Agatha had apparently discovered a revelation so profound that its impact resonated across dimensions, reaching the real-world Agatha.
Duncan listened attentively to her lengthy account, occasionally asking for clarifications but mostly remaining silent. After Agatha had finished her story, he released a subdued sigh.
“So, you’ve laid bare the deepest secret of Frost to me,” he said. “Aren’t you afraid I might use this information for evil?”
“With what I’ve personally witnessed—your destruction of the mirror city—I think it’s pointless to speculate on your motives,” Agatha replied, her voice tinged with genuine conviction. “If you had any malevolent intent toward Frost, our city would have already been reduced to ruins.”
Duncan’s eyes briefly flickered towards Vanna, who was also present. “Is this the typical way you city defenders show gratitude?” he asked softly, his facial expression remaining unreadable.
Vanna, sensing she was being pulled into a complicated dialogue, quickly averted her gaze and pretended not to hear.
Meanwhile, Morris, who was seated across from them, felt his curiosity piqued by Agatha’s revelation about the once-abandoned ore vein in the mine. “What’s the current condition of the mine? Is it still possible to extract raw ore from it? And has the ore that has been mined over the years proven to be genuine metal?”
Agatha responded candidly, “As of now, the mine is sealed off. Ever since the retreat of the mirror invasion, there have been unsettling sounds and ground tremors emanating from it. We haven’t had the resources or manpower to investigate further. However, according to the mining station and smelting factory records, the ore that was previously extracted appears to be consistent in composition.”
Morris stroked his chin thoughtfully. “So, even after the collapse of the mirror city, the ore—which one might presume to be a supernatural product—remains unaffected? That’s fascinating. The fake monsters from that world turned into sludge, so does this mean that the metal ore is, in fact, real? Could it be that the power of this ‘Nether Lord’ can actually create real, tangible metal ore?”
Vanna cut in, “This isn’t the time for academic debates,” before turning her attention back to Agatha. “When do you plan to reopen the mine for investigation?”
After a moment of contemplation, Agatha spoke cautiously, “I think we’ll have to wait until the city has stabilized and the mysterious sounds and vibrations from the mine have ceased. More importantly, we must first ensure that we can safely survive our first night in this changed world after all the recent calamities.”
Agatha’s gaze involuntarily shifted towards the window, her thoughts momentarily leaving the tension-filled room.
Outside, snowflakes performed an elegant dance as they spiraled down from the sky. Although the day had not yet given way to night, the sun was already retreating, its feeble light partially veiled by a thick blanket of clouds. The dwindling rays of the sun barely touched the tip of the distant cathedral’s spire, signaling the gradual approach of twilight.
“Only two more hours until sundown, marking the beginning of our first real test in this post-apocalyptic landscape,” Agatha murmured, more to herself than anyone else in the room.
Before she could wallow further in her apprehensions, Vanna interjected, “I apologize for interrupting, but I believe there’s little reason to dread the coming night. Given the chaotic state of affairs, the advent of nightfall may soon be the least of our concerns here in Frost.”
Caught off-guard, Agatha turned to her, “Why would you say that?”
Vanna shot a quick glance at Duncan, who gave her a discreet nod of approval. Satisfied, she turned back to Agatha and said, “Let’s call it the wisdom acquired from the experiences in Pland.”
The name ‘Pland’ took a moment to register in Agatha’s mind. Then, all at once, she connected the dots—reports from foreign intelligence, messages about large-scale anomalies in Pland, the impending crisis known as the Black Sun, a history written in fire and blood, and most importantly, a “rumor” that had trickled down from Pland through various underground channels.
Duncan Abnomar—the spectral captain of the ghost ship, the roaming calamity in the Boundless Sea, the nightmarish figure referred to as the ‘subspace shadow’—had somehow regained his humanity.
Agatha, who was both the young gatekeeper of Frost and its acting archbishop, stood up from her seat, her face a blend of astonishment and realization.
In that instant, everything fell into place. All the enigmatic hints and disjointed pieces of information now formed a coherent, albeit unsettling, picture.
“I have to admit, our current situation is, well, a bit uncomfortable,” Duncan shrugged, his voice tinged with an undertone of helplessness.
Agatha remained standing, her eyes—though not visible—locked onto Duncan. Her expression was a complex tapestry of emotions, far exceeding mere discomfort.
After a lingering silence, she finally broke the ice. “No wonder your followers refer to you as ‘Captain.’ It should have clicked sooner. Who else in the Boundless Sea would carry such a distinctive title?”
“I regret any harm my past actions may have caused, especially on the Thirteen Islands of Witherland,” Duncan replied. “Although I have no memory of those events, the evidence against me is undeniable.”
He tried to infuse his words with a sense of reassurance, but given his notorious past and the immense power he had displayed just hours before in Frost, his attempts at placating the tension seemed ineffective. Agatha still appeared apprehensive.
The room was steeped in a palpable silence until Agatha finally spoke, shattering the awkward quiet. “I must admit, ever since my elevation to sainthood, the church has consistently drilled into us the importance of immediately reporting any evidence or activity related to the ‘subspace shadow,’ a.k.a. Captain Duncan, to the Supreme Death Cathedral. This mandate is deemed as urgent as responding to natural disasters or subspace invasions. I’m not sure if you grasp the gravity of that.”
Vanna interjected before Duncan could reply, casually steering the conversation. “Oh, I understand completely. On our side, we’re reminded of this annually. We even have a specific disaster mitigation plan designed for such an event, although it has never been put into action.”
The atmosphere in the room remained thick with unresolved tension, yet for the moment, it seemed like everyone was on the same troubling page.
Duncan looked at Vanna with a touch of amusement. “Discussing top-secret protocols in front of me, are we?”
Caught off guard by her own candidness, Vanna quickly recovered her poise. “Ah, apologies, Captain. That was thoughtless of me.”
Agatha, still grappling with the recent shock about Duncan, seemed momentarily lost. She finally focused on Vanna, her eyes widening. “Wait a minute, you are…?”
“The designated inquisitor from Pland,” Vanna admitted, her face softening into a somewhat sheepish expression. “In some ways, you could consider us colleagues. I apologize for not being upfront about my identity.”
Agatha felt like she was in the eye of a storm, each new revelation hitting her like a gust of wind. She realized that the end of one crisis was often just the prelude to another, more complex set of challenges. Challenges that she had never even considered.
Uncertainly, she lowered herself back into her chair and looked at Vanna quizzically. “Why are you here with Captain Duncan? As a senior member of the Storm Church in Pland, shouldn’t you be needed there? Doesn’t Pland require an inquisitor anymore?”
“Believe it or not, this arrangement is actually sanctioned by the Church,” Vanna began, choosing her words carefully. “However, the specifics are sensitive and not suitable for open discussion. I can say that this information is strictly confidential. If it weren’t for your high-ranking position, I would’ve remained silent on the matter.” She paused briefly before adding, “As for Pland, you’re right. It no longer needs an inquisitor in the traditional sense—the role of a judicial overseer and guardian is now obsolete there.”
Feeling overwhelmed, Agatha massaged her temples. Bits of unconfirmed foreign intelligence reports bubbled up in her mind. After hesitating for a moment, she finally asked, “So, if the rumors are true, is Pland really at peace now, even during the nights?”
Vanna seemed momentarily surprised. “Has that information already reached Frost?”
“We may be isolated, but we’re not completely cut off from the world,” Agatha snapped back, then her tone softened due to her curiosity, “Could you please confirm, are the nights in Pland truly peaceful?”
“Yes, that’s correct,” Vanna confirmed. “The nights in Pland are now safer than the days in many other city-states. In fact, my uncle is considering the idea of establishing a night market to take advantage of these new peaceful conditions. However, the idea is still in the experimental phase and requires careful planning.” She added, “If you’re aware of Pland’s peaceful nights, you must also know about its recent transformation following the Black Sun incident.”
“Vision-Pland, the first unnumbered historical anomaly,” Agatha murmured, her eyes involuntarily drifting towards Duncan. The magnitude of Vanna’s earlier comments finally sunk in. “So, are you saying that Frost is on the verge of a similar metamorphosis?”
Feeling the unspoken but discernible weight of her gaze, Duncan met her eyes with a warm smile and a nod. “That’s a distinct possibility.”
