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In the well-lit and welcoming room of the Public Security Bureau, a sense of order and calm prevailed, a stark contrast to the chaos that gripped the rest of the city. The room was amply furnished and equipped with refreshments; tea and coffee were within easy reach for all who entered.
The young clerk looked up from his paperwork and asked, “Name?”
“Lawrence Creed,” replied the man across the table.
“Occupation?”
“I’m a Captain. Captain of the White Oak, to be precise.”
“Affiliation?”
“I belong to the Explorer’s Association. I hold several senior adventurer qualifications, including certifications in history, mysticism, and other maritime fields. That pretty much sums it up.”
“And why have you come to Frost?”
Lawrence paused, lifting his head to stare at the bright electric light hanging from the ceiling. After contemplating for a few moments, he said, “Originally, I was here to deliver some goods—goods specifically ordered by the cathedral in your city-state.”
The clerk scribbled down notes diligently, then looked up, his smile friendly yet tinged with a subtle anxiety. “Alright, that’s recorded. Don’t worry, this is standard procedure. We keep records of everyone who comes through here. Frost is grateful for your assistance. Would you like another sugar cube in your coffee?”
“No, thank you,” Lawrence declined with a wave of his hand. He lifted his cup of coffee for a sip, but being in his current ethereal state, he couldn’t taste the drink nor feel its temperature. Setting the cup back on the table, he glanced over his shoulder.
A group of sailors sat on the couches at the back of the room, their bodies engulfed in ghostly flames. They had nearly emptied the trays of tea and snacks provided. Despite their spectral forms, which rendered them incapable of tasting food or feeling sensations, they operated on the principle of ‘making the most of their time here.’
Surprisingly, there was no sense of tension or apprehension in the room, even though they had been ‘invited’ to the Public Security Bureau for causing a disturbance. This absence of anxiety was partly due to the courteous and almost respectful manner in which the security officers had brought them in.
As he pondered this, Lawrence felt a new wave of embarrassment wash over him. Though given his current fiery, spectral appearance, he doubted anyone could discern his emotions.
The young clerk, obviously trying to balance curiosity with professional caution, then inquired, “I heard that you initially were helping the gatekeeper in the cathedral district. So why did you and your crew venture into the upper city and cause such a commotion?”
Lawrence hesitated, guilt coloring his voice. “That was a minor… accident.” He was at a loss for how to articulate the complex circumstances they found themselves in. Should he be forthright and say that, after an initially energetic and chaotic arrival, his crew still felt adventurous and decided to explore the city? They had planned on buying local specialties to take back to their homeland of Pland, but the ghostly flames they were engulfed in proved hard to control. These flames, which they had momentarily managed to quell, reignited when the sun rose, causing them to literally burst into flames in the middle of a busy intersection.
The outcome of this untamed spectacle was a rapid response from the Public Security Bureau, who converged on the scene from three different streets. Meanwhile, the residents of the upper city, men, women, and children alike, spread the news of the fiery disturbance as quickly as they could.
Lawrence found himself grappling with the complicated truth, hesitant to lay it bare. It wasn’t so much about preserving the ‘honor’ of the Vanished Fleet—after all, their reputation among mortals was already less than stellar. But even so, they certainly didn’t need to add a reputation for causing public disturbances.
Choosing to navigate the situation cautiously, Lawrence offered an uneasy laugh and a vague explanation. “We were curious about your city and might’ve temporarily forgotten to keep our spectral nature under wraps.” As if on cue, a crackling burst of green flame ignited on his arm.
Casually patting out the flame as if swatting a troublesome fly, Lawrence inspected his chair’s armrest to ensure it wasn’t scorched. Satisfied, he looked up, locking eyes with the young clerk, offering a subtle yet sincere smile.
“Are you able to temporarily snuff out these rather conspicuous flames?”
“I’m doing my best to keep them in check, though it may not seem like it,” Lawrence replied.
“Thank you for your cooperation. Please wait here; I need to question your… crew members,” said the young clerk, visibly unnerved, wiping beads of cold sweat from his forehead as he struggled to maintain an air of professionalism.
With a deep breath to steady himself, the clerk turned to the next interviewee waiting beside the table—a rather unsettling figure wearing an antiquated sailor’s smock and hat whose body was nothing less than a dried-up mummy.
Noticing the clerk’s attention, the mummy looked up, grinning grotesquely. “Interrogation? Go ahead, ask your questions.”
“Uh… alright. Name?” the clerk inquired, wiping his forehead again and silently cursing the supervisor who’d stuck him with today’s shift. He couldn’t help but feel a pang of envy for his colleagues currently on street patrol.
“Sailor,” replied the mummy.
“Profession?”
“Anomaly.”
The clerk blinked, visibly confused. “Excuse me?”
“Anomaly. Or to be more specific, Anomaly 077,” the mummy clarified, gesturing toward its own withered head.
The clerk seemed to momentarily freeze, a noticeable gulp breaking the silence. Lawrence decided to intervene.
“Ahem, the details behind that name are complex,” he said, pulling the clerk back from the edge of mental paralysis. “Don’t worry. Once the representative from your church arrives, I’ll make sure to explain everything and complete the proper registrations.”
Though Lawrence’s words hung in the air, the clerk appeared unable to completely digest them. His facial expression fluctuated wildly as if he were about to say something. Before he could articulate his thoughts, however, a whirlwind of ashy dust swept through the room.
Emerging from the swirling wind was a blindfolded goddess in a flowing black gown. An otherworldly yet authoritative voice followed her appearance, declaring, “I have arrived.”
On the brink of losing his composure entirely, the clerk latched onto Agatha’s entrance like a lifeline, almost leaping out of his seat in relief. “Ah, Miss Agatha! You’re finally here! The situation is somewhat—”
“I’m aware, which is why I’ve come personally to manage this,” Agatha interrupted, dismissing the clerk with a wave of her hand. She then turned her attention to Lawrence, her pale lips curling into an enigmatic smile. “I thought you’d already departed.”
The room felt charged with an odd blend of tension and relief as eyes turned to see how this intricate web of awkwardness, spectral flames, and mysterious identities would finally be untangled.
“We had planned to…” Lawrence chuckled with a touch of awkward relief. He felt as though a weight had been lifted from his chest. Despite the wild, chaotic journey that had bonded them, one truth was undeniable to both him and Agatha: they were kindred spirits.
Agatha appeared to share Lawrence’s sense of relief. With a simple wave of her hand, she dismissed the young clerk who had been sweating bullets throughout the interrogation. He scurried out of the room, looking like a man who had just received a royal pardon, glad to be free from the stifling atmosphere.
Letting out a deep sigh, Agatha’s whole being seemed to exude a combination of fatigue and resignation. Her eyes may have been blindfolded, but her mental faculties were sharp. She signaled for Lawrence and his crew to remain calm as her thoughts resonated audibly, almost as if she were speaking into a hidden communicator. “They’re here, in the Public Security Bureau… No, the situation isn’t dire. They even seem to be enjoying the snacks… Yes, I’ll see to the resolution of the matter… No major trouble, just a minor public disturbance—people are on edge these days, you know how it is…
“I should also report there’s a runaway anomaly among them—codename ‘Sailor’, or Anomaly 077…”
She paused, apparently receiving instructions. “Bring them to you? Oak Street? Understood.”
Finally, Agatha broke the telepathic communication and exhaled deeply, lifting her head in Lawrence’s direction. Though her eyes were shrouded in black cloth, it felt as though her gaze penetrated the fabric, placing the grizzled captain under a subtle but definite scrutiny.
“You were speaking with ‘Him,’ weren’t you?” Lawrence queried, understanding the gravity of the situation.
“Yes, and He has issued a command,” Agatha responded, her tone becoming grave. “He wants to meet with you.”
Lawrence felt his heart lurch. “You mean…?”
“The Vanished is anchored in the waters off Frost. Captain Tyrian will provide the coordinates. Your ship, the White Oak, as well as the Sea Mist, are docked nearby. You’ll spot them as soon as you approach the harbor,” Agatha explained in an almost indifferent manner. “Once you’re close, your ship will intuitively know where to go. Simply let it navigate itself.”
At her words, Lawrence swallowed audibly, casting a glance toward his restless crew. Their eyes were wide, each face reflecting a mirroring sense of apprehension. His attention then shifted to the struggling figure of Anomaly 077, who had fallen to the ground and was inching its way toward the exit. Several of his crew members were struggling to restrain the writhing mummy.
Refocusing, Lawrence turned his gaze back to Agatha, feeling a knot of tension in his stomach. “Did He mention why he wants to meet us?”
“No specific reason, but he indicated it’s more of a friendly invitation. So try not to be overly anxious,” Agatha began, but before she could finish her thought or Lawrence could respond, Anomaly 077 erupted into a disconcerting cacophony of sobs and growls, shrieking, “I! Don’t! Believe!!”
“Silence him,” Lawrence snapped. Taking several deep breaths to center himself, he turned back to Agatha, nodding solemnly. “Understood. We will heed the call.”
The atmosphere in the room felt as if it had thickened, saturated with a cocktail of relief, anxiety, and anticipation, as Lawrence prepared to follow a summons that could define the future for all of them.
“Relax, you truly have no reason to be this on edge,” Agatha said with a lighthearted chuckle, observing the palpable tension among Lawrence and his crew. “To set the record straight, he’s far friendlier than any of you might be envisioning.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Lawrence replied, a wistful smile tugging at his lips. “But the human mind isn’t so easily pacified. I doubt we’ll shake off this anxious energy until we’ve actually stood before ‘him’.”
“Fair enough,” Agatha conceded, nodding slightly. “I wish you and your crew the best of luck. Now, is there anything else you need? Given the current tumult in Frost, my hands are somewhat tied, but I’ll assist however possible.”
Upon hearing her offer, Lawrence seemed to contemplate something for a moment. Slowly, he reached into his jacket and after a brief search, produced a semi-transparent sheet of paper that glowed subtly, as if it had been touched by ethereal flames. He handed the paper to Agatha.
“And what might this be?” she inquired, her eyes narrowing, although hidden behind her blindfold.
“It’s an inventory and damage report pertaining to the shipment for your cathedral. Everything has been delivered to the port as promised,” Lawrence said a bit hesitantly. “Would it be possible to… settle the account now?”
For a moment, Agatha was rendered motionless. Known as the Gatekeeper of Frost, a temporary Archbishop, and the envoy of the Usurper of Fire, she was generally a figure of strength and wisdom. And yet, this unexpected question had her momentarily stunned.
After what felt like an eternity but was actually only a dozen or so seconds, the “Blind Priestess” finally nodded. Her words came out stiffly as if she were undergoing a particularly uncomfortable dental procedure. “Very well. We shall settle it.”
The room was charged with a blend of relief, awkwardness, and a modicum of humor. It was an unusual scenario, no doubt, but then again, nothing was ever truly “usual” when it came to their dealings.
