For as long as they can remember, scholars in this world have speculated about the origins of the current Deep Sea Era and the world that existed before the cataclysmic event known as the Great Annihilation. They sought to unravel the historical inconsistencies, discontinuities in artifacts, and contradictions in traditions observed across the various city-states scattered throughout the Boundless Sea. This was what any civilization did when confronted with its own complex history—where there was history, there would be those who dedicated themselves to studying it. Where people engaged in the study of history, efforts would be made to reconcile its many contradictions. Speculations were plentiful, and ideas simple enough for even a layperson to conceive had most likely already been considered, elaborated upon, and possibly integrated into comprehensive theoretical models by professional scholars.
Scholars have proposed numerous theoretical models to account for the formation of the Deep Sea Era, including one by Duncan. Each theory seemed logically sound within its own framework. The overarching problem, however, was that none of these theories had been supported by adequate empirical evidence. The Great Annihilation acted like an impenetrable barrier, preventing any information or artifacts from times preceding it from reaching the present day.
Nevertheless, Duncan had come to believe that he had discovered a pivotal piece of “evidence” that could potentially validate one of these theories—a fragment of another world, distant and alien, which had survived its own apocalyptic event, along with a “memory” vividly portraying scenes from that cataclysm. Yet, to an individual committed to rigorous examination, this solitary piece of evidence might still fall short of providing a comprehensive and irrefutable explanation for the current state of the Deep Sea Era.
“The World Aggregation Theory,” Ted Lir murmured softly to himself. “I know my mentor has always been an advocate of this theory. He contends that the current Deep Sea Era resulted from the convergence and subsequent reconfiguration of multiple worlds that were initially separate from one another. This colossal merging and reshaping could have been triggered by a cataclysmic event affecting multiple worlds simultaneously. In this view, the so-called ‘Great Annihilation’ isn’t a singular occurrence but a series of concurrent catastrophes. This theory could account for the contradictory historical records among various races in the Boundless Sea, as well as the apparent inconsistencies and gaps in ancient myths and stories.”
Ted Lir took a brief pause to breathe before continuing, “This theory also offers an explanation for why we are unable to find any ‘original state of the world’ predating the Great Annihilation, or any ‘ancient artifacts’ that support any given version of historical accounts. That’s because any ‘original state’ would have already been altered through the process of world aggregation. From a chronological standpoint, this ‘current world’ didn’t even exist before the event of the Great Annihilation.”
He paused once more, collecting his thoughts. “At the very moment of the Great Annihilation, the entire Boundless Sea came into existence. There was no ‘old world’ before that point that could be fully and accurately described or understood. Only fragments from numerous old worlds, coming together at the time node of the Great Annihilation, served as the ‘raw material.’ Of all the theories about our origins, the World Aggregation Theory has the greatest ‘explanatory power,’ virtually addressing all the questions we are confronted with.”
“But at the same time, the World Aggregation Theory remains one of the most fantastical and elusive theories to prove,” Ted Lir continued, his voice imbued with a sense of lament. “It essentially challenges the conventional notion that ‘history can be traced back to its roots.’ Instead, it attributes everything to what’s already been lost and irretrievable. As compelling as the theory is, it’s supported by only a small community of scholars. My mentor is among that rare group.”
Finishing his thoughts with a heavy sigh, Ted Lir looked up as Duncan broke the tension. “Now, we have evidence,” Duncan declared.
Ted Lir’s gaze shifted to the ornate longsword displayed before him. After mulling over it seriously for an extended period, he finally shook his head. “A solitary piece of evidence is insufficient. While this artifact may potentially lend credence to the World Aggregation Theory, it’s still not a definitive piece of proof. We would need another fragment—a fragment from a completely different world than the one associated with this sword—to substantiate the theory fully.”
As he spoke, Ted Lir’s voice wavered, torn between his personal hopes and scholarly integrity. Emotionally, he longed to validate a theory that had tantalized him for years. But as a diligent scholar, he felt compelled to maintain a strict objectivity, even when faced with what might be the first authentic piece of evidence supporting the World Aggregation Theory.
Before he could say more, Duncan responded with resounding simplicity: “We do have the second piece of evidence.”
Ted Lir looked stunned for a moment, and even Lucretia, who stood beside him, appeared taken aback. They both erupted simultaneously, “You have more evidence?”
Pausing for a moment to let the revelation sink in, Duncan then turned to lock eyes with Lucretia. “It’s the Moon,” he uttered cryptically.
Lucretia’s eyes widened in realization. “You mean to say that stone sphere is actually—”
“It is another fragment,” Duncan nodded gently, cutting her off. “A fragment from a world entirely distinct from the one this sword hails from. While I cannot fully explain its transformation into the state we see it in now, I am quite convinced that it is…”
Here, Duncan hesitated. It was as if an unseen force had seized him, preventing him from voicing his concluding thought. This force churned within him, manifesting as an intense emotional conflict that clashed with his scholarly rigor.
He resisted the instinct to voice this final judgment.
Sensing something was amiss, Lucretia turned her eyes towards her father, her expression a blend of concern and curiosity.
Finally, the words came to Duncan, completing his earlier thoughts: “It is a remnant of that world.”
When he spoke those words, he felt a wave of liberation wash over him as if he had just cast off a burdensome weight he had been carrying for ages.
In truth, Duncan had long started to formulate a suspicion following his initial encounter with the mysterious object similar to the “Moon” he knew and the subsequent conversations he’d had with Alice aboard their vessel, the Vanished. He began to think that if the “Moon” had appeared in this world, then it was likely that this world was, in fact, his original homeland—albeit a dramatically altered and mutated version of it.
However, this raised a host of perplexing questions. Duncan’s original homeland had never known beings like “Elves” or “Orcs,” just as the legends of these races had never mentioned humans. Furthermore, the historical accounts of the numerous city-states within the Boundless Sea had never used the term “Earth.” This led Duncan to consider the complex issue of “historical fragmentation,” which had long puzzled scholars.
Could it be that the Boundless Sea was a conglomeration of multiple worlds, each contributing only a fragment of its history and civilization? To verify this hypothesis, Duncan knew he would need to discover a second fragment from a different world, similar to the “Moon.”
What took him completely by surprise was how quickly and directly this second piece of evidence materialized before him.
Upon observing Duncan’s certainty, Ted Lir and Lucretia exchanged a look of mutual understanding. They realized that Duncan had no motive to deceive them, and his unwavering conviction seemed to substantiate the notion that their current world was a fragmented heap of what was once whole.
Lucretia chose not to probe Duncan about how he came to possess his intricate knowledge concerning the “Moon.” She sensed that the answers would inevitably trace back to the mysterious realm of subspace, where Duncan had undergone some sort of transformative experience that endowed him with his new, enigmatic knowledge and abilities. She understood that some secrets were best left undiscovered.
Ted Lir, deep in contemplation, had remained silent throughout the discussion. But then, as if alerted by some sixth sense, he quickly opened a large tome he’d been holding. From its pages, he summoned a “stethoscope” and rushed over to the piece of “living metal” placed on the central platform of the room.
Upon placing the stethoscope against the metallic surface, Ted Lir’s face grew intensely serious. The room was filled with the sound of an extraordinarily feeble, languid heartbeat, each pulse sounding fainter and slower than the last.
“It’s dying,” Ted Lir finally spoke, his eyes revealing a swirl of complex emotions.
For the first time in his life, Ted Lir found himself emotionally conflicted in his role as the “Truth Keeper” for the city-states. He was facing an “alien object” that had intruded into their reality, yet he suddenly understood that this mysterious, terrifying entity, which had caused widespread alarm, could be a sentient being. It could have feelings, fears, and desires just like humans, elves, and forest gnomes. In that instant, Ted Lir perceived it as a “homeless wanderer,” a displaced entity that had found its way into their age of the deep sea following the cataclysmic event known as the Great Annihilation.
Regrettably, the obliteration of its original world had been so comprehensive that the small fragment it now represented was grievously insufficient to support its life and that of its kind. In the Deep Sea Era, there was no sanctuary for displaced entities like this one. Through some yet-to-be-understood process, the being had deteriorated into its current dying condition.
Nina and Shirley, overwhelmed by the gravity of the situation, clung to each other’s hands in a reflexive grip, unsure of any course of action. Lucretia watched the unfolding scene with a complex blend of emotions, fully aware that the entity’s state had progressed beyond any hope of human intervention.
As the heartbeat emanating from what barely resembled “living metal” grew increasingly faint and sporadic, Duncan took a step forward. He looked at the deteriorating cluster of sentient material, but another vision entered his consciousness—a vivid memory of warriors resolute in their purpose, taciturn mages, enthusiastic hunters and rangers, self-assured knights, downcast necromancers, and Groshka, a woman with striking red hair whose pride was as vibrant as her locks.
They had embarked on their mission one sunny afternoon, armed with finely crafted swords and armor from their kingdom, as well as the most potent scrolls and sigils. With the king’s full endorsement and faith, they had ventured into the remote wilderness. It was a journey befitting ancient epics, where bands of heroes were fabled to set out to save their worlds from impending doom.
Gently, Duncan extended his hand and touched the cold, unyielding surface of what once was a form of “living metal.”
“We are all exiles… Now, you are home.”
The languid heartbeat that had filled the room came to an ultimate, final stop. The last beat was so faint and sluggish that it seemed almost like an exhalation—a dying sigh.
Ted Lir turned, his face etched with a mixture of gravitas and lament. It was as if he was making a formal pronouncement to the unfathomable depths and mysteries of the Deep Sea Era.
“It is dead.”
His words reverberated in the still air, a grim testament to a universe that showed little mercy for beings displaced in time and space, their original worlds either obliterated or so profoundly altered as to be unrecognizable. The declaration served as a poignant moment of reckoning for everyone in the room, forcing them to grapple with the precariousness of life across disparate worlds and dimensions. It was an instant that underscored the brittle nature of existence itself—a somber footnote in the ongoing narrative of the universe.
