Deep Sea Embers

Her father once visited an antique shop and spent a significant amount of time there. Upon his return, he held a cannonball in his hands and placed it on the prime spot within his antique shelf. Then from time to time, he would meticulously clean it from top to bottom.

Whenever she recalled this fact, Heidi couldn’t help but worry about her father’s mental well-being.

“I’m serious, it was so bizarre,” the psychiatrist sighed, “He treated it like a prized possession, claiming it was an extremely special antique. He would clean the cannonball every day before washing his face. My mother was indifferent, and if I ever mentioned it, she would say ‘don’t bother your father with his hobby’.”

Vanna was unsure how to respond, as she had no expertise in antiques. Her most vivid memory of an antique was accidentally breaking her uncle’s vase with a toy sword as a child. Recalling the subsequent punishment, she cautiously said, “Mr. Morris is a renowned historian and collector. I assume his collection must hold some unique insights.”

“Still, I’ve never heard of anyone treating a cannonball like a treasure, even if it’s genuine,” Heidi sighed.

Vanna remained quiet for a moment, seemingly deep in thought. Then she suddenly asked, “Regarding the pendant, did Mr. Morris get you another identical one?”

“Yes, this one,” Heidi nodded and pulled out the “crystal” pendant from her chest, “You’ve seen it before. I had an identical one, but it was destroyed during the prior ‘disaster’. The cleric who documented it at the time surmised that it might be an object that inadvertently gained supernatural power while typically hiding its uniqueness.”

Vanna studied the “crystal” pendant Heidi revealed, her expression contemplative.

“Do you suspect something is amiss?” Heidi inquired.

“After the disaster, the cathedral faced a shortage of manpower, but we still sent people to investigate the antique shop, and everything appeared normal. From the shop’s supply chain to the owner’s background, there were no red flags. The pendant incident seemed to be merely coincidental,” Vanna said slowly, her eyes fixed on the pendant, “But I can’t shake my concern… Heidi, do you recall when I accompanied you to that antique shop?”

“Of course, I remember,” Heidi nodded, “Now that you mention it, I do have some ties to that shop. The shop owner once saved my life at the museum, his niece is one of my father’s pupils, and my previous pendant came from that shop… But as you pointed out, the church conducted a covert investigation and found nothing amiss.”

Vanna didn’t respond, but after some thought, she reached out, “May I take a closer look?”

“Sure, here you go,” Heidi casually handed over the pendant.

Vanna took the still-warm crystal pendant, inspected it closely in the sunlight, and after a while, she murmured to herself, “There’s no supernatural aura.”

“Yes, it is just an ordinary pendant, and it’s even made of glass,” Heidi said, looking at her friend earnestly, “Vanna, you’re a bit too tense. I know it’s an occupational hazard for an inquisitor, but I think… the shop owner is really a good person. You shouldn’t doubt him.”

“I’m paying attention, not doubting. I always feel that there is something off about that antique shop, but I’m not looking at this matter with the same attitude as an inquisitor towards heretics,” Vanna said, returning the pendant to her friend. “But you’re right, I might be a bit too nervous.”

Heidi put the pendant back on and then glanced at the mechanical clock hanging nearby, “Ah, it’s already this time?!”

“Are you leaving?”

“I have to go,” Heidi said as she stood up and picked up the small case she had placed nearby earlier, “I have an appointment this afternoon – it’s with the captain who was under observation at the cathedral for quite some time.”

Vanna frowned in recollection and quickly found the corresponding memory, “The captain of the White Oak? I remember his name is Lawrence… Did he run into trouble?”

“It’s normal for a captain sailing the Boundless Sea, especially at that age, to need the help of a mental health professional,” Heidi said, her expression slightly complicated as if she thought of something, but she quickly shook her head, “Actually, compared to most captains his age, Mr. Lawrence’s situation is not bad. I can’t say more, as it concerns the patient’s privacy.”

“Alright, I hope your work goes smoothly.”

…

The first thing Morris did upon returning home was to hug and kiss his wife, and the second thing was to carefully wipe the artillery shell placed on the antique shelf.

Although he felt a bit strange when he brought it home, he knew that this seemingly peculiar “collection” had its own special meaning.

It represented the connection between him and the Vanished, as well as Captain Duncan’s “benevolence” towards his dependents.

The incredible ghost captain would always convey his goodwill in various odd ways, including but not limited to soup made from deep-sea heirs, a shell with a century-old seal, and tutoring the less educated among his dependents in reading and writing. At first, Morris found it strange, but now he has perfectly adjusted his mindset.

What Captain Duncan said was right, and what he did was normal.

With this mindset, Morris felt that he had completely adapted to the atmosphere of the new team.

Suddenly, footsteps sounded from behind.

Without looking back, Morris knew it was his wife.

“You’re almost polishing it to a mirror finish,” the elegant old woman laughed as she looked at her husband, “Didn’t you say before that antiques shouldn’t be wiped too often?”

“But this is no ordinary ‘antique,’ Mary,” Morris turned to his wife and smiled, “It’s part of a miracle.”

The old woman looked up and carefully examined the two special items on the antique shelf – a dagger and a shell. After a moment, she suddenly spoke, “Will you tell your daughter some of the truth later? About this ‘miracle,’ and about… your new ‘identity’.”

Morris stopped what he was doing with his hands.

There were some “miracles” that could be hidden from others but not from the witnesses of the miracles themselves.

As a product of an incomplete “subspace prayer” in the past, his wife had laid on the bed in the form of human ash for eleven years. She was well aware of this. However, now that she had truly survived due to the influence of the Vanished, she naturally had doubts about her own survival.

There was no way around this.

So after getting the captain’s permission, Morris told his wife about the Vanished, but he did not tell Heidi.

“… There’s no need for it now,” Morris said, “Heidi doesn’t have to get involved in this matter, and whether to tell or not… it depends on the captain’s opinion.”

Just then, the doorbell rang, interrupting the conversation between Morris and his wife.

As the old scholar was about to open the door, his wife stopped him with a smile, “Let me go – I haven’t moved for many years, and I need to exercise more now.”

She turned around and went to the entrance. Then after a brief conversation, she returned to Morris.

“It’s the mailman,” she handed him a letter, “It’s for you.”

“A letter for me?” Morris was a bit surprised. At first glance, he noticed the large denomination stamps and several special postmarks on the envelope and frowned, “I did write to a few distant friends, but I didn’t expect a reply so soon… Huh?”

His action of opening the letter suddenly stopped as his gaze fell on the first postmark on the envelope, which represented the place it was sent from. His expression was a bit strange.

“Where is it from?” His wife’s curious voice sounded beside him.

Morris was silent for two seconds and said softly, “Frost.”

“Frost? That’s a very distant place,” his wife said, recalling a bit uncertainly, “I remember you had a friend in Frost, named Brown or Bren?”

“Scott Brown,” Morris said slowly, his tone becoming unusually somber and serious, and the movement of opening the envelope with the letter opener became even more hesitant, “Like me, a scholar of history, and also passionate about the field of supernatural.”

“Oh, right, Scott Brown. I remember him being quite thin and giving people a very meticulous impression,” his wife recalled, “Are you still in contact with him? I remember he moved to Frost years ago, but before moving, his relationship with you was indeed…”

“He’s already dead,” Morris suddenly said, “He died in a shipwreck accident six years ago.”

As his words fell, the room became quiet in an instant.