Deep Sea Embers

Tyrian made his way into the designated meeting location, immediately noting that it lacked the usual trappings of the lavish, high-society venues he was accustomed to. The absence of the soft strains of classical music was glaring, making the atmosphere feel less refined. Rather than an opulent banquet hall, the meeting was taking place in a visitor’s lounge under the jurisdiction of the port authority. He recognized a few familiar faces among the military representatives waiting for him—people he had crossed paths with in various capacities over the years.

As Tyrian entered, General Lister, the commander of the defense forces, stood up to greet him. Extending his hand, Lister offered an apologetic expression and said, “I regret that we couldn’t arrange a more sumptuous setting for this meeting. Given the urgency and short notice, this was the best we could do.”

For a moment, Tyrian held back from accepting Lister’s handshake. Instead, he took a moment to observe the room. Several stern-faced officers in Frost Navy uniforms stood in a disciplined formation behind Lister, showing remarkable composure. But the rest of the people in the room—support staff and other military personnel—appeared visibly tense. Some cast surreptitious glances at the newcomers, while others seemed to be forcing their gaze elsewhere, maintaining a veneer of uneasy calm. The underlying fatigue in their eyes was, however, impossible to hide.

Breaking into a chuckle, Tyrian finally reached out to shake Lister’s hand. “You needn’t worry. Had you gone to the lengths of organizing a grand feast complete with noisy violinists, it would have defeated the purpose of our discussion.”

Lister felt the powerful grip of Tyrian’s handshake and quickly withdrew his own hand. A slight flush appeared on his face as he replied, “It seems you have some preconceived notions about us. But let’s be clear: Frost Navy of today is as committed to defending our city-state as you were in your time. Our allegiances may differ, but our resolve does not.”

“I’m well aware, General,” Tyrian responded, flashing a wry smile. His eyes briefly scanned Lister’s uniform, lingering momentarily on the badge that bore his rank of “General.” He shook his head slightly and began walking toward the center of the room. “Enough with the formalities. We both understand the gravity of the current situation. Let’s move on to the matters at hand—our city, its future, and if you dare to venture there, the topic of my father.”

Lister sank into a sofa, visibly tensing at the mention of Tyrian’s father. He was instantly reminded of a cataclysmic event that had indelibly marked the psyche of every resident of Frost—a gigantic figure materializing from another dimension, its eyes like twin suns, obliterating the mirror city with a simple wave of its hand.

Suppressing a shiver that seemed to emanate from the core of his being, Lister struggled to refocus his attention on Tyrian, who was now seated across from him. “So, it truly was your father—the entity that emerged from subspace,” he stammered, his voice tinged with a growing sense of dread. “Up until this point, no one had ever seen him make such a move. His form was… completely unfamiliar.”

Tyrian shrugged nonchalantly. “From this point forward, it will be documented. Congratulations, General Lister. Frost will have the dubious honor of being the first city-state to bear witness to, and officially record, this event.”

Pausing for a moment, Tyrian looked at Lister intently as if probing for something deeper. “I have to ask, what’s the general sentiment in the city right now? How are your people coping with everything that’s happened?”

Lister let out a heavy sigh before responding, “The atmosphere is thick with tension and fear. It’s been a difficult night for everyone, to put it mildly. Though the disaster has come to an end, the way it concluded has left most people utterly bewildered and frightened. There’s a lot of speculation regarding the mysterious entity that appeared over the sea. But honestly, I think if the public truly understood what it was, the ensuing panic might be even worse. We at City Hall took quite some time piecing together various bits of information before daring to conjecture that the entity might be your father. Forgive our slowness, but what we witnessed was so shocking that it would leave anyone hesitating.”

Tyrian’s face assumed a complex expression as he sighed, “I can understand that. I wasn’t given any prior notice either. I was as shocked as you were when it all happened.”

Lister observed Tyrian with a mixture of acute curiosity and unease as if he were a riddle begging to be solved. He couldn’t help but wonder how Tyrian, referred to by many as “Duncan’s Son,” interacted with his enigmatic father. What had led them to intervene in Frost’s situation? How did this powerful figure, who had returned from another dimension, perceive the world now?

Unable to contain his curiosity any longer, Lister asked, “There are rumors suggesting your father has regained his humanity. Is there any truth to that?”

A look of surprise crossed Tyrian’s face. “What makes you think he lacks humanity?”

Images of the colossal titan and the devastating scene where a city was reduced to ashes and dust at the swipe of his hand filled Lister’s mind. He opened his mouth, tempted to voice his simmering doubts and accusations, but found himself unable to articulate them.

Finally, Lister managed to say, “I believe… his actions suggest he possesses a human heart now, despite everything.”

A chuckle escaped Tyrian’s lips. “I get the sense that you truly believe what you’re saying.”

Picking up a glass of red wine from the small table between them, Tyrian raised it high. “To mutual trust, then.”

Lister lifted his own glass, though his smile was forced and his mind clearly preoccupied. They toasted and sipped their wine. Setting his glass down, Lister ventured another question, “May I ask what you and your father plan to do next?”

Tyrian replied without any trace of evasion, “I really don’t know.”

This stunned Lister. “You don’t know?”

Tyrian spread his hands in a gesture of benign uncertainty, yet his eyes sparkled with an emotion that looked suspiciously like delight. “He hasn’t told me. I’ve been outsmarting Frost Navy for decades, but this is the first ‘friendly chat’ that’s given me so much pleasure. I came here solely because my father commanded it, and to defend a city once protected by Queen Ray Nora. What comes next is entirely up to him.”

Finally, Lister asked almost reflexively, “Is there a way for us to communicate with your father?”

Tyrian’s eyebrows shot up, and his tone wavered between earnestness and jest. “You’re truly interested in contacting him? Well, in that case, allow me to tell you about a certain ritual…”

“Ah, actually, let’s forget I mentioned it,” Lister quickly backtracked, his posture tensing up as he made a dismissing gesture with his hand. “It was merely a passing thought.”

“When one speaks of ‘him,’ casual remarks are perhaps not the wisest course of action. You never know when he might decide to turn his attention your way,” Tyrian responded, his face momentarily clouding as if he was recalling an uncomfortable experience. He shook his head and chuckled, looking back at Lister. “Don’t worry, I’m just teasing. Everyone here is so on edge. Isn’t this the Mist Fleet’s first ‘homecoming’ in five decades? Shouldn’t we treat this as more of a family reunion?”

A subtle flicker of discomfort crossed Lister’s face at Tyrian’s suggestion, but he swiftly composed himself. His face became serious again. “Admiral Tyrian, let’s cut to the chase. Frost is facing a precarious situation.”

“Yes, I’m aware. We’ve just dealt with it.”

“You misunderstand. I’m not referring to the recent phantom invasion—that was a catastrophe, not just a problem. Now that it’s over, we have to brace for a slew of subsequent challenges. The social order here in Frost is on the verge of collapsing. Beyond surviving tonight, we have an array of issues to address: public safety, provision of essential goods, maritime security…”

Tyrian leaned back, his face impassive. “What does that have to do with me? I’m an outlaw, a pirate. Managing a city isn’t in my wheelhouse.”

Lister looked momentarily deflated by Tyrian’s indifference, his mouth opening and closing as if searching for the right words.

Before he could find them, a rhythmic series of knocks sounded at the door.

The door swung open to reveal a man who epitomized refinement. Dressed in a meticulously tailored suit, with impeccably styled hair and sporting gold-rimmed glasses, he stepped into the room.

“I hope I’m not intruding,” the well-dressed man greeted, offering a congenial smile as he bowed slightly to both Tyrian and Lister. “May I join you?”

“Ah, Mr. Secretary,” Tyrian appraised the newcomer for a moment, his eyes twinkling with recognition. “I remember those glasses and that hairstyle.”

Lister, his attention redirected, queried urgently, “Is there any news from City Hall?”

The secretary nodded discreetly. “Indeed, I bring updates from City Hall.”

At this, Tyrian interjected, “Before we proceed, let it be known that I have little interest in the resolutions of your city’s governing body. After all, we’re rebels, so—”

He was cut off by the secretary, who smoothly slid a document across the coffee table towards him, locking eyes with Tyrian as he did so. “Would you consider another possibility?”

He paused, then pushed the document closer to Tyrian and spoke softly, “Governor Tyrian has arrived in Frost, the land to which he once pledged loyalty.”

The implication was heavy, hanging in the air like a tangible thing. It was a reminder, a prompt, and perhaps even an offer. The room went quiet, all eyes on Tyrian, awaiting his response.