Deep Sea Embers

This is translated and hosted on bcatranslation

Agatha’s extraordinary talent allowed her to move through shadows and reflective surfaces like mirrors instantly. As such, once the dream orchestrated by the mysterious “Nameless One” ended, she immediately transitioned back to the ship in the tangible world. She would then observe any alterations that occurred within the mirrored realm.

With a thoughtful look and slight creases appearing on his forehead, Duncan reflected on Agatha’s recent theory, “So, if either entity Atlantis or Goathead awakens, it would mark the end of the ‘Nameless One’s’ dream? This seems to imply that both Atlantis and Goathead are jointly maintaining this dream?”

Speaking with gravity, Agatha responded, “It’s possible that this dream is a collective one between them. It might also shed light on why the ‘Shadow Vanished’ sails at the boundaries of the dream world of Atlantis.”

Duncan took a moment, processing her words before inquiring further, “So, if my understanding is correct, the abrupt end to the ‘Nameless One’s’ dream was because my first mate was roused from sleep? What could have possibly triggered this ‘awakening’?”

Pondering Duncan’s question, Agatha responded with a hint of uncertainty, “It might have something to do with the direction you took towards the end?”

“Direction?” Duncan’s expression showed a hint of confusion.

“You were notably careful,” Agatha elaborated. “You kept a tight rein on your inner flame and even embedded it within the reflection of the ‘Vanished’ to make sure a small spark remained on the ‘Dream Ship’. While this tactic ensured you didn’t alarm Atlantis, you were seen as an outsider in the eyes of the ship within the dream. Do you remember when you made a move in that eerie, foggy space by physically touching a vine at Wind Harbor in our world? It felt as if you were breaking in from the ‘outside’…”

Duncan absorbed every word Agatha said. The entity known as Goathead, which had a direct stake in the matter, was initially puzzled. But as Agatha elaborated, realization washed over it. Turning its gaze to Duncan, it quickly assured, “Captain, never doubt my loyalty! You’re the rightful commander of the ‘Vanished’. Even in my dreams, I would…”

Duncan cut off Goathead, “It’s not about mistrusting you. It’s about the inherent nature of the dream. It has a defense mechanism against ‘outsiders’.”

He then elaborated, “From what I gather, unless someone is actively drawn into the dream, like Vanna and a few others, and truly becomes immersed in the dream world of the Nameless One, any external attempts to engage with the dream result in this ‘rejection’. Such intrusions could potentially awaken either Atlantis or you.”

Goathead, its wooden face betraying an oddly human look of worry, voiced its concern, “Then what’s our next step? Captain, often I’m unaware when I’m in a dream state, and I cannot control it.”

With a contemplative tone, Duncan replied, “We might not have direct control, but I believe we can find a way around this. I think I have a potential solution, and we can test it tonight.”

……

Lucretia watched with a mix of frustration and curiosity as Taran El moved frantically amid a disorderly mound of gadgets, tools, and paperwork in his laboratory. Her brow was deeply furrowed, a sign of her growing impatience. She had been summoned here by Taran’s apprentice early in the morning, and now she found herself waiting, almost feeling as though her time was being wasted.

Breaking the silence, Lucretia voiced her annoyance, “Why, Taran? Why drag me here at the crack of dawn just to witness the chaos of your workspace? You’ve been diving into this jumbled mass of tech and scribbles for what feels like forever. Haven’t I mentioned how swamped I am?”

From deep within his pile of machinery, Taran El’s voice emerged, sounding slightly muffled, “Almost there, just a moment longer.” As he finally emerged, his appearance was disheveled: his hair stood on end, marked by random streaks of grime. “I’ve been adjusting and refining these devices to enhance their user-friendliness. And… ah, finally! I’ve managed to open this stubborn box; it contains the last component I need.”

Holding an assortment of printouts, perforated paper tapes, and translucent films, Taran El continued without taking a breath, “I’m well aware of your commitments, Lucretia. The ominous anomaly hovering over Wind Harbor has taken much of your attention. Your father and you have poured so much into understanding and combating it. But we, the residents of this city, can’t just stand by idly. We have a role to play in this fight against the ‘dream’, even if we haven’t pinpointed an effective strategy yet.”

Seeing the dedication in the elven scholar’s eyes, Lucretia’s irritation began to wane. Pushing her initial irritation to the back of her mind, she stepped closer to the table to get a clearer view of Taran El’s findings. “So, this is your research related to the ‘dream’?”The latest_epɪ_sodes are on_the ɴovᴇl_Firᴇ.ɴet

Taran El nodded, organizing the scattered pile of records before answering, “It’s a collective effort. We have contributions from various departments, esteemed colleagues, and renowned institutions in the city, including the Truth Guardians and the city’s marshals. We might not possess the prowess of someone like your father, but sometimes, even basic techniques can yield results. Here, let me show you my part.”

With a sense of pride, he selected a long strip of paper and spread it out in front of Lucretia. “This, my dear, is a record of my physiological responses and sleep activity from last night.”

Lucretia carefully picked up the strip, her face reflecting her concentration. She examined the inconsistent lines and the data points made by a punch card machine. Amid the dense information, she noticed a peculiar and unmistakable “gap”.

“In fact, I spent the entire night right here in this laboratory,” Taran El stated, gesturing towards a simple cot tucked away in one corner. Adjacent to the cot, a collection of odd-looking instruments caught the eye, appearing as though they’d been hastily arranged there. The wires and tubes connecting these devices were snarled in a jumble, reminiscent of a nest of serpents.

“I originally constructed these tools with a particular aim: to optimize the quality of my sleep,” he continued, adjusting his glasses. “Imagine achieving a full night’s rest in merely a few hours. These electrodes,” he indicated, touching a small, wiry object, “are specifically engineered to observe my neural functions while asleep, with the data being transcribed onto this paper strip. The punched out symbols, round for exhaling and square for inhaling, depict my respiratory rhythms.”

Interrupting him, Lucretia keenly pointed at a section of the strip, “There appear to be two significant disruptions evident here. If I’m interpreting these time indicators correctly, one happened at nine last night, and the other early this morning. This would imply…”

“…That the time frame corresponds precisely with the onset and cessation of the ‘Nameless Dream’,” Taran El completed her statement, taking the paper from her hands. Holding it under the light, he traced the two discernible breaks. “During these moments, my neural activity exhibited an unexplained cessation. Yet the interval sandwiched between these disruptions is of true pertinence.”

Holding the strip up to eye level, he presented the flurry of erratic neural activity sandwiched between the two disruptions. “This segment still holds records,” he commented, “Do you perceive the anomaly, Miss Lucretia?”

“I believe there’s more to this story,” Lucretia asserted, her tone carrying a hint of eagerness. “Show me the remainder.”

Without making her wait any longer, Taran El fetched a bundle of grayscale photographs laid on an adjacent table. As Lucretia surveyed them, she discerned they were snapshots of the laboratory’s sleeping corner. In the initial shots, Taran El could be seen resting, even jovially signaling to the camera in a few. But the pictures that followed portrayed an unoccupied cot with the once attached electrodes now abandoned on the bedding.

“I had arranged three cameras equipped with automatic timers and extended film cartridges around my sleeping zone,” Taran El elucidated. “Every quarter hour, they would capture the scene from varying viewpoints. As you’ve observed, my presence is conspicuously absent after nine o’clock. It was during this window that the ‘Nameless Dream’ commenced, and my persona was seemingly transported to this alternate dimension.”

With heightened drama, the illustrious scholar flourished the strip, focusing Lucretia’s attention on its intricate middle segment.

The atmosphere grew palpably intense as Taran El presented his enigma, “So, it begs the question, Miss Lucretia— during that span from nine in the evening to the early hours at five, when I was nowhere to be found in this plane of existence, whom exactly did this apparatus detect and record?”

Lucretia inhaled deeply, processing the gravity of the information. She stared at the final image she held with captivated eyes.

The snapshot revealed an empty cot in the quiet corner of the lab. The electrodes, designed to track neural signals, were abandoned and lay eerily on the cushion. Under the lens’s scrutiny, their metallic ends shimmered, almost as if whispering secrets to an unseen presence, all while the city outside was draped in the serene shroud of the nocturnal hours.

However, Taran El’s voice cut through her thoughts, adding another layer to the mystery. “But this puzzle is merely one among a multitude. The phenomenon of the Nameless Dream has given rise to countless enigmas, and these inconsistent readings represent but a fraction.”

He made his way to his workstation and settled into his chair with a sense of gravity. “A more pressing dilemma is this— where do our essences travel during the dream’s embrace?”

She looked puzzled, “What do you imply?”

“You’ve shared your experiences. During the occurrence of the Nameless Dream, both you and the followers of your father are transported to a distinctive dreamscape. This dream territory, dominated by expansive woodlands, is an uncanny reflection of the one I found myself in during my past confinement. However… I retain no memory of revisiting such a location last night.”

He leaned forward, his eyes narrowing in contemplation. “Since my prior entanglement in that woodland realm and your subsequent intervention to liberate me, I’ve never ventured back into those woods during my dreams. And my experience isn’t unique. Every time the Nameless Dream looms, the entirety of this city’s inhabitants disappears into the void of sleep. Unlike you, however, we don’t consciously experience this dream dimension or traverse its enigmatic woods. For us, the process feels instantaneous— we drift into sleep, and moments later, dawn arrives. Were it not for the warnings from you and your father, we’d remain oblivious to the events of the preceding night.”

He paused, letting the weight of his words settle, “So, during this nocturnal enigma, where do the souls of our city’s denizens journey?”

Although Lucretia lacked a definitive answer, Taran El wasn’t truly seeking one. He was merely voicing his musings, shaping the trajectory of his investigations.

As rays of sunlight pierced the canopy of clouds, they were filtered by a majestic tree situated outside the lab. Its intricate web of branches and foliage produced a mosaic of light and shadow, a dance of illumination on the scholar’s desk, emphasizing the readings from his automated tools.

Suddenly, a realization seemed to dawn upon Lucretia. She looked up abruptly, her gaze locking onto the tree outside.

“Master Taran El…”

He looked up, “Yes, Miss Lucretia?”

Her voice trembled with disbelief, “…Has there always been such a prominent tree outside your laboratory?”