Chapter 218: Chapter 222: Wavering
As always, Fenna calmed her spirit and silently recited the sacred passages from “The Storm Codex.” Then she took a partially burnt carved wax candle from the drawer beside her, placed it by her side, and lit the candlestick.
A bright, tiny flame danced on the top of the candle, and a calming fragrance slowly diffused as the essential oil evaporated. Fenna took a gentle breath, then without hesitation, she drew the dagger across her arm.
Blood seeped into the fine lines of the dagger as if absorbed by it, and a brief pain shot through her arm—a pain that didn’t even last a few seconds before it turned into a faint itchiness of the wound healing.
Fenna could even hear the faint sounds of cells regenerating and blood clotting; she watched as the cut on her arm rapidly healed, and the gentle sound of the waves seemed to come faintly from her ears.
She looked at the ritual dagger in her hand and, after a moment’s hesitation, placed it above the burning candlestick, letting the flame lick the tip of the blade.
“Please listen, Sovereign of the Storm, Gospel of the Deep, Maiden of the Calm Sea; please listen, your follower needs guidance…”
The flame crackled, the blood on the dagger ignited in the blink of an eye, and became a misty glow floating above the blade.
This was the sign that the channel had been established.
A saint, using blood as a lure, following a particular format of prayer, adhering to a special ritual process, could establish a more robust, more direct channel of communication between themselves and the deity than the prayers of ordinary priests. This unique power and “grace” were what set “saints” apart from other clerical figures.
And as for how stable and direct this special “channel” was…
In some ways, it could even be considered a direct conversation with a god.
Soft wave sounds began to rise, becoming increasingly vivid as if echoing directly in her mind. Fenna felt the air around her growing moist, and even the scent of brine seemed to waft into her nostrils; then, suddenly, she felt a wave of dizziness, and the scene before her changed.
The familiar bedroom disappeared, and she was surrounded by endless, gently surging azure seawater. There was a faint blue light undulating in the depths of the waters, as if thousands of mystical light sources hid in the deep sea. Fenna felt as if she were situated in the heart of a vast, profound ocean, and amid the sparkling reflections before her eyes, a vague image began to emerge.
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It seemed to be a woman wearing a long dress, and behind her, vast hazy shadows spread in all directions. The woman’s face was hidden behind a veil, and her shadows intertwined behind her, like countless chains wrapped together, sketching out a form far more massive, far beyond human comprehension. And that figure in the long dress was just a small part of that enormous body—the small part that humans could comprehend.
Fenna took a deep breath, steadying her heartbeat.
It wasn’t unusual for a saint to catch a glimpse of the Storm Goddess Gomona’s phantom or avatar during special rituals, but considering her doubts and nearly heretical thoughts earlier that day, Fenna couldn’t help but feel tense.
The mysterious and hazy shadow seemed to come a bit closer. “She” did not speak, but Fenna felt a “thought” directly emerging in her own mind.
The goddess’s phantom was signaling for her to speak.
“I…” Fenna hesitated slightly, finally as if she had made up her mind, she said directly, “I have survived till today because of Subspace. Why did You still choose me as a saint and bestow Your blessings?”
The shadowy figure remained motionless. Fenna didn’t dare to urge an answer, knowing well that what she saw was only a projection, but one that was indeed connected directly to Gomona. And the question she just raised was a great risk—
It went beyond the duties of a Believer, but she genuinely wanted to know the answer.
She waited anxiously, unsure how long had passed, when suddenly, a thought seemed to implant itself directly into her mind—
“…there is no difference…”
“There is no difference?” Fenna was startled; the answer was more enigmatic than the most cryptic prophecies and revelations, and she instinctively felt there must be other “context” that she was failing to understand, which made her question further, “What has no difference? I don’t understand, You chose me knowing that I had been blessed by Subspace…”
However, before Fenna could finish her questions, the illusion of the deep sea around her began to violently surge, and the soft, bright glow in the depths of the sea dimmed and faded one by one. The goddess’s phantom was on the verge of collapse. Fenna felt as if she was being “pushed” out of the channel, and before the connection completely broke, she only faintly perceived a few words:
“…time is limited… approaching… critical…”
The connection was completely severed.
Fenna felt as though she was rudely thrown back into the real world. Her heart pounded violently, and a sensation bordering on suffocation made her subconsciously gasp for air. She looked around, only to see that all illusions had dissipated, and the dagger, which she didn’t realize when had dropped, lay on the table. The only constant was the carved candle, which still burned quietly, its flame flickering restlessly.
Time passed, and finally, Fenna’s gaze moved away from the candle. She picked up the fallen dagger and slowly placed it back in the drawer.
In her mind, she circled the scant information that had surfaced during that brief communication.
“There is no difference,” and “Time is limited, critical point approaching.”
She still couldn’t understand the meaning of the former, while the latter seemed to carry a more explicit message but only confused her more.
Was the goddess telling her that something was about to happen? Was she warning her that the time to prepare for something was limited? What did ‘critical’ mean? What was approaching its critical point? Another crisis? Another disaster of the level of a reality invasion?
Was it connected to the recent crisis that Prand had just gone through?
Fenna’s thoughts were in disarray, and the prayer this time did not calm her. Instead, she felt even more unsettled than during the day.
But suddenly, a strange color emerged at the corner of her eye, bringing her chaotic thoughts to an abrupt halt.
The flame dancing atop the carved candle had, for some reason, taken on a faint green hue.
The next second, she sharply turned her head to look at the dresser in front of her, at the oval-shaped mirror.
Captain Duncan’s figure appeared in the mirror, calmly watching over her.
“Are you alright?”
That gloomy and commanding figure spoke, the question quite abrupt.
“Is it you?” Fenna stood up abruptly, and then as if it struck her, “Did you disrupt my ritual just now?”
“Ritual? I think you’re mistaken,” Duncan shook his head in the mirror, speaking quite earnestly, “I just suddenly sensed that your aura was extremely chaotic. I thought there might still be some formidable enemy left in Prand, so I came to check… But it seems I was mistaken.”
Sensed chaos in her aura… So came to check?
Fenna was full of question marks, slightly doubting whether she had heard correctly, but then she quickly remembered the first time she had seen him in the mirror and instinctively exhibited a wary demeanor, “Did you pull me into a dreamscape again?”
“You’re still in the real world, don’t worry about that,” Duncan answered casually, “So I strongly suggest you don’t try a leaping chop like last time — you’ll really make a mess of your room.”
“…I am not some brute who only knows how to leap and chop,” Fenna suddenly felt tired communicating with the ghost captain, whose words and actions always surpassed what was recorded about him. In these unexpected exchanges, she found herself inadvertently lowering her guard, “Besides ‘coming to check,’ what else do you intend to do? I thought… that you had completely left.”
Duncan in the mirror frowned slightly, seemingly a bit troubled by the overly guarded and hostile demeanor of the young Judge, “You might as well relax a bit, and perhaps be a little more polite. I indeed have left, but spatial-temporal distances don’t mean much to me, besides — regardless, I just protected your City-State. Don’t you think the least you could do is thank me?”
Fenna stared intently at the ghost captain in the mirror and after a few seconds, she stepped forward and actually bowed her head, “I’m very grateful for your assistance. At least in this matter, Prand is under your Grace.”
This candid appreciation seemed to catch Duncan off guard. He had assumed this girl was as stubborn as stone, and this unexpected gesture left him somewhat embarrassed, “Well… there’s no need to be so formal, I only mentioned it in passing.”
“Our positions may differ, but the act of sheltering Prand cannot be denied,” Fenna lifted her head, serious, “Today, countless people survived a catastrophe. Setting aside my role as a Judge, I ought to thank you.”
With that, she paused, then stiffened her expression and continued, “However, this does not mean that I have lowered my vigilance toward you and the Homeloss. We still cannot be certain of your intentions towards the civilized world… At least until we are sure of that, I…”
“It’s fine, I get your point,” Duncan cut off Fenna’s words. He looked at the young Judge with a smirk that was almost a smile. Her words and demeanor could hardly be described as polite, yet her excessively candid nature was not entirely disagreeable, “Let’s talk about something else… It seems you’re in trouble?”
Fenna met Duncan’s gaze, and after a few seconds, she took a gentle breath, “I’m sorry, but it’s none of your concern.”
“…Irrelevant, but I’m curious,” Duncan spoke indifferently, “Whether you’re willing to admit it or not, you can’t dispel the mark I’ve left on you. Fenna, I can sense your current distress — maybe I can help you.”