Deep Sea Embers
chapter-548

For months, Nina had been brimming with anticipation about her journey to Wind Harbor. The city-state was renowned for its elven culinary traditions, and she couldn’t wait to indulge in the exotic flavors that awaited her. Yet here she was, sitting at a finely crafted table, grappling with the disappointing reality before her.

Her eyes looked empty as they fixed on the mound of indistinguishable, charred substance on her plate. It was a pancake, albeit one that had been overcooked to a near-crisp, and it was smothered with beans that had fermented to an extreme degree—so much so that they had become stringy and were giving off bubbles. The aroma emanating from this culinary catastrophe was so overpowering that Nina felt as though she could already taste its appalling flavor just by breathing it in. For her, this dish transcended the traditional boundaries of what she considered “food”; it felt more like an avant-garde art installation than something edible.

Sitting opposite Nina, Shirley was grappling with her own culinary disappointment. Her plate showcased what was advertised as a “localized elven variant” of a crepe. However, the fermented cheese topping was so pungently odorous that Shirley’s complexion had turned a queasy shade of green.

Finally breaking the awkward silence, Shirley looked up and met Nina’s gaze before pointing to the atrocity on her own plate. “They actually call this a crepe, you know.”

“How can they desecrate the name of crepes like this?” Nina sounded choked up, on the brink of tears. “Crepes have been my comfort food since I was little.”

Taran El, who was seated at the other end of the table, cleared his throat before speaking. As a distinguished scholar at the Academy of Truth, he looked visibly uncomfortable and somewhat anxious. Whether it was the pressure of having failed to provide an enjoyable dining experience for the relatives of Captain Duncan, or simply the disheartened stares of Nina and Shirley, it was hard to say. “This is genuinely considered a crepe in Wind Harbor,” he said cautiously. “Many visitors initially find our local cuisine challenging, but some eventually develop a taste for it.”

Nina was aghast. “But these beans are practically rotten! They’re not just fermented; they’ve turned stringy and frothy. They’re even bubbling!”

Taran El attempted to justify the situation. “When you actually taste it, you’ll find it’s rather delicious,” he insisted. “Besides, it poses no health risks. In fact, it’s believed to be good for digestion.”

As they listened to Taran El’s explanations, both Nina and Shirley wore expressions of sheer disbelief. It was as if their souls had temporarily vacated their bodies, leaving them unable to reconcile what they were hearing with the world they thought they knew.

When Duncan walked into the room, he found exactly the tableau he had expected. Suppressing a chuckle, he sauntered over to Nina and affectionately tousled her hair. “Didn’t I warn you that you might find the local cuisine here in Wind Harbor a bit… challenging? The elves have adapted these regional specialties to suit their own palates.”

Nina murmured under her breath, her eyes still wide with incredulity. “I had no idea just how far those ‘adaptations’ would go…”

“I’m truly sorry for not having anticipated your culinary preferences better,” Taran El said, his tone noticeably anxious the moment Duncan walked into the room. However, the scholar quickly regained his composure and turned his apologies toward Nina and Shirley, the two young women who had been so visibly disappointed by the dining experience. “The bread and smoked meat rolls here in Wind Harbor are pretty much the same as you’d find anywhere else. Let’s have these dishes cleared away.”

Just as he was suggesting the removal of the questionable courses, Shirley unexpectedly puckered her lips and, with a sudden resolve, picked up the funky-smelling “crepe” from her plate.

Lucretia, who had been observing the entire spectacle from a corner of the room, couldn’t hide her surprise. “Shirley?”

“It’s food,” Shirley mumbled, seemingly wrestling with her own inhibitions. Closing her eyes as if taking a deep, metaphorical plunge, she shoved the crepe into her mouth. She chewed with fervor, emitting sounds that made it clear she was committing fully to the act. “You know what? It’s not that bad…”

Nina looked on, utterly flabbergasted, at her friend across the table. Shirley’s bold act seemed to act as a catalyst, nudging her toward an epiphany. With newfound resolve, Nina picked up her plate.

Without exchanging a word, the two girls courageously devoured the unorthodox dishes that Taran El had presented to them.

Finishing almost simultaneously, they wiped their mouths, looked up at each other, and burst into smiles.

A strange silence filled the room.

Duncan let out a hearty chuckle. He walked over and gave Nina an affectionate pat on the shoulder before moving to Shirley to wipe away a smudge of “sauce” that had found its way to her face.

Seemingly shaken out of his stunned state, Taran El finally spoke, his voice tinged with a mixture of astonishment and awkwardness. “It’s quite uncommon for outsiders to adapt so quickly to our local flavors. Ah, yes, if you find Wind Harbor’s fermented foods challenging, we do have a variety of dishes that are less… distinctive. Aside from the bread and smoked meat rolls, we offer cream stews inspired by the Central Seas, lamb stew with bluegrass, northern mushroom stews, and even red vegetable egg custard.”

Nina’s eyes lit up, a glimmer of hope dancing in them. “You mean to say you have food that tastes normal? Why didn’t you mention this earlier?”

Taran El spread his hands, a slight smirk on his face. “Well, because it’s not yet time for dessert…”

Nina’s previously radiant expression deflated slightly. “…Dessert?”

“Yes,” Taran El nodded with confirmation. “All those dishes I mentioned? They’re considered desserts here. We usually mash them into a paste which is then used as a dip for our honey cakes.”

This revelation didn’t just take Nina aback; even Duncan looked utterly surprised.

Sitting across the table, Shirley brought her hands up to her temples and groaned loudly, the picture of exasperation. “Good Lord, I want to get back to our ship. What kind of twisted, subspace torture chamber have we walked into?”

Duncan considered Shirley’s rhetorical question, privately agreeing that even the most masochistic entities in subspace would probably pass on these culinary atrocities. However, given that they were in the presence of Taran El, a local elf, Duncan chose to keep his opinions to himself.

Just as the group was pondering their next steps in this awkward social setting, the chime of a doorbell echoed from the entrance, effectively cutting through the tension in the room.

Lucretia’s brows knitted together subtly at the interruption. A manservant, decked out in traditional butler attire, left the room with a mechanical rigidity. He returned a short while later, having made a trip to the front door, and performed a shallow bow before addressing Lucretia. “There is a visitor from City Hall. Governor Sara Mel requests your presence for a meeting.”

Visibly annoyed, Lucretia shot back, “Tell them I can’t attend. I have more important guests here and don’t have the time to spare.”

“The messenger noted that the issue Governor Sara Mel wishes to discuss is directly related to your ‘honored guests,'” the manservant intoned, his voice as monotonous as ever. “Furthermore, the matter has the official backing of the Four Gods.”

The mention of the Four Gods caused a subtle shift in Lucretia’s expression. Almost instinctively, her eyes flicked up to meet Duncan’s.

Duncan, who had clearly overheard the interaction between Lucretia and her servant, appeared nonchalant. He casually waved his hand, dismissing any concern. “It’s not surprising. I entered the city openly with you. While other city-states might not take notice, here in the elven lands, my face might not go unrecognized.”

“If that’s the case, he should have made the trip himself,” Lucretia retorted, her tone tinged with irritation. “Sending a messenger like this lacks proper decorum.”

Duncan chuckled, seemingly amused by Lucretia’s reaction. “Given Governor Sara Mel’s current responsibilities, he’s hardly sitting idle. You should go find out what this is all about—especially this ‘endorsement by the Four Gods.’ Would you like me to accompany you?”

“No need, I’ll go alone,” Lucretia responded, cutting him off abruptly. With a sigh, she offered a curt nod of farewell to the others in the room, turning to make her exit.

Just then, several colorful pieces of paper fluttered out from her, only to be quickly reabsorbed. She then looked back at Duncan, her face wearing an awkward, forced smile before she finally left the room by normal walking.

Throughout the entire exchange, Duncan’s expression remained inscrutable.

After Lucretia’s departure, Taran El stood in the living room, scratching his head with an air of perplexity. He looked around at the remaining occupants. “Isn’t it customary for her to use magic to get around when she ventures out alone? What would possess her to walk today?”

Duncan, standing with arms crossed, simply shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

Meanwhile, Governor Sara Mel looked on in mild astonishment as Lucretia, often referred to as the “Sea Witch,” strode into his office. His surprise wasn’t that she had arrived punctually but had opted for a more pedestrian entrance. She had walked into City Hall through the grand front doors, ascended via the elevator, and then navigated the maze of hallways to reach this office.

“I’ve gone ahead and opened the window for you,” the elderly elven governor remarked, gesturing to the open pane beside him. “I was under the impression that you’d make one of your signature aerial entries.”

“Glass can’t restrain a phantom,” Lucretia retorted, her face set in an unyielding expression and her voice tinged with something that seemed like discomfort. “However, today I felt the urge to walk.”

“Ah, a commendable choice. Physical activity is beneficial for one’s well-being, particularly for scholarly figures like yourself who are generally engrossed in intellectual pursuits,” Sara Mel observed. Although he couldn’t quite put his finger on it, something about Lucretia’s overall demeanor felt off to him. Her aura, even her manner of speech, seemed different from the norm. But he quickly dismissed this fleeting sense of discrepancy, directing her attention back to the task at hand. “Please take a seat and examine the letter on my desk.”

Lucretia’s eyes had already taken note of the opened envelope on Sara Mel’s desk, the seal bearing the emblematic insignia of the Church of the Four Gods. She sat down across from him and lifted the letter, her eyes scanning through the lines swiftly.

Her eyebrows ascended gradually as she read, her face revealing a complex blend of surprise and a subtle, nearly untraceable flicker of intrigue.

Setting the letter back down, she looked directly into Sara Mel’s eyes. “Was this missive distributed to all the city-states throughout the Boundless Sea?”

“Correct. Governors from various territories should be receiving them soon, if they haven’t already,” Sara Mel nodded, confirming her query. “While their reactions will no doubt be intriguing, I find myself more interested in your perspective at this stage, particularly given your recent reconnection with your father, Captain Duncan. How do you interpret the Church of the Four Gods’ position on this matter?”

Lucretia took a moment to contemplate before speaking. “The churches appears to be more committed and ‘forward-thinking’ than I had initially anticipated.”

“In a more precise context, it’s the perspective of the Arks that could be considered ‘enlightened,'” Sara Mel elucidated. “There are prevalent misconceptions about the various Popes and their associated ‘Pilgrimage Episcopal Groups,’ often viewed as the most dogmatic and conservative custodians of religious doctrines on a global scale. But the reality frequently defies these stereotypes.”

Lucretia quirked an eyebrow. “So you’re suggesting you’re not constrained by such ‘common sense’ judgments?”

“Let’s just say that longevity has its educational benefits,” Sara Mel replied with a casual shrug. “To be honest, I was taken aback when I first received this letter. However, given the chain of recent events and the unusual actions of the churches, the letter’s content doesn’t surprise me as much now.”

At this, Lucretia’s eyebrows knit together subtly. “Unusual actions of the four churches? What are you referring to?”

Rather than directly responding to her query, Sara Mel asked, “When was the last time you came across the patrol fleet from the churches at the border?”

The air in the room thickened with palpable tension, now imbued with a nuanced mix of shared understanding and lingering questions. Sara Mel’s query seemed like a probing move, an attempt to gauge Lucretia’s level of awareness regarding the church’s recent endeavors and how those might be linked to the matters elaborated upon in the mysterious letter. On her end, Lucretia appeared to recognize that the situation might be more intricate than she had initially surmised.