Chapter 501: The WTF Before Leaving

For the being known as ‘Counterfeit Agatha’, who was birthed from the mirror’s reflection, her existence was bifurcated into two distinct segments. One part of her life was radiant, comforting, and gratifying. It was saturated with the full spectrum of her emotions – her love, her hate, and her intricate connection to this world. However, at its core, this part of her life was nothing more than an elaborate illusion woven into her consciousness. The other segment, contrastingly, spanned a mere three days. It was packed with pressure, exhaustion, agony, and eventually culminated in a death that felt paradoxically liberating. Ironically, this was the only part of her memory that was genuinely hers. Now, having transcended death, she had returned to the realm of the living, and the counterfeit had an opportunity to carry on.

The difficulty she faced was this – the former, the life she yearned for, was forever unattainable. After an extended period, every regret she harbored would metamorphose into bitterness. The latter, while real, was so insubstantial and colorless that it was not sufficient for her to exist as a ‘complete individual’.

Before the inevitable fork in the road came, Duncan Abnomar presented her with some advice. After significant contemplation, she reached a conclusion. The thought of departing and confronting the frigid depths of the sea was terrifying. However, the act of ‘diving’ itself, for the first time, made her aware of the fact that ‘life’ held an alternate possibility, just as Duncan had elucidated to her in the submarine.

“We fumble our way through an unending darkness, and civilization itself is nothing but a delicate, fragile raft. The light from this raft sheds illumination on its immediate surroundings. We use the superficial wisdom of mankind to attempt to interpret the transient shadows that appear in the darkness, hypothesizing what the world might possibly look like.”

“Most individuals choose to huddle in the secure corners of the raft for their entire lives, but there must always be someone who takes the responsibility to stand at the bow, clutching the lamp, peering into the distance.”

“This is a path that is fated to continually move forward, because the ‘unknown’ is inherently a one-directional concept. Maybe... this is something I can attempt.”

The mirror’s Agatha declared with calmness. The black robe she wore, signifying the status of the gatekeeper, had subtly transformed, morphing into a set of attire reminiscent of a sea explorer.

It somewhat mirrored Martha’s outfit but still bore the symbols of the Death Church. She removed the hat that was a symbol of the clergy, letting her hair fall freely while the bandages that had previously enveloped her body began to slowly fade away.

She then raised her gaze and smiled at Duncan, ‘The counterfeit might not have a tangible past, but I can still have an authentic future. Let those cherished memories rest peacefully in the realm of the past. This way, whenever I reminisce in the future, they will continue to shine brightly, emanating warmth, and remain untarnished by human frailties. Martha assisted me in creating this outfit. What is your opinion?”

Duncan studied the reflection of Agatha, and after a long pause, he nodded seriously, “It’s suitable.”

“Do you believe that I need to alter my name?” Agatha questioned, “If I am about to embark on an entirely fresh journey, should I initiate this transformation with a change in my name?”

This time, Duncan took even longer to respond. But after considerable contemplation, he still shook his head, “There’s no need, it seems appropriate that you continue being called Agatha.”

“Why?”

“Simply because I’ve become accustomed to addressing you as such, a change in name would be inconvenient,” Duncan responded nonchalantly. “Besides, I’m capable of distinguishing between both of you.”

The reflection of Agatha regarded Duncan with a penetrating gaze, “This doesn’t seem like your actual reason, but it suffices to persuade me. Besides, I have a fondness for this name. Let it stand as the final vestige of my ‘past’.”

Duncan nodded his approval, “Excellent, it’s heartening to see that you can perceive it this way.”

“Hold your horses, we need to coordinate things with the White Oak first, and I ought to inform Tyrian,” Duncan chuckled. “He should have returned to his office in the dome building by now. I’ll just go and extend my greetings.”

“Understood. In that case, I won’t impose on you any longer.” Agatha nodded, her figure gradually dissolving from the mirror. Concurrently, within the dome building of the Frost Administrative Office, Tyrian had just bid farewell to the final department representative. He doffed the ornate but uncomfortable coat he had donned for the ceremony and slipped into his daily attire. Settling behind his desk, he exhaled a small sigh of relief.

There was a brief respite up next, a necessary breather to prepare for the remainder of the day’s tasks. As the governor of a city in a state of chaos, he had not even been afforded a moment’s break on his inauguration day. The morning’s agenda had been crammed with work that would typically fill an entire day. The afternoon and evening were to be dedicated to dealing with all the deferred matters. Furthermore, his responsibilities extended beyond the city of Frost.

The vast “enterprise” that the Mist Fleet had been operating for the past five decades, his own intricate and complex liaisons with other city-states, the delicate balance of power in the Cold Sea, and the relationship with his “family”... All these matters combined were as demanding as the role of a governor.

With a deep sigh, Tyrian unlocked a drawer adjacent to his desk, revealing numerous folders and documents. These files included archives related to the Mist Fleet, shared data from the Bright Star, and personal correspondences from other city-states. The period of rest meant that he could momentarily set aside his duties as governor and tackle another batch of tasks that were just as taxing.

Glancing over the imposing stack, Tyrian couldn’t help but reach up and scratch his head. An image of his first mate Aiden’s bald head sprang into his mind unbidden, sparking a disconcerting association. The freshly minted governor felt a shiver of trepidation and abruptly ceased scratching his head.

“Aiden had shaved it off himself back in the day... He’s been ruing it for a hundred years,” Tyrian mumbled under his breath, seemingly attempting to distract himself from the overwhelming pressure exerted by the mound of work awaiting his attention.

Just then, a subtle crackling sound abruptly punctuated his internal monologue. His heart instinctively lurched, but he rapidly regained his composure. With an unflappable countenance, he shifted his gaze to the mirror hanging on a nearby wall. He had grown accustomed to it... the figure of Duncan materializing in the mirror.

“My son, I just popped by to check on you. Is everything progressing smoothly?”

“Everything is in order, Father,” Tyrian responded, rising to his feet and deliberately meeting his father’s gaze, his heart noticeably more at ease than usual.

“Do you have any specific orders for me?”

“Not particularly... I’m just preparing to set off...” Duncan’s voice trailed off unexpectedly. A look of puzzlement crossed Tyrian’s face as he peered at his father in the mirror, only to find the latter staring intently at his desk, a peculiar expression playing on his face. His countenance reflected utter astonishment, which set Tyrian’s heart racing. He swiftly followed his father’s gaze to discover a piece of paper that had slipped out of the pile of documents. It was a message from Lucretia of the Bright Star.

“It’s an ‘academic shared document’,” came Duncan’s unusually grave voice from the mirror, “Tyrian, what exactly is that? Could you bring it closer so I can take a look?”

“Oh... sure.” Tyrian quickly acquiesced, promptly picking up the document and moving towards the mirror to present the depicted image to his father. “Is there an issue with this?”

“Where did this design originate from?”

“It was sent over by Lucretia.”

Tyrian responded instantaneously, his tone wavering between anxiety and guilt. “I hadn’t brought it to your attention earlier, but she has recently been engaged in researching something that plummeted from the heavens.” Duncan remained silent, his gaze fixated intently on the paper. After an extended silence, he finally shattered the stillness with a hushed utterance. It was as if he was caught in a trance, whispering to himself: “Moon.”