Helena and Vanna found themselves in a series of discussions, frequently double-checking with each other to make certain they had correctly understood the unfolding situation.
“To make sure I’ve got this straight,” Helena started, narrowing her eyes for emphasis, “you’re telling me that Duncan Abnomar, a man who is infamously known as the ‘Shadow of Subspace’, has decided to rebuild his so-called ‘Vanished Fleet.’ And this decision comes in the wake of the recent crisis triggered by Frost’s event. Moreover, his initial step in this endeavor involved you manipulating legal technicalities to secure a ship permit on his behalf?”
Visibly uneasy and looking like she’d rather be anywhere else, Vanna nodded her agreement. “Yes, that’s exactly what he told me.”
Helena pushed further, “And Duncan Abnomar’s objective for this complex maneuver is to make sure that the revamped Vanished Fleet will continue their maritime freight operations without any hiccups?”
Again, Vanna nodded, reiterating, “Yes, that’s precisely what he’s aiming for.”
Helena’s eyes momentarily shifted upwards toward the spot where Vision 004 had previously vanished into the ground. She then looked back at Vanna, her eyes alternating between the two points as if comparing them. Finally, she burst out, “As if the situation weren’t complex enough! Today, even the Nameless King’s Tomb has updated its archive of world anomalies. Duncan Abnomar’s actions have introduced three new unnumbered visions into our reality! This is going to overload the four religious organizations we have, demanding a significant investment of resources and time to investigate and understand these new visions, the ‘Vanished Fleet’ included!”
Vanna cast her eyes down, her posture shrinking as if trying to make herself smaller, “But his intention is still for the Storm Church to grant a special permit for a ship called the ‘White Oak.'”
Helena fixed her gaze on Vanna with an intensity that skirted the edge of outright fury but didn’t utter a word.
Finally, Vanna broke eye contact, her body language clearly conveying her discomfort and regret. Unfortunately for her, the message fell flat.
Standing at a height of 1.7 meters, Helena was dwarfed by Vanna’s nearly 1.9-meter stature, negating any intimidation factor the Pope might have had over the inquisitor.
Regaining her composure, Helena stepped back and took a deep, steadying breath. “Vanna, I have two things to tell you,” she said, her face resolute. “Firstly, you’re not authorized to issue this permit. You wear the dual hats of Inquisitor and Saint, but you’re also now affiliated with the Vanished. This compromises your ability to make impartial decisions. You should be aware of this conflict of interest.”
Embarrassment and regret washed over Vanna’s face once more as she asked, “And the second thing?”
Helena closed her eyes briefly, gathering her thoughts before reopening them. “The second thing is, I will be the one to sign the permit for the ship.”
Vanna’s eyes widened in disbelief, staring at Helena as if she had just revealed an unimaginable secret.
Unmoved by Vanna’s astonishment, Helena sighed, “What type of permit do you suppose Duncan Abnomar would most appreciate?”
Still in shock, Vanna remained speechless.
Helena continued, unfazed, “The permit will be prepared shortly. I will seclude myself in the Grand Storm Cathedral to seek guidance from the goddess. Assuming all goes well, the permit will be sent to you through a covert ritual. Please make sure the site for the ceremony on your end is set up and be on standby for further directions.”
As Helena uttered her concluding remarks, her figure began to fade as if evaporating into the air. Gradually, she vanished entirely, leaving behind an empty gathering square.
Simultaneously, somewhere in the vast expanse of the Boundless Sea, a secret maritime passageway shrouded in mystical energy hid the majestic Ark Cathedral. This awe-inspiring vessel, almost like a floating citadel, meandered slowly through the hidden currents of the sea, a clandestine oasis amid the known world.
At the heart of the Ark Cathedral was a steam core radiating immense energy. The core transformed sacred steam into ethereal clouds that perpetually enshrouded the structure. Harmonious bell tolls reverberated through the air, signifying the completion of a spiritual congregation within the cathedral’s hallowed halls.
Deep within the bowels of the Ark Cathedral, in a section referred to as the ‘bottom hold,’ which was submerged beneath the waters of the Boundless Sea, flickering braziers cast a warm light, slicing through the veil of darkness. Between two such braziers stood Helena, the female Pope. She slowly opened her eyes, which had been closed in contemplation.
Inhaling deeply, her face was a complex tapestry of emotions: doubt, resolve, and something indefinable. As if on cue, an elderly, raspy voice broke the silence. “You seem troubled, young lady.”
Helena lifted her eyes towards a tangled web of blood vessels and nerves that flickered ominously in the firelight. These biological cables were augmented by artificial conduits and electrodes, their weak luminescence pulsating in the cavernous space.
“Have you been conscious this whole time?” Helena asked, her voice tinged with respectful curiosity as she addressed the mythical creature upon whose back the Ark Cathedral rested.
“Didn’t really want to be, but your spiritual channel gatherings are too loud to ignore,” the ancient creature replied. “Especially today. It was noisier than usual.”
“I apologize for the disturbance,” Helena said, her tone sincere. “There have been some recent events that have left me pondering deeply. I’m planning to pray to seek divine guidance.”
“You’re seeking an audience with the Queen?” the creature inquired in its timeworn voice. “Very well, I shall not disturb you. Perhaps this time you’ll receive more unequivocal guidance. Oh, and do pass along my salutations to her.”
Helena nodded in acknowledgment and turned to face the nearest brazier. Closing her eyes, she began to pray, entering a deep state of spiritual concentration.
A profound silence filled the vast chamber, making it seem as if time itself had ceased to flow. Only the ever-dancing flames of the braziers created any movement, their light and shadows forming an invisible bridge to some otherworldly realm. After what felt like an eternity, Helena ended her prayer and opened her eyes.
Something had changed; she could feel it. While the goddess’s messages remained as enigmatic as ever, Helena sensed a hint of emotion within the divine utterances, a nuance that she struggled to identify. After deep introspection, the essence of the message became clear: it was one of permission and approval.
With a resigned sigh, Helena turned to the bio-mechanical nexus of nerves, cables, and electrodes. “I received the divine message, and I conveyed your greetings to the goddess,” she announced.
There was no response; the leviathan on whose back the Ark Cathedral was built had seemingly returned to its dormant state, a recurring pattern that Helena had grown accustomed to.
Reaching into the surrounding darkness, Helena retrieved a blank travel permit. Confirming it was the appropriate document, she quickly inscribed her signature along with other pertinent details. Approaching the nearest brazier, she bowed her head in a brief moment of prayer before casting the permit into the flames.
Within seconds, the paper and its magically duplicated copies were consumed by fire, disintegrated into fine ash, and disseminated into the material world, carried by supernatural forces to their intended destinations.
…
Regaining consciousness in her cabin, Vanna’s eyes fluttered open and she drew deep, steadying breaths. The atmosphere in this makeshift ritual space starkly contrasted the serene “Tide Chamber” within the cathedral. Her newly alert senses quickly registered the all-encompassing feeling of being submerged in seawater—an environment that even she, a revered Storm Saint, found slightly disconcerting.
However, the spiritual gathering had been successful, and that was what mattered.
Taking a few moments to ground herself and steady her thoughts, Vanna mentally reviewed the intricacies of the gathering she had just participated in. She settled in to wait patiently for a message from Pope Helena, along with the permit that would likely be delivered through a secret ritual.
Conventionally, Pope Helena would engage in a series of prayer rituals to sanctify the permit, even if certain bureaucratic steps like the “inspection of the licensed vessel” had been bypassed for one reason or another. Prayer to the goddess was an indispensable step in the process.
Yet, as Vanna’s eyes swept over the improvised altar she had set up for the ritual, her expression abruptly froze in place.
The stout, long-lasting candles she’d placed as ritual braziers were surprisingly burned down to a mound of ashy wax, even though they were intended to last the entire day. Amidst the last tendrils of dissipating smoke, she noticed a document on the floor, glowing faintly with an ethereal light.
Already?
Puzzled, Vanna approached the document cautiously and picked it up, scanning its contents meticulously. The document appeared standard, detailing basic information about the White Oak and any supernatural elements involved, and stamped with the church’s official seal. Two versions were present: an original and a duplicate, likely intended for routine customs inspections.
All were signed by Pope Helena.
Everything seemed perfectly in order, save for the unnervingly fast delivery time. She had barely had the chance to reorient herself post-gathering before the documents arrived.
As Vanna continued to inspect the documents, a voice reverberated within her mind—it was Pope Helena.
“The items Captain Duncan requested have been sent via the ‘secret ritual.'”
Glancing down at the papers in her hands, Vanna decided to set aside her minor reservations. “Yes, I’ve received them,” she mentally affirmed.
With a feeling of relief washing over her, Vanna thanked the Pope and bid her farewell. She then carefully stored the documents in a secure place before making her way out of the cabin.
As she emerged onto the deck, she found Duncan waiting for her. A welcoming smile spread across his face as she approached. “You were gone for quite a while. Did everything go as planned with the gathering?”
“The gathering was… successful,” Vanna said, pausing slightly as she chose her words. The first thing that crossed her mind was the three “unnumbered visions” she had discovered on the parchment she’d brought back from Vision 004. Wearing a complex expression, she looked at Duncan, who still wore his comforting smile. She then handed him the freshly received travel permit from the Grand Storm Cathedral. “But before we discuss anything else, take a look at this. It’s the permit you were asking for.”
“A permit?” Duncan’s eyebrows lifted in momentary surprise. He had mentioned the need for a permit to Vanna, but he certainly hadn’t anticipated that she’d produce it so swiftly upon her return from the spiritual gathering. The swiftness of the document’s arrival had him momentarily taken aback.
Nonetheless, he extended his hand to take the proffered documents and began to quickly scan through them. “You’re quite efficient, aren’t you?” he said in a light tone, his eyes still skimming over the official verbiage. “Did you carry these permits with you?”
“The circumstances are a bit more complicated than that,” Vanna replied, her expression shifting to one of slight embarrassment. “You see, I didn’t actually sign these documents. They were signed by Pope Helena herself. She became aware of our…”
Before she could finish her sentence, Duncan abruptly interrupted her, his eyes snapping up to meet hers. “Hold on a moment, did you say these were signed by Pope Helena?”
Confused by Duncan’s intense reaction, Vanna hesitated for a moment. “Yes, they were signed by Pope Helena. Is something wrong?”
Duncan didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he held Vanna’s gaze for a weighty pause, his eyes searching hers as if seeking some hidden truth. Finally, he looked back down at the documents in his hand, focusing intently on the signature at the bottom of the page.
The signatory’s name read “Gomona.”
He double-checked. Each and every piece of paperwork—originals, duplicates, and supplementary certificates—all bore the same signature.
The name was unmistakable, and it was not that of Pope Helena. The realization seemed to usher in a heavier atmosphere, laden with unanswered questions and a new level of complexity. With the signature before him, Duncan felt a range of emotions: curiosity, suspicion, and a burgeoning sense of wonder about the deepening intricacies of their situation.
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