Deep Sea Embers-Chapter 813: The Pivotal Divergence

Ding… Ding Ding…

The sound echoes of a god meticulously etching into the sand with a chisel amidst the scorched remains of bygone eras.

To Vanna, the giant appears just as she remembered: aged, towering, with the wear and tear of countless eras etched into his visage like deep cuts from an axe. His hair and beard are unkempt, and his eyes appear deeply recessed.

Yet, in comparison to her memories, he looks even more withered and stooped over. His frayed robe seems to pulsate with a subtle, red glow as if the embers of a long-fading fire still cling to him. Tiny sparks occasionally escape from the edges of his garment as he moves, the flickering light casting short, ephemeral shadows onto the desert sands.

The giant raises his arm once more, the hammer meeting the chisel, and the chisel striking the loose sand, creating a crisp sound akin to metal striking stone. Despite the effort, sand proves to be a stubborn medium, leaving no mark, only the clear, echoing sound of the chisel across the vast desert.

Standing by a sand dune, Vanna observes this familiar scene from a distance. After a moment of hesitation, she takes a tentative step forward, following her captain’s lead.

Then, breaking the silence, the giant’s deep, raspy voice reaches her: “Time… is an illusion, a construct placed by observers upon the changing world. History, then, is but a shadow cast by sentient beings within this illusory time. To these observers, meaning is founded on the existence of ‘people’… without them, meaning fades away.”

Vanna halts a few meters from the giant.

“There were once stones here, upon which history could be etched. But now, only sand remains, and even the flames have dwindled to but a faint glimmer,” the giant muses to himself, glancing at a small bonfire struggling against the chill wind, “It’s nearing its end.”

“Civilization was birthed from flame and stone, and it shall conclude with them…” Vanna finds herself speaking out, echoing the words Ta Ruijin once shared with her in a profound dream at Wind Harbor.

At this, the giant lifts his head, his gaze meeting Vanna’s.

“Not long ago, I had a fleeting dream, a memory from a distant, almost forgotten past, leaving behind only vague impressions… but within those shadows, I saw you,” he says, looking into Vanna’s eyes, a smile creasing the deep lines of his face, “Thank you for being there with me on that journey. Though the details escape me now… I still remember, it was a journey marked by solitude.”

Vanna’s eyes widen slightly in surprise: “You’re referring to the dreamscape of Atlantis, how… how could you know about that?”

“In the moment when time is poised to complete its cycle, every event that has unfolded within the continuum of time is interlinked,” Ta Ruijin acknowledges with a subtle nod, his voice resonating with a deep understanding. “In the early days of this sanctuary’s inception, I was intricately tied to its temporal currents… now, my knowledge spans broadly.”

He then shifts his gaze towards Duncan, who stands close to Vanna.

“With patience, I’ve awaited your arrival, Flame Usurper,” the giant says, his smile tinged with melancholy, “Yet, your presence here is a rare beacon of significance in this void of emptiness.”

“To be frank, I hadn’t envisioned this place to be as it is,” Duncan admits, letting out a sigh, his honesty palpable. “I assumed… as the chronicler of civilization, you’d fare better than other ‘deities.’ After all, ‘memory’ falls under your dominion; you should possess greater resilience against ‘decay.'”

Ta Ruijin shakes his head, a note of resignation in his voice. “Contrary to what one might expect, when the span of a catastrophe stretches far enough, the ‘eradication of history’ often happens before the extinction of the beings themselves,” he explains. “It’s not always that a race dies and then its history fades; more tragically, while a race still breathes, their history can already be forgotten… forgetting is a deep void.”

He pauses, the weight of his reflection evident. “Forgetting is indeed a deep void, particularly when many aspects of this world can vanish abruptly. The ‘corrections’ within the sanctuary are insufficient to heal the gaps left by ‘blasphemous prototypes,’ leaving behind endless scars and cracks in the fabric of history. I’ve endeavored to conceal these points of historical distortion that could propagate corruption, tirelessly re-crafting the memories of the mortal realm, time and again… until stones turned to sand, and sand to dust, with nearly nothing left for restoration.”

With a gesture of resignation, Ta Ruijin lets the stone and chisel fall from his grasp. As soon as they contact the yellow sand, they disintegrate, blending seamlessly with the desert floor.

Duncan advances towards the giant, whose seated form still towers above the tallest of men: “You’re aware of my purpose here.”

“Yes, Navigator Two has already briefed me,” Ta Ruijin responds, his voice steady and calm. “You’ve come to conclude this world, as I foresaw long ago… everything will be incinerated by your hand – this act is the initial step towards their salvation.”

Duncan locks eyes with the giant, curiosity evident in his question, “Are you speaking of the era before the sanctuary’s foundation, when you and the other ancient kings first encountered ‘me’? Is that why you’ve named me ‘Flame Usurper’… because you had glimpsed the future?”

“I may not possess the capability to compute the intricacies of the entire world like Navigator Two does, but I’ve been gifted with a vision that extends far into the timeline—though, admittedly, it’s not always as beneficial as one might hope,” Ta Ruijin says with a chuckle, a hint of wistfulness in his voice. “Back in the old world, those who placed their faith in me believed in this ability of mine, and so, it was within my reach.”

Duncan shares his inner turmoil, his voice reflecting a blend of contemplation and concern. “The notion of ‘burning everything’ has always been shadowed by my fear of reaching that ‘final burning,'” he confides. “This anxiety took root shortly after Navigator One introduced that ‘takeover strategy’ to me—a vision from a Doomsday Ender once showed me such a finale. In that particular version of history, my actions also led to the world’s end, yet the doom was inescapable.”

He pauses, revealing his deepest apprehension: “That’s been my primary worry, the only thing that’s truly haunted me—the final burning looms like an ominous shadow. I can’t help but feel… the conditions for its onset are eerily similar to the actions I’m about to undertake. If I proceed with ‘the first step,’ am I inadvertently steering us towards that disastrous final end?”

As they sit amidst the yellow sands, Ta Ruijin leans in, locking eyes with Duncan in a moment of profound connection before eventually breaking the gaze.

“There lies a crucial divergence,” he starts, his voice carrying the gravity of his years. “Whether we consider Navigator One’s scheme or your current course of action, ‘burning the world’ appears as an inevitable ‘first step.’ However, the real distinction… hinges on who you are at the moment you initiate this plan.”

At the mention of the “Eternal Flame,” a lightbulb goes off in Duncan’s head!

A key insight, previously elusive and now crystal clear, dawns on him.

Moved by an instinctual urge, he inches closer, his gaze piercing into the giant’s eyes: “Are you suggesting…”

“The influence wielded by Captain Duncan is finite,” Ta Ruijin articulates with serene clarity, “You’ve dwelled within this avatar for an extended period, yet… it remains, fundamentally, just an avatar.”

Duncan’s realization is palpable as he stares down at his hands, coming to terms with the root of his underlying disquiet, comprehending the source of his instinctual apprehensions…

It’s the “self” confined within this form, sensing the avatar’s limitations and issuing a subconscious caution.

He is not merely Duncan; he is Zhou Ming.

Duncan represents merely one of his incarnations, akin to the antique shopkeeper in Pland or the graveyard caretaker in Frost—the captain of the Vanished, merely one among three facades.

Duncan’s initial spiritual odyssey commenced with the activation of that brass compass—whereas Zhou Ming’s inaugural spiritual venture began the moment he stepped through the fog from his bachelor apartment.

With a deep breath, he allows this newfound understanding to anchor within him.

In reality, Zhou Ming had already begun to intuit certain truths about his identity, recognizing that his so-called “true self” aboard the Vanished was fundamentally no different from the “corpse avatars” he utilized in Pland and Frost. He understood that “Duncan” was his inaugural persona in this world, yet he hadn’t fully explored the deeper implications of this realization—

The question of whether he was fundamentally Duncan or Zhou Ming had been crucial from the very beginning.

Reflecting on this… Zhou Ming’s brow furrows as he remembers the initial encounter with Goathead upon his arrival on the Vanished. He recalls the entity’s acute awareness of his presence and its persistent inquiry – “Name?”

“Just as you’re starting to grasp the significance of this question,” Ta Ruijin’s voice unexpectedly interrupts Duncan’s reverie, bringing a sharp focus back to the present, “Might I suggest you temper your thoughts somewhat? The brilliance of your starlight is nearly blinding.”

Duncan comes to a sudden realization, noticing for the first time the subtle starlight radiating from him. This soft luminescence has begun to envelop the surrounding yellow sands, as if dipping the desert itself into a vast, star-filled night sky.

Ta Ruijin, meanwhile, gathers his worn robe around him as if to shield himself from the starlight’s glow, his voice carrying a note of resignation.

Standing close by, Vanna seems unaffected, yet there’s a puzzled look on her face.

She appears much like a student who, while standing next to her mentor, finds herself lost in the complexity of the conversation.

In response, Duncan offers an awkward cough: “Uh… my apologies.”

Following his words, the starlight that had subtly illuminated the surroundings begins to withdraw.