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Yet, Duncan couldn’t shake an unsettling thought. When considering the very essence of terror and the unknown, was there truly any difference between the cold, vacuum of space and this pitch-black oceanic trench filled with billions of tons of seawater?

The propulsion system was fueled by a steam core that emitted a deep, rhythmic hum, while sporadic hissing sounds came from the pressure gauges on the control panel. These gauges signaled the vessel’s current operational state, and they reminded Duncan to proceed cautiously. To mitigate the risk of catastrophic damage caused by sudden pressure changes, he slowed their rate of descent. Casting a sidelong glance at Agatha, he noticed her solemn face.

“Agatha,” Duncan ventured, “what’s on your mind?”

Agatha hesitated for a moment before speaking. “I keep wondering, did the original explorers of this project see the same horrors we’re encountering now? I mean, the grotesque creatures, the unidentifiable remains, the unfathomable and terrifying appendages, even the detached eyeball we saw sinking further into the abyss. Before it all went horribly wrong, didn’t anyone ever look ‘up,’ driven by curiosity or perhaps sheer recklessness?”

Duncan paused, his thoughts tumbling over each other as he recalled what he’d learned about the Abyss Project from his conversations with Tyrian. Had anyone ever truly understood the horrific truths lurking beneath the city-state, or were these secrets deliberately kept hidden, much like the dark history of the metal ore mine?

“Maybe some did glance back at the abyss,” Duncan finally replied after a moment of silence, “but whatever they found, it was probably never documented or shared. As the gatekeeper of the city-state, you know better than anyone the dangerous implications of such knowledge.”

Agatha’s voice softened as she continued, “Many would lose their sanity. The sheer terror of knowing could cause mass nightmares and widespread panic, even without the influence of the abyss’s mysterious powers. Those nightmares could spill over into the ‘reality’ beneath the city-state, triggering events beyond our understanding. In the worst-case scenario, it might awaken whatever it is.”

Duncan nodded gravely. “We live in a world built on the grotesque and incomprehensible remnants of an ancient, unknown entity. For most, a veil of ignorance keeps them blissfully unaware of a truth so disturbing it could shatter their minds. Generally, as long as these truths remain hidden, they pose no threat. The real problem arises when there are ‘exceptional cases’—people who uncover these truths.”

After a pause, Agatha asked, “So, what’s our next step? Will you share what we’ve discovered down here?”

Duncan looked at her, his eyes heavy with the weight of their mission and the dreadful choices that lay ahead.

“Currently, I have no plans to divulge what we’ve discovered down here to anyone who isn’t emotionally or psychologically prepared for the ramifications. The last thing I want is to disrupt the peace and stability that most people rely on in their day-to-day lives,” Duncan began, his voice tinged with a gravity that mirrored the weight of their discovery. “However, there’s a principle you must be well aware of— ‘Knowledge of existence binds it to the fate of the world.’ The more we know about something, the more entangled it becomes with the fabric of our reality.”

Agatha’s eyes widened as she recognized the reference. “The Second Law of Anomalies and Visions,” she confirmed. “Once you know something, you can’t un-know it. Our exposure to the truth beneath the city-state has woven us into a complicated tapestry of fate and circumstance. At some point, we’ll have to confront what that means.”

Duncan nodded in a subdued manner, letting her words hang in the air. Both understood the magnitude of their situation, but before they could delve further into the philosophical implications, a sudden, eerie ‘thud’ reverberated throughout the submersible’s frame.

The sound was startlingly organic, as though something—or someone—was knocking against the exterior shell of their vessel.

Agatha’s head snapped up, her eyes wide. “Did you hear that? It sounded like something was knocking on the outside of the submersible.”

Duncan was momentarily rattled but quickly regained his composure. Scanning the control panel, he assessed the pressure gauges and structural integrity indicators. “It’s probably just the water pressure. With billions of tons of seawater pressing down on us, minor shifts and distortions in the submersible’s hull are to be expected. It’s within the acceptable range of operation, so there’s no immediate cause for concern.”

Although Agatha seemed partially reassured by Duncan’s explanation, a lingering sense of unease remained etched on her face.

Despite her formidable training and role as a guardian, she felt an unfamiliar vulnerability. Away from the safeguards and constructs of human civilization, far from the reach of divine blessings or supernatural powers, they were both dwarfed by the relentless forces of nature. Their very survival rested on a fragile equilibrium, held together by the steel walls of their submersible—a tiny speck of engineering caught in an immense oceanic expanse.

Agatha was no stranger to confrontations with otherworldly entities or nightmarish visions, but this was different. The fear she felt now was more primal, rooted in the relentless, unforgiving laws of physics. It was a humbling reminder that their submersible, for all its advanced engineering, was still susceptible to the extraordinary pressures exerted by billions of tons of seawater. A miscalculation or structural failure would mean instant death.

Attempting to dispel the growing tension, or perhaps just seeking to fill the stifling silence that contrasted so sharply with the unsettling sounds from outside, Agatha looked over at Duncan, who was skillfully navigating through the controls. “You seem to have a knack for machinery. I would’ve thought Governor Tyrian would have sent a specialized engineer for such a critical mission, yet you seem to be handling yourself remarkably well.”

Duncan gave her a half-smile, his eyes still on the control panel. “Skilled? I wouldn’t say so. In fact, I’ve never driven anything more complicated than a car—and even that, I only learned to do today.”

Agatha looked at him in disbelief, struggling to reconcile this admission with the man who was currently piloting a high-tech submersible through one of the most hostile environments in the world—or beneath it. “What…?”

“But here’s the catch,” Duncan continued, looking remarkably unperturbed. “Even Tyrian’s most qualified engineers, well-versed as they are in studying blueprints and schematics, couldn’t actually operate this machine. No one has ever driven this thing. It’s a product of Frost’s rulership, and its technology is a far cry from the submersibles built fifty years ago. Those who had the expertise to understand its unique workings have long since disappeared. So, we’re navigating uncharted waters in every sense.”

Agatha was momentarily stunned, her mouth slightly open as she processed his revelation.

Duncan chuckled at her reaction and added, “However, I have two aces up my sleeve. First, I’m not particularly concerned with the traditional idea of safety. In the worst-case scenario, I have ways to get out unscathed. And secondly…”

Here, he paused and looked down at the joystick he was maneuvering and the control panel covered in dials, buttons, and levers.

Emerald-hued, ethereal flames flickered subtly amidst the machinery, illuminating the sacred mixture of steam and oil that lubricated the complex internal mechanisms. This tiny fire danced in response to Duncan’s commands, glowing intermittently, acting almost like the machine’s own heartbeat.

“It’s not quite as responsive as my own ship, the Vanished,” Duncan continued, “and the sensory feedback from this soulless mechanical beast is limited, but it suffices. Machines tend to listen to me.”

In that moment, Agatha sensed the ethereal flames for what they were—a form of spirit fire, a connective force that coursed through the steel and oil, the steam, and the gears. It was as though the machine had become an extension of Duncan, pulsating in harmony with his will. This tiny stream of spirit fire lent her a strange sense of security, even in the crushing depths of the dark, cold ocean. She nodded subtly, as if giving a silent salute to Duncan’s mastery over the vessel.

Oblivious to her silent acknowledgment, Duncan returned his focus to the control panel. Despite the enhanced connectivity provided by his spirit flame, he still had to manually guide the machine. It was a way of life he was familiar with—operating on the principle of, “I don’t know how this works, but I’ll figure it out.” It was how he had started piloting the Vanished, after all.

Before either could contemplate further, another ‘thud’ broke their concentration. This one was different: a sharper, more distinct sound that suggested something had made deliberate contact with the exterior of the submersible, differing from the previous, more diffuse noises that could be attributed to hull deformation.

Agatha perked up immediately, her eyes narrowing. “There it is again. Could the hull be warping under the pressure? Or is it something else?”

Duncan’s eyes tightened, his brow furrowing as he swiftly moved his hand to a different control lever. The moment called for keen observation and quick decision-making. Despite their previous conversation, despite their understandings and realizations, the immediate reality was clear: something was out there.

“No, it’s something different,” Duncan responded, his voice tinged with a palpable sense of urgency. He had felt a distinct impact against the submersible’s hull emanating from the deep abyss below them.

The machinery inside the submersible sprang to life with amplified vigor, filling the small space with a chorus of mechanical whirrs and clicks. Duncan manipulated the controls expertly, causing the external searchlights to pivot, scanning through the impenetrable, ink-black water. The submersible’s propellers adjusted, subtly altering the vessel’s orientation.

And then, bathed momentarily in the sweep of the submersible’s searchlights, a figure emerged outside the porthole window.

A human-like figure.

Agatha was the first to register this startling apparition. An outline resembling a human form appeared in her line of sight. It emitted a spectral glow, somewhat akin to the life force she had observed in humans on the surface. Except, this glow was hauntingly subdued, its luminescence paler, almost ghostly.

She couldn’t help but let out a soft, involuntary gasp: “Ah!”

Duncan’s eyes widened, his lips parting as if to curse, but he restrained himself. It was already an unsettling experience to encounter a forest of tentacles deep within the submerged base of the city-state and to see a massive, pale eyeball that seemed to pierce through the dark depths. The sudden materialization of a figure at this extreme depth, nearly a kilometer beneath the surface of Frost, was shocking to say the least.

But what followed next was even more unnerving. As the submersible adjusted its bearings and the searchlights continued their scanning arc, more figures emerged from the obsidian darkness of the ocean. Not just one, but a multitude of ethereal “people,” each glowing faintly, suspended in the water like otherworldly specters. They floated aimlessly, yet with an air of purpose, creating a tableau that was at once surreal, deeply chilling, and profoundly unsettling.

Duncan and Agatha locked eyes for a moment, each understanding the gravity of this eerie discovery. They were not merely navigating the physical depths of the ocean; they had ventured into a realm that defied reason and tested the boundaries of their understanding of reality itself.