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Colonel Lister, evidently frustrated, ran a hand across his forehead, “This is a disaster. We’re already swamped with our own multitude of issues… Now, a ship has mysteriously vanished just before it was due to dock at Frost… We’re spread too thin to devote resources to incidents occurring outside our city-state at the moment…”

Agatha, her gaze fixed on the city’s defense commander, retorted with a sober tone, “But, Colonel, as you just mentioned, the ship disappeared just shy of reaching Frost. It’s entirely plausible that it fell victim to some unexplained phenomena.”

Upon hearing this, Lister raised his eyes to meet hers, “You’re suggesting…”

“Our city-state, Frost, is currently under the siege of an inexplicable force causing a surge of unusual incidents. The Seagull incident stands as a testament that these ‘anomalies’ aren’t restricted to our city’s land mass, and with the recent disappearance of the White Oak near our territorial waters, it’s possible that a much larger ‘anomaly’ is looming over Frost. It seems to encompass not only our terrestrial domain but also a substantial section of the adjoining sea,” Agatha detailed her theory.

In response, Lister leaned heavily on the table, his knuckles turning white. After a few beats, he finally looked up, “We need to extend our barricades and send out warnings to all adjacent city-states. The contamination from Frost is spilling over, and a physical blockade may prove insufficient.”

As he spoke, he abruptly fell silent, gritting his teeth in obvious reluctance. Agatha, naturally, caught onto this, “What’s on your mind, Colonel?”

Heaving a sigh, Lister confessed with a gloomy countenance, “I dread that we might need to seek assistance from that damned pirate,”

“You’re referring to… Tyrian Abnomar?” The color slightly drained from Agatha’s face. Although she was the appointed “gatekeeper” of the city-state, she was also a true-born citizen of Frost and had grown up hearing the hair-raising tales of the infamous Mist Fleet. The old saying, “If you don’t sleep, Captain Tyrian will spirit you away when the fog rises” was deeply embedded in the memory of every Frost citizen below fifty. Agatha was no exception.

She gulped before continuing, “Do you believe he’ll be amenable to negotiations?”

“A negotiation might be too strong a word. But we certainly need to engage him in dialogue,” Lister glanced up, his gaze landing squarely on the city’s gatekeeper standing before him. “He arrived here amidst quite a sensitive period, yet he has remained eerily quiet. Initially, I suspected his involvement in the ‘counterfeit’ scandal that’s been plaguing our city, but now it appears more likely that he’s here to keep a vigil on the area, much like us. We need to dispatch a representative to him to understand his intentions better.”

Agatha whispered back, almost to herself, “Folklore paints him as a cursed man, cold and unhinged. They say his breath carries the chill of the icy sea wind, and his stare is enough to freeze the ocean’s surface. Who amongst us can serve as this ‘envoy’?”

“The tales have a way of embellishing the truth. Anyone with a jot of insight would know that the Mist Fleet maintains standard lines of communication with several factions across the Cold Sea. They even have an enterprise known as the ‘Mist Venture Company’ that has established an ‘office’ in Cold Harbor. It’s just that this particular pirate has an unusual disdain for Frost,” Lister sighed lightly. “The matter of the envoy can be taken care of. Our city-state’s military is never short of brave souls, and besides…”

His voice trailed off as his attention was drawn to something outside the window.

“Miss Agatha, did you hear anything peculiar just now?”

“Peculiar sounds?” Agatha echoed, furrowing her brow as she too turned her gaze towards the window. Almost simultaneously, a distant, low-frequency noise reached her ears.

The sound resembled a humming, but it wasn’t one that she could identify from any natural source. It seemed to be emanating from the direction of Dagger Island.

On the outskirts of Frost’s coastline, a naval battleship built of steel, boasting a pristine white hull and three primary cannons, sailed leisurely under the Queen’s flag. A short, stocky captain stood at the prow, observing the distant developments through his telescope. He was dressed in a Queen’s Guard uniform, though it appeared to be a design from half a century ago. There was a disturbingly large hole in his abdomen, through which one could see clean to the other side. The shredded remnants of his uniform around the injury floated lazily in the air as if immersed in seawater, with occasional bubbles surfacing from nowhere.

He was a member of the legendary Mist Fleet and the commanding officer of the formidable battleship “Sea Raven”, Captain Nixon.

At the moment, his gaze was fixed on a tiny island marked by a winding coastline in the distance, where small, obscure shadows were skulking on the water’s surface in the same direction.

Those were the naval vessels of the Frost city-state. While they held a vigilant blockade of Dagger Island from one direction, they kept a wary eye on the maneuvers of the Sea Raven and other ships of the Mist Fleet in close proximity.

“Those ships sure know how to test one’s patience,” a sailor sidled up to the short, burly Captain Nixon, “What if we fire off a few warning shots in their direction?”

“Not unless you fancy being consigned to the engine room and subjected to Admiral Tyrian’s ’round-the-clock’ punishment,” Nixon retorted without turning around, “We’re not here to engage in a feud with Frost’s inhabitants. In the words of our leader, we’re temporarily allies.”

“I see,” the sailor shrugged, conceding, “They’re manning the other side of Dagger Island, and we’ve got this side. So, I suppose we’re ‘collaborating’ quite efficiently. But if they lose their grip on sanity and make any aggressive move, it wouldn’t be our fault if our cannons were to ‘accidentally’ discharge, right?”

“If there’s an ‘accidental’ discharge, you’ll be the first to experience a human cannonball experiment,” Nixon shot a sideways glance at his subordinate, his gaze returning to the distant island, “Dagger Island… Tsk, I recall standing sentinel here back in the day.”

“Back then, it was rich with metal ores ready to be extracted and even housed a small town,” the sailor sighed wistfully, “Ah, those were the golden days.”

As if about to impart his own memories, Nixon’s brow furrowed. But, his expression swiftly hardened upon hearing something.

A peculiar hum… It reached his ears.

“What’s that sound?” The sailor, standing nearby, immediately stiffened, his face reflecting his anxiety, “Is it those Frostians causing it?”

“I’m not certain, but the Frost ships haven’t exhibited any unusual behavior…” Nixon hastily lifted his telescope, “They seem just as clueless… Wait, Dagger Island is in upheaval!”

His hands lowered the telescope abruptly, his eyes widened in astonishment as they were glued to the distant seascape.

An ethereal fog was rising from the direction of Dagger Island, and the strange hum seemed to be emanating from there. It rang in his head like an intrusive thought trying to gnaw its way into his consciousness. The island appeared to stir, its edges dispersing misty tendrils that twisted and billowed in the fog, agitating the sea and fog around it. The island itself was slowly sinking while myriad immense shadows materialized in the fog, reminiscent of titans rousing from their slumber.

Nixon watched the spectacle for a beat, then hastily retrieved the telescope, itching to get a more detailed look at the unfolding situation on the island.

However, just as he was about to bring the device to his eye, an earth-shaking blast emanated from the area engulfed in the rising fog, swiftly succeeded by a series of intense, quick-fire explosions. Plumes of smoke unfurled from the island, merging with the surrounding sea fog, while the stark bursts of light and the ballet of rising flames were distinctly perceptible even without the aid of a telescope! Dagger Island was being decimated. The entirety of its facilities were detonating in quick succession, and every “final safety measure” pointed to a single explanation: Contingency 22, nitroglycerin.

Nixon found himself captivated by the spectacle, only processing the magnitude of the event after a brief lapse. But then, the sight confronting him once again surpassed his wildest imagination.

Dagger Island was submerging, like a dreadnought with a fatally compromised hull, rapidly going under amidst a symphony of explosions.

“The island… it’s sinking?” The stunned voice of his subordinate echoed beside him. The sailor, having served at sea for over half a century, was witnessing such a phenomenon for the first time, “Did the Frostians… cause Dagger Island to sink?! Can they really sink an entire island?!”

“Poppycock! No explosive in existence possesses such potency. How could an island possibly be ‘sunk’?!” Nixon blurted out instinctively, but the sight before his eyes made him bite back his words.

Dagger Island was indeed sinking, and the rate of descent was accelerating, reaching an unthinkable pace. One moment, he could still see two-thirds of the island protruding above the water’s surface; the next, only a diminutive mound was visible. And then, mere seconds later… the island had completely vanished from the face of the sea.

The fog dissipated, and there was no sign of Dagger Island on the icy sea.

“Not even a whirlpool formed…” Captain Nixon forced a gulp down his throat, muttering in disbelief.

The submersion of an island should have theoretically resulted in a formidable whirlpool large enough to consume the world’s largest seafaring vessels. However, contrary to expectations… no whirlpool manifested. The waters remained tranquil and undisturbed.

It was as if… the island hadn’t sunk but had merged with the sea.