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First Mate Aiden was the first to venture towards the porthole, his eyes widened in awe at the sight unfolding. After taking in the scene for a moment, he shouted, “The fog is lifting! Captain! The fog is pulling back!”

“I can see that,” Captain Tyrian replied tersely, making his way quickly to the porthole. His hardened eye retained its intensity despite the dispersing fog. “It’s pulling away… but can we truly say it has retreated?”

“Captain, shouldn’t this be a sign of relief?” Aiden asked, sensing an underlying tension in Tyrian’s voice. “The clearing mist could mean that whatever mysterious force has been brewing in the Frost is…”

“Something isn’t right…” Tyrian interrupted Aiden, a serious expression etched on his face. He peered intensely towards the horizon. “The fog has cleared, but those phantom ships… they remain. And the sea… it’s… it’s…”

“The sea?” Aiden queried, furrowing his brows, following Tyrian’s gaze to the horizon and sucking in a breath as realization dawned.

As the Captain had implied, something was terribly wrong—the illusionary fleets in every direction weren’t dissolving. On the contrary, more ghostly vessels began to breach the sea surface. And in unison, the sea began to darken as if gradually dyed by an invisible hand!

An all-consuming darkness seeped through the sea, indicating something hidden was stirring, with numerous obscure shapes rising to converge on the surface. It was as if some gigantic creature—or perhaps an army of beasts—was surfacing from the deep abyss of the ocean!

“Oh God…” Aiden began, but his words were cut short as the temporary tranquility achieved by the fog’s retreat was violently interrupted by a succession of deafening roars.

The sea around them was splitting, revealing a multitude of massive vessels. Some were wrecked and battered, others twisted into ghostly apparitions, while a few bore a chilling resemblance to their own fleet—in the suddenly pitch-black sea, it appeared as though an entire fleet of phantom ships was being launched simultaneously!

“Alert! Enemy vessels are surfacing! They’re… they’re everywhere!” A terrified sailor screamed, jolting the crew into action.

Their defensive cannons mounted along the ship’s edges thundered to life, firing projectiles into the air and transforming the sea into a battleground filled with enormous splashes of water and explosive detonations.

Amidst this sudden chaos, Captain Tyrian stood as if frozen, silently observing the sea as the enemy continued to rise from the water, one after another.

Even amidst the chaotic scene, some of the resurfacing ships were unmistakably familiar to his crew.

“It’s the ‘Knight’! The ‘Knight’ that we sank to the depths at the very start of this nightmare!”

“And the ‘Black Flag Soldier’! We sent the ‘Black Flag Soldier’ to its watery grave just a quarter of an hour ago! Yet, it’s bobbing back to the surface!”

“The ‘Courage’! And the ‘Prince of Jotun’, too!”

“Captain!” First Mate Aiden’s voice rang out with an edge of panic, a startling contrast to his typically collected tone. “All the phantom fleets… the ones we thought we defeated… they’re all rising from the sea again!”

As Tyrian was about to respond, a voice echoed within the labyrinth of his thoughts, “This was inevitable, as long as the source of these illusionary fleets persists.”

“Father?!” Tyrian gasped, his eyes scanning the surroundings instinctively, trying to pinpoint the origin of these mirages. “Where could you be now…”

“Don’t worry, Tyrian – the timing is perfect.”

Tyrian swiftly collected his bearings, signaling to Aiden to maintain control of their ongoing combat. He then mentally prepared to respond: “What should I do now?”

…

Meanwhile, as the thick fog engulfing the sea gradually lifted, so did the gloomy shroud that had encased the land of Frost. However, just like the escalating crisis at sea, the lifting fog didn’t signify the end of the catastrophe on land.

Illusions continued to hold sway, and a more grotesque version of Frost started overlaying itself onto the real landscape.

Engaged in intense battle, the city-state soldiers constructed hasty barricades along the streets, combating an unyielding surge of monstrous creatures that seemed to emerge from thin air. The deafening discharge of gunshots resonated across the cityscape. The peaceful and secure aura of the city had been completely shattered, with clouds of gunpowder smoke smothering the city streets. Dirt, rubble, and gradually congealing pools of blood stained the city, while increasingly distorted scenes overlapped reality.

“Commander, they’re swarming all over!”

At the crossroads of Fireplace Street, a city-state guardian unit, previously trapped within the fog, relied on the mighty steam walkers’ firepower to combat the monstrous invasion. They had barely managed to celebrate the fog’s retreat when they found themselves plunged into a new, surreal battle against a barrage of horrifying creatures and terrifying phenomena.

“Then fire back at them from all directions!” The unit’s commander roared, firing his weapon into the distant chaos as he sprinted towards the massive steam walker standing next to the communication unit, “Have we managed to reestablish contact with the other units?”

“Units seven, six, and four are still unresponsive!” The communicator yelled, “Almost a quarter of our units disappeared in the previous fog!”

“Keep trying to reach them until you get a response or until we get reinforcements,” the commander directed, patting the communicator on his helmet before returning his attention to the distant onslaught, “The fog has lifted. Stay strong, the situation is changing – this might be the final assault!”

The mighty machine gun turret atop the steam walker roared without respite, tearing through a fellow steam walker stationed at a distance. As the giant mechanical construct buckled and crumbled under the relentless fire, a surge of gritty debris gushed from its internal compartments. It spewed onto the streets, grotesquely reminiscent of visceral carnage.

The soldiers found within themselves the resolve to carry on – whether it was genuine courage or simply numbness that drove their fatigue-stricken bodies to keep fighting. The commander, mustering inspiring words that he himself found insubstantial, cast his gaze back onto the distant battlefield.

His eyes were drawn towards two towering cathedrals standing tall atop the hill. The landscape on their side of the city-state was warping unnaturally as a vast and alien cluster of structures gradually emerged from within the city itself. Successive tiers of buildings rose to overshadow the familiar streets below. From these newly formed buildings, more twisted, leaning towers sprouted like grotesque skeletal protrusions from a gigantic creature, incessantly growing and multiplying into the sky.

“God of Death…” Standing at the pinnacle of the Silent Cathedral, Bishop Ivan surveyed the city as it slowly distorted, engulfed by a gargantuan illusion. He muttered, almost to himself, “Is this the day of judgment?”

He looked far into the distance, but all he could perceive was an encroaching sea of darkness. At some point, the city hall situated on the opposing hillside had been consumed by a spectral thicket of thorns. Among these thorn-entwined structures, another Silent Cathedral loomed ominously. At the base of the hill, an endless array of buildings twisted and teetered like limbs of soft-bodied beasts, painting a chilling picture of pure horror.

Beyond the city limits, a menacing darkness sprawled across the entire sea. This pitch-black expanse mirrored a dreadful reflection, slowly revealing another version of Frost. This mirrored image of the city appeared to be twisted in tumult, littered with abnormalities, and seething with malevolence.

An enormous mirrored city rose from the ocean’s depths, gnawing at the borders of both reality and illusion.

“Archbishop!” A high-ranking assistant rushed through the terrace doors towards Bishop Ivan. “The last reserve troops have assembled. The death priests and the guardians vow to defend the cathedral till the very end!”

“Any news from Agatha?”

“We’ve failed to establish contact with Gatekeeper Agatha,” the assistant reported hurriedly. “The exploration team that ventured into the mines with her reported that she vanished after walking into a mysterious stone wall. Now, with the mine consumed by darkness, I fear…”

“The gatekeeper is not one to fall so easily. Agatha will fulfill her duty… she certainly will,” Bishop Ivan asserted, his voice filled with unwavering belief.

The assistant hesitated, “Archbishop, perhaps you should consider evacuation…”

“Evacuate? Do you suggest I retreat into the prayer room’s safety within the cathedral? Or perhaps flee the city by boat?” Bishop Ivan turned towards his assistant, shaking his head with a solemn gravity. “There’s no need for my evacuation. I will remain here. Your duty is to lead the guardians stationed at the hill’s base and guide all the civilians who can be moved up the hill. Resist for as long as possible.”

The assistant hesitated for a few more moments, then finally nodded with determination: “As you command, Archbishop!”

With his departure, Bishop Ivan was left alone on the terrace once more.

His gaze drifted towards the cathedral entwined in thorns, an uncanny doppelgänger of the Silent Cathedral.

The cathedral was devoid of the usual hustle and bustle of the clergy, standing eerily silent.

Though merely a mirrored apparition, its manifestation signified the final incursion of Mirror Frost’s “inverse.”

“Agatha… you must still be out there, carrying out your mission…”

Bishop Ivan murmured as though talking to himself, or possibly uttering gentle encouragement for a protégé now off the grid.

Slowly, he lifted his hand, unclasping the grand robe emblematic of his archbishopric stature, and removed his crown, setting it beside him on the railing.

“Always remember, we, the Saints of Bartok, stand resolute until our ultimate demise…”

Beneath the regal trappings of his robe and crown lay swathes of bandages. With a trembling hand, Ivan reached out, slowly loosening a knot at his collar.

“With our mortal forms, we wage a relentless war against corruption. Upon the cessation of life, our indomitable spirits continue the tireless defense, and when these mortal vessels too meet their demise…”

As he unwrapped the bandages, it was as if a pressure cooker, kept under intense stress for decades, was suddenly relieved of its burden. Beneath the bandages, there was no marred flesh – there was no flesh at all.

Only a cloud of ghostly dust remained.

“In the end, what remains are our fiery ashes.”

As the bandages dropped away, ashes fluttered and scattered from the edge of the terrace, morphing into a wispy veil of white smoke that slowly shrouded the sky above Frost.