.
The atmosphere on the deck suddenly turned somewhat awkward as an inexplicable silence shrouded Vanna and Tyrian. The latter’s astonished expression hadn’t yet subsided, while the former was already covering her forehead with her hand.
This silence was eventually disrupted by a voice from nearby. A few meters away, Shirley nudged Nina with her elbow: “You see, I told you the first sentence would definitely be that – you owe me two scoops of ice cream.”
“Fine, fine, you were right,” Nina grumbled, “Two it is… I’ll get them for you at Frost.”
Shirley’s eyes widened instantly: “I’m not an idiot! Eat ice cream in a freezing place? Let’s wait until we get back to Pland!”
Tyrian blinked, only now noticing the others on the deck and the subtly different atmosphere from what he had anticipated. He first spotted the girl named Shirley, whom he had encountered before, and then observed the enigmatic hunting dog lazily sunbathing at her feet. Next to them was another girl who appeared to be sixteen or seventeen and a white-haired, distinguished elderly man.
Everyone was smiling.
Behind these individuals was the deck of the Vanished, the railing, the mast, and the sails.
The faded and fragmented images from his childhood, the memories of siblings playing together, and all the pleasant and unpleasant impressions seemed to gradually emerge from a dark, hidden cavern and slowly regain their vibrancy in the sunlight filtering through the mist.
Though there were a few unfamiliar faces, the ship remained as he remembered it – not the somber, dilapidated, chaotic ghost ship he had initially envisioned.
At the very least, the deck still appeared quite familiar.
Tyrian knew he was daydreaming and understood that he ought to say something at this point, but he couldn’t prevent his thoughts from wandering. He was aware of his tendency to daydream since childhood, and each time he daydreamed on the deck, his father would suddenly materialize from somewhere behind him and scold him – “Tyrian, what are you daydreaming about?”
The pirate captain visibly shuddered, and the momentary confusion between memory and reality even made his mind freeze for a few seconds before he hesitated and turned around to see a tall, commanding figure standing behind him.
It wasn’t a phantom reflected in a mirror or a hazy silhouette seen through distant seas and gunfire, but an individual standing face-to-face…
“I’m sorry, Father,” Tyrian said instinctively, “I got a little lost in thought.”
Duncan frowned.
He wasn’t certain if it was an illusion, but he constantly sensed that Tyrian’s current state was quite delicate, significantly different from the impressions their previous encounters had left, yet somehow familiar. However, he soon felt reassured.
After all, this was their first direct conversation after a century apart and the first time returning to this ship, so it was only natural for Tyrian to have such a response.
Simultaneously, Vanna, who had been quiet and uneasy for a while, finally spoke up: “Captain Tyrian, concerning my presence here, I need to clarify – first of all, the situation isn’t what you think. I came to the Vanished because I was assigned by the Church…”
“Church assignment?” Tyrian was even more astonished than before and immediately turned to look at his father, “You…”
“I didn’t overthrow the church – hold your thoughts, Tyrian,” Duncan interjected before he could continue, aware of what he was thinking. “Do I need to stress it again? I am not an enemy of the civilized world now; you should approach me more calmly rather than being on guard as if I were a catastrophe ready to unleash chaos at any moment.”
Tyrian: “I… I’m sorry.”
“I accept your apology – let’s converse as we walk,” Duncan gestured and strode towards the rear of the deck. “Concerning Miss Vanna’s presence here, the Obsidian situation, and Dagger Island – we have much to discuss.”
He then turned back and waved to the onlookers nearby, “Those not involved, carry on with your tasks and cease crowding around here.”
Tyrian, somewhat perplexed, trailed Duncan, heading towards the captain’s quarters he recalled from his youth. Meanwhile, Vanna walked silently on the other side.
Memories and present surroundings intermingled and detached, occasionally overlapping and sometimes creating a stark contrast.
Upon returning to the Vanished, everything appeared to have veered off the anticipated path from the outset.
Tyrian instinctively surveyed the ship’s state, seeking elements that matched his memories and searching for a figure who should, in theory, be present.
Duncan, naturally, observed his subtle actions, “Are you looking for Alice?”
Tyrian hesitated momentarily before recalling that it was the name of the puppet girl – he had always assumed she still went by “Ray Nora”: “Ah, yes, is she on board?”
“She is, but she’s likely occupied in the kitchen at the moment,” Duncan nodded. “Alice is responsible for the meals on board, so you can sample her cooking today. We have fresh vegetables, recently caught fish, and rarities on typical long-distance sailing vessels.”
“Meals…” Tyrian unconsciously echoed the word, nearly blurting out “Father actually eats human food” when, suddenly, a series of exclamations and frantic footsteps emerged from nearby, disrupting his daydream.
“Help help help help help help help—”
It was Alice’s cry.
Tyrian gazed in amazement towards the sound’s origin and saw the gothic puppet sprinting across the deck nearby, brandishing a kitchen knife in her hand and a wooden barrel filled with carrots and greens bounding behind her.
Duncan impassively observed Alice racing around the deck as Nina and Shirley attempted to assist but failed. Ultimately, a barrel of vegetables chased the trio and a dog around the deck. He turned back and patted Tyrian’s shoulder.
“Occasionally, things can become quite lively here.”
Tyrian faced him again with a puzzled expression, his mouth twitching a few times, “…Are the ingredients on the ship overly fresh?”
“It’s due to the barrel – it has its own opinions about storing vegetables, so it often clashes with Alice’s ideas.”
“Do you not require assistance?”
“No need, Alice is open-minded.”
“But it seems like she’s asking for your help…”
“It’s alright, I’m open-minded too.”
Tyrian’s expression appeared somewhat stiff as if even commanding an entire undead fleet as a pirate leader, he still couldn’t quite adapt to the daily rhythm of the Vanished.
However, Duncan wasn’t surprised by this. He simply patted Tyrian on the shoulder, “You have to learn to adapt. If I went to help every time Alice cried for help, then I wouldn’t have time for anything else each day. As it turns out, her adaptability and resilience are actually quite strong.”
Tyrian wanted to say something, but they had already arrived at the captain’s quarters.
This was the most memorable place on the entire ship in all his childhood and adult memories.
During his childhood, his father’s captain’s quarters were a mysterious and slightly frightening room. He and his sister Lucretia could play around in most parts of the ship but were strictly prohibited from entering this place. Even the most garrulous sailors on the ship wouldn’t hesitate to block the siblings at the door.
As adults, their father’s captain’s quarters became a tense and serious place. Even after they each became captains of the Sea Mist and the Bright Star, Tyrian and Lucretia would still instinctively tense up when stepping in here. Their father formulated all the grand exploration plans here, marked newly discovered islands and anomalies on the nautical charts, and completed the planning and scheduling for the entire fleet. Most of the time, Tyrian and his sister were only responsible for listening and executing orders.
Their father did not appreciate the opinions of others; in his memory, he was a resolute and stubborn man.
The door opened, and the dim interior environment, unlike the deck, appeared before Tyrian.
The next second, his gaze fell on the edge of the navigation table, on the pitch-black and peculiar goat head.
The black goat head, with a wooden texture, creaked as it turned, its hollow and deep obsidian eyes staring fixedly at the visitor who entered the room.
“Hello, nice to meet you, Mr. Tyrian.”
Tyrian was startled and turned his head subconsciously, “This is…”
“This is the current first mate of the Vanished, someone you can trust,” Duncan introduced, “You can simply call him Goathead.”
“First mate?” Tyrian blinked, then looked back at the peculiar “wood carving.” Suppressing the strangeness in his heart, he accepted his father’s explanation and cautiously greeted, “Hello, Goathead…sir?”
Goathead shook its neck as if to say something, but the next second, Duncan interrupted it smoothly, “Quiet down and stay silent while we talk.”
Tyrian looked at Duncan in astonishment.
“When conversing with it, you must be familiar with the process of interrupting beforehand. Don’t let it speak without restraint; that’s my advice.”
Heeding his father’s warning, Tyrian’s expression quickly grew serious.
For the formidable “Captain Duncan” to treat Goathead with such caution and solemnity, it must indeed be as strange and dangerous as it appeared.
Naturally, Tyrian regarded Goathead as an extremely hazardous “anomaly,” and silencing it was apparently the containment requirement for this anomalous object…
