.
For a fleeting moment, Lucretia found herself at a loss for words in response to her elder brother’s late-night jest. The vast expanse separating them was bridged instantly by the magic of the crystal ball, through which his voice had suddenly echoed in the stillness of the night, bringing with it an unexpected joke.
However, Lucretia, known far and wide as the “Sea Witch”, quickly felt an inkling of unease despite the unexpected humor. It was out of character for her usually grave and solemn brother to act this way, especially when he wasn’t alone like her. He was the captain of a whole fleet, a responsibility that demanded constant vigilance. Furthermore, the backdrop of his location, as visible through the crystal ball, wasn’t the familiar sight of his ship, the Sea Mist. Instead, it seemed uncannily… recognizable?
Through the crystal ball’s ethereal connection, Tyrian observed the shift in his sister’s demeanor. He understood her concern well, considering he had sailed back to their home port expressly to retrieve the crystal ball from the Vanished.
“Chances are, you won’t believe this,” the pirate captain paused for effect, wore a cryptic smile, and then stepped aside, revealing a panoramic view of the cabin he was currently in through the crystal ball’s lens assembly. “But I’m in my own room – ‘my own room.'”
As Lucretia processed her brother’s conspicuous emphasis and the image projected in the crystal ball, her initial confusion gradually gave way to thoughtful contemplation, which then transformed into palpable shock and anxiety. Rising abruptly from her chair, she stammered, struggling to maintain her previous composure, “You…”
Tyrian returned to the view of the crystal ball, raised his hands in a placating gesture, and smiled bitterly. “As you can see, a series of unexpected events transpired, and the final outcome is… I’m here.”
Lucretia was momentarily rooted to the spot, her reflection in the crystal ball remaining silent for a whole six or seven seconds before she collected herself and slowly regained her seat.
“Rest assured,” she said with a newfound calmness, “I’ll look after the Mist Fleet in your stead, along with your twenty-seven offshore bank accounts in Cold Harbor, Mok, Momenzo, and Zarbustro, and the sixty-two treasure troves scattered across the northern seas.”
Now it was Tyrian’s turn to be taken aback. He jerked up in surprise, the color draining from his face.
“How on earth did you…” he began, a look of sheer terror etched on his face. But he quickly pieced the puzzle together, “You marked the Sea Mist, didn’t you?”
“I don’t need to resort to such rudimentary tactics,” Lucretia countered coolly, “Your hide-and-seek skills were never exactly exemplary. Do you recall any hidden stash of your childhood treats that ever survived your sisters’ search?”
Tyrian’s features briefly morphed into a mask of surprise before he exhaled a resigned sigh. “I assumed my hiding spots were carefully chosen, considering they remained undisturbed for all these years…”
“Undeniably, the point you make carries weight,” Tyrian responded, subtly sidestepping the conversation that was inching towards a certain level of discomfort, “Yet, you don’t seem unduly concerned about my well-being, do you?”
“Initial apprehensions aside, I know you wouldn’t engage in light-hearted banter if you were truly in peril,” Lucretia reasoned with a cool detachment. “Now, would you care to elaborate on the circumstances? Why exactly are you aboard the Vanished? What about Father, what…”
Tyrian exhaled deeply, his sigh heavy with underlying implications. “Your conjectures were accurate – my ability to conceal has always been subpar. Father discovered my clandestine port. Concurrently, there’s been some unexpected developments brewing within Frost’s domain… It seems that the deep sea has stirred something that has piqued Father’s interest. He’s currently occupied with a hands-on investigation and felt compelled to reach out to me.”
Lucretia’s forehead creased into a tight frown, “So, you’ve already encountered him, directly?”
Tyrian spread his hands out, a hint of irony in his voice, “Isn’t it rather evident? I am already aboard his ship.”
Lucretia lapsed into a thoughtful silence, her mind apparently grappling with some internal debate. After a lengthy pause, she raised the subject with noticeable hesitancy, “… How is Father faring these days?”
Tyrian took a moment, cautiously selecting his words so as not to color his response with the intriguing incidents he’d come across on the Vanished. “He is… faring better than we’d anticipated. He’s managed to reclaim his human essence, becoming an even more tranquil individual than we recall. We had quite an extensive conversation about the Mist Fleet, the Cold Seas, our individual lives, and surprisingly, even a few vague references to subspace.”
Lucretia’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, “Subspace? Has your sanity taken a leave of absence?”
“Father was the one who brought it up,” Tyrian shrugged nonchalantly, “My query about the peculiar locking mechanism of the lower cabin led to the revelation that the Vanished’s entire lower structure is submerged within subspace. The door’s primary function, apparently, is to prevent inadvertent falls into subspace.”
Lucretia inhaled deeply, her pupils visibly quivering, a sight Tyrian didn’t miss.
“You’re feeling a blend of astonishment, unease, incredulity, and a thrilling realization of expanded boundaries, aren’t you?” Tyrian offered a drawn smile, “Believe me, I know. I’ve already been down that path.”
Lucretia, however, remained silent; her thoughts seemingly far away.
In the ensuing pause, she couldn’t help but contemplate the potential influence of subspace on her brother – was he now a lunatic entranced by the power of the crystal ball?
After what felt like an eternity, she finally broke the silence, her voice echoing with concern, “What is Father… occupied with now?”
“I can’t be certain; he retreated to the privacy of the captain’s cabin. The crew mentioned something about him employing a special technique to probe Frost. I didn’t delve into the specifics.”
“There are others aboard the ship?” Lucretia’s surprise echoed through the crystal ball.
Tyrian appeared ready to respond, his mouth opening to form words, but his intended reply was thwarted by an abrupt knock on the door. Rising from his seat, he excused himself from the crystal ball’s view, leaving Lucretia to strain her ears, attempting to make out the faint murmurings of an off-screen conversation.
It seemed as though someone had arrived at the room with a delivery.
After what seemed an eternity, Tyrian reappeared on screen with a plate bearing a piping hot apple pie in front of him.
Lucretia couldn’t hide her astonishment, “You even managed to get apple pie over there?!”
“We have access to hot water and a fresh supply of goods from Pland,” Tyrian responded nonchalantly, “I realize it may be a stretch for your imagination, but Father even mused about the prospect of fitting the ship with a steam core, ensuring round-the-clock hot water supply, and the addition of extra generators…”
As he shared this news, he spread his hands in an open gesture, “The silver lining is that it seems Father is no longer opposed to my modifications to the Sea Mist.”
Lucretia: “…?”
……
The chill of the night breeze whispered across the coastal region, carrying with it a sudden streak of spectral green fire across the sky. Before anyone could register its arrival, it descended into an uninhabited corner near the harbor.
A figure of towering stature emerged from the flames, his form charred beyond recognition, an awe-inspiring and terrifying sight to behold. He stepped forth from the fire.
Feeling the biting cold of the night air, Duncan inhaled deeply, the coolness of the ground seeping into his feet.
Physiologically, his body no longer necessitated breathing, but he could still perceive the sensation of air filling his chest and the steady rhythm of his exhalation.
“Frost…” Duncan lifted his gaze to the distant city, bathed in the glow of countless lights, shook his head, and slowly made his way towards the coast. He found a still puddle and, aided by the soft light from the World’s Creation, studied his reflection in the water.
“With this visage, I’d be apprehended by the law enforcement officers and guardians the moment they spot me.”
Reflected in the water was a magnificent and horrifying image, possessing an imposing aura that would undeniably trigger an alarmed report to the authorities at first sight.
It was almost inconceivable to fathom that the original possessor of this body had managed to preserve his terminal lucidity in the very last fraction of a second of his existence, driven solely by an unyielding determination.
“Belazov, is it… May your spirit find tranquility in the afterlife.” Duncan cast his gaze into the shimmering reflection of the puddle, paying his final respects to the preceding inhabitant of the body before shifting his attention to the barely distant surroundings.
Perched atop a fragmented stone nearby was Ai, the dove, vociferously cooing with wings fully extended.
A swift wave of Duncan’s hand saw the dove morph into a stream of brilliant fire, vanishing into the shroud of the night sky with a blink-and-you-miss-it speed.
An intimate connection embedded deep within his psyche confirmed Ai’s successful arrival on the Vanished.
From earlier experimental efforts, it had been ascertained that once the return beacons were in place, Ai was capable of employing a similar ‘teleportation’ technique to instantly bridge the vast expanse and appear directly at the beacon locations.
Lowering his gaze, Duncan scrutinized the body he was currently occupying.
The “avatar” he utilized in his ethereal walks within the spiritual realm also served as the ‘return beacon’ for Ai.
In doing so, memories of the transient body he had inhabited on his maiden night in Frost were triggered.
Debilitated beyond measure, perceptual anomalies, and an instinctive self-destruction soon after emerging from the coffin. Back then, he hadn’t had the luxury of extensive trials. However, in retrospect, he realized that the body hadn’t provided him with any feedback regarding the ‘establishment of a beacon.’
“Is it a trait inherent to a copy, perhaps…” Duncan murmured contemplatively, “Could it be due to its incomplete mortal form that it can’t sustain the power?”
Mid-musing, the crackling sound of a flame jolted him from his thoughts. Almost instantly, an eerie green fire door materialized from the nothingness beside him on the coast.
Ai was making her return from the Vanished.
Duncan swiveled to face the flaming portal suspended mid-air. As the fire danced and cast wavering shadows, three figures gradually began to take form within its flickering illumination.
These were the ‘assistants’ he had requested Ai to fetch from the Vanished.
