The massive vessel known as the White Oak steadily forged ahead, undeterred by the thin, ghostly veil of fog that surrounded it. Powering its impressive journey was the immense strength of its steam core, an engine so prodigious in its output that it effortlessly propelled the ship’s massive and meticulously designed propulsion system. As a result, the White Oak was able to traverse through the dense, fog-blanketed sea with swift determination.
Unbeknownst to the crew, the canvas of the sky had subtly transitioned to a darker palette, and a frigid wind began to whip across the sea’s surface, adding an extra layer of discomfort to the atmosphere. Deciding he had braved the elements long enough, the ship’s captain, Lawrence, wrapped his coat tighter around himself and retreated back towards the refuge of the bridge.
There, a young priest garbed in a black robe adorned with silver and blue stripes was engaged in solemn prayer. He gently swayed an incense burner in his hand, its aromatic smoke curling and weaving around several of the ship’s control panels. Noticing the captain’s arrival, the priest paused in his devotion, offered Lawrence a respectful nod of acknowledgment, and quietly went about his duties.
The priest, known as Jansen, was the spiritual companion for their maritime journey. Lawrence found himself somewhat unfamiliar with the young clergyman, which was, in truth, a common experience among captains undertaking the transport of so-called “abnormal items.” These priests were assigned to ships by the city-state churches and regularly rotated as part of a strategy to ensure safety.
This was because the transport of hazardous goods often involved dealing with the potentially destabilizing effects of supernatural forces. As the ship’s “supernatural barrier,” the onboard priest bore the brunt of any stresses brought about by such unusual interference. This could include anything from contamination from the cargo to the psychological stress experienced by the crew during the voyage. Moreover, the priest’s daily prayers and rituals reflected even the worldly impacts of each crew member’s dreams.
However, priests were not immune to the pernicious effects of such forces. Prolonged exposure could lead to unwanted assimilation and influence, dulling their ability to detect supernatural contamination and potentially turning them into a conduit for subspace invasions. Therefore, after a few long voyages, priests typically returned ashore for purification and spiritual realignment at a designated church. Most were then able to recover and resume their duties on other ships. Unfortunately, some experienced lasting psychological scars and had to live out the rest of their days serving the church on land, far removed from the perils of the sea.
In this sense, the brave priests were, ironically, considered consumables in the grand scheme of navigation. Yet, the harsh reality was, who among them was not?
Breaking his train of thought, Lawrence turned to the young priest in front of him, “Mr. Jansen, how’s the machine?” he asked, concern lining his features.
“Operating smoothly, Captain,” the young priest replied, a reassuring calmness in his voice. “I’ve just done an inspection of the lower engine room. The entire power system and steam pipelines are in perfect working order.”
Lawrence gave a gratified nod and engaged in casual banter with the young priest for a short while. Afterward, he made his way towards the expansive window at the front of the bridge, providing a panoramic view of their surroundings.
Their vessel, the deck now swathed in a greyish fog, plowed through a restless sea beneath an ominous sky. The heavens above were filled with turbulent, formless clouds, within which wisps of diffuse light floated, casting feeble luminescence onto the restless sea below. Although the weather left much to be desired, Lawrence found solace in the knowledge that they weren’t far from their destination, the city-state of Frost. As such, any looming storms were unlikely to trap them in their treacherous embrace before they reached safety.
A crease of concern furrowed Lawrence’s brow as he turned towards a sailor stationed at a control panel not far off. “Have we had any response to our signal from Frost?” he questioned.
The sailor, whose role was to monitor the telegraph system, shook his head. With headphones draped around his neck and a pencil poised in one hand, he sat in front of a small machine that cast an orange glow around him. “No response yet,” he confirmed, “But based on our current position, we should be close enough for direct contact with Frost.”
A sense of unease began to nip at Lawrence, prompting him to cast his gaze over the distant horizon with a growing sense of gravity. “This isn’t right,” he mused aloud, “Given our time and location, the coastline of Frost should be visible…”
Abruptly, Lawrence swiveled towards his first mate. “Are you sure about our course?” he demanded.
“Yes, Captain,” the first mate replied, “We’ve double-checked. Our position is accurate.”
A deep furrow etched itself onto Lawrence’s forehead as he ruminated on this puzzle. After a few moments of contemplation, he sucked in a sharp breath. “I need to confirm our position myself. Prepare the stargazing room.”
Upon hearing Lawrence’s orders, the first mate hesitated, clearly taken aback. However, before he could voice his concern, the young priest Jansen stepped forward. “Captain,” he interjected, “At your age, it might not be the best idea to enter the stargazing room…”
Lawrence shifted his gaze to the young priest, choosing to remain silent.
He understood the priest’s concerns. Entering the stargazing room involved exposure to a certain degree of corruption. The ethereal play of light and shadow spawned from the deepest spiritual realms exerted tremendous pressure on the observer’s psyche. As an aged captain who had spent the majority of his life navigating the Boundless Sea, his mind was not as robust or unscathed as in his youth. The risk of losing himself while observing the celestial bodies was significantly higher.
Yet, it was often these seasoned captains, with their vast experiences, who could discern the minute changes in the starlight that hinted at a ship’s off-course trajectory—something the younger and more mentally resilient navigators were unable to perceive.
“I’ll make it quick,” Lawrence finally responded, his gaze unyielding. His tone carried a gravity that tolerated no argument. “I suspect the ship has strayed from its course, and there’s a misalignment in the stargazing room. My experience in calibration may prove useful.”
Acknowledging the resolute set of Lawrence’s features, the accompanying priest, Jansen, could only let out a sigh of resignation and step aside. “You are indeed the captain,” he conceded, “and the captain’s word is law onboard this vessel. I’ll prepare a protective charm for you.”
With a firm nod of acknowledgment, Lawrence cast one final glance towards the bow of the ship. The coastline of Frost, which they were expecting to see, was still shrouded by a ceaseless expanse of sea and the lingering fog, offering no hint of their destination.
Turning away, he descended towards the stargazing room, traversing a passageway leading him away from the bridge. He ambled down a corridor and onto a staircase that descended into the lower levels of the White Oak. After passing through several interconnecting cabins and doorways, he finally reached the stargazing room at the very bottom of the ship.
Jansen, who had accompanied Lawrence to the door of the stargazing room, began his preparations. The young priest filled the incense burner with specially formulated incense and anointed it with sacred oil, all while murmuring obscure scriptures. As he swung the incense burner on its chain, a cloud of fragrant smoke swirled around Lawrence. Jansen then brandished a ritual knife adorned with storm runes, slashing it through the air in front of Lawrence, symbolizing the protection of the storm goddess, Gomona, descending upon him.
Having heard of the captain’s intentions, the ship’s navigator arrived hastily at the stargazing room. He was a young man, his face slightly white and a look of anxiety clouding his eyes. The prospect of the captain personally confirming their course had him so flustered he almost tore the buttons off his uniform.
Lawrence, noting the navigator’s evident distress, offered a comforting smile. “Relax,” he advised, aiming to assuage the young man’s nerves. “This might not be your fault. The spiritual and supernatural realms are unpredictable, and the spirit lens isn’t foolproof. Stellar shifts are a common occurrence; it’s understandable considering your lack of experience.”
The young navigator stammered in response, “I… I’ve double-checked our course, and it’s accurate. But…”
Lawrence waved his hand dismissively, effectively cutting off the navigator’s protest. “I’ll get to the bottom of this.”
Just then, the priest’s voice cut through the air. “Captain, the blessing is complete,” Jansen announced. “You can now enter the stargazing room, but be cautious not to stay too long or gaze too deeply. If you haven’t emerged after fifteen minutes, I’ll come looking for you.”
“Ten minutes should suffice,” Lawrence assured the young priest, adjusting his uniform in preparation.
Taking a deep breath, he stepped towards the formidable metal door engraved with storm runes and interlaced with sacred silver threads. He pushed it open and stepped inside.
A dimly lit chamber, bathed in a soft glow, unveiled itself. Lawrence shut the metal door behind him and promptly began his assessment.
This room, devoid of windows, offered only the solitary metal door as its only access point and way out. With a bare minimum of furnishings, its sole purpose was dedicated to housing a cylindrical contraption, approximately a meter in diameter, standing proudly at its center.
This device resembled an altar, but an intricate network of cranks, levers, and mirror mechanisms ensnared it. Adjacent to it was a modest platform reserved solely for the ship’s navigator. Capping off the cylindrical structure was a concave, transparent section with a crystal lens. An intricate array of levers suspended it and bore the shape of an inverted bowl. At first glance, it seemed vacant. Yet, upon closer inspection, one could discern a faint impression of wavering ripples within.
These waves were akin to an ocean, brimming with potential.
Making his way onto the small platform adjacent to the cylindrical device, Lawrence brought his gaze to rest on the lens before him.
A ship navigating the vast expanses of the Boundless Sea was devoid of fixed reference points on the water’s surface. City-states appeared as isolated islands adrift in a seemingly infinite ocean. Should a ship miss its mark, the sailors aboard would be plunged into a state of disorientation amidst the limitless waters. Consequently, navigation emerged as a critical skill.
The sun, serving as a reliable celestial marker, was a commonly employed instrument to discern a ship’s location—one of many navigational techniques. However, its utility was compromised when obscured, and it alone could not provide accurate navigation. In such circumstances, the question arose: how could one determine their course with any degree of certainty?
Naturally, the answer lay in the stars, evolving stargazing into an indispensable skill for contemporary long-distance seafaring.
Lowering his head, Lawrence bent slowly, immersing his face entirely into the concave section of the large crystal lens.
The stars lay within its depths—observing them necessitated not only advanced equipment but also a sound and resilient mind.
