The island was a peculiar sight, featuring a winding coastline snaking through steep, rocky cliffs, shrouded under dense fog. Its opaque veil concealed any clear visibility of its landscape, allowing only an indistinct perception of the uneven terrain. The bizarre shapes looming in the foggy backdrop could either be jagged outcrops of rock or remnants of collapsed structures; the fog made it impossible to tell.
Its manifestation was startlingly abrupt as if conjured from the ether in close proximity to the ship named White Oak.
“What’s that?” The first officer gasped, disbelief etched on his face as he squinted towards the looming silhouette of the island emerging from the distant sea. The recent epiphany about the ‘sun’ had already sent a shudder of unease through him, a feeling which had yet to dissipate. Now, an island that had materialized out of nowhere had managed to unsteady this otherwise hardened sailor, hinting at an underlying fear in his trembling voice. “An island… does an island exist near Frost? Was it plotted on our original course?”
“The concept of a planned course no longer holds,” replied Lawrence, the captain, his voice steady and soothing despite the baffling circumstances. Even though he too was taken aback by the sudden ‘disappearance’ of the sun, he appeared to regain his composure quickly. “As for this island… I recall an island called ‘Dagger Island’ near Frost, but I can’t confidently identify this as the same one… its appearance doesn’t quite align with the nautical charts.”
“What’s our next move, captain?” asked the first mate, shifting his gaze back to Lawrence, “Do we advance towards it? Or give it a wide berth?”
The captain paused, mulling over the possibilities:
The sudden apparition of the island, right after they had comprehended the concept of the ‘sun’, seemed too strange to be coincidental.
Was its emergence somehow connected to their recent cognitive adjustment?
Was the pervasive fog a true meteorological phenomenon or a deceptive illusion bred from cognitive dissonance?
Did the island stay stationary?
Was it even possible for the White Oak to evade it?
Suppose the island’s sudden appearance was an intentional act. In that case, it was conceivable that the island would continue to reappear in the ship’s path regardless of the direction the White Oak took.
Regardless of the uncertainties, a cautious approach dictated that they should avoid getting too close.
“Avoid it,” Lawrence instructed in a stern tone, “Maneuver around it from the port side and make haste.”
“Aye, captain!”
Upon receiving the order, the first officer made a swift retreat towards the ship’s bridge. Shortly after, the piercing blast of the ship’s foghorn reverberated across the White Oak. Lawrence could feel the ship subtly altering its course beneath his feet while the ship’s steam engine, deep within its hull, unleashed a mighty roar, signaling an increase in speed.
The sudden materialization of the island hadn’t gone unnoticed by the sailors aboard the White Oak. Some crew members had ventured closer to the deck’s edge, their eyes wide with apprehension as they watched the distant island cloaked in an eerie fog. As they watched, the ship progressively distanced itself from the island, leaving it to become a shrinking silhouette on the horizon.
This allowed Captain Lawrence to heave a sigh of relief as he swiveled towards the direction of the ship’s bridge. However, his stride faltered abruptly within seconds.
A figure had emerged into his line of sight—a woman donned in a captain’s uniform. Her slightly curled hair cascaded down her back, and her arms were folded over her chest. A faint, almost enigmatic smile danced on her lips.
“Do you recall what I told you?” Her voice broke the silence, steeped in a resigned tone, “You should have retired when you had the chance. Don’t wait until my appearance on your ship becomes the catalyst for your regrets… Lawrence, you’ve aged.”
“Martha…” Lawrence found her name tumbling out of his lips reflexively, and without missing a beat, he plunged his hand into his pocket, his fingers desperately seeking the vial of potion.
A surge of confusion washed over him – why was she here already? Why did the potion’s effects recede so swiftly? It hadn’t even been a full day since Martha’s last appearance… Could the potion’s duration of effect have dwindled this drastically?
His hand shook uncontrollably as he finally managed to secure his grip around the vial of potion. Just as he was about to unseal it, he felt a hand gently clasping his arm.
In a blink of an eye, Martha had maneuvered herself to his side. Her hand found his arm, her touch surprisingly warm, and her eyes, filled with concern, bore into his.
“The potion is losing its potency, you must realize that,” she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. “If you drink it now, my phantom will disappear momentarily, only to reemerge. If you empty an entire vial, my disappearance will be prolonged, but I’ll eventually return… Lawrence, the potion is losing its effectiveness.”
“I… I don’t understand…” Lawrence stuttered, his eyes fluttering as he gazed upon the face so familiar to him, only to be overcome by a chilling sensation engulfing his heart. “I am aware of my mental state, and I trust the expertise of my psychiatrist, but why…”
“Your cognition is deteriorating, Lawrence, can’t you perceive it? These waters are meddlesome and affecting you,” Martha murmured. The voice could have been Martha’s, or perhaps the echo of Lawrence’s subconscious realization. Deep within, the seasoned old captain had already started connecting the dots. “The longer you remain here, the quicker your cognitive abilities will decay. Tread carefully, Lawrence, you’re navigating the treacherous waters of the open sea…”
“How do I escape this place?” Lawrence found himself questioning reflexively, his fingers releasing their grip around the vial in his hand without conscious thought.
The small glass container plummeted to the deck, shattering upon impact with a distinct, crystalline sound. A portion of the elixir seeped out from the remnants of the vial, blending seamlessly with the water pooled on the deck.
Lawrence stared at the shards of the broken vial underfoot, his mind blank.
With her hand still lightly resting on his arm, Martha whispered her directive, “Find your way to Frost…”
Her words jolted him from his trance. He snapped his head up to find the space beside him devoid of any presence. Only the residual warmth on his arm suggested someone had been there moments ago.
Suddenly, the rhythmic patter of hurried footsteps approaching disrupted his stupor. Lawrence lifted his gaze to find his first mate hastening towards him.
“Captain, we’ve successfully distanced ourselves from the island,” the first mate reported breathlessly. However, he then craned his neck, surveying their surroundings with an air of perplexity. “Who was with you just now? A member of the crew?”
“I was alone…” Lawrence started, his response cut short as he registered the first mate’s question. “Wait, you’re saying you saw someone with me just now?!”
“Yes, there was a woman standing next to you, but I couldn’t make out her features,” the first mate replied, a hint of uncertainty creeping into his voice. “Did I misinterpret what I saw?”
Lawrence’s eyes widened in sheer surprise, his expression startling the first mate. After a few tense seconds, he blurted out, “You could see her?!”
The first mate swallowed hard, taken aback by the captain’s reaction. “…Yes, I did see someone.”
As the words left his mouth, a dawning realization seemed to unsettle him, his countenance turning grave: “Wait, was I experiencing a hallucination? Has it affected me?”
“It indeed was a hallucination… but, in theory, it was meant to be visible solely to me,” Lawrence’s face turned serious, a wave of apprehension washing over him. He gestured for his first mate to remain calm, even though his own mind was in turmoil. “It shouldn’t… it shouldn’t have been visible to anyone else…”
The veteran seafarer raised his head, his gaze wandering as if half-expecting to catch sight of Martha’s form.
In his mind, the lines of demarcation began to blur – reality morphed with illusion, memories entwined with delusions…
The boundary between reality and fantasy seemed to dissolve in this place. The hallucination that should’ve only existed in his perception had infiltrated another’s vision. The unreal was materializing – but what about reality?
Was this stretch of sea real? Was the White Oak tangible? What was the true essence of this mysterious place?
Lawrence’s thoughts whirled in disarray, but they were abruptly shattered by the loud cries of sailors from somewhere along the ship’s deck.
The crew had detected something on the horizon.
Exchanging a quick, meaningful glance with his first mate, Lawrence swiftly sprinted towards the ship’s edge. As they peered over the railing, the cause for the sailor’s outcry came into view.
An island blanketed in a foggy shroud had materialized on the frontal side of the White Oak, its serpentine coastline and jagged rocky cliffs jutting into view…
The island had reappeared.
“The island moves…” The first mate swallowed hard, his face paling as his worst fears were confirmed. “It’s caught up to us…”
“Or, it’s possible we’ve been moving in circles, and this sea area is interspersed with ‘veils’ that temporarily blind us,” Lawrence offered, his voice barely a murmur as he kept his eyes glued to the island. “We might even be sailing right alongside ‘Frost’…”
The first mate looked puzzled at the captain, clearly thrown off by the sudden mention of “Frost”. But he quickly composed himself and posed his question, “Captain, what’s our course of action this time? Do we continue evading it?”
Lawrence lapsed into a thoughtful silence, pondering for a moment.
Martha’s gentle directive echoed in his mind – “Go to Frost.”
Of course, the island wasn’t the city-state of Frost he knew, but its repeated appearances in close proximity to the White Oak could be some kind of “indication.”
Not too long ago, he had commanded the White Oak to hurriedly retreat from the ominous atmosphere enveloping the city-state of Frost, only to be ensnared in these uncharted waters. Now, “Martha” was directing him, instructing him to “go to Frost.”
A peculiar island radiating an even more unnerving aura had cropped up before them – and not for the first time!
Faced with such circumstances, what should his decision be?
“…We set a course for the island.”
