As the mysterious island gradually came into focus, its hazy shroud of mist and dimly lit silhouettes began to coalesce into more tangible shapes that Lawrence could discern. Standing at the front edge of the majestic ship, aptly named the White Oak, he grasped the railing firmly. His grip tightened around the metal bars so intensely that his knuckles turned an eerie shade of white, a testament to the physical manifestation of his deep-seated apprehension.
The entire scenario would have been enough to rattle the nerves of any person, not least a seasoned maritime veteran like Lawrence, who had spent the lion’s share of his existence traversing the infinite expanses of the Boundless Sea. His mind was bombarded with a multitude of questions. What secrets did the island hold? What enigmatic creatures lurked within the misty shadows? Why did the island seem to form around the White Oak as if it were a sentient being? More importantly, what type of inexplicable and alien domain was this region that was deeply immersed in such baffling occurrences?
In an attempt to still his thoughts, Lawrence inhaled deeply, allowing the icy air to fill his lungs. Its frosty bite served as a brief reprieve for his racing thoughts. He tried to set aside the more disconcerting anomalies, like the spectral image of Martha that kept appearing before him and the unsettling realization that others aboard the ship were also able to see this ghostly apparition. It became evident to him that these troubling thoughts were clear indications of his mental state starting to deteriorate. If he allowed these hallucinations to persist, Martha could potentially transition from a mere illusion into a considerably more palpable and disturbing entity.
He had depleted his stock of elixirs, and even if he had any left, it was clear that they had lost their potency.
In spite of the disquieting circumstances, the ship’s steam core worked flawlessly, steadily driving the White Oak towards the diminutive yet captivating island with its intricately shaped coastline. Yet, no one seemed to notice the conditions at the ship’s rear. Every gaze and thought aboard the vessel were entirely fixated on the looming, peculiar island.
The edges of the island were harsh, decorated with jagged rocks that made docking impossible. The experienced helmsman did not attempt a reckless approach; instead, he skillfully navigated the White Oak to begin a cautious perimeter voyage around the island.
As they made about a third of the way around, the ever-watchful lookout stationed high in the ship’s crow’s nest made a surprising observation.
“We have a port in sight!” The sailor’s shout echoed from the tower, indicating the first sign of safe harbor on this mysterious island.
Just a short while later, Lawrence caught sight of a humble docking structure emerging from the fog. The details of the buildings nestled further into the dock were obscured by the stubborn fog, their forms frustratingly elusive. However, the section of the dock extending into the sea was vividly visible — it was well-maintained and free from any evident harm or degradation.
The presence of a fully operational dock meant that the White Oak could dock entirely, negating the need to deploy the smaller, more vulnerable boats for landing. This would significantly increase the safety of the exploratory party that would be setting foot on the island. Apart from providing a suitable location for replenishing supplies and ensuring a swift escape route if necessary, the ship’s compact onboard artillery could also serve as a protective cover for the crew during their onshore exploration.
Lawrence proceeded towards the helm of the ship, calling out instructions to cautiously steer the White Oak towards the seemingly deserted dock. Without the customary dockside personnel to aid them, the docking procedure was a drawn-out and painstaking process, but they managed to execute it seamlessly, avoiding any mishaps.
As he directed his attention towards the dock on the other side, the island seemed to be swathed in an even denser shroud of fog than before. Even the structures closest to the dock were challenging to make out, their details smeared into obscurity by the heavy, foggy atmosphere. It could have been a figment of his imagination, but Lawrence had a feeling that the fog smothering this island was more concentrated than any he had previously encountered.
“There’s no trace of life anywhere,” his first mate reported, coming up to Lawrence while casting a suspicious glance at the hidden island. “But I can discern faint glimmers of light… They appear to be originating from the buildings around the harbor.”
“And what about our radio communication?”
“Ever since we approached this island, the constant radio signal from Frost that we’ve been relying on has ceased,” the first mate confessed, shaking his head in a resigned manner, “And our attempts at communication via light signals have also failed to garner any response.”
After pondering over his options briefly, Lawrence made up his mind. “Choose twelve sailors, those who are vigilant and sharp-witted. Equip them with arms, and they will accompany me to explore the island.”
“You’re planning on exploring the island personally?” The first mate seemed surprised, “This island… it’s exceptionally bizarre. There’s an inherent risk if you…”
“Risk?” Lawrence cut him off with a dismissive shake of his head, “There’s probably an equal amount of risk just staying aboard the ship. The oddity doesn’t only lie with the island but with this entire maritime region. We’re entrapped in a vast anomaly, and danger is present at every turn within its radius. At the very least, surveying the island might provide us with some valuable knowledge.”
The first mate seemed poised to voice his objections, but ultimately, he had to acknowledge the validity of the captain’s decision. After all, Lawrence’s wisdom, accrued experience, and sound judgment were undeniable.
“Very well. I’ll assemble the team,” he conceded.
In due course, the first mate returned with twelve carefully selected sailors — each a hardened mariner, exhibiting unwavering determination and steadfast loyalty. A team of thirteen stalwart individuals, including the first mate himself, stood ready to accompany Lawrence onto the mysterious island.
Meanwhile, the interim management of the White Oak fell into the capable hands of the second mate.
A rope ladder was unfurled down to the pier, and Lawrence, accompanied by his small, resolute team of explorers, disembarked onto the peculiar island shrouded in thick fog.
The feel of solid ground under their feet somewhat alleviated the explorers’ unease. Standing solidly on the dock, Lawrence stamped his foot against the ground, muttering to himself in a hushed tone, “At least this concrete platform is real.”
“The light’s originating from that direction,” the first mate announced, clutching a high-caliber rifle as he peered into the dim distance, “Even from here, we can discern it, although there’s no sign of any human activity.”
“Don’t wander off from the group, avoid touching anything unfamiliar, and if someone or something calls your name, don’t respond until you’ve determined its origin and made sure all team members are accounted for,” Lawrence began, issuing his directives with firm authority, “If anything out of the ordinary emerges from the fog, immediately alert the group. Do not take it upon yourself to shoot at it or investigate on your own.”
He paused for a moment, sweeping his gaze over the assembled group — twelve seasoned sailors, his dependable first mate, and himself.
“Lastly, remember this — there are precisely fourteen of us. When we eventually return to the ship, we may have fewer members, but under no circumstances should we have more.”
“Aye, Captain!” The sailors responded in unison, affirming their understanding.
With a nod, Lawrence led the team into the thick, swirling fog.
As they navigated the span of the pier, they found themselves in a large, open area that seemed to be a makeshift gathering point for cargo. Traces of stacking machinery and small cranes were still present, but beyond these mechanical vestiges, there were no other signs of human occupation.
“This place doesn’t look like it has been abandoned for long,” the first mate muttered, absorbing their surroundings, “It feels as if it was a bustling dock just a few days ago.”
Opting for silence, Lawrence carefully surveyed the nearby port facilities with a discerning eye. Suddenly, a plaque affixed to a nearby building caught his attention.
“Dagger Island?” The first mate questioned, advancing to examine the inscription on the plaque, a glint of astonishment flashing in his eyes, “I’ve come across references to this place… It’s a minor island situated near Frost, reputed for its rich deposits of metal ores. However, I was under the impression that it had been repurposed into a military facility a few years back… Can this actually be Dagger Island?”
“We must cast a suspicious eye on everything in this place. We even moored briefly at a location eerily resembling ‘Frost’ earlier,” Lawrence responded, shaking his head in doubt, “Let’s press on. The origin of that lingering light could be the port office. It might hold some clarity to our situation.”
Leaving behind the cargo assembly area, the exploration team ventured up a gentle incline, their path faintly illuminated by the soft light filtering through the fog. Every member of the group was on high alert, their senses acutely tuned to the strange movement within the fog.
A barely perceptible breeze capriciously wound across the island, stirring the grey fog into a languid drift. Eerie shapes barely visible in the distance seemed to swell in rhythm with the whiteness, appearing like sentient beings swaying gently in the mist. Amid the dim shroud, the glow steadily grew more prominent, drawing ever closer within everyone’s field of view.
Suddenly, the first mate leading the group came to a sudden standstill. “What in the world is this?”
Stooping down, he furrowed his brows as he studied a strange substance found off the side of their path.
With a revolver in one hand and a lantern held high in the other, Lawrence joined his first mate and directed his gaze towards the unusual sight.
Before them lay a mound of a grey-black substance, clearly dehydrated based on the cracks radiating from its edges yet still showing signs of its final moments of vitality.
It was as if this heap of mud had been bubbling with life one moment, then had all of its moisture abruptly sapped the next.
“Mud?” Lawrence furrowed his brow, wisely choosing not to touch the peculiar heap, “Why would there be mud here?”
“I believe I spotted some similar black mud back on the dock,” a sailor chimed in tentatively, “But that stuff was strewn with debris. I simply dismissed it as trash…”
Lawrence nodded in acknowledgment, only for another sailor to suddenly declare, “There’s another pile of this stuff over here too!”
Following the direction of the shout, Lawrence identified another heap of the strange black mud slightly off the road.
Could it be that this mysterious substance was dispersed all across the island?
A creeping sense of apprehension started to permeate their collective consciousness, yet none among them could ascertain the nature of this mysterious mud. Lawrence, ever vigilant, rallied his team and instructed everyone to steer clear of the strange “substance”. With a shared sense of disquiet, they continued their march further into the encompassing fog.
After traversing a certain distance, they arrived at the crest of the slope. Just as Lawrence had anticipated, the location turned out to be the site of the port office.
A modest structure comprised of concrete and steel loomed before them, a weak, yellow light bleeding out from the windows. However, no discernible sounds originated from within the building with its front door open.
Lawrence edged towards the entrance, keenly attuning his ears for any sounds within before gearing himself to push it open.
But abruptly, he froze in his tracks.
Hastily etched into the wall adjacent to the door, presumably with a dagger, was a sentence that gave him a jolt — “Humans only have two eyes!”
