As Goathead spoke, his tone was laced with an unusual seriousness and uncertainty that struck Duncan as quite odd, considering their shared history. The statement was clear but still full of questions and puzzles: “If we maintain our current pace, we will be near Wind Harbor in approximately 24 hours. That’s what our maritime map indicates. However, the reason for the Vanished’s appearance in this region is still uncertain. We need to independently confirm this information because this entire situation is incredibly perplexing.”
Duncan was unaccustomed to this level of hesitancy in Goathead’s voice; it was a clear sign that the ongoing mystery of the Vanished had ventured beyond the range of his first mate’s usual maritime experiences.
Meanwhile, Duncan found himself leaning against the edge of the navigational desk, his gaze fixed on the slowly shifting fog that danced upon the nautical chart before them. The shadowy silhouette of the Vanished and the course it had apparently taken northward were both engulfed in a foggy ambiguity. This was presumably the Vanished’s trail, but the ever-present fog made any concrete conclusions elusive.
“In the twelve-hour period before the sun mysteriously disappeared, we somehow managed to ‘jump’ across our entire journey from the northern route to the southern seas. How this occurred remains a mystery,” Duncan commented, lifting his eyes to meet Goathead’s at the other end of the table. “Yet, the White Oak, which was also at sea during the sun’s disappearing act, did not experience this vision. They maintained their planned route without deviation.”
“I can’t provide an explanation either, Captain,” Goathead replied, his voice laced with a mix of embarrassment and unease. “The Vanished and the White Oak both withstood your rigorous tests, but the differences between the two vessels are substantial. Any slight variation could potentially be the trigger for this inexplicable occurrence…”
Duncan fell silent, his face etched with a serious contemplation. After a thoughtful pause, a sudden realization seemed to strike him. “When did the nautical chart change?” he inquired abruptly.
Goathead answered immediately, “Right when the sun reignited.”
“Are you sure?” Duncan had no doubt that Goathead was telling the truth, but he felt compelled to confirm.
“Absolutely,” Goathead responded, nodding emphatically. “I have been diligently observing all navigational elements, including the fluctuations on the nautical chart. When the sun disappeared, the chart remained unchanged, almost as though we were stationary. However, as soon as the sun reemerged, the chart descended into chaos, similar to our transitions from the spirit world back to reality. Initially, I assumed it was a self-calibration process. But, to my surprise, once the chart stabilized, it indicated that the Vanished was already nearing Wind Harbor…”
Listening to Goathead’s explanation, a frown crept onto Duncan’s face. “So, this sudden ‘jump’ likely took place the moment the sun reignited…”
A profound silence then descended upon the captain’s quarters, the air heavy with unsaid thoughts and unanswered questions. Duncan could not divine Goathead’s thoughts at that moment because his own mind was awash with a tumult of speculations and a deluge of questions, all of which seemed to gravitate towards a central problem: what had transpired on the Boundless Sea during the time the sun disappeared and was subsequently rekindled?
Initially, Duncan had merely assumed that the darkness was a temporary vision, akin to a delayed sunrise he had experienced once before, a delay that lasted mere minutes. During that incident, apart from the initial panic among some of the crew, life had continued unabated, with the world remaining largely unaffected.
However, he soon realized that this sun’s disappearance was markedly different, ushering in a plethora of anomalies, such as disrupted inter-city communication and the White Oak’s alarming “boundary” vision.
Now, in the wake of the sun’s return, he recognized that the bizarre consequences were even more far-reaching. The entire ship, the Vanished, had inexplicably “teleported” two-thirds of their journey, appearing near Wind Harbor. Additionally, Tyrian had reported that the other city-states were completely oblivious to the sun’s temporary absence.
It appeared that during the sun’s “extinguishing” and “rekindling”, the world had briefly morphed into an odd “form”, spawning a host of conflicting inconsistencies. The Vanished, often referred to as the “ghost ship” lingering at reality’s edge, had somehow traversed this “rift” in a clear and discernible manner.
An exhilarating yet disconcerting thought suddenly seized Duncan.
What was the true purpose of the sun?
Did it exist solely to provide light and heat while suppressing their world’s “supernatural erosion”? Or was it holding back something far more significant – the erosion of the world itself?
His pondering was abruptly interrupted by Goathead’s voice, “Captain,” he began, “what’s our next move? If the Vanished has indeed arrived near Wind Harbor… should we reach out to Miss Lucretia?”
“First, we must assess our surroundings. It wouldn’t be wise to approach the city-state without caution,” Duncan answered, his mind flicking back to his past encounters in Pland and Frost. He couldn’t help but shake his head instinctively, “Keep the Vanished concealed in the shadows and the fog, and when the time is right, we will make contact with Lucretia.”
Goathead acknowledged with a quiet, “Yes, Captain.”
Duncan grunted in response, then moved towards the oval mirror in the room’s corner and tapped it. A swirl of dark light and shadows emerged, and in a mere blink of an eye, an image of Agatha, dressed in her customary adventurer garb, materialized before him.
“I could never have anticipated that my inaugural voyage with you would be filled with such supernatural events,” Agatha commented, releasing a sigh, “Just as you foretold, embarking with the Vanished would grant me a glimpse of the remarkable phenomena of our world. I now realize that my imagination was far too restrained prior to setting off.”
“Are you feeling overwhelmed?”
“Not in the slightest. Luckily, my heart isn’t easily startled,” Agatha responded with a gentle smile, “Next on my agenda is monitoring the changes in the spirit world, correct?”
“Indeed, the spirit world and those ‘reflections’ that traverse the boundary between the spiritual realm and reality. If possible, also keep an eye on what transpires beneath the sea surface,” Duncan stated with utmost candor, “I have a persistent feeling that, even though the sun has reignited, the repercussions of this incident are far from over. A little extra caution won’t hurt us.”
“Understood,” Agatha’s smile disappeared, replaced with a serious nod, but then she added with a touch of humor, “Ah, I should adhere to ship protocol—I comply, Captain!”
With that, the image of Agatha in the mirror gradually evaporated, leaving Duncan to continue his rumination in front of the reflective item.
…
In the city, streams of vibrant paper soared and whirled through the streets, weaving between towering and diminutive rooftops before finally alighting in a building near the university. The paper found its way into the study of the lven scholar, Taran El, located within the university premises.
A moment later, the figure of Lucretia unfolded from the colored paper and revealed the Sea Witch’s bewildered expression.
“Could he still be stranded on the roof, unable to climb down?” Lucretia mused aloud, her gaze darting towards a window left ajar nearby.
Just as she was about to ascend to the roof to ascertain whether the Elven scholar was indeed marooned there, a flurry of frantic footsteps echoed from the hallway outside, halting her actions.
As the clamor in the corridor continued, Lucretia nonchalantly gestured towards the door in the distance with a finger.
Then with a loud “bang,” the door swung open, and a blotch of shadows immediately darted out from the room towards the noise. After a brief scream and a thud of someone falling, a flustered apprentice who had been struggling to rise was “escorted” into the room.
The apprentice was delivered horizontally, appearing to “slide” inside, hovering about ten centimeters above the ground. When he came to a stop within the room, the objects that had “transported” him dispersed from beneath him – countless toy soldiers scuttled from under the apprentice, swiftly lining up in neat rows on the floor beside him. With the sound of drumbeats and horns, they marched with precise coordination back into the shadows beside Lucretia.
The apprentice, who had been unexpectedly ushered inside, stared in horror at the toy soldiers now in motion on the floor. His gaze then shifted to the owner of the toy soldiers, who was positioned by the window. He finally recognized this vaguely familiar woman.
“The witch… ah, Miss Lucretia!” The apprentice hastily scrambled to his feet, greeting this enigmatic figure who was the subject of countless tales and myths, “Go… Good afternoon…”
While speaking, the apprentice couldn’t resist abruptly twisting his body – a tiny toy soldier had somehow found its way into his coat pocket and shattered when it fell out. Yet, before his eyes, the soldier reassembled itself, quickly spun around, and scampered back to its mistress, disappearing into the shadows.
Unfazed by the young apprentice’s lack of decorum due to his state of panic or the remnants of the toy soldier, Lucretia cut straight to the chase, “I’m here to see your master, where might he be?”
“I was on my way to find him myself,” the apprentice replied, swallowing hard as he hastily responded to the notorious “witch,” known for her “icy demeanor, reclusive nature, prowess in casting curses, and mercurial temperament,” “Somebody spotted him heading to the Cloud Tower when the sun went out… from… from the roof of the university…”
Lucretia’s eyebrow arched in surprise, “From the roof of the university?”
“Yes… Yes, a witness saw him, and he appeared to be in quite a rush… He hasn’t returned since, and I fear something may have happened to him…”
“More like he’s courting trouble, engaging in acrobatics on the university rooftop with his persistent shoulder and neck ailments. Even for an elf, such extreme sports are not advisable,” Lucretia remarked offhandedly, then waved a hand dismissively at the young apprentice, “I’ll go check on him. In the meantime, what’s your name?”
The apprentice stood a little straighter, “Jo… Joshua Dino.”
“Very well, I will inform your master that your conduct score will be docked by three points.”
Joshua’s face fell into a stunned expression, “Why?”
But by then, Lucretia’s form had already fragmented into vibrant fragments of paper, swirling in the air as they soared out the window, leaving behind a faint echo in the young apprentice’s ear—
“…No running allowed in the research building.”
