By the time Shirley and Nina arrived back at their temporary residence on 99 Crown Street, the early evening sky had already shifted to darker hues. Dinner time was approaching, a minor relief given the peculiar culinary landscape of the so-called “City of Elves.” In this fantastical city, what most humans would consider “normal” food was a rarity. However, they were in luck: standard, recognizable ingredients were within reach, and Lucretia’s household staff had prepared a lavish meal for them. For the first time in what seemed like forever, Nina and Shirley could enjoy food that didn’t make them question the very nature of edibility.
Despite the seemingly comforting environment and familiar flavors on their plates, both young women found it difficult to eat without a sense of disquiet gnawing at them. The revelations they had encountered in the underground shelter continued to cast a heavy shadow on their minds. The staggering information about cataclysmic events called the “Great Annihilation,” the enigmatic “Black Wall” said to mark the beginning of recorded history, multiple apocalypses, the ruins of ancient worlds, and the emergence of the current “New World” in a time dubbed the “Deep Sea Era” were profoundly disorienting.
For Shirley and Nina, who were more accurately characterized as youths on the brink of adulthood rather than fully mature women, the weight of these complexities felt almost insurmountable. These were matters that defied easy understanding, even for experienced adults, let alone for them.
After a rushed dinner, Shirley retreated to her room to ponder these overwhelming thoughts. She was deep in contemplation when the subtle sound of a chain jingling broke her focus. Emerging from the corner shadows was Dog, her friend from another realm, a creature as enigmatic as the world they found themselves in.
As she looked down at Dog, a being who had once almost consumed her but had also cared for her since she was a child, she couldn’t help but ask, “Did you make any sense of what the captain was saying today? About how fragments from multiple worlds have accumulated to form this Deep Sea Era?”
Dog lay down at her feet, nudging its massive head against her knee affectionately. “I grasped some of it,” it said. “But the parts that defy common logic? Those I didn’t get, either.”
Shirley sighed, her expression one of genuine puzzlement. “I could barely wrap my head around any of it. I mean, I understood the individual words, but connecting them into a coherent picture of how all these events actually unfolded is another matter. Why should we even care how this world was formed?”
She posed these questions openly, with no intention to conceal her thoughts, especially not in front of Dog. “Can’t we just live without delving into all these complexities? After all, we’ve managed to survive like that for over a decade, haven’t we?”
At that moment, Dog abruptly lifted its head, its vacant eye sockets glowing a menacing red as it locked its gaze onto Shirley. A grave, rumbling voice emerged from its skeletal form: “Living in ignorance is possible, but we should never underestimate the fragility of existence—neither for ourselves nor for the world at large.”
Taken aback by Dog’s sudden solemnity, Shirley paused. Her face subtly changed, becoming more contemplative, as though she was on the cusp of grasping something profoundly important.
“Continued existence is never a guarantee,” Dog intoned, laying its head back down after studying Shirley’s face intently. “Just as the ‘Great Annihilation’ obliterated previous worlds, so too could some unknown force bring an end to our current era, which we’ve named the Deep Sea Era. Most people might live their lives in blissful ignorance until the very moment their world collapses. They might meet their end in the comfortable illusion that peace and stability are everlasting. It’s much like the citizens of that warrior’s homeland, who waited optimistically for their champions to return in triumph. For such people, ignorance might be their greatest blessing. They can afford to live without knowing how precariously close they are to the precipice of disaster.”
The creature paused before adding, “But you, Shirley, are different. We aren’t confined within the safety of a walled kingdom; we are on board the ship known as the Vanished.”
Dog’s eyes remained fixed on Shirley as it continued, “You’ve witnessed ominous signs yourself—the Black Sun during our descent on Pland, the disarray in the Creator’s blueprints within the depths of Frost, the Boundless Sea that emerged when Vision 001 was terminated, and the raving Enders we’ve encountered. You wouldn’t have been exposed to any of this if you were living a sheltered life within the kingdom.”
Slightly shaking its head, Dog gently retracted its teeth and affectionately nudged its nose against Shirley’s knee as if emphasizing its point.
“Yes, you could opt to live without acknowledging these unsettling truths, but the reality is that you’re already aware. You know the captain is deeply concerned about these signs of impending doom, and somewhere inside you, you share that concern, whether you admit it to yourself or not.”
For a long moment, Shirley remained silent, her eyes clouded with thought. Finally, she reached down to place her hand gently on Dog’s skull, her voice filled with an uneasy mixture of doubt and realization. “Dog, are we akin to that wandering warrior? Are we, too, on a journey toward an inevitable apocalypse?”
“In a sense, we are,” Dog replied, its tone grave. “We walk towards the apocalypse, and the apocalypse walks toward us. Awareness is reciprocal; once we acknowledge its existence, it becomes a part of us, as we become a part of it. The real question that remains, which I believe is also troubling the captain, is when and how this looming end will reach us.”
Her eyes narrowing, Shirley asked, “Why do you understand this so well, Dog? Why do you grasp these feelings of dread and uncertainty?”
The blood-red light within Dog’s hollow eye sockets dimmed for a moment before brightening again. “Because I’ve experienced something akin to this before—back when you were a mere child.”
Lifting its head to make eye contact with Shirley, Dog’s voice softened, becoming almost tender. It was the same tone it had used years ago when comforting a tiny, terrified Shirley during a night storm.
“When I first encountered you, you were an enigma to me—an incredibly fragile, small being. Even with the demonic bond that sustained you, you seemed so vulnerable, like a delicate stem that could snap in the faintest breeze. I remember thinking how easily your life could be extinguished…”
Dog’s voice trailed off, its gaze locked into Shirley’s, and for a brief moment, both of them were lost in a mutual contemplation of the intricate, perplexing reality they now found themselves a part of—a reality that was increasingly rife with both knowledge and uncertainty.
“Every single day, every fleeting second, I was consumed by the thought that ‘death’ could find you. I had no understanding of your biological functions—your breath, your heartbeat. The intricacies of human survival were alien to me. It even took me a few days of observing your hunger pangs to realize you needed sustenance. I was still an enigmatic demon at the time, and the concept of ‘thinking’ was something I hadn’t fully wrapped my… well, whatever passes for my mind around. And you—you were too young and not very communicative,” Dog paused, gathering its thoughts before continuing.
“So, I was always under the impression that you could die from something that I had yet to comprehend. The act of breathing, the rhythm of your heartbeat, the flow of your blood—these were all precarious ‘balancing acts’ from my perspective. I felt that if any of these functions ceased, I’d lose you. That’s why, when you were a small child, you’d often wake up to find me scrutinizing you—I was making sure you were still breathing, that your heart was still beating, concerned that you might have died in your sleep.”
Dog paused again, lifting its head briefly to look towards the house’s second floor as if searching for something or someone before lowering its gaze back to Shirley.
“I’m not in a position to compare myself to the captain, nor should I presume to understand what’s on his mind. But today, I saw a reflection of that same concern in his eyes. To him, this seemingly endless, expansive ocean is probably much like what you were to me back then—a fragile, inexplicable ‘anomaly’ whose survival mechanisms are unknown and precarious.”
Dog ceased speaking, letting the weight of its words settle in. Shirley, too, was silent, her eyes filled with a mixture of surprise and contemplation.
“Why the silence?” Dog finally broke the quiet, appearing somewhat puzzled.
“You’ve never spoken about this with me before,” Shirley said, still trying to absorb what she’d heard. “So when I was little…”
“Those times are behind us,” Dog interjected softly. “You made it through, and those early fears and challenges are in the past.”
A thoughtful look crossed Shirley’s face, and she cast her eyes towards the second floor with a sense of apprehension. “Dog, do you think we’re like the heroes and their allies in the old tales?”
“If I had any say in the matter, I’d hope we’re not,” Dog responded, shaking its head. “A hero armed with nothing but a steel sword can’t stave off an apocalypse. Their journey, however valiant, is doomed to be in vain. But we’re being led by the captain, and what he brings to the table is far more substantial than just steel. So, I’d like to think we have reason to be more optimistic.”
Shirley let out a sigh. “The captain… I wonder what he’s up to right now. He didn’t even come downstairs for dinner.”
“Would you consider bringing him some food?” Dog inquired.
“Uh, perhaps not. Alice will likely take care of it.”
“Fair point,” Dog agreed.
And then, both fell quiet again, lost in their respective thoughts, each pondering the murky and uncertain future that stretched out ahead of them.
……
Gazing out of the window, Duncan watched as the last vestiges of daylight ebbed away, leaving behind a sky that was increasingly swallowed by darkness. Yet, even as dusk descended, there remained a curious, golden “sunlight” that seeped through the gaps between the imposing skyscrapers that marked the cityscape of Wind Harbor. With a resigned sigh, Duncan turned away from the window and flicked on the room’s lights.
In Wind Harbor, this unusual “sunlight” seemed to offer a perpetual, if somewhat illusory, form of “illumination.” However, the reality was that this light couldn’t fully penetrate the city’s deeper recesses. There, in the shadows of the city’s monolithic architecture, the night retained its dominion, necessitating the use of artificial lighting to keep the darkness at bay.
As Duncan switched on the lights, they banished the encroaching gloom and seemed to imbue the room with a semblance of warmth.
Outside his window, the pale rift in the sky known as the “World’s Scar” began to take form. It was becoming increasingly visible against the backdrop of a sky devoid of both stars and moon, a vision tied to the waning powers of Vision 001. This pallid, otherworldly light diffused across the heavens but fragmented as it intersected with the residual “sunlight” streaming between the towering skyscrapers. The resultant interplay was eerie—a unique and unsettling blend of the World’s Scar and the city’s anomalous sunlight that was unparalleled in any other city-state.
Fixated on this celestial anomaly, Duncan’s mind started replaying the “memory illusions” he had encountered earlier that day. He thought of the extensive “Deep Red” streak that dissected the sky, almost like a gigantic laceration in the fabric of reality itself.
What was this mysterious “red light” that seemed to flout the laws of physics, stretching itself across the cosmic canvas? Whether seen in the vision that accompanied the crash of the New Hope, or depicted in the oil painting at Alice’s mansion, or even referenced in the sagas of a “warrior’s” homeland on the cusp of devastation, this red light was a recurring motif.
Scholars had been frenziedly debating its significance, suggesting that this light was either the agent of destruction in the “Great Annihilation” or at least a harbinger heralding its onset.
As he gazed at the World’s Scar, a fissure in the sky that appeared like a tear in reality, Duncan was drawn into baseless yet haunting speculation.
Did the cataclysmic ruin of each “Old World” correspond with the manifestation of this immense red light? And in the present era, known as the “Deep Sea Era,” did the appearance of the pale World’s Scar in the sky signify some sort of connection to that fateful red light?
He pondered even further: Could the World’s Scar be a residual echo of the apocalyptic events that shattered the old worlds? Or could it be a lingering trace of the destructive forces unleashed during the Great Annihilation?
Taking his thoughts a step further into unsettling territory, Duncan wondered—what if the force behind this red light never actually dispersed? What if it had merely transitioned into a dormant state, marking the night sky night after night as the “World’s Scar?” Could Vision 001 have a role in intermittently “pacifying” or “hypnotizing” this dormant, apocalyptic force?
Vanished in this web of unnerving speculations, Duncan’s expression turned increasingly grim. Then, a new question suddenly unfurled in his mind, one he had never thought to ask before.
In the homeland he remembered—or thought he remembered—he had never seen that ominous “red light.” What did its absence mean, and what could it imply about the world he thought he knew?
