In the end, Luni was also convinced by Alice to accept the flame mark bestowed by the captain.
From that moment, every inhabitant of the “Witch’s Mansion,” aside from the simpler, less sentient iron and wooden puppets, bore the captain’s ghost flame mark as a rite of passage before entering their dream states.
As dinner approached, the large dining room was bathed in the combined glow of bright electric lights and gas lamps affixed to the walls. The members of the Vanished Fleet congregated around a lengthy dining table, partaking in a communal meal of fish, bread, and wine. This ritual meal was their way of bracing for the night ahead, known for its depth and unpredictability.
The subtle presence of green flames in their eyes lent an otherworldly quality to their gazes, blurring the lines between reality and illusion. Their discussions were briefly infused with a trace of the captain’s mystical energy, manifesting as a low, humming vibration that filled the room. This same eerie green light also tinged the gas lamps, casting a spectral glow on the walls and floors, giving them an ethereal, almost haunted appearance as though the room were under the spell of phantoms.
To an outsider unknowing of these peculiarities, stumbling upon this scene would be overwhelming; the atmosphere, charged with power and mystery, could easily unsettle the mind, challenging one’s grasp on sanity and self-awareness.
Luni, the automaton, took it upon herself to light the decorative candelabras, adding a flickering, warm light that danced over the silverware and ceramic tableware, creating a cozy yet mystic ambiance.
The conversation at the table veered into the realm of the arcane and the ancient. Morris and Lucretia engaged in a deep discussion about elf society lore, their conversation laden with complex jargon that would baffle the uninitiated. Shirley, ever the pragmatic one, focused on her meal, always the first to satisfy her hunger. Vanna, the group’s spiritual anchor, paused to offer a prayer before eating, demonstrating her unwavering devotion by observing sacred rituals at any given opportunity. Nina, after sampling a bit of her meal, quietly eyed the grape wine a short distance away, expressing a desire.
“I wish to taste fermented grape juice…” she said, voicing her request to her uncle.
Duncan cast a glance at her, a hint of amusement in his raised eyebrows, “Or perhaps you meant to ask for wheat berry juice?”
Nina’s face brightened at the suggestion, her hand reaching for the beer on the other side. “Really?”
Duncan returned her enthusiasm with a stoic look. “What do you think?”
Realizing the jest, Nina let out a soft “Oh…” and, accepting the reality, opted for the lemon water instead, a tinge of disappointment in her demeanor.
As the mechanical clock echoed in the distance, its hands steadily advancing, dinner was drawing to a close. It was then that Duncan shattered the prevailing silence with a contemplative statement: “Actually, I’ve been mulling over something.”
Vanna, intrigued, looked up from her meal, placing her utensils down gently. “What’s been on your mind?” she inquired, her curiosity piqued.
Duncan, adopting a grave tone, shared his thoughts. “I’ve been wondering about the Nether Lord’s perspective towards His followers. He advised me to seize a few Annihilators to forge a bond with the abyssal deep sea. It seems as though He’s indifferent, yet He retains His sanity and appears deeply concerned about our world. Don’t you find that paradoxical?”
Morris, who had been quietly listening, dabbed at his mouth before responding thoughtfully, “To me, it seems perfectly logical. Given the Nether Lord’s rational nature, His advice appears even more sound.”
Duncan looked intrigued by this perspective. “Oh?”
Morris continued, “Prior to your successful outreach to that ancient deity, there was no real communication between the Nether Lord and our realm. Essentially, the so-called Annihilators were engaging in a one-sided faith, drawing power through this unreciprocated belief.”
He paused for emphasis before adding, “Imagine, if you will, you’re the Nether Lord. Suddenly, a group of mortals appears, claiming to be your descendants. They invade your domain, pilfer your fruits, uproot your trees, attempt to deceive your followers, and eventually try to force their way into your home.”
Upon visualizing this scenario, Duncan could feel a sense of frustration building. “I see your point,” he conceded, a tone of realization in his voice. “That does make sense.”
At that moment, the mechanical clock in the corner began to chime loudly, the sound cutting through the air and interrupting their conversation. The chimes reverberated through the grand mansion, marking the passage of time distinctly.
Duncan listened to each chime, counting silently to himself, then noted, “It’s nine o’clock.”
The room fell silent, with no response to his observation.
Glancing around, he noticed several empty chairs on both sides of the table. It was as if, from the very beginning, they had been alone in their conversation.
As Duncan observed the dining room, now eerily empty, a sense of confusion crept over him. Despite witnessing the transformation firsthand, the mechanics of how the room’s occupants vanished remained a mystery to him. It was as if reality itself had flipped in the blink of an eye, akin to a card turning over to reveal its back, leaving Duncan at the metaphorical card table while Nina and Morris seemed to have transitioned to another realm with the flip.
“The Dream of the Nameless One’s influence has manifested once more,” Duncan remarked, rising from his chair with a sense of resignation. “Even the rabbit doll has vanished from our sight.”
As he spoke, a voice tinged with anxiety broke the silence. “Old Master, I… I’m still here.”
Turning towards the source of the voice, Duncan and Alice noticed Luni standing a short distance away, in the same spot she had occupied during dinner, now seemingly stranded in the realm of the waking.
Alice’s surprise was evident. “Luni! How did you end up staying here with us?”
“I don’t know,” Luni responded, her mechanical arms outstretched in a shrug, her gaze turning towards the deserted side of the table, her voice filled with worry. “Is the mistress okay?”
“They’ve crossed over to the other side of the dream,” Duncan assured her, his gaze analyzing Luni with a thoughtful frown.
Why was Luni left behind in the tangible world alongside him and Alice, especially in a conscious state, when the Dream of the Nameless One swept through? Duncan pondered the circumstances, wondering if the distinction of being a “puppet” might play a role in this anomaly.
As he mulled over these thoughts, a question surfaced in his mind, directed at Luni. “Luni, do you dream?” The inquiry, laden with curiosity, sought to unravel the mystery of their current predicament.
“I…don’t know,” Luni replied, visibly puzzled by her own response. “Sometimes, when the mistress is servicing my mechanics, I experience flashes of what seem like past events. But the mistress clarifies those aren’t dreams, just memories leaking into my consciousness… So, maybe I don’t dream? I’m not sure how human dreams feel.”
Duncan, intrigued by this insight into Luni’s experiences, then posed another question. “And what about Rabbi? Does that rabbit named Rabbi actually experience dreams?”
Luni’s answer shed light on a remarkable tale. “Yes, Rabbi dreams, and its dreams are quite potent. Many years ago, the mistress was plagued by nightmares so severe they disrupted her research. To combat this, she bravely ventured into her own dreams to face the invasive shadows. She emerged victorious, capturing one of these shadows, a fearsome entity from the realm of spirits, born from fear itself. After repeatedly defeating it, she encased the shadow within a cloth doll. That doll is Rabbi.”
Listening to Luni’s recounting of these supernatural events, Duncan couldn’t help but react with a mix of amusement and awe. “It seems Lucretia has encountered her fair share of wonders over the years… I think I’m starting to understand.”
Alice, puzzled, chimed in with a “Huh?”
Duncan shared his realization. “It appears that the Dream of the Nameless One selectively affects beings that are capable of dreaming. You, being puppets, don’t dream in the conventional sense—or rather, your experiences during sleep don’t align with what humans typically define as dreams.”
He carefully added this clarification, recalling Alice’s earlier accounts of her own ‘dream-like’ states, which, though reminiscent of dreams, were markedly different from human experiences. These puppet ‘dreams,’ or trances, evidently do not qualify for the vision known as the Dream of the Nameless One.
Alice, processing Duncan’s explanation, seemed to have a moment of clarity. Her eyes widened as a thought struck her. “Then captain, why are you also remaining here with us? Don’t you dream either?”
Duncan began to answer reflexively, “I, of course…” But then he hesitated, his expression turning contemplative.
Do I truly dream in this world?
The question lingered, challenging his understanding of dreams as the intertwining of reality and memory, the very essence of what it means to dream in the human sense.
As though activating a long-neglected function within his psyche, Duncan suddenly became acutely aware of a part of his subconscious that he had previously overlooked. For the first time, he confronted a question he hadn’t considered before. His mind raced, replaying every instance of slumber in this world, delving into the nature of his “dreams.”
He realized he had indeed dreamed. He had navigated through dreamt subspaces, witnessed apocalyptic foresights, observed the extinguishing of the sun, and seen voids and luminous entities descend from the heavens in his dreams.
Yet, beyond these supernatural visions, he struggled to recall any mundane dreams. His physical form in this realm seldom required rest, and the act of laying in bed had become more a ritual to preserve his connection to humanity than a necessity.
Yes, he had experienced dreams, albeit infrequently. However…
Duncan abruptly clasped his forehead, a gesture of intense contemplation.
No, dreams should encompass more than these experiences. Where were the ordinary dreams? The daily reflections that manifested in sleep? The beautiful, the mundane, the amusing, the nostalgic—all those quintessentially human dreams?
He tried to summon any memory of such dreams but found that all his nocturnal visions were either gateways to other dimensions or prophetic glimpses beyond the ordinary fabric of time and space. Beyond these, his nights were void of content.
And it wasn’t just in this world.
His thoughts traced back further.
He thought back to Zhou Ming, to the days before the fog, before the isolation of his bachelor apartment, back to a time that now felt like another life entirely—a time when everything was still “normal,” before the world had succumbed to an enveloping mist.
Confused, Zhou Ming—Duncan—pondered.
Had he ever truly dreamed like an ordinary person?
