Ever since Duncan stumbled upon another Vanished drifting through the seemingly never-ending abyss of blackness and fog, he had been wary about approaching its helm, much less taking control. This caution came from his unfamiliarity with the ship and fear of how it might respond to his intervention.
Yet, as Duncan delved deeper, he discerned that this ship wasn’t the authentic Vanished he knew but rather an echo or a shadow version. This doppelganger ship’s state had come about because of a trance or dream-induced state brought on by an entity referred to as the “goat head”. Realizing this, Duncan’s apprehensions began to ebb away.
The time had come for Duncan to assert his authority over this dream-born ship.
Methodically, Duncan approached the ship’s captain’s deck located at the stern. Each step he took echoed as it hit the iron fastenings and coiled ropes that bordered the steering area. Those ropes, cloaked in the inky darkness, lay dormant as if waiting for something. The helm, painted a deep hue, wobbled ever so slightly in the center of the deck, hinting that the goat head might still be at the helm.
Upon reaching the ship’s wheel, Duncan paused, drawing in a deep breath. Memories of when he first commanded the helm, of the sensations he felt when he touched it, washed over him. But he wasn’t one to be lost in nostalgia; he brushed those thoughts aside and gently placed his hand on the wooden spokes of the wheel. It was cool to the touch and offered a slight pushback.
Duncan was prepared for this dreamy resistance. He summoned the “safety flames” he had brought with him aboard the ship, directing them towards the wheel with a forceful grip.
Almost immediately, ethereal tendrils of fire manifested from the void, illuminating the surroundings. These otherworldly flames quickly blazed over the captain’s deck, transforming Duncan into a ghostly apparition. The flames spared nothing, wrapping themselves around the wheel and the entire steering area.
Feeling the ship shift under his grasp, Duncan could now perceive every facet of it in his mind, just as vividly as he would the real Vanished in the waking world. He felt the texture of the deck, the towering masts, every sail, all the ropes, and even the hidden cabins below.
The ship seemed to come alive, making its presence known with a symphony of creaks and moans. It was as if this vessel, crafted from dreams and shadows, had a sudden realization of its rightful captain. Objects that were inert, like ropes and barrels, started to move in the dim light.
With its ghostly sails catching wind, Duncan sensed the ship’s momentum increase. It seemed to have found a purpose, steering itself towards an undisclosed path in the engulfing darkness.
Duncan reeled in surprise at the ship’s sudden and unexplained burst of speed through the unfathomable darkness. As he was trying to grasp the unfolding situation, an eerie voice, seemingly coming from nowhere and everywhere simultaneously, resonated within his mind: “…Who’s there?”
It was a gentle voice, reminiscent of a young girl, tinged with confusion and the haziness of someone torn between sleep and wakefulness. The sound seemed to echo endlessly in the boundless void around Duncan. As he processed this, a soft luminance began to form in the distance, revealing an enormous entity that seemed to be on a direct collision course with the “Vanished”.
To Duncan’s amazement, the entity appeared to be a vast vortex, with innumerable vine-like and branch-like tendrils extending from its core. These tendrils reached out with astounding speed, winding around and filling nearly every crevice outside the ship. In Duncan’s line of sight, this colossal vegetative maze completely dominated, moving and adjusting as the ship moved forward.
It was as though the “Vanished” had been swallowed by an organic tunnel. The walls and ceiling of this cavernous space were crafted from intertwining vines and branches, creating a sensation of both wonder and unease. From these living walls emerged a multitude of soft lights that flowed and rippled like streams.
Gradually, these orbs of light journeyed towards the “Vanished”, making their way to the stern deck where Duncan was standing. Within this radiant shimmer, something seemed to be forming, but its shape remained indistinct. They kept advancing, seemingly on a quest for something or someone.
With the unfolding scene enveloping him and the lights growing ever closer, Duncan’s resolve hardened. He held onto the ship’s wheel with a firm grip, prepared to face whatever would come next. He observed the thick, dark tendrils moving just outside the ship, and felt the “Vanished” losing speed as if another force was impeding its advance. The lights eventually formed a swirling halo around him, and that familiar, hauntingly tender voice echoed once more: “Who is it? Who’s there?”
Duncan’s eyes were locked onto the mesmerizing dance of lights around him as they continued to circle the ship’s helm. The voice, tinged with innocence and longing, persisted in his thoughts:
“Is it you, Saslokha? Have you finally come back? It’s been such a long time…”
“Where are you? I cannot see you… Can I open my eyes now? Has everything passed?”
“I… I can’t seem to open my eyes, Saslokha. The darkness is unsettling. I sense something… someone is near…”
“I’ve done my best. I’ve built barriers to protect them. Once you’re here, you can see what I’ve done… but where are you? Can’t you come closer?”
The radiant glow persisted in its haunting dance, circling the helm and occasionally gathering into a concentrated ball of light, only to then scatter back into a chaotic shimmer. This ethereal glow neared the ship’s wheel several times, even grazing the edges of Duncan’s attire, touching the ends of his sleeves and the hem of his coat.
However, “she” appeared entirely unaware of Duncan’s existence.
It was as if “she” was visually impaired or that Duncan and the voice belonged to distinct realms, co-existing yet separated by layers of reality or perhaps dimensions.
As Duncan observed the unpredictable dance of the light, he was constantly drawn to the voice, which seemed to resonate from within his very thoughts. When the luminosity came close, he could distinctly sense a gentle warmth from it. The recurring words of the voice hinted at some deeper, unspoken significance. Taking a deep breath and overcoming his initial reluctance, Duncan chose to engage—he maintained his grip on the ship’s wheel with one hand and reached out towards the shimmering trail of light with the other.
The moment the light met his outstretched palm, Duncan felt an otherworldly warmth.
It swiftly moved through his hand, leaving as suddenly as it came, giving the sensation of having crossed into another plane of existence.
Yet, in that fleeting interaction, an understanding washed over Duncan—he didn’t just recognize but “knew” the identity of this glowing entity and the voice. She was Atlantis, the mythical World Tree revered by the Elves.
This revelation seemed to etch itself onto Duncan’s consciousness, underscoring the transformative nature of profound knowledge.
Duncan, momentarily shaken by the realization, was swiftly pulled back to the present by a jarring sensation.
Almost immediately, the ship quaked. The “Vanished,” while sailing through the shadowy mist, began to convulse. The surrounding darkness rapidly absorbed the ghostly sails, fissures formed across the deck, and the entirety of the ship seemed to blur, disintegrating at the edges. In addition, the very wheel Duncan held onto began to lose its form, dissolving between his fingers.
This left Duncan with a scenario in which he pieced together: The dream’s structural integrity was collapsing; the cusp of “awakening” was imminent.
However, he had been cautious not to stir Atlantis with the flames, and during their brief interaction, he didn’t detect any indication of Atlantis stirring from her slumber. So, why was the fabric of the dream deteriorating so quickly?
……
Vanna’s introspection was abruptly shattered by sudden gusts of wind in the barren desert. Springing to her feet from her concealed spot behind a cluster of rocks, her gaze immediately pinpointed the origin of the sandy onslaught.
From afar, sand was rising like monolithic titans, and visibility rapidly diminished as it mingled with the desert haze.
Recovering from her initial shock, a message from her ship’s captain echoed in Vanna’s mind—The Dream of the Nameless was faltering; the dream voyage was nearing its conclusion.
The surging sandstorm and the distortion on the horizon were telltale signs of the imminent boundary between dream and reality.
Pivoting on her heel, Vanna’s gaze landed on the campfire, its once vigorous flames now dwindling to mere embers.
Across from her, the archaic giant slowly lifted his gaze. Within his expansive, hollow eye sockets, tranquil flames danced.
“Traveler, our brief encounter is drawing to its close,” his deep voice rumbled.
Catching her off guard, Vanna inquired, “How did you discern that?”
He responded with a contemplative tone, “While I might not grasp the specifics, I can perceive the fleeting conclusion of a journey. You’re departing this place, aren’t you?” Gently, he added as he stood up, towering over the landscape, “Your essence is different, bearing a vitality that this broken realm has not beheld in eons.”
Stammering, Vanna searched for words. As the dream’s dissolution neared, it seemed she had but a fleeting moment for farewells.
The giant emitted a soft, melodic chuckle, bending over to retrieve his ornate staff.
Vanna’s eyes widened as she observed fresh inscriptions adorning the staff, which was taller even than its immense owner. They looked like glyphs or symbols, radiating an uncanny familiarity. For an instant, she felt on the cusp of deciphering them, but their essence eluded her just as quickly.
They were a script unknown to her.
“With hope, our destinies will intertwine once more,” the giant’s sonorous voice broke through her reverie, “and perhaps, sooner than you anticipate.”
Bewildered, Vanna sought clarification, “What makes you say that?”
With a twinkle in his eyes, the giant gestured at his staff, “For there’s a tale on this staff that remains unfinished.”
Before Vanna could probe further, the enveloping sandstorm swiftly surged forth, obliterating her view as the dream realm quaked and began to disintegrate.
Moments later, the fragmented dream world seamlessly transitioned into her familiar domestic setting—her cozy living room, her customary dining table, and the recognizable ceiling.
Faces she knew well also materialized in front of her.
