Duncan felt as though his consciousness was sprawling through the ship, spreading like a spider’s web. Every nook, cranny, and inch of this ship seemed to meld into his very being. The connection was smoother and clearer than before. Sailing on the edge of a dream, this phantom ship was revealing all its secrets to him without restraint.
His mind delved deeper and deeper: from the towering aft deck down to the lower cabins, from the compartments storing gunpowder and cannonballs to the rooms housing anchors and ropes, from every wall and pillar to every rope and lantern. Bit by bit, the entire ship materialized into a detailed projection within his mind.
Duncan scrutinized this mental image, comparing it to his memories. He hoped to spot discrepancies, perhaps a beam that didn’t belong in the original design, or a cabin that didn’t exist in the physical realm, or an undiscovered compartment. These could be the anomalies resulting from the merger of the consciousness of the “goat head” and the “Vanished”.
It started as a fleeting thought: Duncan realized that this ship wasn’t solely a figment of the “goat head’s” imagination. The “memories” of the Vanished itself might play a role. He sought evidence of the ship’s consciousness, and as he further expanded his perception across the ship, this mere “hunch” solidified. It was as if an intangible voice was guiding him, suggesting that there indeed was something hidden deep within the ship, that the Vanished wanted to reveal some secrets to him. In a place invisible from the physical world, the ship still retained memories of events from subspace.
These concealed memories potentially held one of the deepest secrets in this intricate dreamscape: the origin of the goat head and the connection between this dream vessel and the entity known as Atlantis.
Was it his intuition? Or was the Vanished genuinely whispering its tales to him?
Vague thoughts floated in Duncan’s mind, but he didn’t get sidetracked by them. He was focused on his task, searching diligently for possible clues.
The task wasn’t easy. Even with a ship he knew intimately, Duncan couldn’t claim to remember the exact location of every item on the Vanished. Instead, he hoped his intuition would guide him, leading him to the anomalies he sought.
But to his surprise, he didn’t need any intuition to find the anomaly. The discrepancy was far more evident and jarring than he had ever anticipated.
Below the third deck, he detected a vast… “sensory void.”
Duncan’s brow furrowed in concentration. As he tightly gripped the ship’s wheel in his hands, he looked down to the exact location he “saw” in his perception, directly beneath him.
The bottom of the ship?
A thought struck Duncan. Hesitating for a moment, he released his grip on the wheel.
His connection with the “rudder” was severed.
Yet, the sensations he received from the entire ship remained uninterrupted. He could still feel the ship’s connection to him — it continued to sail swiftly through the boundless darkness and fog. Outside the ship’s hull, enormous structures resembling the roots and branches of plants remained present, whizzing past continuously.
The “luminous trails” of Atlantis were also there, persistently circling around the helm.
Observing this, a realization dawned on Duncan: it seemed that once a connection was established, it would remain intact until the end of this dream. And since he entered this dream through reflection, he became a part of the dreamscape itself. Every action he took here wouldn’t be perceived as an “external intrusion,” nor would it be easily expelled or erased by the dream’s self-healing power.
With this understanding, Duncan sighed with relief. He quickly left the helm, but before delving deeper into the ship’s interior, he doubled back to the captain’s quarters.
Near the door of the captain’s cabin, he spotted the quaint lantern hanging silently on the wall.
Venturing into the lower structure of the Vanished required carrying a lantern. Though unsure if this rule applied to the “dream ship,” he decided to proceed with caution.
Agatha’s reflection appeared in a nearby mirror, gazing at Duncan with a hint of curiosity. “Captain, what are you up to?”
“Going to the ship’s bottom,” Duncan quickly responded, glancing back towards the navigation desk— the goat head remained there, seemingly unresponsive. “There’s something there.”
Agatha’s expression shifted to one of immediate concern upon hearing this.
“Let’s talk as we walk,” Duncan added promptly. “Don’t discuss it here.”
With that, he grabbed the antique brass lantern and exited the room.
Duncan strode quickly across the deck, shrouded in a light mist. The “spark” had ignited the lantern, casting a ghostly green glow around him. The surrounding fog receded slightly in the lantern’s light, only to close in again behind him. Within the play of light and shadow, an additional silhouette moved swiftly alongside him, almost overlapping with his own shadow.
Agatha’s voice emanated from that shadow, “The ship’s bottom you mentioned… Is it the area you always keep me away from?”
“Yes,” Duncan nodded as he opened the door leading to the lower decks, quickly descending the steps with the lantern in hand. “In the real dimension, the bottom of the Vanished is connected to subspace. There lies a shattered zone where every crack reveals scenes reflected from subspace. It’s perilous for anyone to approach without me.”
“Your description alone sounds ominous,” Agatha’s shadow seemed to quiver. Although her expression was indiscernible, the shadow appeared fainter, signaling her apprehension. “Judging by your reaction, it seems the situation in the ‘dream ship’s’ bottom has changed?”
“A structure I’ve never seen before has appeared,” Duncan said rapidly. He traversed the dimly lit, cavernous storerooms beneath the deck, descending level by level. “It’s not far ahead. The shattered zone lies just at the bottom of the last staircase…”
After briskly navigating the dimly lit, eerie, and sometimes shadow-inverted corridors and stairways, Duncan and Agatha’s shadow abruptly halted.
They stood at the end of the final staircase, and the large door leading to the shattered region of the ship’s bottom loomed ahead.
Agatha’s shadow “crawled” alongside the staircase to Duncan’s side, then slowly rose against the wall. Judging by her silhouette, she seemed to be cautiously and anxiously eyeing the door ahead.
“I can’t sense anything beyond that door,” she whispered, “Even at this close proximity, I feel… nothing. It’s as if there’s a sheer ‘void’ on the other side.”
Duncan glanced at Agatha, then down at the lantern in his hand.
Its gentle radiance illuminated the surroundings, but when its light fell upon the door ahead, it seemed to be partially absorbed, dimming considerably.
Taking a deep breath, Duncan stepped forward and pushed the door open.
In the real world, behind this door was the shattered compartment at the very bottom of the Vanished — the structure that floated in subspace.
Here, what first met Duncan’s eyes was an expanse of impenetrable darkness, an abyss that seemed boundless.
For a moment, he felt as if he was on the verge of slipping into this infinite void. A flicker of unease tingled down his spine; the abrupt transition from the ship’s interior to this vast darkness caught him off guard. But soon, he realized he wasn’t staring into an absolute void; there were entities residing within the dark.
As his eyes adapted, forms and shapes within the darkness came into focus. First, there was an immense continuous structure, broad like a road suspended in nothingness, its ends gently arcing upward. Adjacent to this structure were numerous “branches,” neatly organized and extending into the distance, resembling ribs.
Duncan found himself amidst this grand continuous structure. Beneath his feet was the “main trunk,” with rib-like branches fanning out around him. There were no visible exterior walls of the ship, not even the fragmented ones. Between the “ribs,” there was only the dark void, with tendrils of mist surging and swirling in the air, encircling the vast expanse.
Duncan realized what it was.
Simultaneously, Agatha’s shadow slithered out of the door and settled beside Duncan’s. She gazed at the inconceivable scene before her with astonishment. A moment passed before she exclaimed, “Wait, is this…”
“The keel of the Vanished,” Duncan nodded solemnly.
“The keel… Yes, the Vanished is a century-old sailing ship; it’s bound to have a keel…” Agatha hesitated, her tone a mix of bewilderment and realization. “But it looks…”
Duncan didn’t respond to Agatha. His attention was almost entirely captured by the astonishing structure that stretched and curved into the darkness.
This was his first encounter with the keel of the Vanished. According to the shipbuilding regulations of this world, the keel of a completed sailing warship wouldn’t typically be exposed within the visible areas of the ship’s interior. The “bottom compartment” of the Vanished where the keel could originally be seen was shattered and adrift in subspace, making the structure of the keel indistinguishable.
He had never pondered what the ship’s keel might look like.
Now, he knew.
He stepped onto the “road” suspended in darkness, walking forward and stopping before the first “link.”
The enormous rib-like structures that stretched out on either side of him gave an eerie yet majestic aura. They seemed to pulse with an ancient energy, a testament to the ship’s century-old existence. Every “rib,” every curve of the structure held the echoes of the turbulent seas it had navigated and the storms it had braved. Duncan could feel an amalgamation of strength and vulnerability, a paradox that held within it the ship’s soul.
Agatha’s shadow hovered nearby, her silence indicating a mix of awe and trepidation. They were venturing into uncharted territory, where the usual rules of physics and logic were seemingly suspended. Duncan held the lantern higher, the greenish hue of its light casting an otherworldly glow on the intricate dance of darkness and mist around them.
The light radiating from the lantern illuminated the immense protruding, interconnected structure, and further beyond, there was another “link,” followed by yet more “links.”
This segmented “interconnecting structure” certainly didn’t conform to the construction standards for the keels of traditional sailing ships. For the old-world sailboats, the keel needed to be made of a single piece of timber to withstand the rough seas and turbulent waves.
However, Duncan was convinced that the keel at the bottom of the Vanished, with its many “connecting structures,” was far more robust than any keel in the world.
Reason being it was the spine of an ancient deity.
