As Duncan stood in the enveloping darkness, he found himself captivated by the sight of the keel stretching out endlessly before him. His instincts told him that this keel was somehow linked to a significant transaction that took place in subspace about a hundred years prior.
Yet, as certain as Duncan felt about recognizing the keel’s origin, a nagging feeling of uncertainty lingered. It was as if there was a missing piece to this puzzle. He believed that the ship had a message for him. But was this keel the entirety of that message, or just a piece?
To get a clearer view, Duncan raised the lantern he held. Fueled by a mystical spirit fire, its flame intensified, casting a radiant glow around him. The soft light unveiled more details of the keel’s intricate patterns and pushed back the darkness, revealing ambiguous shapes and forms that seemed to hint at concealed mysteries.
Emerging from the thickening mist, Agatha’s figure gradually became discernible. As she stepped closer to Duncan, she posed a thought-provoking question, “Could this long spine belong to Saslokha, the legendary demon god from ancient elven tales?”
Pondering her words, Duncan responded with a slight nod, “It’s a strong possibility. Only a being of divine stature could have such an imposing spine.”
Seeming deep in thought, Agatha continued, “The goat heads… I’m talking about all of them – the ones depicted on the ‘Vanished’, those in this surreal dream realm, the ones held as sacred by the cultists, and potentially other goat heads that we’ve yet to discover. How do you think they relate to Saslokha?”
She hesitated, collecting her thoughts before continuing, “One of the goat heads, in its dazed state, insisted that Saslokha was long deceased and that it wasn’t him. But now, witnessing the connections they share with the elves’ ancient ‘Primordial Dream,’ and unearthing this spine or ‘keel’ at the base of the ‘Vanished’… Don’t you recall acquiring this keel during your time in subspace?”
Agatha was under the impression that Duncan, the man standing before her, was the same captain of the ‘Vanished’ from a century ago. She assumed he was the one who had entered into an agreement with the goat head within the confines of subspace. Given Duncan’s occasional mentions of losing chunks of his memories during his quest to regain his human essence, she surmised that perhaps this keel was a fragment of those forgotten times.
Taking a moment to reflect, Duncan finally responded, his voice soft and contemplative, “It’s plausible that each of the goat heads are fragments of Saslokha’s essence.”
Agatha hesitated for just a brief moment, piecing together the puzzle in her mind. “So, when Miss Lucretia mentioned the ‘goat head’ held by the Annihilators as ‘Ancient God Fragments,’ she wasn’t speaking metaphorically. These fragments are diverse, with some retaining memories or ties to Saslokha or even the legendary city of Atlantis. Meanwhile, others appear to have lost all cognitive abilities or even their very essence.”
Duncan, seemingly lost in his own thoughts, kept his eyes locked onto the massive spine before them. It took him some time before he responded, his voice laced with a mixture of intrigue and boldness, “Here’s a radical theory: these ‘goat heads’ might just be one of the many representations of these Ancient God Fragments. This spine, vast and majestic, is unmistakably another. And who’s to say there aren’t other forms? Be it a tree, an individual, a mere rock, or even a lifeless body—any of these could potentially be the remnants of Saslokha’s essence.”
Picking up the thread, he added, “Elvish folklore often speaks of Saslokha adopting myriad forms. That’s perhaps why one fragment of the god can be compact enough to fit atop a navigator’s desk in the form of a goat head, whereas another—this colossal spine—could rival the size of the entire ‘Vanished’.”
The implication of Duncan’s words sent a shiver down Agatha’s spine. Even she, who once held the title of the “Gatekeeper of Frost,” found the vastness and scope of Saslokha’s power deeply unsettling.
Overwhelmed by curiosity, she blurted out, “What kind of unimaginable force or event could shatter a deity into such fragmented states?”
Her question was more of a pondering out loud rather than a genuine inquiry for Duncan to answer.
Yet, after a contemplative silence, Duncan replied, his voice distant and reflective, “But the second blueprint failed, leading the Dream King to be shattered on the second extended night of the World’s Creation. Fragments of Him then wandered, some brushing against the confines of reality…”
Recognition flashed across Agatha’s face, her shadow flickering momentarily under the lamp’s glow. She instantly remembered the origin of those words, “That’s a passage from the ‘Book of Blasphemy’.”
Duncan acknowledged with a subtle nod, “Indeed, it is. It’s the creation myth of the Annihilators—a narrative from a time even before the Deep Sea Era. The Dream King employed His immense power to birth the world, only to be fragmented during the prolonged nights.”
With newfound understanding, Agatha gasped, “Saslokha must be one of the Lost Kings! The fabled ‘Great Demon God’ from Elvish Chronicles… Could he be synonymous with the ‘Dream King’ who aspired to recreate the world during that second, extended night?”
Duncan began with a thoughtful tone, “I’ve pondered over this connection for quite some time, especially considering the notable parallels in their attributed powers. Yet, elvish legends, as grandiose and captivating as they are, often lacked concrete evidence. Additionally, Saslokha, being distinctively embedded in elven folklore, is often depicted in tales that seem to clash with historical records and accounts from various other city-states scattered across the great oceans.”
He elaborated, “It’s also worth noting that among all known races, the elves pride themselves on having the most extensive compilation of myths and historical narratives. However, a thorough perusal of their vast archives reveals no mention of the ‘Dream King’s endeavor to reconstruct the world during the infamous Second Long Night’. There’s also an absence of any narrative hinting at this formidable demon god being fragmented during that extended night—neither in official records nor in more obscure, lesser-known tales.”
“These disparities previously prevented me from confidently drawing parallels between the revered ‘Great Demon God Saslokha’ of elvish origin and the ‘Dream King’ associated with the second extended night. Yet, witnessing these tangible remnants of a once-mighty deity has shifted my perspective.”
Agatha seemed momentarily paralyzed, her mind grappling with the gravity of Duncan’s revelations. Duncan, sensing the weight of the moment, slowly approached the “Ancient God’s Spine”. Holding his lantern aloft, he delicately treaded onto a converging point of this immense relic. Crouching, he traced his fingers over its coarse, age-worn surface—a testament to eons gone by, yet retaining an undeniable vitality.
It was this very spine that had pulled the ‘Vanished’ back to the tangible world from subspace. The spine had been its foundational pillar, maintaining the ship’s corporeal existence for a whole century.
Suddenly, Duncan froze.
An essential question, which had remained on the periphery of his considerations, now stormed to the forefront of his mind. Having closely examined the “keel” formed from the spine of this primordial god, and grasping the magnitude of the infrastructure that lay beneath such a colossal vessel, an urgent question emerged: What material was the original keel of the ‘Vanished’ constructed from?
Rising swiftly, Duncan cast his gaze across the encompassing obsidian expanse.
The ship’s skeletal framework, anchored by the keel and flanked by sturdy ribs, was enshrouded in a ceaseless veil of mist. Straining his eyes, he could barely make out fragmented hull components and remnants of the ship’s upper supporting beams.
While the edifice built atop this ancient deity’s spine was undoubtedly monumental and evoked deep reverence, it was merely a fragment of the original ‘Vanished’.
The primary vessel, the ‘Vanished’ in its pristine state, had been engulfed by the treacherous subspace. When the entities with goat heads first chanced upon it, the ship was but a fleeting mirage, sustained only by Duncan Abnomar’s indomitable spirit and relentless will.
The “Vanished” Duncan stood upon now was like the phoenix reborn from its ashes. It had been given a second life, its original foundational keel now replaced by the spine of a deity of ancient times, enabling its almost miraculous emergence from the abyss of subspace.
Yet, a question lingered: what was the nature of the original keel?
Though Duncan didn’t claim expertise in maritime construction, his myriad experiences in this world had provided him a decent grasp on ship anatomy. He was aware of the shipbuilding norms from a century prior—how sail-bearing warships were meticulously assembled. The keel, the ship’s backbone, was traditionally crafted from a single, sturdy, and long timber log, handpicked for its resilience. The characteristics of this timber not only defined the overall structural integrity of the vessel but also its potential size.
However, the ‘Vanished’ defied these conventional specifications. It wasn’t merely larger; it was unprecedentedly vast.
In the annals of this world’s maritime history, the ‘Vanished’ was unparalleled in scale. No other sailing ship before or after it could rival its magnificent stature. And from Duncan’s examination of the ship’s underbelly, it was evident that the design of the ‘Vanished’s’ keel diverged from the norm. Instead of the usual joint or riveted design, its keel seemed to be one continuous entity.
Pondering deeper, Duncan thought about the very essence of ship construction. The keel was the ship’s core, with all other structural elements taking cue from its design. The fact that the current “Ancient God’s Spine” had seamlessly taken the place of the original keel suggested that the ‘Vanished’, despite being a relic of its time, was initially designed with a singular, uninterrupted keel.
However, no known tree from any known land could boast such gargantuan proportions.
Even if, hypothetically, such a colossal tree existed, wood has its physical limitations. Given the sheer size of the ‘Vanished’, the weight and strain it would exert would far exceed the natural load-bearing capacity of any wooden keel.
Could it be possible that the original keel wasn’t made of mere wood but of something much more extraordinary?
Over the decades, tales of the ‘Vanished’ became shrouded in mystery, almost attaining a mythical status in the maritime world. As the ship’s legacy grew, discussions about it, especially its origin in the city-state of Pland, became taboo. The ‘Vanished’ was like a ghost story whispered in hushed tones.
Yet, Duncan could picture the past. He visualized the bustling scene a century ago when the framework of this magnificent vessel first began to take shape, casting awe and intrigue in the hearts of those who witnessed its inception.
As the mist weaved its patterns around him, Duncan’s lantern cast an eerie, soft, green luminescence. The light seemed to reveal shadowy shapes hidden within the fog, each telling its own silent tale.
Duncan, letting out a sigh, glanced at the ever-present mist, his features softening.
“So, this was your secret,” he murmured, addressing the ship around him.
