About a century ago, during the golden age of sailing warships, skilled shipbuilders from various maritime city-states followed a revered tradition when constructing their vessels – they would always save a piece of the wood used to carve the keel.
This piece of wood received as much attention as the keel itself, undergoing carbonization, being soaked in preservatives, and lavishly oiled to enhance its durability. As the ship was being built, this symbolic wooden piece stood proudly next to it in the shipyard. When the ship was completed, the keel piece was placed on land, preserved in the shipyard forever. Many shipowners even paid extra for priests to periodically bless this sacred piece, with some entrusting it to a church for protection.
Originally, this practice began as a practical way to demonstrate the quality of the material used in the ship, enabling shipowners to confirm the wood’s origin and treatment. This ensured it met the strict technical standards required for sea vessels. Over time, however, this ritual took on a deeper, symbolic significance as an act of invoking protection and good fortune.
It was widely believed that ships had souls, ethereal and divine in nature. Thus, the keel piece left on shore was seen as a talisman that could bring good fortune to the ship on its sea voyages. More than just wood, it was viewed as a spiritual beacon, guiding lost ships back to safety, much like a lighthouse. Every blessing from the clergy was seen as a protective shield for the ship at sea. If a ship was wrecked, legend held that the preserved keel would transform in the afterlife into a modest boat, guiding the spirits of deceased sailors back to their homeland.
When a ship was confirmed lost, priests dedicated to the god of death solemnly held a “funeral” for the keel piece. Families of the sailors mournfully said goodbye to this symbolic piece, treating it as they would a departed loved one, and watched it be respectfully placed in the flames of a cremation furnace.
Agatha described to Duncan a touching scene from a century ago, where priests performed this somber farewell for a keel piece.
Today, remnants of this ancient tradition still linger, though not all modern captains, influenced by the steam era, continue it. Many now choose to keep a section of pipe from the installation of steam engines, preserving it in either a shipyard or a church.
window.pubfuturetag = window.pubfuturetag || [];window.pubfuturetag.push({unit: "64ce79d606107d003c23ea27", id: "pf-5140-1"})Lost in thought, Duncan’s eyes were drawn to the wooden relic in the box.
The Vanished, a ship built a century ago, was a masterpiece that followed the shipbuilding norms of its time, with its keel fragment carefully preserved.
The piece Duncan held was not a mythical artifact but the actual, original keel of the Vanished, identical to one he had found in the mist at the frontier—a seemingly inconsequential “small twig.”
With reverence, Duncan carefully held the historical yet unassuming piece of wood.
“Weightless?!” Duncan exclaimed, his eyes wide with astonishment and disbelief. The keel piece’s lack of weight was confounding. The term “light” barely captured the sensation—it felt surreal, like holding something lighter than the most delicate wisp of dust.
As Duncan examined the box, he noticed the plush black satin lining had a distinct indentation, clearly showing that the wooden piece had rested there and made an impression with its weight.
Breaking Duncan’s concentration, Bishop Valentine spoke from beside him. “Indeed, it is weightless—but only when held by a living person,” he explained. “When placed on a mechanical scale, it shows a weight of 0.7 kilograms. However, in human hands, it feels as though it weighs nothing. Interestingly, our records indicate that when this piece was initially cut from the keel timber, it weighed as much as any ordinary piece of wood.”
window.pubfuturetag = window.pubfuturetag || [];window.pubfuturetag.push({unit: "64cc9e79c7059f003e4ad4b0", id: "pf-5109-1"})Duncan’s face showed deep thought, and despite suspecting he knew the answer, his curiosity drove him to ask, “When exactly did this transformation happen?”
Bishop Valentine replied with precision, “On that fateful day when the Vanished was swallowed by subspace. That day was marked by numerous anomalies and mysteries, which were only fully investigated and recognized after the initial chaos had settled. Among these oddities was the keel sample’s inexplicable weightlessness when touched by living hands. Moreover, we discovered that every other piece of wood from the original Vanished’s keel timber had undergone the same transformation.”
The bishop paused, letting the significance of his words sink in, before continuing, “The original timber you obtained for Pland was large and impressive. After being shaped into the keel, there were substantial leftovers. These were cleverly used in different parts of the Vanished. The excess, not immediately needed, was stored in the shipyard’s warehouse. It was from this surplus that you later crafted the figureheads and rudders for two other ships: the Sea Mist and Bright Star. The remaining wood was untouched in the warehouse until… that unspeakable day of tragedy.”
With a dramatic gesture, the bishop pointed towards the large box in front of Duncan, indicating it contained more information. “You can find the chronicles of these events inside this repository.”
Driven to learn more, Duncan quickly asked, “Were the Sea Mist and Bright Star also made by Pland? Did they use the leftover keel material meant for the Vanished? Do records of their construction still exist?”
Bishop Valentine hesitated, clearly pained by the topic. “Many years ago,” he started slowly, choosing his words carefully, “when the shipyard was destroyed by fire, there were baseless rumors—purely speculative—that Vanna was somehow linked to it. There were whispers that she was a bearer of bad luck, though these were just unfounded fears stirred by confusion. Given her connection to the missing ships and the concurrent disasters, some made an unfair connection.”
He looked earnestly at Duncan, seeking reassurance. “I’ve always known Vanna to be a person of integrity and deep compassion. She has contributed greatly to our community. But occasionally, old prejudices and superstitions can resurface. I wanted to make sure there are no such biases against her on your ship.”
window.pubfuturetag = window.pubfuturetag || [];window.pubfuturetag.push({unit: "663633fa8ebf7442f0652b33", id: "pf-8817-1"})Duncan’s expression was unreadable for a moment, then he softly chuckled. “Vanna is a valued member of our crew. Everyone respects her skills, and no one sees her as a bringer of misfortune. In fact, after the challenges we’ve faced together, many view her as a symbol of hope.”
Relieved, Valentine expressed his gratitude. “Thank you for reassuring me, Captain. I just wanted to ensure her safety and well-being, considering the heavy past.”
Duncan nodded, understanding the bishop’s concerns. “Rest assured, Vanna is in good company. And as for those groundless rumors, they carry no weight on our ship.”
Valentine smiled, his gratitude apparent. “Thank you, Captain Duncan. It’s comforting to know that in the ever-changing tides of life, there are steadfast ships and dependable captains like you.”
Bishop Valentine took a deep breath, choosing his words carefully. “Has she perhaps inadvertently caused any harm? Vanna’s straightforward nature and formidable strength have sometimes made it difficult for her to connect with others. In our city-state, it was noticeable that she had a limited circle of friends because of this…”
Duncan thought about his experiences with Vanna, contrasting them with the whimsical antics of Shirley, the fierce temper of Nina over a misplaced scroll, the bizarre misadventures of Alice who once considered cooking her own shoe out of curiosity, and the usual onboard chaos of clanging pots, scattered mops, overturned buckets, and the occasional accidental firing of cannons…
Choosing a straightforward response, Duncan replied, “Actually, she’s one of the more composed members of our crew. Vanna is generally quite reserved, apart from her energetic morning jogs and intense deck workouts…”
Valentine looked puzzled and said, “Excuse me…?”
Clearly, the bishop was struggling to reconcile this image of Vanna with his previous understanding.
Deciding not to delve into the eccentricities of his ship’s crew, Duncan signaled to Ai to ensure the safe transport of the large wooden box to the Vanished. After bidding the bishop farewell, Duncan confidently walked out of the cathedral.
Bishop Valentine remained in the glowing ambiance of the chapel, feeling somewhat overwhelmed. The statue of the Storm Goddess, Gomona, stood serenely, illuminated by the soft flicker of candlelight. The day’s events seemed almost surreal to him.
Could it be that this sacred cathedral had briefly harbored an entity from subspace? And that the same entity had departed so unassumingly?
The surreal nature of the events made him question reality.
“…Vanna.”
A familiar voice came through the still-open psychic channel, “I’m here. Has the captain already left?”
“He just left,” Valentine replied.
Hearing the uncertainty and subtle emotion in Valentine’s voice made Vanna pause. “What’s troubling you? Did something go wrong?”
“It’s not exactly trouble,” Valentine confessed, “It’s just that everything feels… unreal. Could today’s events be seen as the cathedral being ‘touched’ by subspace?”
After a moment of silence, indicating her surprise, Vanna responded, “I… I hadn’t thought about it that way.”
His gaze fixed on Gomona’s statue, Valentine remarked, “The Goddess doesn’t seem to harbor any resentment.”
Vanna replied with a hint of humor, “I’d think Gomona wouldn’t be too bothered. The captain merely came for a visit. If such events were considered invasions, then the Silent Cathedral in Frost would be ‘overrun’ by subspace entities every week. Yet, everything there remains peaceful.”
This left Bishop Valentine even more puzzled than before. He could only mutter a bemused, “What…?”
