In a dramatic change, Wind Harbor, previously engulfed in a dream-like, nightmarish world, has now astonishingly reverted to normalcy. The once haunting streets are bustling with daily activity. The fiery rivers that streaked the sky in the nightmare have vanished without a trace. As day breaks, Wind Harbor resumes its familiar scenery.
However, it would be misleading to assume that Wind Harbor has emerged unscathed from this ordeal.
The citizens are still grappling with the psychological effects of their nightmarish experience. Persistent, unsettling memories of the dream are causing widespread anxiety and a demand for reassurance. These psychological effects include temporary memory loss, hallucinations, and auditory hallucinations among many. While these symptoms are not severe enough to cause supernatural effects, they do necessitate the attention of mental health professionals. Moreover, many residents are experiencing fatigue, excessive sleepiness, and unexplained heart palpitations—all consequences of the mental strain from the nightmare. The timeline for their recovery remains uncertain.
At 99 Crown Street, in the infamous Witch’s Mansion of Wind Harbor, Duncan sits by a large window on the ground floor, observing the street activities.
Steam-powered machines from the academy patrol the streets. Uniformed truth guardians and security personnel are diligently searching for remnants of the dream world. Government officials visit homes to check on the well-being of residents and to register those with mental impairments for further treatment at psychological aid centers.
Next to Duncan, Lucretia shares her observations. “I just visited Sara Mel,” she updates him. “Things in town are better than expected. There’s not much to worry about. My brother would probably be envious of how smoothly Wind Harbor is recovering, considering the troubles he faced in Frost.”
She continues, “I also saw Master Taran El and the Truth Keeper as they came back to reality. Master Taran El is a bit mentally exhausted and neurologically drained, but his vital signs are stable, as usual… The Truth Keeper, however, ended up in the hospital. Nothing serious, just some stomach issues. Apparently, consuming an entire bottle of Blood Raven Potion was harder on his stomach than the mental ordeal…”
As Lucretia speaks, Duncan listens with only partial attention, his thoughts elsewhere. “We might consider paying a visit to this ‘Truth Keeper’,” he muses. “He has insights into the activities of the Vanished on the frontier a century ago. I’m keen to explore that topic with him.”
window.pubfuturetag = window.pubfuturetag || [];window.pubfuturetag.push({unit: "64ce79d606107d003c23ea27", id: "pf-5140-1"})Lucretia nods just as their conversation is interrupted by a knock at the entrance. Morris, who was engrossed in a book near the door, stands and answers it. After a brief exchange, the door closes again.
“It was a government official,” Morris informs Duncan and Lucretia as he approaches them. “They’re conducting surveys on the mental well-being of households in the area. They asked if anyone here needed psychological support.”
Duncan and Lucretia exchange a knowing look, and Lucretia shrugs. “Not everyone is aware of the history of the ‘Witch’s Mansion,’ especially those lower-tier civil servants. They’ve been hastily reassigned from other districts due to the crisis. They’re already overwhelmed with their daily tasks, let alone understanding the unique reputation of this house.”
Amused, Duncan asks Morris, “And what did you tell him?”
With a casual demeanor, Morris responds, “I assured him that everyone here is mentally stable, myself included. However, his Lahem amulet, which he used to detect mental contamination, suddenly burned up. I guess that means this house will be left alone for a while.”
Duncan chuckled, turning back to Lucretia. “Well, that adds another bizarre story to our collection.”
“Avoiding unnecessary interactions with the officials is always a plus,” Lucretia remarked, her voice tinged with satisfaction.
Duncan then gazed out of the window once more, quietly observing the streets as they buzzed with renewed life and energy. After a moment of contemplation, he broke the silence, “The incident in Wind Harbor is behind us… Now it’s time to address some ‘remaining matters’.”
window.pubfuturetag = window.pubfuturetag || [];window.pubfuturetag.push({unit: "64cc9e79c7059f003e4ad4b0", id: "pf-5109-1"})Lucretia raised her eyebrows in curiosity. “You’re thinking about…”
“Is Rabbi still aboard that ship?”
“I get your point. I’ll check on the situation with the ‘Nest’.”
…
Meanwhile, Richard was struggling with a persistent coldness.
Since his last ordeal in the Dream of the Nameless One, he had been afflicted by an intermittent chill, feeling as if his blood had become thin and stagnant, unable to circulate warmth. No number of layers or blankets seemed to alleviate this deep, internal cold.
This baffling condition frustrated him. Despite being wrapped in ample warm cotton, he felt as though he couldn’t retain his body heat.
He had sought advice from Rabbi but received only the suggestion to be patient.
window.pubfuturetag = window.pubfuturetag || [];window.pubfuturetag.push({unit: "663633fa8ebf7442f0652b33", id: "pf-8817-1"})Nonetheless, there were numerous tasks that demanded his attention, providing Richard brief distractions from his discomfort.
The ship continued its voyage across the vast ocean, avoiding main shipping lanes. Following the Saint’s orders, they had left the “civilized world” behind. Their destination was a supply port near the frontier, expected to be reached in a few days.
On the bustling ship, the believers diligently cleaned up remnants of their previous efforts. This included reconfiguring the intricate rune system in the assembly hall, securely resealing the unfathomable “Skull of Dreams,” and fine-tuning the ship’s cloaking mechanisms for better concealment.
Below deck, Richard joined his comrades, meticulously inspecting the array of runes and arcane “relics.”
Dumont, working closely beside Richard, voiced his concerns in a hushed tone, “The Saint mentioned these symbols are designed to shield us from the prying senses of the Suntists. Let’s hope they’re effective.”
While examining the runes, Richard replied casually yet with a hint of bewilderment, “We did abandon our mission at a critical stage. To our ‘allies,’ that must seem like an outright betrayal.” Pausing, he added with a hint of perplexity, “But what exactly transpired that led the Saint to abruptly call off the operation? Did the words of those Enders truly hold such sway?”
Dumont shook his head in uncertainty. “I can’t be sure. But the Saint has a knack for perceiving shadows in fate. He likely foresaw immense peril in the Nameless Dream…”
Dumont’s voice trailed off as he glanced around warily, then leaned closer to Richard, whispering, “I’ve been wondering… perhaps this entire endeavor was a trap from the outset. The so-called ‘Dream of the Nameless One’ might be fraught with dangers beyond our comprehension. It was prudent to retreat when we did. Those Suntists are likely facing grave consequences now.”
Sensing the gravity in Dumont’s tone, Richard instinctively surveyed their surroundings before whispering back, “What makes you think that?”
Dumont cast a wary glance at the runes, which emitted a foreboding glow in the dim light. “It’s been some time since we retreated, yet that ‘Sun Offspring’ hasn’t pursued us. Honestly, I doubt these runes, designed to ward off ordinary supernatural entities, could thwart an offspring of an Old God.”
Richard, suddenly more alert, paused. He prided himself on his sharpness, often being more insightful than Dumont. But lately, his thoughts seemed sluggish, his reactions delayed.
It was as if Dumont’s words had awakened him to the possibility that the ‘Sun Offspring’ might have fallen into grave danger.
With a hint of anxiety in his subdued voice, Richard asked, “Are you suggesting the Sun Offspring might be dead? Slain by the Dream of the Nameless One? It’s hard to believe anything in this world could kill a Sun Offspring. Could that dream world be…”
Dumont interrupted in a low mutter, “It might be ‘his’ followers, or even ‘he’ himself.” He didn’t say the name, but the implication was clear.
Richard promptly fell silent, choosing to end the conversation there.
Such topics were dangerous to discuss. Speaking too freely could attract the attention of the Ghost Captain. Legends claimed that the shadow of the Vanished rose from the sea at night, ready to abduct those who dared to speak too openly.
These stories were well-known among sailors navigating the vast, merciless oceans.
Richard’s mind was filled with questions, particularly about the mysterious and powerful beings known as the Sun Offsprings. Within the hierarchy chart of ‘heirs,’ they were some of the most formidable, born from the fiery depths of the Black Sun, a direct manifestation of an Old God’s essence. Richard knew that without the protective seals of the Four Gods, which limited the Sun Offsprings to spectral forms in the real world, their full power could easily destroy entire city-states. Even their revered Saint would likely struggle in a direct clash with their full force.
But could the “Ghost Captain” really possess such immense power?
As he pondered this, a sudden chill emanated from deep within his heart. Richard shivered, a stark reminder to control his thoughts and steer clear of the dark and unseen forces.
Dumont’s voice, steady and somewhat reassuring, interrupted his thoughts. “Regardless, we’ve managed to escape the whirlpool. While many are still trying to make sense of it, we are safe now.”
Richard stayed quiet for a moment, the icy sensation in his heart intensifying. It felt as though his blood had stopped flowing, the cold becoming sharper. His body seemed unable to produce any warmth.
Despite the increasing cold that enveloped him, Richard slowly nodded in agreement with Dumont’s words.
“Yes, regardless, we are safe now.”
His response, though simple, underscored the gravity of their narrow escape and the uncertainty that lay ahead.
