“The Dream of the Naless One?”
Upon hearing the strange term suddenly thrown out by the captain, Agatha and the goat head shared a perplexed look with each other.
“Where did you hear this term?” After a mont of thought, Agatha asked, “Is this part of the ‘information’ you just received?”
“The followers of the Cult of Annihilation call the ‘dream’ that Heidi and Lucretia once fell into as ‘The Dream of the Naless One,'” Duncan slowly nodded, “The original source of the information might be from the Enders, and later both the Cult of Annihilation and the Sun Worshipers responded to so kind of ‘call’ from these Enders. If the information is correct, this so-called ‘Dream of the Naless One’ seems to be a kind of ‘vision’ that covers many dreams on a massive scale, and the elves… they seem to beco a ‘gateway’ into the Dream of the Naless One under certain conditions.”
He paused briefly before continuing, “These cultists seem to be searching for sothing in the depths of the Dream of the Naless One with their own hidden motives. The purpose of the Sun Cult is unknown for now, but the goal of the Cult of Annihilation seems to be sothing referred to as ‘the original blueprint’.”
Agatha’s expression visibly grew more serious, “I indeed have never heard of this so-called ‘Dream of the Naless One,’ but logically, a vision of this scale… it shouldn’t have remained unknown all these years. You said that elves can beco a ‘gateway’ under specific conditions?”
Duncan nodded slightly, “According to the followers of the Cult of Annihilation, there seems to be so ‘defect at the blueprint stage’ within the elves, which leads their spirits to establish a connection with ‘The Dream of the Naless One.’ It probably has sothing to do with the theories related to the creation by the Nether Lord, but the specific details are lacking.”
“…I’m sorry, Captain, it looks like we can’t provide you with any useful answers,” Agatha seriously considered the situation for a mont and finally shook her head apologetically, “However, since this matter points directly to the elf race, we can conduct an investigation in Wind Harbor, an elf city-state — and there has just been an elf who fell into that dream here.”
Duncan humd in agreent, adjusting his posture and leaning back in his chair, lightly tapping the armrest with his fingers. His eyes fell on a slowly unraveling sea chart, “We indeed need to have a good chat with Master Taran El… Let’s go to the Bright Star and say hello to Lucretia.”
…
On the outskirts of Wind Harbor, in an open sea near the “Glowing Falling Object,” the Bright Star was slowly patrolling. The diffuse sunlight covering the sea surface made the ship appear as though it was sailing over fine golden sand.
A gentle sea breeze blew directly towards the face, carrying the unique warm scent of the southern sea regions. However, Master Taran El, who was standing on the deck, couldn’t help but feel a bit cold from ti to ti. He tightened his coat against the wind and turned to look at the “Sea Witch,” Lucretia, who was standing on one of the masts. He called out loudly, “Are we waiting here?”
Lucretia glanced down at the esteed scholar on the deck. Her voice, although soft, was clearly transmitted directly into Taran El’s ears, “We are waiting here.”
“Can I go back?” Taran El shouted again, “The emotional reunion between father and daughter, it’s not quite right for an outsider like to be present!”
Lucretia’s face remained expressionless, “My father said he wants to talk to you.”
Taran El raised his hands in frustration, “Could you co down and accompany , then? I… I feel a bit nervous!”
Lucretia looked down at him condescendingly, “You are an adult and a prestigious scholar at that. You should learn to manage your stress.”
“…Miss Lucretia, you wouldn’t be nervous too, would you?”
“Why would I be nervous about this? He’s my…”
Her voice from the mast suddenly stopped, and Taran El was montarily startled. He was about to inquire further but was suddenly interrupted by an intense throbbing.
It was a spiritual intuition that suddenly sent a warning, an instinctive tension from a “scholar” who had spent years dealing with various dangerous substances and secret knowledge. Taran El instantly broke out in a cold sweat, followed by hearing a low, beast-like breathing noise.
The next mont, dense fog and terrifying shadows abruptly filled his vision like a high wall next to the Bright Star. The distorted light and shadow brought by the inversion of the spirit realm seed to swarm out of the fog. Huge shadows floated up from the spirit realm and descended as a result.
Just like many terrifying sea legends describe, the Vanished was enveloped in darkness and chaos, burning with apocalyptic flas, as if a nightmare suddenly took form in the real world. Like an unavoidable fate, it ca crashing towards them. Within a few breaths, the towering bow of the Vanished broke into reality.
Taran El stood frozen on the deck like a stone statue. He heard a “thud” from so direction but didn’t even have the courage to turn his head to look. It took several more seconds before he regained his ability to breathe and felt his heart beating strongly— the potion that Lucretia had previously given him was still exerting a robust protective effect, allowing his subpar organs to continue to function reliably under intense shock.
Then, the esteed scholar gradually ca to his senses, regaining his ability to speak. He quickly turned to look at the place where the “witch” had been standing earlier, “Miss Lucretia! Your father…”
The mast was empty, with no sign of the witch.
Taran El stared for a mont, subconsciously scanning his surroundings and calling out loudly, “Miss Lucretia! Lu…”
“Stop shouting; I’m here.”
A cold voice that carried a hint of warning suddenly ca from nearby, interrupting the scholar’s shouting. Taran El quickly turned to see Lucretia, who had sohow already co to the deck. She was standing beside him, her face indifferent, while elegantly holding her forehead and gazing at the bow of the Vanished.
“Ah, where did you go just now? I turned around, and you were…”
“Quiet,” Lucretia interrupted the scholar brusquely, “My father doesn’t like people who shout and scream during a eting.”
Taran El instantly closed his mouth, tensely watching the large ship that was burning with ghostly flas. Almost simultaneously, he saw a fla appear out of thin air on the deck of the Bright Star. The fla rapidly soared, forming a rotating portal, and soon, a tall figure stepped out of it.
Considering this was his first visit to the Bright Star, Duncan chose to co alone to avoid confusion on the scene.
Now, he had finally set foot on this ship—one of the two remaining frigates from the once Vanished Fleet, the Bright Star.
And he had finally t Lucretia in reality, the daughter of “Duncan Abnomar.”
The “Sea Witch” wore a black dress with an adventurer’s style, hesitantly walking a few steps towards him but stopping a few ters away. She had been looking in his direction, her expression filled with complexity and restraint. Despite her best efforts to hide it, her nervousness and hesitance could not be concealed.
In Duncan’s mind, mories involuntarily surfaced of so information that Tyrian had revealed to him before leaving Frost—
“Lucy cos across to outsiders as cold, aloof, and rcurial, but in essence, that’s because she’s not good at socializing and cannot accurately express her emotions…”
“When she’s nervous, it shows, so she always avoids putting herself in tense situations. That’s why the ‘Sea Witch’ always seems hurried, particularly independent and eccentric…”
“When she’s overly embarrassed, she completely doesn’t know how to initiate a conversation. This gives the impression of extre rudeness, arrogance, and peculiarity. However, if soone willingly breaks the silence and speaks to her at that mont, she would be delighted…”
These thoughts played through Duncan’s mind as he faced Lucretia, giving him insights into the nature of this enigmatic woman before him. Her apparent coldness was but a mask, concealing vulnerabilities and complexities that made the impending conversation not just a matter of diplomacy but a delicate dance of human understanding.
During his ti in Frost, Duncan had always maintained the appearance of having lost his mory due to “subspace” in front of Tyrian. Thanks to this, he could openly inquire about many matters related to Lucretia, and now, this information seed to be coming in handy.
“It’s been a long ti,” Duncan said, a faint smile crossing his face after a mont’s adjustnt. He approached the “Sea Witch.” “Lucy, I’ve returned.”
He tried to play the role of “Duncan Abnomar” according to the rehearsals and his understanding.
However, as he greeted her in this manner, a subtle emotion rose from the depths of his heart, revealing itself quietly. In this faint and blurry emotion, he once again felt a hint of longing and… regret.
He was no stranger to this feeling — every body he inhabited would react similarly when encountering people or things of importance from their past lives.
This ti, Duncan didn’t attempt to control or ignore this sensation. Instead, he allowed it to flow slowly through his heart and gradually fade away.
Lucretia’s facial expression subtly changed several tis. No one knew what the “witch” had thought during those few brief seconds. She stared for a while, and finally, all the mories and once-intense emotions settled into a very soft utterance:
“Papa, you’ve been away for too long this ti…”
Duncan fell silent for a mont and reached into his coat, “I brought you a gift.”
“A gift?” Lucretia looked up sowhat blankly.
Duncan extended his hand and slowly opened his palm.
A small, silver hairpin, designed with waves and feathers, lay quietly in his hand.
Lucretia seed a little stunned. She stared blankly at the delicate hairpin for a while before blinking as if suddenly waking up, hesitatingly reaching out her hand.
The hairpin was real, with a solid touch and a slight warmth to it—the warmth of a living being.
The “witch” held this gift for a long, long ti, eventually allowing a slight smile to erge, her voice softly saying, “…You delivered it so slowly; it’s been out of fashion for a century…”
After a mont, she seed to take a gentle breath.
“Thank you.”
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