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In a grand, ornately decorated assembly hall, its ceilings and walls adorned with intricate murals, sat a monstrous entity known as the “Saint” on an elevated platform.
Above him, the “Crown,” a foreboding structure made of dark, twisted bones, towered. At its base, a web of nerves and blood vessels wove together, interspersed with eyes that were half-open. Nestled within this eerie crown was a brain, securely placed within the bone frawork, occasionally whispering faintly and shifting slightly.
Around the edges of the hall, lower-ranking clergy and lay mbers of the congregation stood silently, maintaining a respectful distance from the platform to avoid the gaze of the Saint’s dormant eyestalks. The atmosphere was tense, the air thick with unease.
It was common knowledge among those present that the Saint was in a particularly bad mood due to an abrupt and unexpected cessation of their activities.
The command to stop had co from the Saint himself, but clearly, this was not a satisfying or planned developnt.
After a prolonged, heavy silence, a voice abruptly ordered all lower clergy and followers to “Leave.”
Grateful as if they had been spared severe punishnt, the followers of the Annihilation Cult quickly exited through various doors, leaving only the higher-ranking clergy near the platform.
Breaking the silence, a senior clergyman in a black robe with neatly combed gray hair spoke up, “Saint, we have news from Mok and Ciprod. The elves, who had been afflicted by a mysterious slumber and decay in various city-states, are beginning to recover.”
Another high priest added quickly, “The portal to the dream world has vanished, and the Skull of Dreams no longer responds to our blood rituals. It seems the Naless One may no longer exist. We have yet to hear from the followers of the Sun.”
From within the skeletal crown, a voice responded, “They will not contact us again. The leader of this operation, the Sun Offspring, is dead. Its demise will throw the Suntists into a long period of disarray… With one of their leader gone, the faction that worked with us will likely dissolve.”
This news caused a stir among the high-ranking clergy assembled around the platform. After a mont of shock, the gray-haired clergyman asked, visibly surprised, “The Sun Heir is dead? How? Was there an incident in the depths of the dream world?”
“The details are vague to . I only sensed its light fading at the end of its path. A vast, foreboding shadow appeared where its light diminished, and this shadow continues to move closer to us.”
The upper clergy exchanged worried glances, followed by a tense silence until one cautiously broke it, “You’re suggesting… after the fall of the Sun Heir, the very shadow that caused its downfall is still advancing towards us?”
“Our fate is shrouded in darkness,” the Saint replied slowly, solemnly, “And it has not yet lifted.”
“We’ve positioned ourselves far from any major city-states and key trade routes,” another high priest added hesitantly, “Moreover, we’ve managed to evade the patrol fleets of the four major churches at the borders…”
Before he could finish, another clergyman interrupted urgently, “The forces of the Four Gods have been unusually active recently. They’ve amassed a large number of fleets near the eastern border, weakening their patrol capabilities in other regions. We managed to slip through unnoticed and should soon reach the ‘Holy Land’…”
Another clergyman contributed, “The ‘Holy Land’ is enshrouded in a dense fog at its borders, safeguarded by the ‘Lord.’ Even the ark ships of the Four Gods’ minions cannot penetrate it…”
As the upper clergy engaged more freely in conversation, a deceptive sense of security seed to erge among them. However, the Saint, perched on the platform, remained ominously silent. The conversation around the platform gradually waned, and the clergy wisely fell silent.
“‘He is approaching.” After a significant pause, the deep, resonant voice of the Saint suddenly filled the hall, spreading a palpable chill of fear and terror. Even the hardened hearts of the Annihilation Cult’s clergy trembled uncontrollably.
A high priest quickly grasped the implication of the Saint’s words, “You an… the phantom that erged from subspace…”
“It’s unbelievable! We haven’t interacted with ‘his’ followers since then…” another clergyman exclaid in disbelief, “We withdrew from the Dream of the Naless One before it underwent major changes. We should have severed all connections with ‘him’…”
In the tense and fearful atmosphere, the Saint remained silent. Instead, they slowly raised the eyestalks around them. At the tips of these undulating appendages, nurous eyes swept over the hall, their penetrating gaze seeming to observe beyond the walls, scrutinizing the entire ship.
In the Saint’s bulging, malford eyes, a reflection of impending doom was evident. A greenish fla flickered in the shadows, signaling the looming presence that would soon surface at sea. They foresaw the approaching death and terror—the majority aboard this ship were destined to et their demise soon.
For those who might survive, their fate would be even grimr than death.
The Saint was already attuned to the scent of scorched blood and the cries that would soon follow. However, the knowledge that the shadow would continue its relentless advance along this path brought more despair than the imminent deaths. This ship was not the final destination; it was rely a temporary stop on the shadow’s ever-expanding path.
The Saint gradually retracted its eyestalks, reflecting on the choices made in the near yet constrained future. These decisions had consistently increased its power, transforming this ship into a formidable talisman of the “Lord’s” will. However, at this point, it realized a disturbing truth: regardless of their actions, whether abruptly ending their operations in the Dream of the Naless One, altering the “Holy Ship’s” course, or even cloaking the ship’s aura, they could not escape the ominous future that lood over them.
It seed as if the shadow enveloped everything and everyone—it had beco an inescapable presence, and chillingly, it appeared to have already infiltrated the ship.
Already aboard the ship?
In the skeletal crown where the Saint resided, the engorged, writhing brain montarily ceased its movents, and the surrounding organic tissues slowly relaxed.
A sudden realization dawned on the Saint, and they noticed the pervasive shadows beginning to weaken. On the adjacent sea, the eerie greenish flas that had erged from the darkness started to fade.
“…I’ve caught you,” the Saint whispered softly.
An upper clergyman, attentive to this shift, asked imdiately, “What have you noticed?”
“…Summon all those who have ventured into the Dream of the Naless One to this hall,” the Saint commanded, while their eyes tracked the receding darkness on the ship and the rapidly vanishing scent of impending doom, “Especially those who interacted with the girl accompanying the dark hound… Richard, yes, bring him here… But do so subtly, without arousing his suspicion, guide him here gently.”
As the oppressive gloom completely withdrew from the hall and the ominous scent around the ship rapidly dissipated, the greenish flas retreated back into the shadows on the sea’s surface in the near future.
The Saint had correctly surmised that the shadow was indeed aboard the ship. At this mont, they sensed a minor “turning point” in destiny—a choice made rightly, a consequence seemingly favorable.
One of the upper clergyn quickly left the assembly hall to carry out the Saint’s orders.
After a short pause, the Saint on the platform issued another command, “Additionally, halt the ship.”
Though the imdiate danger seed to have lessened, a persistent unease weighed on the Saint’s heart. The situation was unlikely to be resolved so easily. The phantom that had returned from subspace might not be so easily escaped.
With a sense of necessary caution, the Saint decided the ship should temporarily remain in these waters, forbidding further progress towards the Holy Land until they were certain that all threats had been neutralized…
A minute later, Richard was abruptly woken from a turbulent, fleeting nightmare.
A cold, unexplained breeze brushed against Richard’s neck, carrying with it faint, barely audible whispers that seed to co from the dark corners of his room. The details of his nightmare had already faded from his mory. He couldn’t rember what he had dread about, only feeling a lingering discomfort similar to a hangover deep within his heart. This feeling slowly subsided, leaving behind a vague impression.
“She is coming to visit…”
This whisper, barely louder than a breath, seed to erge from the depths of Richard’s own mind.
Startled into alertness, Richard sat up in his bed.
The subtle and indistinct whispers continued to echo softly around the room. Nearby, the light cast erratic, shifting shadows on the wall, forming patterns that resembled tangled mycelium or an invisible spider’s web that seed to envelop the entire cabin.
“The lady of the house is coming… lovely doll…” The faint voice spoke again, its tone ethereal and distant.
Richard blinked slowly, feeling the numbness and ntal lethargy gradually lifting from his mind. He got out of bed and moved towards a nearby cabinet. After searching for a short while, he found what he was looking for.
In his hands, he held a large roll of paper and several pencils – tools he often used for practicing rune sketching.
He paused for a mont, quietly contemplating the items in his hands. Then, a smile slowly spread across Richard’s face. He took the paper and pencils, carelessly tossed his bedding aside onto the floor, and unrolled the large sheet of paper across the flat surface of the bed board.
“They have co for you… don’t waste ti.”
Following the mysterious whispers in his mind and wearing a smile, Richard leaned forward, pencil in hand, and began to draw with skilled movents.
In his mind’s eye, the elegant image of a lady gradually ford, and as he sketched, this image began to take shape on the paper, his hand skillfully bringing the vision to life.
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