Duncan gently pushed the door to the captain’s cabin open and made his way inside, imdiately drawing the gaze of Goathead, who rested atop the navigation table. Under the subdued lighting of the cabin, Goathead’s eyes followed him in silence, a stark contrast to the usual bustle of seafaring life.
With a nonchalant air and a wave of his hand, Duncan announced his return, “Duncan Abnomar— I’m back,” before peering out the window, curiosity lacing his tone, “Where are we now?”
Before entering the cabin, Duncan observed that their ship had successfully navigated through the ominous dark mist. Now, he noted, the fog blanketing the sea had transford back to its mundane shade of grayish-white. The dense fog appeared almost serene under the light, rolling silently in the distance.
“We arrived at the boundary line of six nautical miles about fifteen minutes ago. The fleet is currently on standby, awaiting your orders,” the Goathead responded, its voice creaking as it moved its head to maintain its gaze on Duncan, “You… seem to have ventured far or been absent for quite so ti. At first glance, I scarcely recognized you.”
Duncan listened to Goathead’s words, which carried a hint of unease, but he rely gestured dismissively with his hand. Rather than approaching the navigation table as he typically would, he pivoted slowly, his attention seemingly caught by sothing else. His eyes settled on an antique brass lantern that hung unassumingly on the wall beside him, its presence as ordinary as any other item in the room when unlit.
With a deliberate motion, he removed the lantern from its hook and scrutinized it closely, its antiquity evident in his careful handling.
“Do you intend to visit the lower deck?” inquired Goathead from behind him, a note of perplexity in its voice, “The lower deck is presently calm, requiring no intervention, and given our critical juncture…”
“No, I’m not headed to the lower deck,” Duncan cut in, bringing the lantern back to the navigation table and setting it down with a casual air, “What can you tell about this lantern?”
Goathead seed montarily taken aback by the captain’s abrupt shift in focus, especially after his prolonged absence and sudden return. Nonetheless, it replied after a brief pause, its tone reflective, “In terms of its function, I believe I’ve already inford you. However, if you’re inquiring about its origins… then, I must admit, it was already here when I boarded.”
“This lantern was part of the Vanished from the beginning,” Duncan mused, a spark of realization igniting in his eyes. A question then dawned on him, one he had never thought to ask before, “Wait, how do you know about the lantern’s purpose then? Who explained its function to you? And what about the other items on this ship…”
“The ship itself imparted the knowledge to ,” Goathead began, pausing montarily as it adopted a more solemn tone, “I am acquainted with the purpose of everything aboard this vessel. A significant portion of this understanding is derived from the ship’s own ‘mory,’ while the remainder cos from…”
It trailed off, allowing its gaze to drift towards Duncan, caught in a brief spell of hesitation.
“From a ti long past, when ‘the captain’ was still capable of thought and sporadic communication.”
Duncan acknowledged this revelation with a nod, signaling he did not wish to delve deeper into the matter, and redirected his focus to the lantern in question.
Observing the captain’s intense scrutiny of the lantern, Goathead’s curiosity was piqued. It closely inspected the familiar object and noted Duncan’s grave deanor, “Is there an issue with this lantern?”
“…It’s fine,” Duncan montarily hesitated, aware that discussing the subjects related to “the other side” of the door in Goathead’s presence was imprudent. Thus, he opted for a more indirect inquiry, “I was just wondering whether this lantern serves any additional purposes beyond offering solace during inspections of the lower deck?”
“As far as I am aware… its sole function is as you described,” Goathead replied after a brief contemplation, earnestly providing its understanding, “It accompanies the captain through the shadowy recesses, rembered by the ship for this role… perhaps, you could seek insights from Miss Lucretia?”
Duncan considered this for a mont, when abruptly, a shadow began to swell in a nearby mirror, soon giving way to Agatha’s form materializing from within the darkness, “Captain, we’ve intercepted a signal from the direction of the lighthouse, inquiring if an incident has occurred.”
With a sigh, Duncan stood, replacing the lantern on the wall—aware that the Bright Star along with the trio of church warships that served as both escorts and navigators, awaited his directive.
Recognizing the importance of their mission to explore the border, particularly given the perilous nature of the “outer seas” beyond the six nautical miles boundary line, he knew any delay was inadvisable.
“Instruct Vanna to reach out to her peers. Tell the church warships to draw near the lighthouse and convey to Sailor that he is to be ready at the stern. We’re poised to cross the boundary.”
“Understood, captain.” Agatha gave a respectful bow, her form gradually dissipating into the mirror’s shadow.
Subsequently, Duncan exited the captain’s cabin, his steps taking him across the deck shrouded in fog until he ascended the stairs beside the cabin, leading him to the expansive stern deck.
The Boundless Sea stretched out before him, its surface mirror-like and tranquil under the cover of a dense gray fog. The sky overhead was overcast, yet there was a distinct “glow” perating the clouds and mist, an illumination unlike that of sunlight or the World’s Creation, casting a diffuse light that saved the sea from total darkness.
This unique “glow” that perates the border seas is a phenonon that persists even on days when the sun is hidden from view, casting a surreal light over the waters.
“So many breathtaking scenes, so many mysteries yearning for exploration…”
These words drifted towards Duncan from a nearby presence. Turning towards the source, he observed Morris standing at the edge of the stern deck, his gaze lost in the dense fog stretching into the distance.
The venerable scholar was clad in an old, worn coat, an unlit pipe in hand, his features etched with contemplation. Feeling Duncan’s eyes on him, Morris turned, offering a smile tinged with self-mockery.
“Just a bout of sentintality, Captain. It’s hard not to feel a twinge of regret when faced with the prospect of the world’s demise and surrounded by innurable phenona that could occupy several lifetis of study.”
Duncan remained silent, simply joining the old scholar to gaze out into the fog.
Amidst the mist, a monuntal lighthouse lood, an architectural marvel that rged the functionality of a lighthouse, the sanctity of a church, and the innovation of a steam-powered platform. At its foundation lay a steam core, powering a vast harbor, atop which sat a church, its design inspired by the storm. The church’s central spire served as the base for the lighthouse, around which a solemn black structure twisted upward, forming a spiraling exterior. Sacred steam pipes, nestled between each twist of the spiral, were visible, and crowning the structure was the “torch,” a blessed fla that shone with an intensity surpassing any mundane light, its brilliance a testant to the church’s prayers. Even in the dense fog that blankets the border seas, its light pierced through the mist.
Yet, its reach faltered at the chaos beyond the six nautical miles, a realm no longer bound by “order.”
“That is the ‘lighthouse’ erected by the Storm Church at the eastern border. The other three major churches control similar beacons,” Vanna added, having approached the stern deck as well. “Her Grace Helena ntioned that these lighthouses represent the pinnacle of the churches’ achievents in their border expeditions. They can sustain communication and navigation for a short period beyond the six nautical miles boundary line, but that’s the extent of their capability.”
The sound of steam whistles filled the air, a reminder of the nearby seas’ activity. The three church warships, tasked with navigation, slowly passed the Vanished and Bright Star, making their way towards the enigmatic lighthouse shrouded in fog.
The church warships had fulfilled their role; the next phase of “crossing the boundary” was a journey they were not equipped to join. It marked the conclusion of the living’s contribution to the expedition, paving the way for the “ghost ship” to assu command.
Duncan’s attention was drawn by the sound of hesitant steps approaching. Turning towards the source, he observed Anomaly 077 making his way towards him, a figure of uncertainty.
Adorned in a “naval uniform” that he had acquired from an unspecified source, the attire hung awkwardly on his emaciated, decayed form, a stark contrast to the remnants of his original, tattered clothing. The uniform, ill-fitting on his withered body, seed an attempt to cloak the remnants of mortality.
“This was provided by the church…” Anomaly 077, catching Duncan’s eye, quickly gestured with his hand, “I thought it proper to dress more appropriately… a touch of formality never hurts.”
Duncan offered a nod of acknowledgnt and casually inquired, “Are you prepared?”
“…To be honest, I’m feeling sowhat apprehensive,” Sailor admitted, his fingers instinctively adjusting a button on his uniform before he composed himself, striving to project a semblance of reliability, “But I am ready.”
Foregoing further conversation, Duncan lifted his gaze towards the Bright Star and silently communicated: “Lucy.”
“I’m here, Papa.”
“Sailor is set to take control. You’ll need to maintain close proximity to the Vanished,” Duncan instructed with gravity, “Moving forward, I’ll cease to restrain Anomaly 077’s influence and will instead amplify his presence. Should all proceed as planned, the Bright Star will be enveloped by his powers as well. We’ll navigate the ‘correct course’ towards the final abode of the Storm Goddess.”
Lucretia responded with a voice that conveyed both calm and resolution: “Understood, I’ll keep pace.”
With a nod and a deep inhalation, Duncan’s gaze shifted back to Anomaly 077, who had now taken position at the helm.
“…Helmsman, execute your duties.”
“Yes, Captain!”
The declaration ca with a force and volu that belied Sailor’s typically raspy voice. Grasping the helm with both hands, he initiated the transition.
Almost imdiately, a greenish light began to shimr around the Vanished, gradually extending to encompass the Bright Star in its glow.
The sound of squeaking and creaking filled the air as if the very fabric of space was contorting. The visages of both ships took on an ethereal quality before adjusting their bearings and surging forward into the denser fog.
As they embarked on this boundary-crossing venture, Duncan was greeted by the sound of steam whistles.
Initially, it was the trio of church warships bidding farewell, followed by the signal from the border-standing church lighthouse, and finally, the resonant calls from the vessels of the Storm Church anchored near the lighthouse.
These steam whistles, echoing at the edge of the known world, heralded the Vanished and Bright Star as they accelerated once more, bidding adieu to the realm of the living and crossing into the unknown.
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