"The Dream of the Naless?"
Agatha and the Goatheaded exchanged puzzled glances upon hearing the strange term the captain had suddenly divulged.
"Where did you hear this term from?" Agatha asked after a mont of reflection, "Is it part of the ’information’ you’ve just received?"
"The Obliteration Sect refers to the ’Dreamscape’ that Heidi and Lucrezia had once fallen into," Duncan slowly nodded, "The original source of the information might have co from the Doomsday Preacher, and thereafter, both the Obliteration Sect and the Sun Cultists responded to so sort of ’call’ from those preachers. If the information is correct, this so-called ’The Dream of the Naless’ is supposedly a kind of ’phantasm’ that spans vast over many dreamscapes, and Elves... seem to beco the ’gateway’ into the Dream of the Naless under certain conditions."
He paused for a mont and then continued: "It appears that the Heretics are searching deep within the Dream of the Naless, each with their own agenda. The goal of the Sun Cultists is still unclear, but the target for the Obliteration Sect, it seems, is sothing called the ’Primal Blueprint.’"
Agatha’s expression visibly tensed: "I’ve never heard of this so-called ’The Dream of the Naless’ before, but it seems impossible that a ’phantasm’ of this scale has remained unknown for so many years. You just ntioned that Elves beco ’gateways’ under certain conditions?"
Duncan slightly nodded: "According to the Obliteration Heretics, there seems to be so kind of ’blueprint phase defect’ within Elves, causing their spirits to establish connections with ’The Dream of the Naless.’ It’s probably linked to The Saint’s theories of Creation, but specific information is lacking."
"...Sorry, captain, it seems we can’t offer any useful answers," Agatha seriously pondered for a mont before shaking her head apologetically, "However, since this matter directly points to ’Elves’ as a race, we can indeed conduct an investigation in Light Breeze Harbor, which is a City-State of Elves—and recently, an Elf has fallen into that dreamscape."
Duncan hmm’d in agreent, adjusted his sitting posture, leaned back in the chair, and tapped his fingers lightly on the armrest, his gaze now resting on the slowly clearing chart of the seas: "It would indeed be essential to have a good chat with Master Taran El... It’s also ti to greet Lucrezia on the Brilliant Starship."
...
On the outskirts of Light Breeze Harbor, in an open area of the sea near the "falling light," the Brilliant Starship was slowly patrolling. The spread of sunshine covered the sea surface, making it seem as if the ship was cruising over fine golden sand.
A soft sea breeze blew head-on, carrying the unique warmth of the southern waters. Yet Taran El, standing on the deck, couldn’t help but feel cold from ti to ti. He tightened his coat in the breeze and turned to look at the "Sea Witch" standing on a mast behind him, shouting: "We’re just waiting here?"
Lucrezia looked down at the scholar on the deck, her voice not loud, but it carried clearly direct into Taran El’s ears: "We wait here."
"Can I go back?" Taran El shouted again, "It doesn’t seem proper for an outsider to be present during an emotional mont of your father-daughter reunion!"
Lucrezia’s expression was blank: "Father said he wants to talk with you."
Taran El raised his hands with a miserable look on his face: "Then could you please co down and stay with ? I... I feel a bit nervous!"
Lucrezia glanced down at him from her high perch: "You are an adult, and a prestigious scholar—you should learn to manage your own stress."
"...Miss Lucrezia, you wouldn’t be nervous too, would you?!"
"Why would I be nervous about sothing like this? That’s my..."
The voice from the mast suddenly ceased, causing Taran El to start, and he was about to inquire when a violent palpitation interrupted him.
It was the sudden warning of a spiritual intuition, the instinctual tension of a ’scholar’ who had dealt with various dangerous substances and secret knowledge as the truth approached. Taran El broke into a cold sweat in an instant, and then he heard a low, beast-like rumbling sound.
In the next instant, dense fog and terrifying shadows suddenly overwheld his vision.
Right next to the Brilliant Starship, a wall-like fog suddenly erged over the previously calm and serene sea surface. The chaotic light of subspace seed to swarm out of the fog, as a massive shadow surfaced from the Spirit Realm and descended through the fog—
Just like the many horrific tales of the sea described, it enveloped darkness and chaos, burned with an apocalyptic fla, as if a nightmare suddenly coalesced into reality, like inescapable fate rushing forward. Within a few breaths, the towering bow of Holoss had burst into reality.
Taran El stood petrified on the deck, hearing a "gulp" from so direction, but he lacked even the courage to turn and look. It took several more seconds before he could breathe again and feel the strong beat of his heart—Lucrezia had given him a potion previously that continued to exert its mighty protection, allowing his suboptimal organs to maintain reliable function under the severe shock.
Then, the scholar slowly ca back to his senses, regaining the ability to speak. He quickly turned to where the "witch" had stood: "Miss Lucrezia! Your father..."
The figure of the witch was no longer on the mast.
Taran El paused, glanced around instinctively and called out loudly: "Miss Lucrezia! Lu..."
"Don’t shout, I’m here."
A voice, indifferent with an undertone of warning, suddenly ca from very close by, interrupting the scholar’s shouting. Taran El quickly turned around, only to see that, unbeknownst to him, Lucy Ebnomal had already appeared on deck, standing nonchalantly to the side with an elegant gesture supporting her forehead as she watched the bow of Holoss.
"Ah, where had you gone just now? I turned around, and you..."
"Shut up," Lucy Ebnomal interrupted the Archscholar rudely, "Father doesn’t like people who shout and holler when he ets them."
Taran El instantly closed his mouth, watching the great ship burning with ghostly flas with his body tensely strung. Almost at the sa ti, he saw a fla appear out of nowhere on the deck of the Brilliant Starship—an intense fla that swiftly surged upward, forming a spinning portal from which a tall figure stepped out.
Considering this was his first visit to the Brilliant Starship, Duncan had chosen to co alone to avoid chaos at the scene.
Now, he had finally set foot on this vessel—one of the last remaining two companion ships of the once Exiled Fleet, the Brilliant Starship.
He had also finally t Lucy Ebnomal, the "daughter of Duncan Ebnomal," in reality.
The "Sea Witch," donning a black dress with an adventurer’s flair, hesitated as she took a few steps toward him, only to stop a few ters away. She had been watching this direction the whole ti, her expression complex and constrained. Despite her best efforts to hide it, her nervousness and hesitancy could not be disguised.
Duncan’s mind involuntarily recalled so of the information Tyrann had revealed to him before he had left Frost—
"Lucy gives off an impression of being detached and aloof, unpredictably moody, but at her core, it’s because she’s not good at socializing and can’t accurately express her emotions...
"When she’s nervous, she gives herself away, so she always tries to avoid getting into tense situations, which is why the ’Sea Witch’ always cos and goes in a hurry, appearing especially willful...
"When she’s overly embarrassed, she just doesn’t know how to initiate conversation, which leaves an extrely impolite, haughty, and eccentric impression. However, if soone is willing to take the initiative to talk to her and break the silence, she would be very pleased..."
In Frost, Duncan had always maintained the image of amnesia due to subspace influence in front of Tyrann. Thanks to this, he was able to openly inquire about many things related to Lucy Ebnomal, and now this information obviously ca in handy.
"It’s been a long ti," Duncan said with a faint smile after a mont of adjustnt, approaching the "Sea Witch," "Lucy, I have returned."
He tried to play the role of "Duncan Ebnomal" according to the rehearsal and his own understanding.
However, as he greeted her in this manner, a subtle emotion, emanating directly from the depths of his heart, quietly erged within him. Amid this faint and hazy feeling, he once again experienced a trace of nostalgia and... regret.
This sensation was not unfamiliar to him—every body he possessed would have a similar reaction when encountering soone or sothing "significant" from their "previous life."
This ti, Duncan didn’t try to control or ignore this feeling but let it slowly flow and then recede within his heart.
Lucy Ebnomal’s face underwent several slight changes. No one knew what the "witch" had thought during those brief few seconds. She just stood there, lost in thought for a mont, until all the mories and once impassioned emotions condensed into a very soft-spoken phrase:
"Dad, you’ve been gone for too long this ti..."
Duncan remained silent for a little while and then reached into his chest: "I brought you a gift."
"A gift?" Lucy Ebnomal looked up, sowhat puzzled.
Duncan extended his hand and slowly unfolded his palm.
A silvery-white hairpin, fashioned with waves and feathers, lay quietly in the center of his hand.
Lucy Ebnomal was slightly stunned, staring blankly at the delicate hairpin for a while before blinking as if suddenly coming to her senses, tentatively reaching out for it.
The hairpin was real, with a firm texture and a faint warmth to it—the warmth of a living person.
Holding this gift, the "witch" seed to take a long ti before she appeared to show a trace of a smile, and said in a very soft voice, "...You’re slow in bringing it, it’s outdated, a century out of fashion..."
After another mont, she seed to inhale softly.
"Thank you."
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