The restless sea breeze swept across the calm sea like a mirror, rustling the flags on the ship as a convoy of large warships sailed through the night. Within the convoy, a huge phantom slowly materialized from the air.
On the base of the ark, resembling a small City-State, a grand cathedral with towering spires stood solemnly. The light between the multiple spires illuminated the nearby sea surface, and the nurous towers and corridors protected the main body of the cathedral like giants guarding the edge of the ark—this was the Pilgrimage Ark of the Deep Sea Church, which, after staying in the southern seas for many days, had finally returned to the central part of the Endless Sea.
Helena stood on the rooftop terrace of the Storm Cathedral’s tower, gazing into the distance at the calm sea in the night, while a middle-aged priest stood quietly beside her, slightly bowing his head.
"The situation with the goddess seems to be worsening," Helena suddenly said, "Within the range of the Endless Sea, no one can hear Her clear voice anymore."
"The Death Church also reported similar news," the middle-aged priest nodded, "and it’s said that in many City-States that have been in darkness for long, incidents of the restless dead have occurred—not only in City-States sheltered by the Death Church, but others as well."
Helena listened quietly, then let out a soft sigh, tracing the emblem of the Storm Goddess on her chest—a pattern with mystical significance not explained or recorded in the ’Storm Canon’: "...death and the order of the storm are fading from the whole world."
The middle-aged priest said nothing, rely standing quietly beside her.
Helena turned to look at him: "Are many people shaking?"
"...Recently, more people have been going to the confessional and the preaching hall for guidance, but overall, the Ark and the Ark fleet are still in good condition. The clergy still hold firm faith, from the beginning, we knew that there would be tis of decline in the world and were prepared for it—the weakening of the goddess is an ordeal we were bound to face sooner or later."
The middle-aged priest paused here, then added hesitantly, "But in so more remote City-States... a restless atmosphere is spreading. The managing priests might still maintain faith, but they struggle to counter the growing number of shaky believers and clergy."
"...Maintain order, cooperate with the City-State authorities’ managent and ergency asures, even if prayers are ineffective, the power of steam and oil still exists, and we also have fire and steel that will never betray us," Helena spoke slowly, "We must prove to the believers that whatever happens on the goddess’s side, the Deep Sea Church will still firmly perform its duties—the most important thing is to shift everyone’s focus from ’praying’ to other matters."
The middle-aged priest bowed deeply: "Yes."
Helena humd in acknowledgnt, but her gaze was still fixed on the distant sea, murmuring to herself, "These days, I always feel that there’s sothing strange about the sea...but when I co to my senses, it seems like it’s all an illusion."
The middle-aged priest raised his head, a puzzled look on his face, "The sea... What about it is incorrect?"
Helena frowned, kept quiet for a few seconds, then waved her hand, "No, nothing, just so unfounded thoughts. You may leave now; I have other matters to attend to."
At the priest’s departure, Helena stayed a while longer in the sea breeze on the terrace, then turned and returned to the cathedral tower—she passed through a spiral downward staircase and a short corridor, entering deep into the main building of the cathedral, returning to her usual private prayer room.
The prayer room was brightly lit, with the oil lamp in the alcove burning quietly alongside the candlesticks in front of the altar. In the fire basin before the statue of the goddess, flas that never extinguish leapt like nearly transparent ghosts with an unclear quality.
Helena approached the fire basin, sprinkling spices and essential oils into the nearly transparent flas. As the curling smoke rose, layers of murmurs and whispers suddenly erged in her mind.
She was montarily dazed by the "noise" that seed to contaminate the soul, but soon regained clarity and then addressed the flas, "Frem, I want to talk to you."
The flas crackled a few tis, and the voice of Pope of the Fla Transmitter, Frem, followed: "Is it about the ’archives’?"
Helena humd in response: "I know you have an archive project, your ark is sailing northward... its destination is the Permafrost Sea Area, right?"
"That permanently frozen ice field is most likely to remain as a ’fragnt’ after the end of the world," Frem’s voice sounded sowhat distorted in the flas, "Over the years, the Fire Transmitters have been asuring the ’focus’ of our world on the Endless Sea, searching for the most stable parts in history and the stream of ti, and this focus ultimately points north."
Helena hesitated for a mont: "Has the location been determined?"
"No, we can only determine it’s in the north," Frem responded calmly, "but we no longer have much ti to continue precise asurents. The survival rate of the priests entering the historical gaps to asure the world is getting lower and lower, I cannot continue to let them take risks... Now we can only let the ark sail north, and I will personally determine the final location of that focus."
Helena nodded slightly, her mind pondering, and after a mont broke the silence: "I will send a fleet to find you, they will rendezvous with you before the Fire Transmitters’ Ark enters the Chill Sea—those ships carry the most valuable and important docunts collected by the Deep Sea Church over the years."
The flas in the fire basin crackled, and Frem’s voice ca after a long while: "Good, I have reserved spaces for them."
Helena took a deep breath and exhaled long: "Thank you."
"It is the duty of a Fire Transmitter," the voice from the fire basin slowly said.
...
In a uniformly gray-white corridor-like background, Holoss and Brilliant Starship were floating as if adrift in endless void, the nondescript gray-white texture around the two ships made it impossible to determine whether they were actually moving forward. Staring outside for a long ti, Duncan could even get the bizarre notion that the ships had stopped, and Holoss had been forever trapped in a stagnant space-ti.
But he was crystal clear that the ship was still sailing, sailing through the distorted and chaotic space-ti structure beyond the frontier, the fragnted silhouette of New Hope sporadically floated above Holoss and Brilliant Starship, its occasional flickering was proof that "Transition" was still ongoing.
Alice stood at the stern’s helm, staring blankly ahead, her hands still tightly grasping the steering wheel, but her expression was not as bright as usual, rather she appeared like a true puppet, wearing a bizarre sense of emptiness and coldness.
Her consciousness was no longer in her body but integrated with Holoss and New Hope, stabilizing the transition channel.
Duncan went to the cockpit to check on Alice’s condition, then returned to the crew’s gathering cabin—in the dining room, Sherry was sitting at the table with a frown, stirring a bowl of thick soup with a curious color and texture.
After stirring for who knows how many rounds, she finally looked up with difficulty and said to Morris sitting opposite her, "Maybe next ti I should cook?"
"No need, you’re the youngest on this ship, it’s not your turn," Morris waved his hand and then looked a bit curious, "Is my cooking not tasty?"
Sherry shrunk her neck instantly, her expression unnaturally tweaking her lips: "Actually, it’s... it’s okay."
Morris frowned upon seeing this, tasted the soup he just made, and his eyes wandered a bit.
"...I rember Heidi taught to make vegetable mushroom soup this way..." the old scholar muttered blankly, "Which step went wrong?"
"It’s hard to say about your steps, but I’m pretty sure Heidi’s vegetable mushroom soup wasn’t like this," Fenna said with a troubled look at the table on the other side, staring at the bowl of soup, "Forget it, I’ll cook next ti, although it might not taste that great, but at least... um, it won’t be this weird."
"I kind of miss Alice’s baked cakes and fish soup," Nina muttered, "At least after fishing out the head, the taste of the soup itself is normal..."
Duncan entered the dining room at this mont, hearing the crew’s grumbling voices, his face inevitably showing a subtle expression: "When Alice was cooking, you didn’t praise her so highly, but now that she’s steering, you finally realize."
Fenna and the others stood up to greet the captain upon his appearance, and Nina stood up and stuck out her tongue while greeting, "I’ll cook next ti. I think I might have the best skills here now—after all, I was always in charge of cooking at the Prandt’s house."
Duncan smiled, took his seat, and then joined others in grimacing at the food in front of them.
Expectant gazes ca from all around.
Monts later, he sighed, and amidst the expectant gazes of others, he snapped his fingers.
An ethereal fla rose from across the dining table and condensed into a pitch-black mirror, in which Lucricia’s figure gradually beca clear amid the flowing flas.
The witch Miss was sitting on her own ship, in the dining room of the Brilliant Starship—with a spread of sumptuous food in front of her.
"Good afternoon, Dad," Lucricia smiled towards them, "and everyone else, good afternoon."
Duncan thought for a while, stretched his neck to glance at the dishes in front of Lucricia: "Ready to have lunch?"
"Yes," Lucricia nodded with a smile, "Luny made baked apple pie, fried steak, cread corn soup, and vegetable pie today—the salad is made by Niru, although she’s only one-third of Luny’s height, but she’s starting to learn to help with things."
A small head popped out from the edge of the screen, recently officially becoming a crew mber of the Brilliant Starship, the doll Niru leaned over the table and greeted the other side.
Sherry craned her neck and looked for a long ti, hesitating: "Is it tasty?"
"It tastes very good," Lucricia looked at Sherry with a smile that was almost a laugh, "Luny’s skill is recognized by famous chefs."
Sherry licked her lips: "Then..."
Lucricia continued smiling: "Hmm?"
Duncan finally couldn’t hold back a sigh, spreading his hands while looking at the "witch Miss" in the mirror: "There’s no one to cook here again—Alice is steering."
Lucricia finally burst out laughing, then quickly adjusted her posture to maintain her composure and grace, and laughed helplessly: "Co on, I knew it would end up like this."
As soon as the witch Miss finished speaking, Duncan heard the sound of chairs moving; he looked up and saw that the surrounding crew mbers had almost all stood up, followed by many gazes falling on him.
He spread his hands with a wry smile: "Why look at —go ahead, Ai Yi will transport you to the Brilliant Starship."
"Aren’t you coming along?" Nina asked curiously.
"I need to stay here," Duncan waved his hand, "Alice is still steering, and I’m not comfortable leaving the ship—go on, the dishes there will be cold soon, just bring so leftovers when you return."
Sherry and Nina imdiately cheered, while Lucricia’s声音 voice then ca from the mirror: "Bring your own tableware! I didn’t prepare so many here... Sherry, put that basin down!"
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