Deep Sea Embers

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Duncan watched intently as Anomaly 132 – Lock, an odd artifact, deftly unlocked itself. The object seemed almost alive, wriggling free from its fixed position and hopping across the table to a more accessible spot.

With determined steps, Duncan approached a heavy, intricately carved dark wooden box. He opened it with great care and reverence, revealing its contents—a meticulously carved wooden goat’s head. He lifted it gently and placed it prominently on the ship’s navigation table, ensuring it was clearly visible.

At the table’s edge, the “First Mate” turned its attention to the newly placed sculpture. This “First Mate,” also a wooden construct, seemed captivated by the goat head, which bore a striking resemblance to itself. Their obsidian eyes met, engaging in a silent, profound dialogue. As their gaze lingered, tseemed to stretch until the First Mate, in a tone of wonder, exclaimed, “Wow~”

Intrigued by this reaction, Duncan raised an eyebrow and questioned, “Is that really all you have to say about it?”

The First Mate pondered thoughtfully, its head rotating and tilting on its creaky neck as it examined the sculpture from various angles. “It’s just so astonishing,” it remarked. “I sensed something unusual when you returned to the ship, and I suspected you would retrieve this ‘Dream Skull’ from that other ship. It’s not surprising that you did, but to see another head that looks just like mine is still incredible…”

Suddenly, the First Mate paused, its voice filled with confusion, “Why doesn’t it move at all?”

Amused, Duncan responded, “You’re asking me? But isn’t it essentially your own head?”

Defensively, the First Mate replied, “But this is unfamiliar to me. Before our trip to Wind Harbor, I wasn’t even aware that I had a spine…”

A surreal, eerie silence followed briefly. Then, driven by curiosity, the First Mate stretched its neck towards the “Dream Skull,” and requested, “Can you bring it a bit closer?”

Duncan complied, moving the static “Dream Skull” nearer. “Like this?” he inquired, observing the First Mate’s reaction closely. “Do you feel any connection?”

“Perhaps a little closer?” suggested the Goathead.

Duncan obliged, shifting the sculpture closer until he finally placed the “Dream Skull” right against the First Mate’s forehead, allowing the two wooden goat heads to touch. “How about now? Is this close enough? Do you sense anything?”

“Enough, enough…” the First Mate quickly recoiled, almost protesting. Once Duncan set the “Dream Skull” back on the table, the First Mate sighed in a surprisingly human manner, “Still no real sensation… I can sense its ‘presence’ intensely, but I can’t establish any form of ‘communication’ with this head. There are no thoughts, no memories to perceive. It doesn’t react toat all…”

After reflecting for a moment, the First Mate shook its head, expressing a sense of disconnection. “It feels like an empty vessel,” it explained. “It exists and seems to have originated from the ssource as me, but beyond that, there’s no connection. We seem to be entirely separate entities.”

Duncan listened intently, his brow furrowed in deep thought.

“This is quite unexpected,” he remarked, his frown deepening. “This piece is another fragment of Saslokha, and although it might be a more severely damaged part, I expected sdistinctive characteristics. The cultists’ ‘sacrificial’ rituals suggested that the ‘Dream Skull’ had skind of ‘activity’… So why is there no response when it contacts you?”

“I’m not sure,” the First Mate admitted, “but I can definitely affirm the reality of this head. I can feel its ‘presence.’ It’s a subtle, almost indescribable sensation… Maybe the way we’re trying to connect is wrong? Or perhaps the cultists’ rituals, using elf blood, somehow interfered?”

Duncan’s expression turned serious and contemplative. He looked at the First Mate and mused, “Those cultists certainly complicated things. But isn’t it strange to think of your other head as being ‘damaged’?”

“It’s odd, yes, but I’m at a loss for words,” the First Mate admitted, its voice reflecting resignation. “Considering my current fragmented state—broken and scattered—what more can I say?”

Duncan remained silent and thoughtful as he noticed a change in the First Mate’s demeanor since the Wind Harbor incident, observing a newfound ease…

Shaking off these thoughts, Duncan gently patted the inert “Dream Skull.”

“Regardless, the current state of the ‘Dream Skull’ is certainly strange. It might have been altered by the cultists’ actions, or perhaps we haven’t found the right way to awaken it. It might even be ‘missing’ something crucial. For now, I’ll leave it here under your watch. See if you notice any changes. What do you think?”

“I’ll follow your orders,” the First Mate quickly agreed. “I’m also curious about this head. It will be interesting to study it when tpermits.”

Duncan nodded slightly in acknowledgment: “Good.”

He then turned his gaze toward the window.

The sun had already set one-third below the sea’s horizon. Unbeknownst to them, dusk was approaching. The fading light of Vision 001 cast a magnificent golden-red glow over the Boundless Sea. In the opposite direction, the “luminous round object” near Wind Harbor shone with a dazzling golden light, becoming even more brilliant as dusk deepened. Against this backdrop of mingling lights, the distant city-state looked almost otherworldly.

How long could such a tranquil sunset last?

This question crossed Duncan’s mind unexpectedly. But he quickly exhaled softly, dismissing these thoughts.

Duncan outlined his plan: “I’ll take a short rest in my room. Once Lucretia has finished her tasks, we’ll head to the city together. Meanwhile, please make sure the Vanished is well cared for.”

“Yes, Captain,” cthe prompt reply.

Duncan then stood up, intending to head to the bedroom at the back of the captain’s cabin. Mid-stride, however, he paused, casting a curious look at the First Mate stationed on the table. “You mentioned you’d ‘study’ this Dream Skull. But how exactly do you plan to do that, given you lack hands?”

The First Mate seemed to consider this for a moment before confidently raising its head. “That’s a valid question,” it pondered. “My approach will be to attempt communication with it. The cultists might have forced it into a shell-like state. Perhaps a bit of dialogue fromcould coax it into opening up…”

Duncan was skeptical about the potential success of this “research” endeavor.

Nevertheless, he offered no comment, only giving the First Mate a supportive yet somewhat doubtful look of “good luck.” He then waved his hand in farewell and proceeded to enter his bedroom—the dark and imposing door closing behind him with a resonant thud.

In the now solitary captain’s cabin, the two wooden goat heads, each wrapped in its own silence, were the only occupants.

A short while later, the First Mate turned its attention to the stationary “Dream Skull.”

“…Have you ever heard about the eighteen cuisines of the Boundless Sea?” it ventured.

……

Duncan had barely drifted off when he was abruptly awakened by a strange, monotonous rumbling sound.

He sprang up from his bed, alert, but by the the fully awoke, the cabin, both inside and out, had returned to an eerie stillness.

The bedroom was dimly lit by a lantern on his desk, casting a weak glow. Outside the window, the night had enveloped everything in darkness, clearly indicating that evening had long passed. The ship’s corridor and deck were eerily quiet, devoid even of the usual sound of waves lapping against the hull.

Duncan sat on the edge of his bed, surrounded by the enveloping darkness, feeling an inexplicable sense of unease rising within him. He reflected on the events before he retired to his room, then noticed something peculiar about his surroundings.

The silence was profound—the absence of the sea’s rhythmic sounds was abnormal, and the “night sky” outside was unnaturally dark. The usual glow from the geometric structure near Wind Harbor was missing, along with the crisp, celestial light that the World’s Creation typically cast over the sea.

Feeling increasingly uneasy, Duncan quickly got up from his bed and moved to stand by the window near his desk.

Outside, in the vast and dark expanse of space, a turbulent, faint stream of light silently swept across the distant horizon. For a brief moment, it illuminated a massive, twisted shadow that gradually emerged at the edge of Duncan’s vision, quietly undulating and shifting.

Subspace!

This realization hit Duncan with intense clarity. He immediately understood the supernatural situation he found himself in.

Had he inadvertently “drifted” into subspace once more?

He vividly remembered his first encounter with subspace, which had also followed a brief rest. At that time, he had dismissed it as a peculiar “dream”—a solitary, almost forgotten voyage into this mysterious “time-space” dimension.

And now, the ssurreal experience was happening again.

With a mix of concern and heightened alertness, Duncan promptly summoned a small flame, carefully concealing it within his palm. He then moved towards the bedroom door with deliberate caution.

This was no mere sleepwalking episode to him. He was certain he wasn’t dreaming. Although the reasons were unclear, “dreams” seemed to be an experience beyond his usual understanding.

Reaching the bedroom door, he paused, listening intently for any sounds from the other side. Then, gently and slowly, he pushed the door open.

The captain’s cabin beyond was shrouded in grim, somber silence. It was a scene reminiscent of his previous encounter: another decrepit version of the “Vanished” lay before him, appearing as if it had been abandoned for centuries. Warped shelves clung to the corners, a tarnished oval mirror was affixed to a cracked and blemished wall, and the floor was strewn with dark, ominous shadows and debris. Amidst this desolation, only a navigation table stood out, solitary and intact in the center of the room. On it lay a mysterious sea chart, emitting a faint, ghostly glow.

On the table, a black wooden goat head slowly raised its head to meet Duncan’s gaze.