Deep Sea Embers

As Duncan gazed into the immense, solitary eye of the defeated Pale Giant King, he noticed an anomaly in its reflection. The eye, a chaotic and enigmatic portal, mirrored the images of various figures resembling ancient kings, with one conspicuous empty spot among them. He pondered whether this vacancy was left there by chance or by design.

Resting against the ship’s railing, Duncan was transfixed by the giant eye. It was then he realized his own image occupied the empty spot in the reflection. Initially, he dismissed this as insignificant until he started noticing other indistinct, shadowy figures in the fog shrouding the eye.

Duncan was tempted to write this off as a mere coincidence, but found it difficult to believe in random occurrences in such a supernatural environment. Here he was, in subspace, among the relics of an ancient god.

With growing unease, Duncan began to retreat as though fearful of disturbing something in this haunting, sacred space.

The lifeless Pale Giant King, along with the reflected images of kings in its eye, seemed to silently observe him. To Duncan, it appeared as if these ghostly figures from long ago were scrutinizing every move he made.

He continued to back away slowly, increasing the distance between himself and the eye.

Suddenly, Duncan was startled to see his reflection reemerge among the kings.

His heart raced as he observed his reflection begin to morph.

The blurry image, once resembling Duncan in his captain’s uniform and tricorn hat, started to shake and rapidly transform into another figure—a man in a white shirt and black trousers, appearing fragile with an indistinct face.

Zhou Ming stood motionless on the deck, his gaze fixed on the murky giant eye, merely an arm’s length from the railing, captivated by his reflection.

After stime, he moved closer once more, drawn towards the eye. Peering through the dense haze on its surface, he focused on his blurred reflection and slowly reached out toward it.

Aware of the dangers in this mysterious, perilous realm, he felt as though he was conducting a hazardous experiment. Eventually, his fingers made contact with the eye’s surface.

A strange emptiness emanated from his fingertips. At that moment, Zhou Ming recalled Lucretia’s description of the strange, void-like sensation when touching the cylindrical pillar at the boundary. He could feel something, yet it was devoid of warmth or solidity, leaving him briefly disoriented and confused.

Then, the reflection of the man in the white shirt began to disintegrate rapidly. The colors of the image started to fade, vanishing instantly. As the colors disappeared, an extraordinary vision emerged—countless points of light exploded like starlight.

This stunning display of starlight soon replaced the disintegrating human figure. Initially, the stars maintained a vague, distorted human shape, but quickly they seemed to burst forth from the outline of the human form, creating a spectacle resembling a galaxy, filling the entire eyeball with radiant light. The starlight didn’t stop there; it continued to spread, reaching out towards Zhou Ming, touching his extended fingers.

When the starlight touched him, Zhou Ming experienced an overwhelming roar inside his mind.

This roar was a complex blend of sounds, a vast surge of information compressed into a single, overwhelming moment. It was akin to accessing a massive database capable of explaining the entire universe—a portal filled with the thoughts and advice of thousands, resonating in a moment that was both fleeting and eternal. Zhou Ming felt stretched thin, his consciousness fluctuating amidst this cacophony as he desperately tried to decipher the overlapping voices. He hovered on the brink of understanding, bombarded by fragments of meaning.

“…We are human… we stand at the pinnacle of everything at this moment…” one voice declared amid the chaos, startling Zhou Ming.

“…We have almost unraveled all mysteries…”

“…The laws of star movements… Tand space, the rise and fall of information…”

“Until we discovered that the end of tis destruction… an event beyond our cognitive models… occurring outside our universe…”

“The pursuit of tforward becmeaningless… within a finite model… the probability of averting this event is zero… we have decided to send #*#%¥ @ in reverse to….”

“We… named it… ‘Reverse Singularity’… in our calculations… after this event, the only fragment that can remain intact in all timelines is 0.002 seconds long…”

“You are Zhou Ming, you… old calendar timestamp 2022 – 07 – 10 – 07 – 10 – 00 – 000… to 2022 – 07-10- 07 – 10 – 00 – 002 ends…”

“Now it is 41765 – 12c – 32 – 15b, everything has ended before our eyes.”

“Good luck.”

“Good luck to them.”

“Good luck to us…”

Zhou Ming felt as if he had been yanked from an infinite freefall, snapping back to a moment that seemed frozen in time. The overwhelming roar of voices faded into a distant echo, and his rationality surged back. In this fragile moment of clarity, he instinctively stepped back, overwhelmed by the enormity of what he had just heard.

However, the mesmerizing display of starlight surging from the giant eye had already faded. The reflections on the eyeball’s surface, including “Duncan,” “Zhou Ming,” the “Pale Giant,” and the ancient kings, had disappeared.

The myriad “shadows” accumulated in the eye over centuries seemed to have been “washed away” by the cacophony of the roar. All that remained was a murky, opaque veil covering the eyeball, devoid of any discernible images or information.

It was now evident that this eyeball had served merely as a “vessel of information.” Following a potent release and cleansing of information, everything that had once adorned its surface was erased.

A profound silence enveloped the area, the previous thunderous roars gone. Subspace had returned to its perpetual stillness, leaving the deck of the Vanished quiet and desolate.

Yet, the fragmented “pieces” of information unleashed in the roar continued to whirl through Zhou Ming’s mind. This mental “storm” took a considerable tto abate, eventually settling into deep impressions and memories that would forever reside in his consciousness.

Taking a few steps back, Zhou Ming pressed his hand to his forehead, breathing heavily. His heart, which had been racing, began to slow. Slowly, his capacity for clear thought returned.

Zhou Ming stood for a long tin the dim, chaotic void of subspace, letting time, devoid of meaning, pass. He pondered deeply in this eternal silence until he moved again after an indeterminate duration.

Looking up, his gaze disappeared into the distant darkness that seemed to swallow everything. He knew that countless secrets still lay hidden beyond this point, but he felt exhausted. The overwhelming “roar” had drained him, leaving him without the strength to navigate the ghost ship through the endless void.

“…It’s tto go back,” Zhou Ming whispered to himself, taking steady steps toward the captain’s cabin door. He remembered the method to return from subspace to the real world: by opening the “Door of the Lost” to step into another dark space, then opening the door again from within that dark space, he could return to the real dimension.

Pausing with his hand on the handle of the “Door of the Lost,” Zhou Ming cast a final glance back at the boundless chaos he was about to leave. He was certain that one day he would return to continue his exploration.

Without hesitation, he swiftly executed the “double-door opening” maneuver.

As he stepped through, the familiar sounds of waves and the cool, salty breeze brushing against his cheeks brought a sense of relief. Once again, he was Duncan, back in the familiar reality of his own world.

Looking up, Duncan saw the stark, cold light of the fissuring World’s Creation pouring down from the heavens onto the sea. The faint, golden rays from the distant waters mingled with this celestial light, crafting a slightly eerie yet utterly captivating nightscape near Wind Harbor.

The gentle creaking of the ship blended with the sounds of the waves nearby. This was complemented by the soft noises of ropes adjusting on the masts, creating a symphony of maritsounds.

In this moment, Duncan’s experiences in subspace felt surreal, almost like a bizarre dream.

Shaking his head to clear it, he was certain it wasn’t just a dream. It was vital information, perhaps revealing truths about his existence. Yet, he had to set aside these overwhelming thoughts for now. With many crucial details still missing, his current theories couldn’t yet form a complete picture.

From beyond the door, the familiar voice of his “First Mate” floated through, discussing maritmatters.

“…Having finished with the customs and culture of the northern seas, I should tell you about the central seas. I’m an experienced sailor, and the city-states of there…”

A smile spread across Duncan’s face, bringing a sense of normalcy. He took a deep, steadying breath and opened the door to the captain’s cabin.

Inside, by the navigation table, he noticed a goat head animatedly ‘chatting’ with another head. Their conversation halted abruptly as Goathead turned to acknowledge the captain at the doorway.

“Duncan Abnomar,” Duncan announced, heading off any questions.

Goathead looked momentarily surprised, then shifted to a cheerful recognition: “Ah! The captain’s back!” Its voice rang out warmly, welcoming Duncan as he re-entered the familiar surroundings of his cabin.