Chapter 40: “Landfall”
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Vanna was abruptly awoken from a disturbing and chaotic dream, her heart racing as she regained consciousness. In the dead of night, the sky outside her window was shrouded in profound, silent darkness, illuminated only by the soft glow from a crack above.
Though now awake, the bizarre, vivid images from her dream haunted her with unsettling clarity. She had seen a massive ship consumed by supernatural green flames, cutting across the horizon where the sea met the sky. It towered over the city-state of Pland like a formidable, oppressive mountain, overwhelming all in its path. From the eerie flames, a surge of mournful songs and anguished cries filled the air, threatening to disrupt the world’s natural order with their sheer power.
In her vision, as the spectral ship ominously neared, Vanna witnessed an unusual sun rising from the city’s core. This was not the familiar sun, governed by ancient runes, but an astral body radiating with the intense glow of the “Ancient Sun,” revered by long-forgotten sun cults. This mysterious sun rose from the heart of Pland, its fierce heat melting the ground and transforming the city’s inhabitants into wax-like figures.
At the center of this fiery chaos was the cathedral of the Storm Church. Amid the turmoil of her dream, Vanna reached out to the cathedral, seeking guidance and intervention from the Storm Goddess. To her dismay, the cathedral echoed back only her own pleas, resonating through dissonant chimes, providing no divine counsel or direction.
Dressed in her nightgown, Vanna slowly sat up in bed and walked to her window. She gazed out at the now peaceful city under the celestial light known as the “World’s Creation,” her unease mounting.
A short while later, she turned away from the window and approached her vanity, absently opening a drawer to reveal a sacred dagger. The blade, etched with runes of the Storm Church, caught the dim light, pulsating with hidden energy.
Briefly captivated by the glowing runes, she grasped the dagger and sliced open her palm. As blood flowed, she pressed her hand against her chest and whispered the name of the Storm Goddess, seeking her divine help.
Instead of the expected divine guidance, she heard only the phantom sound of waves crashing on a shore. The familiar state of “psychic sensing,” which she usually entered effortlessly, was notably absent.
It seemed as though an invisible barrier had enveloped her, severing her connection to the Storm Goddess Gomona.
Vanna’s face was a mask of confusion and concern.
While disruptions in the connection between a devout follower and their deity were rare, they were not unheard of. The interplay between subspace and the physical world was intricate and not fully understood by humans. Even divine entities could be influenced by the layers of subspace, the vastness of the deep sea, and the elusive spirit realm, leading to variations in their influence. Continuous conflicts among gods and between gods and ancient beings occasionally resulted in worshippers being abruptly cut off from their deities.
Vanna was deeply troubled by the possibility that Gomona, the Storm Goddess who ruled over the Boundless Sea, might be inaccessible. This goddess, who influenced every aspect of existence and shaped reality itself, was revered by the Storm Church as omnipresent and infallible. Faced with her sudden silence, Vanna wondered if she herself was responsible for this anomaly.
As she pondered this, she noticed the cut on her hand healing unusually fast, a sign that the goddess’s divine blessings were still at work. Reflecting on her recent chaotic dreams and peculiar encounters, Vanna recognized a frightening connection between these events.
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She remembered the ship engulfed in spectral green flames—a ghost ship. Although not well-versed in maritime lore and typically dismissive of sailors’ exaggerated tales, her faith’s scriptures did describe such a ship as a harbinger of disaster. This ghost ship, commanded by the feared Captain Duncan from a century earlier, was linked to a catastrophe that had caused the Thirteen Islands of Witherland to sink.
Realizing the significance of this, Vanna rose from her vanity table, aware of the late hour and that the cathedral’s archives would be closed. She knew it was risky to ponder or discuss her dream about the notorious Captain Duncan immediately after experiencing it, as he might sense her through their psychic link.
With this in mind, Vanna decided it was safest to wait until morning, allowing the psychic connection from the dream to weaken. Only then would she search the archives or discuss these ominous signs with the Archbishop.
However, if her prophetic dreams were indeed a warning of Captain Duncan and his ghost ship nearing the city of Pland, it was her duty as the city’s protector to prevent the ghost captain from making landfall…
Meanwhile, a slender figure hurried through the deserted streets of the lower city district, his elongated shadow flickering under the gas lamps as he darted from light to light.
The city around Duncan was completely unfamiliar; its buildings were strange, and his memories of it were dim and elusive. The silence of the civilian neighborhood was profound, accentuated by the curfew in place.
Yet, Duncan felt an unusual elation as he navigated the dimly lit backstreets.
He had achieved a significant milestone—not only had he completed his second spiritual journey, but he had also taken possession of a body, allowing him to surface in this city-state.
He now found himself amid the advanced civilization of this world, marveling at its architectural wonders and cutting-edge technology.
Moreover, he was in a complete body—one that lacked creativity and open-mindedness but appeared normal enough to let him blend in and pursue his future plans with ease.
Although the body he had chosen was not in optimal health, his spirit-walking state enabled him to overlook most physical deficiencies, accepting this as part of his journey.
His spirit-walking had always involved hosts who were recently deceased.
“Could a body full of life ever serve as an appropriate vessel?” Duncan wondered.
From the end of the street, he heard the distant barks of dogs, prompting him to slow his pace and discreetly blend into the shadows between the buildings.
He was uncertain whether the barking came from a church guardian’s patrol dog, but he decided it was wise to be cautious.
Above him, an intricate network of huge pipes sprawled across the rooftops of the low buildings, casting intermittent shadows in the light of the dim “pale scar” in the sky. Occasionally, steam hissed from some of the valves, adding a spectral mist to the night air.
As the barking faded, Duncan emerged from his hiding place, his eyes scanning the empty streets.
He then affectionately stroked Ai, the dove resting on his shoulder, before crossing the street, guided by the lingering snippets of memory in his mind.
Tucked between a row of squat, two- or three-story buildings was an old, weather-beaten door. Above it hung a grimy sign, with faded display windows on either side adding to the sense of neglect. The shop was reasonably spacious but exuded an aura of disuse, struggling to remain viable in a competitive market.
This was where Duncan’s vague memories had led him.
Standing before the decrepit door, he squinted at the sign. In the dim light, he could barely make out the words:
“Ron’s Antiques Shop,” Duncan whispered to himself. “Quite straightforward.”
He began to fiddle with the door, his memories providing no clear instructions. After some searching, he discovered a hidden spare key tucked beneath a hook below the window.
The previous occupant of the body Duncan now inhabited had not carried a key nor any personal items that might disclose his identity or lead anyone back to this antique shop. Such precautions were typical for a seasoned cultist, but to a ghost captain capable of accessing memories, these measures were utterly inconsequential.
With the newly found spare key, Duncan unlocked the entrance to Ron’s Antiques. He entered and quickly closed the door behind him.
The heavy wooden door made a soft thud, a noise that barely broke the quiet of the night. The sign above the door swayed gently from the motion. Bathed in the cool, ghostly light of the night, the letters on the sign seemed to flicker briefly. Almost imperceptibly, the old wooden sign transformed to display new text:
“Duncan’s Antiques Shop.”
If subspace is the space of gods and the deeper u are the more eroded you get Duncan coming from such a depth is very interesting
No hay duda de la razón por el que la cabeza de cabra le tenga mucha confianza y lealtad al tal llamado Duncan ???_??
Gods are above, subspace is the lowest plane, not where the gods reside.