Chapter 577: The Memory of Goathead

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In a secluded spot off the coast of Wind Harbor, a mysterious glow radiated from an object that was hard to describe—it was a luminous shape that seemed geometric, floating above the ocean in an unexplained manner. This glow cast an otherworldly light over the area, and within this supernatural glow, a thick fog rolled across the sea’s surface, hiding a massive ghost ship known as the Vanished. This eerie ship glided slowly yet purposefully through the water, its form obscured by the enveloping fog.

Out of nowhere, a startling flash of green light, resembling a flame, cut through the thick fog, briefly lighting up the surrounding area.

On the wooden deck of the Vanished, a fiery portal suddenly appeared and emerged Duncan and Alice.

Duncan felt a wave of comfort wash over him as he stepped onto the familiar wooden deck. The ship’s towering mast and the sails, which seemed to belong to another realm, welcomed him like old friends. Although his departure had been brief, returning to the Vanished felt deeply soothing to his soul. He took a moment to look around and breathe in the salty scent carried by the sea breeze, exhaling slowly, a gesture that calmed his previously unsettled emotions.

Yet, as Duncan reveled in this tranquility, his mind unintentionally drifted back to the adventure from the night before. He had been exploring a giant tree and witnessed illusory visions of another Vanished moving through a fog as mysterious as this one. Oddly enough, the scenes from his memory blended flawlessly with the reality he was now experiencing, blurring the lines between the two.

“They really are identical,” Duncan whispered to himself, lost in thought.

“What’s identical?” Alice asked, pulling him out of his introspection.

Turning to face her, Duncan saw Alice as the ever-cheerful and somewhat naive companion, always eager to join him on his adventures. A gentle smile formed on his lips. “I need to go to the captain’s quarters to talk to the first mate,” he told her. “You’re free to do whatever you like.”

“Okay!” Alice responded with her usual vigor. “I’ll head to the kitchen to prepare some marinated fish and dried meat. Shirley and Nina mentioned they’re feeling hungry.”

With a bright wave, Alice hurried off towards the ship’s kitchen, her spirits seemingly lifted even further by her return to the Vanished. Alice was naturally a joyful person, her mood bright both at sea and on land, oscillating between “happy” and “even happier.”

Watching Alice’s cheerful departure, Duncan’s smile widened slightly. He shook his head to clear it, then, straightening his expression, he made his way toward the stern of the ship, ready to continue his duties.

Upon arriving at the entrance to the captain’s quarters, Duncan hesitated for a moment. The doorframe bore an inscription that read “The Door of the Lost,” carved into the wood with characters that appeared ancient and powerful. These symbols had clearly stood the test of time, their presence deeply ingrained in the wood.

Duncan studied the inscription carefully, aware that this phrase was the only visible difference between this version of the Vanished and the one he had briefly seen within a foggy mirage. He considered the possibility of other, less obvious differences that might provide further insight. However, his previous encounter had been too brief to explore in depth. At this moment, the unique inscription on the captain’s door stood out as the sole clear indication of the differences between the two seemingly identical ships.

The phrase “Door of the Lost” marks an unusual and enigmatic feature, distinguishing itself even among the various peculiarities and mysteries that the Vanished contains. This door is not ordinary; it represents Duncan’s only access to his bachelor apartment in a world far removed from the ship’s current reality. Furthermore, the door serves as a validation of the captain’s authority onboard. Intriguingly, despite the inscription being in a language unknown to any existing linguistic system, its message is instantly understood by anyone who sees it. This ranges from Alice, who initially could not read, to individuals from distant city-states, who may only know their local, obscure scripts.

Additionally, the door’s characteristics change depending on which “version” of the Vanished one is on. In the version Duncan is most accustomed to, the door leads to his bachelor apartment. However, in a subspace version, it opens into an eerie, dark void. When the ship finds itself shrouded in fog, the inscription morphs into “May He Linger in Dreams,” accompanied by the image of a strange, seemingly dormant Goathead.

Duncan mulled over the mysteries of the “Door of the Lost” as he pushed the door open and stepped into the captain’s quarters. The room was dimly illuminated by the soft glow of flickering lamps, casting light on a navigation desk cluttered with maritime maps and navigational tools. The walls were adorned with shelves filled with a collection of trinkets and artifacts.

Upon entering, Goathead mounted at the edge of the navigation desk stirred to life, its movements marked by a series of creaks and squeaks. It turned to face Duncan, its eyes—crafted from shiny obsidian—seeming to momentarily spark to life. Suddenly, a cheerful voice echoed in Duncan’s mind, “Ah, the esteemed captain has returned to his beloved Vanished! Your loyal—”

“I have something important to discuss with you,” Duncan quickly interrupted, his voice stern and focused on the matter at hand as he moved closer to the desk.

The previously incessant banter of Goathead came to an abrupt halt, giving way to an atmosphere charged with tension. Adjusted its position, its neck creaking much like a soldier snapping to attention, indicating a shift in its demeanor. “Captain, what’s the issue? Has something gone wrong in Wind Harbor as well?”

Duncan took a seat in front of the navigation desk, his gaze briefly sweeping over the sea chart that was marked with familiar patterns of fog and plotted shipping routes. “Why did you say ‘as well’?”

“It appears that events have unfolded in Pland and Frost too,” Goathead elaborated, adding context to its earlier remark.

Directly meeting the gaze of Goathead’s obsidian eyes, Duncan responded, “The way you phrase that makes me sound like I’m a walking disaster.”

Seemingly taken aback by Duncan’s pointed observation, Goathead paused, visibly surprised, before asking, “…Aren’t you?”

Duncan, maintaining his composure, explained, “I have dedicated a significant effort towards fostering the Vanished’s reputation across the Boundless Sea. We have established solid diplomatic ties in both Pland and Frost, where we are held in high esteem by their leadership. To date, we have not faced a single grievance from any of the ports we’ve visited,” he stated, his hand moving through the air as though drawing an unseen map of their travels. “As my first mate, you should understand that I see our journey not merely as travel but as a mission filled with endless opportunities for growth and exploration. However, today’s discussion is not about our mission. I’m here to find out what you were up to last night.”

Initially thrown off by Duncan’s abrupt change of subject, Goathead quickly regained its composure, responding, “I was executing your orders to the letter, safeguarding the ship. We kept our distance from the established shipping lanes and cloaked ourselves in mist to avoid alarming any sailors who might be on edge.”

Duncan’s response was one of understanding but not surprise. His encounter with a ‘different’ Goathead the previous night had already led him to the conclusion that, although similar, they were not identical. Nonetheless, there had to be a connection between them, and he was intent on uncovering it.

Taking a moment to organize his thoughts, Duncan leaned forward, the seriousness of his inquiry adding a layer of intensity to the atmosphere. “What I’m truly seeking to understand is your identity—who or what you actually are. I want to delve into your origins, learn about your history, and grasp the essence of your existence.”

Any semblance of light-heartedness had vanished from the conversation. Duncan’s inquiry was laden with a gravity that bordered on oppressive, reflecting a deep seriousness that left no room for evasion or light-hearted responses. Over his time with the Vanished, Duncan had come to understand the rules that governed their existence—the rules he had played a role in shaping. He was aware that as long as certain lines were not crossed, both the ship and the enigmatic sculpture here could maintain a delicate yet stable balance.

In a realm filled with mysteries that defy explanation and anomalies that challenge the very fabric of reality, the task of containment is fraught with uncertainty. Nevertheless, the Vanished itself stands as a unique exception, a paradoxical anomaly that has, in essence, been contained. At the heart of this delicate balance is Duncan, whose leadership and presence serve as the cornerstone that keeps the enigmatic forces at bay.

Goathead, normally lively and expressive, now seemed markedly uncomfortable, its demeanor a sharp departure from its typically spirited nature. Duncan’s shift to a more probing and authoritative approach was unexpected, given his history of gentle and empathetic leadership, leaving Goathead visibly disconcerted.

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“Why this sudden curiosity?” Goathead inquired, its voice tinged with a hint of nervousness.

Duncan, maintaining his composure and an unwavering stare, responded, “Until now, there hadn’t been a compelling reason to explore these depths. However, recent events in Wind Harbor have altered the situation significantly. Your connection to a series of peculiar incidents has made it imperative that I seek answers now.”

The wooden sculpture that was Goathead seemed to squirm slightly, as if it were physically trying to alleviate some unseen pressure or discomfort. Despite this, Duncan’s gaze did not waver; he continued to lock eyes with the obsidian that formed Goathead’s gaze. He placed his hand deliberately on the navigation desk’s aged surface, initiating a dramatic sequence.

As Duncan’s hand made contact with the desk, eerie green flames began to emanate from his palm, spreading spectral tendrils across the desk and beyond. These tendrils infiltrated the captain’s quarters, snaking through the ship’s corridors with an otherworldly grace. The Vanished itself seemed to groan, a haunting sound that suggested the ship was reacting to the presence of this mysterious energy. The atmosphere onboard shifted subtly but unmistakably, as if the ship was undergoing a profound transformation.

Drawing in a deep breath, Duncan declared with solemn gravity, “I am Duncan Abnomar, captain of this vessel, and I navigate the Boundless Sea.” His statement extended beyond Goathead, addressing the ship as a whole, reaffirming his command and connection to it. “I pose this question to you, my first mate, not as a form of interrogation but as part of a necessary conversation. The Vanished will remain stable, not veering into subspace or experiencing any dramatic changes. Why? Because I am Duncan Abnomar, the captain of this ship.”

With those words, Duncan’s presence became even more commanding, as surges of the ethereal green fire amplified around him. His form seemed to transcend the physical, adopting a visage that was both intimidating and magnificent. His voice echoed through the Vanished, carried by an unseen force, underscoring the gravity of his query. “So, tell me, my first mate: Where do you originate from?”

Embracing a sense of calm induced by Duncan’s authoritative yet tranquil demeanor, Goathead answered, “I originate from subspace.”

“Subspace, as you describe it, is a term that’s too broad and nebulous to offer any concrete insights,” Duncan insisted, his form shimmering like the light from a phantom candle in the darkness. “You’re aware that’s not the clarity I’m seeking.”

The goat head’s attitude began to evolve, shedding its earlier sense of apprehension. “Subspace, vast and indefinable, is the most precise way to articulate where I originate from. It’s a realm without a past or a future, lacking a distinct location within its expanse. I cannot share tales of my beginnings because they are unknown to me. I’m equally at a loss to define my nature, as its essence remains a mystery even to myself.”

Duncan then sharpened his inquiry, “What can you recall, if anything at all?”

The room was overtaken by a prolonged and heavy silence, amplifying the tension to its utmost. Goathead became eerily motionless, blending into the surroundings of the captain’s quarters as if it were nothing more than an ornate piece of decor. After a seemingly endless wait, it moved once more, and its voice, now deeper and more gravelly, emerged, “‘Remember them.'”

Duncan’s expression turned to one of puzzlement. “Remember them? What is that supposed to mean?”

With a motion that conveyed a deep, ineffable sadness, Goathead shook its head. “I can’t say. It’s a command, an order I find myself compelled to obey. ‘Remember them,’ yet I have no understanding of who ‘they’ might be. The reality is, Captain, my memories have faded away.”

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