Chapter 590: Already Dead
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As Duncan gently opened the door to the captain’s quarters, his eyes immediately fixated on the peculiar statue of a “goat head” perched on the navigation table. The sculpture, intricately detailed and almost lifelike, began to stir. Its head moved gradually, reminiscent of someone slowly awakening from a deep slumber. The statue’s eyes shifted toward the entrance, locking onto the newcomer.
“Ah, Duncan, we meet again,” the statue, made of dark polished wood, spoke in a slow, deliberate tone, a stark contrast to its usual rapid and incessant chatter. “Your last departure was rather abrupt.”
Recognizing the voice, Duncan replied while closing the door behind him. He took a few confident strides toward the navigation table, asking, “Do you remember our last encounter?”
As Duncan moved, he caught a glimpse of a worn-out oval mirror next to the door. Within its frame, a fleeting misty reflection came alive. It was the ghostly image of a woman, Agatha, whose transparent form shimmered momentarily before vanishing.
The goat head, engrossed in Duncan, seemed unaware of Agatha’s brief appearance. Its eyes never left Duncan, following his every move as it adjusted its angle to keep him in sight. “Your presence is one of the few memories that stand out in my vast sea of forgotten moments,” the statue admitted in its peculiarly slow speech. “It’s stimulating and intriguing.”
Duncan reached the navigation table and glanced at the “sea map” spread out before him. The map depicted a dense, verdant forest with a spectral image of the “Vanished” hovering above it. The ship appeared to be navigating through the clouds, casting its shadow over the forest below as if on a reconnaissance mission. Duncan’s eyes scanned the details, noting that the layout of the “forest sea” remained consistent with his memory. However, the ship’s position had noticeably shifted.
Acknowledging the sculpture’s previous comment, Duncan said, “Indeed, I had to make a hasty exit last time.” Leaning back in a chair, his gaze flicked to the oval mirror for a second before returning to the goat head. “Tell me, how fares Atlantis now?”
“Atlantis rests in a tranquil slumber,” the goat head responded slowly. “Her alarm last time was fleeting. I hope that didn’t inconvenience you.”
Shaking his head, Duncan replied, “Not at all,” as he gently placed his hand on the table’s surface, subtly channeling a mysterious fiery power.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw faint tendrils of ghostly green flames start to manifest around the captain’s quarters. Acting quickly, Duncan kept the flames in check, ensuring they did not grow too wild and potentially awaken or disturb the entity named “Atlantis” that the goat head referred to.
These flames were not newly conjured but rather remnants or “embers” he had purposefully left behind on the “Vanished” in the tangible world earlier that day. According to his predictions, the embers he strategically positioned on the actual “Vanished” had the power to transcend the boundary separating dreams from reality, allowing them to manifest in this dreamlike rendition of the “Vanished.” This act of transferring flames was akin to covertly introducing them into the dream world. Duncan knew that as long as he moderated these flames, they wouldn’t pose any threat or overstimulate Atlantis.
From a distinct angle, the flames that had materialized on this ship weren’t mere random disturbances. Instead, they had integrated seamlessly with the ghostly ambiance of the “Vanished.” Unlike the flames Duncan conjured during his previous visit, which had stood out jarringly as intruders within the dream realm, these flames now felt native and harmonious with the ship’s structure.
Duncan released a soft, thoughtful exhale. With a silent command, he willed the flames to draw back, letting them lie dormant once again. They obediently ebbed away, seeping back into the cracks and recesses of the ship’s walls, floor, and ceiling.
Through meticulous experimentation, Duncan had discovered a method to safely introduce and incorporate these flames into this spectral environment. If he were to replicate this technique a couple more times, he might have enough “smuggled” flames amassed to eventually consume and dominate the entirety of this shadowy version of the “Vanished.”
Interestingly, the goat head seemed utterly indifferent to Duncan’s flame manipulations. It showed no sign of acknowledgment or alarm, acting as if these flames were non-existent. Its demeanor was as if it were just a regular wooden statue, inanimate and insensate, only coming to life when Duncan interacted with it.
Curiosity building and sensing the subtle flow of the dormant embers within the ship, Duncan initiated a conversation with the goat head as though it were a casual chat. “Is Atlantis in a perpetual state of dreaming? Is the vast forest outside merely a projection, a manifestation of her dreams?”
The goat head paused, its wooden features contorting slowly. “Outside?” it replied, its voice dragging. “Your concept of ‘outside’ eludes me. But yes, Atlantis dreams. She has been ensnared in this dreamscape for an immeasurable span of time. Within her dream lies the verdant forest, and within that, the presence of… them.”
Duncan, intrigued, pressed on, “Who are ‘they’ you speak of?”
For a moment, the goat head’s posture sagged, giving the impression of being lost in a liminal state between wakefulness and slumber. But soon, it responded, “They are beings birthed from the forest’s depths. Ages ago, they named themselves ‘elves.'”
Duncan’s gaze intensified upon hearing this.
Though not entirely unexpected, this disclosure resonated with a past exchange Duncan had with the goat head aboard the real-world “Vanished.” During that dialogue, it had cryptically advised him, “Remember them!”
Both references, from then and now, likely alluded to these elven entities.
Why had the goat head stressed the importance of “remembering”? And paradoxically, why did it now seem to have forgotten these beings? What triggered this lapse in memory?
As Duncan sifted through the layers of this enigma, connecting dots and seeking patterns, an audacious hypothesis about the goat head’s true identity began to crystallize in his mind. His demeanor grew somber, and with profound intent, he fixed his gaze on the wooden figure.
“What are you truly called?” he demanded.
Instead of a clear answer, the goat head responded with vague, murmured whispers reminiscent of a person talking in their sleep.
Unfazed and more determined, Duncan leaned in closer, his voice firm and insistent, “Are you Saslokha? The legendary Creator in elven lore? The visionary who crafted the primal dream, the guardian and preserver of Atlantis — are you known as Saslokha?”
The goat head’s previously incoherent murmurs ceased instantly.
Its wooden frame began a rhythmic rocking, oscillating left to right, almost as if the utterance of the name “Saslokha” had resonated deep within its core. After a brief period, laden with suspense and reflection, it raised its head to reveal a face shadowed by sorrow and gravitas. “Saslokha,” it declared in a somber tone, “has been lost to the annals of time. He met his end eons ago.”
“The day the world met its doom, every being—mighty or meek—perished.”
…..
The vast expanse of a desert sprawled before them, with its swirling sands mimicking the relentless currents of time. Nestled among eerily contorted rock formations sat a colossal figure enrobed in garments weathered by time and the elements. This behemoth seemed to exert an almost mystical influence over the very sands around him, controlling the tumultuous desert winds, ensuring they didn’t dare desecrate the one referred to as the “Traveler” with their gritty embrace.
Listening intently to the tales of bygone eras from the giant, Vanna sat across from him, seizing this moment of respite and engrossing herself in his narratives.
From where they sat, the skeletal remnants of what once might have been a bustling urban center loomed on the horizon.
A peculiar sensation washed over Vanna: the distance they had covered seemed to contradict the short duration of their travel. By mere mortal calculations, even with their steady pace, they couldn’t possibly have approached the ruins in such a brief time frame.
This curious phenomenon clearly bore the mark of her colossal companion. It dawned on her that journeying alongside this giant had an uncanny ability to warp the very fabric of distance.
Feeling compelled to share her realization, Vanna voiced her thoughts.
Without any pretense or obscurity, the giant responded, “I possess the unique gift to traverse any part of this realm within a day’s time. Such a skill allows me to monitor and chronicle the myriad transformations that shape our world every moment. To witness and to record – that’s my eternal charge.” He hesitated briefly, his voice tinged with sadness, “Yet, of late, there’s scarcely anything left worthy of observation or recording.”
Vanna’s attention was inexorably drawn to the looming ruins.
Indeed, her initial instinct had been correct. These remnants were all that was left of a once-vibrant city. However, at first glance, the connection between these stark stone formations and a city was not immediately evident.
In front of her lay an expansive field of colossal, oddly contoured, grey-black stones, standing like silent sentinels amid the desert backdrop. Any recognizable semblances of urban life or architectural hallmarks had been obliterated.
Vanna grappled with comprehending the sheer scale of disaster required to transmute a grand metropolis into this desolation. It appeared as though the city had been subject to a cataclysmic meltdown. A significant portion of the city’s essence must have evaporated instantaneously. The remnants then seemed to have liquified and flowed, only to freeze swiftly in a biting cold snap, culminating in the bizarre rocky landscape before her.
As Vanna pondered the condition of the city, a conundrum arose in her mind. If, hypothetically, an instantaneous blast of immense heat had indeed struck the city, why then did the vast lands encompassing it still remain as an expansive desert?
Elementary knowledge told her that extreme heat would cause sand to undergo a melting transition, converting it into a substance akin to glass. If such a phenomenon had indeed transpired, the terrain surrounding the city shouldn’t resemble a desert. Rather, it should look like a vast plain of hardened, glassy ground, akin to vast sheets of obsidian.
While Vanna admittedly hadn’t been the most diligent student in her history and cultural lessons, she was still well-versed in basic geological phenomena.
Turning to her colossal companion, she sought clarity, “What monumental event occurred to reduce this once magnificent city to its current desolate state? Earlier, you made mention of the world meeting its end. What force, what calamity, brought about its downfall?”
The giant, with a visage resembling a time-worn, intricate statue, turned his piercing gaze upon her. His eyes, deep-set and alight with an inner fire of suppressed anguish, appeared to search her soul.
“The cataclysm that befell this world is beyond the grasp of mortal understanding, perhaps even eluding the wisdom of ancient deities,” he began, his voice heavy with gravity. “On that fateful day, many who looked up to me, who regarded me with reverence, sought my protection and guidance. But when I bore witness to the devastation, the sheer magnitude of the calamity, it consumed my very essence, reducing my spirit to cinders. It’s a horror that defies mere linguistic expression.”
With deliberate motion, he extended a massive hand, pointing towards a stark, crimson tear in the firmament above.
“The closest I can come to an explanation,” he continued somberly, “is that when the end days dawned, abominations and corruptions alien to our realm emerged from that very rift. In mere moments, they tore asunder the land beneath our feet, twisting and contorting it into grotesque forms. All that we cherished, all that we held sacred, was mercilessly obliterated, consumed by this all-encompassing corruption.”
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