Deep Sea Embers

The warp transit concluded its journey – the extensive voyage through the remote frontier had ended, and the Vanished had once again entered the world of fog and water.

However, this arrival marked merely a brief pause in a much larger expedition. Duncan’s true objective lay not in returning to the Boundless Sea but in reaching the farthest extremity of this world, a place that hung suspended in the sky, locked in perpetual coldness.

The ship began to emit gentle vibrations as it exited warp transit. The illusion of the New Hope rapidly vanished into the sky, while countless unseen threads withdrew back into the puppet’s exterior. Almost immediately, the thick fog characteristic of the frontier waters enveloped the ship from all sides, welcoming it warmly. The Vanished glided through the sea, moving silently over the calm, mirror-like water as the ship gradually stabilized.

Alice blinked, her eyes quickly regaining their brightness. She looked up at Duncan, who was standing nearby, and flashed him a quick smile. “Captain! We’re back!”

“Yes, we are back in the Boundless Sea. I’ll take over the helm now,” Duncan replied with a smile, nodding at the puppet before heading towards the shadowy helm. “Feel free to rest or just watch if you prefer.”

“Okay, I’m not tired. I’ll watch!” Alice responded enthusiastically. She dragged a large wooden barrel to a corner of the bridge, sat on it with her chin resting on her hands, and watched Duncan navigate.

Duncan glanced back at Alice with a smile of resignation, then took hold of the dark helm.

Green ethereal flames ignited between his fingers, spreading across the helm and lighting up the deck and masts. The translucent ethereal sails filled with an invisible wind. The Vanished shone brightly, reminiscent of the day Duncan first took control of the helm, a vivid memory that remained with him.

Duncan then closed his eyes. His focus wasn’t on the Boundless Sea or the eternal curtain; instead, in his fading awareness, he perceived a slowly pulsating, cold, and artificial sunlight that traced a luminous path through the darkness, leading far ahead.

He then heard a deep rumble from within the Vanished, the ropes quivering in the air, the cabin creaking. These layered sounds merged into a continuous chorus of encouragement from the ship. Amid this chorus, he heard the strange, discordant voice of Goathead.

It sang a peculiar chant Duncan had never heard before, with complex tones and strange pronunciations that seemed as if they had traversed vast expanses of time and space, sung initially to appease ancient gods, yet hardly pleasing to the ear.

With his eyes closed, however, Duncan “saw” something through the strange, off-key humming.

He envisioned bright sunlight and majestic landscapes, a gigantic tree rooting deeply into the earth, and the figure of a creator slowly emerging from a valley as if wandering in dreams.

Primitive beings, newly sentient, gathered around the great tree, adorning their creator’s resting place with colorful stones and furs. They joyfully played rudimentary musical instruments, singing songs that celebrated the breeze and sunlight at dawn and dusk.

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Now, after such a lengthy passage of time, their creator recalled this melody.

As the Vanished resumed its slow acceleration, Goathead’s discordant humming morphed into the final melody of their journey. The massive ghost ship seemed to dissolve further into ethereal fire, taking on an even more convincing guise of illusion than before.

The flames climbed higher, engulfing the ship and erasing its entire history—every foundation it had laid across dimensions, every shadow it had cast—obliterating its very “existence” within their small sanctuary. The flames, suffused with pale purple starlight, transformed the Vanished into a massive, almost indistinguishable spectral form amidst the fire.

This spectral form was weightless; it floated upward through the cloud cover of this world, tracing a path illuminated by the deceptive glow of distant sunlight, and began to pick up speed as it ascended into the sky.

Zhou Ming clutched the helm, feeling the vividness of this world for the first time, acutely aware of his own existence and that of the Vanished. He felt an integral part of this fading, dimming, slowly cooling world.

He was also among the myriad displaced souls of this realm.

With his eyes firmly shut, Zhou Ming refrained from “observing” too much, to prevent the Boundless Sea from instantaneously collapsing. However, his “sensation” had already initiated the final destruction of this world.

Now, the underlying data of the sanctuary was laid bare to him, triggering the final disaster recovery uploads into the singularity database. As this ultimate “upload” progressed, the “reset” procedures at the outer barriers also commenced.

…

Nina and Shirley watched in awe.

They had reached the second floor of the antique shop, having placed Uncle Duncan’s lifeless body by the window. Though he was no longer alive, Nina kept him seated beside her, gazing out together.

The girls looked towards the southeast.

A brilliant light emanated from that direction, advancing slowly yet profoundly towards the World’s Creation.

The resplendent light, a mix of green and pale purple, bathed half the sky, ushering in a dawn-like “daylight” at the end of the long night.

“Wow…” Shirley stretched her neck, letting out an exaggerated gasp. She then tugged at Dog’s neck chain, exclaiming excitedly, “Dog, look at that! Over there! The captain is really flying! He’s heading towards the World’s Creation! It’s starting, it’s starting!” ℞

“I see, I see, stop pulling the chain,” Dog barked, gripping the chain tightly, “Find a stable spot to brace yourself. The final moment is upon us. You’ve been wondering every day when it would start, and it’s now…”

“I… I’m a bit nervous…” Shirley admitted, pressing against the wall with Dog’s chain but quickly moving back to the window, “What will happen? Will it hurt? Or will it just be over in an instant? Will there be a bright light?”

“How should I know, I…” Dog started to respond, but cut himself off.

The flames, now infused with starlight, raged through every fissure of its being, erupting and soaring from within.

Shirley blinked, raising her arms as she watched flames ignite on her own body, and through the shadows cast by the flames, she saw Nina also gradually enveloped by fire.

“Uncle Duncan experiences the world through our perspective,” Nina realized. Her tone was calm and gentle as she assured her companion, “Don’t be scared.”

“I’m not scared, but what should I do?” Shirley responded, her voice betraying her fear as she looked to Nina for guidance. “Should I just keep my eyes wide open and look around?”

“Seeing the world through our eyes is really just a metaphor,” Nina began to clarify, but paused as she caught the naive and confused look on her friend’s face. Choosing not to continue her explanation, Nina gave a resigned smile, “Alright, just keep your eyes wide open and look around. Uncle Duncan will handle everything else.”

“Oh… Oh!” Shirley quickly agreed, promptly widening her eyes and trying her best to peer into the distance.

Meanwhile, Nina noticed something supernatural on the horizon, beyond the cloud-covered skyline, a breathtaking spectacle unfolded that was unlike anything seen in the physical realm before—it seemed as if a majestic curtain was drawing across the sky.

Stars began to emerge, and the expansive ocean known as the Boundless Sea began to silently implode, starting from its outermost regions, illuminated by the starlight.

First to be affected were the frontier maritime outposts—lighthouses, mobile ports established by the Church of the Four Gods, and their patrolling fleets, always vigilant near the eternal curtain.

Next, remote islands disappeared, the ones once visited by explorers who left behind numerous tales.

Soon, the frontier maritime city-states followed suit…

Lucretia stood on the top deck of the Bright Star, moored at Wind Harbor. She clung to Rabbi’s arm and steadied the small puppet, Nilu, on her shoulder, while the clockwork puppet Luni stood faithfully behind her.

Together, they solemnly observed the stars ascend from the edge of the world, advancing toward them like a grand curtain spanning heaven and earth.

The stars first reached a platform on the distant ocean, previously a facility for studying a “glowing object,” now deserted and irrecoverable by the city-state, left as a lone monument amidst the sea.

Without any process of disintegration, no sound, no flash, the platform seamlessly merged with the stars, vanishing without a trace. Behind the starlight, only sheer emptiness remained.

Nilu clung tightly to Lucretia’s head, her small frame trembling: “Mistress, I’m a bit scared…”

“Don’t be afraid, Nilu,” Lucretia reassured her, softly stroking the puppet’s back. “The next time you open your eyes, we’ll be at our new home.”

The small puppet nodded earnestly in response.

“Mistress…” Luni’s voice sounded from behind. Lucretia turned to see the clockwork puppet’s slightly anxious expression.

“Are you also scared?”

“A little.”

Lucretia offered a comforting smile: “Then close your eyes, and when you open them again, it will be as if you’ve merely blinked.”

Luni hesitated briefly, then obediently closed her eyes.

As the last light flickered at the corner of her vision, she saw the silhouette of her mistress silently merging into the starlight.

//

//Lucretia·??? ==>A.. …%¥ transferred to new data*& amp ;*%¥ save completed.