"Landing"

Vana jolted awake from a bizarre, chaotic dream and found that it was still deep in the night outside the window—the cold, pale radiance of World's Creation shone upon the windowsill etched with deep-sea runes, serene and tranquil.

Yet the scenes from that grotesque dream remained vividly imprinted in her mind—

A ship, a great ship wreathed in green ghostly flames, sailed from the line where sea met sky. Like a mountain rolling over everything in its path, it crushed its way across the entire Pland City-State. Within those ghostly flames, countless cries and desolate songs roared in unison, clamoring as if they would overturn the whole world.

And as that colossal ship descended, she saw a blazing sun rising from the depths of Pland City-State—not the sun known to the world, bound by ancient runes, but a celestial body burning fiercely like the "ancient sun" described by the Sun worshippers. It rose from the heart of the city-state, its flames melting the earth, while every person flowed through the streets as though they were wax figures melting away.

The Grand Cathedral of the Deep Sea Church stood silently at the heart of that hellish city of living fire. In the dream, she prayed toward the cathedral, hoping for guidance from the Goddess of Storms, but the Grand Cathedral merely answered with noisy, meaningless bell chimes. No guidance descended...

Vana sat up in bed and walked to the window in her nightclothes. She looked at the still-peaceful city outside and World's Creation in the sky, but the agitation in her heart only grew fiercer.

A moment later, the young Inquisitor withdrew her gaze from the city and went to the dressing table beside her bed, casually pulling open a drawer—

Inside lay a dagger, a crooked ritual dagger. The rune symbolizing the Deep Sea Church shimmered with Faint Light at the base of its blade, as if it were resonating under the stimulation of some unknown force.

Vana's gaze lingered on those flickering runes for several seconds before she cut open her palm with the blade. As blood seeped out, she held her hand across her chest and softly recited the name of the Goddess of Storms, attempting to seek the deity's guidance.

Yet for some reason, she heard only the illusory roar of waves. The state of "spiritual perception," which she could usually enter with ease, remained utterly unresponsive today.

It was as though an invisible curtain had suddenly fallen around her, cutting off the connection between her and Goddess of Storms Gemona.

Vana's brow gradually furrowed.

Interference with the connection between a believer and a god was exceedingly rare, but not unimaginable—the relationship of reflection between Subspace and the Real World was profound and complex, beyond mortal understanding. Even divine power could sometimes fluctuate temporarily under the layered influences of Subspace, the Abyssal Deep Sea, and the Spirit World. Coupled with the eternal unrest and disputes between gods, and between gods and ancient gods, it was possible, in extremely rare cases, for certain believers to suddenly no longer hear their god's voice.

But Goddess of Storms Gemona... she should not be like this.

The Boundless Sea surrounded mortal civilization. The power of the Goddess of Storms ran through every dimension and influenced all of reality. Any god could lose contact with the Real World; even the god of death occasionally left loopholes like the "Reawakened." But the Goddess of Storms alone... it was impossible.

This was one of the reasons the Deep Sea Church had become the most powerful Church upon the Boundless Sea.

Was the problem with herself?

Vana naturally began to doubt her own condition, but when she looked at her palm, she saw that the wound she had just cut was already healing rapidly.

The blessing bestowed by the Goddess remained, functioning without the slightest delay.

Vana recalled that noisy, bizarre nightmare, along with the ominous signs she had seen over the past several days.

There had to be a connection between all of it.

A ghost ship burning with green flames... a ghost ship...

Vana rapidly searched through her memories, comparing them with the occult knowledge she possessed. Then her expression suddenly turned grave.

She was not an expert in seafaring and rarely came into contact with the absurd tales passed among superstitious sailors, but even within orthodox Church texts, one ghost ship occupied a special place.

It was an ominous vessel that had returned from Subspace. Its captain was Duncan, the terrifying captain who had caused the Thirteen Islands of Viseran to be swallowed by the collapse of the border a century ago.

Vana abruptly rose from behind the dressing table, but then she remembered—it was the middle of the night. Like any other library, the archives of the Grand Cathedral were closed at night.

And for safety's sake, she had better not discuss anything related to that dream with anyone in the few hours immediately after a "premonitory dream" had ended—if the dream truly pointed to that "Captain Duncan," he might very well use the connection established through the dream to sense mortals discussing him in return.

After all, he was a... "ghost" capable of returning from Subspace.

The safest course now was to wait patiently until the sun once again took its dominant place in the world, until the connection established by the dream gradually faded. Then she could consult the relevant records in the archives or discuss these ominous signs with the archbishop in the cathedral.

No matter what, if these premonitory dreams truly pointed to that "Captain Duncan," if they were truly warning her that the legendary Lost Homeland was watching Pland with hungry eyes, then as the city-state's guardian, she had to stop that terrifying Ghost Captain from coming ashore at any cost...

A tall, thin black figure hurried along the deserted streets of the lower district, its lanky silhouette flashing beneath the gas lamps.

An utterly unfamiliar city, utterly unfamiliar buildings, half-remembered memories, and civilian streets made cold and strange by the curfew.

Yet Duncan felt exceptionally pleased as he walked through those shabby alleys.

He had succeeded—not only had he successfully performed his second Spirit World Walk, but he had successfully controlled a body and reached the surface, the ground of Pland City-State.

He was making contact with this world's civilized society. He was personally observing the architecture and technology of this era.

And he was using a complete body at that—not open-hearted, nor open-minded. This outwardly normal body would make everything he did next much more convenient.

To be frank, the body's health was not actually all that good. Even though he could ignore most of its ailments while in the state of Spirit World Walk, Duncan could still clearly sense its poor condition. But he had no complaints about it and even found it perfectly natural.

After all, based on the experience of these two occasions, Spirit World Walk took possession of corpses that had been dead for a certain period—could anything lively and kicking possibly be a corpse?

The barking of a dog drifted from the far end of the street. Duncan cautiously slowed down and hid himself within the shadows between the buildings.

He did not know whether it was a patrol dog led by Church Guardians on night watch, but there was no harm in being cautious.

Above the nearby buildings, massive pipe structures stretched over the low houses. The radiance cast by the Pale Scar scattered intermittent patches of light and shadow among those pipes. Steam occasionally leaked from valves along the pipes, forming a hazy mist in the night.

The barking faded into the distance.

Duncan emerged from his hiding place, looked around at the activity on the street, then casually soothed Pigeon Ai Yi, who was shifting about on his shoulder. Only then did he cross the street, following his memories.

Among a row of low two- and three-story buildings stood an old Gate. A dirty sign hung above it, while dusty, neglected display windows could be seen in the walls on either side—it was a shop, and a fairly large one by the look of it, but it had clearly been poorly maintained and was doing dismal business.

This was the place the fragments of memory in Duncan's mind had led him to.

He came before the old Gate and looked up at the sign above it. A line of letters was faintly visible in the darkness:

"Roen's Antiques," Duncan muttered. "A concise enough name..."

With that, he began feeling around near the entrance. Since the memories in his mind were not especially clear, he searched for quite some time before finding a spare key on a concealed hook beneath the windowsill.

The former owner of this body had not carried the key with him, nor had he brought anything that could identify him or lead someone to this antique shop. It seemed to be the caution of an experienced cultist—but such superficial precautions were meaningless before a Ghost Captain who could seize memories.

Duncan opened the Gate of Roen's Antiques, slipped inside, and swiftly shut it behind him.

The wooden Gate closed with a bang, but the sound did not carry far into the night. The sign hanging above the entrance tilted slightly from the vibration. Its letters wriggled beneath the pale, cold night light, and in the blink of an eye, new words appeared upon the wooden board—

"Duncan's Antiques."