How Dolls Entertain Themselves

This was a hidden sea region that had never appeared on any official chart and lay far from every legitimate shipping route—the lights of the civilized world could no longer illuminate these waters shrouded in thin mist. No sane ocean-going captain would ever set foot here willingly. That majestic curtain of fog enclosing the entire world stood ahead, and though sunlight still shone upon the sea, those sailing here could draw no comfort from it.

People had given this chilling place a name—the Border.

A nearly shattered vessel, one that by all rights should have sunk to the bottom of the sea long ago, was slowly moving through the thin fog, sailing like a silent ghost toward the cliff-like Wall of Fog in the distance.

Eerie green flames rose and burned like silent phantoms across the broken ship. Translucent spirit flames forcibly "held together" this vessel that should have fallen apart. Half its hull had been torn open by a horrifying gash, exposing the vast, intricate machinery within like the innards of some colossal beast, all of it soaked in green fire. That dim spirit fire spread outward from the ship, flowing and diffusing over the nearby sea. Wherever the flames flowed, the thin mist surrounding the vessel slowly receded.

A blaze rose, and Duncan's figure appeared on the deck—in Spirit Form.

Using the "artificial beacon" left aboard this ship, he had come here. This time, however, he had not transported his entire "true body" over as he had before, but merely projected a phantom here—most of his attention remained on the Lost Homeland.

The ships from all sides had yet to rendezvous, so he had come here first to assess the situation.

That majestic wall of dense fog finally stood before him.

Duncan crossed the deck, stepping over the