Lucretia and Vana walked along the mobile platform beneath the lighthouse complex. They passed through the thick fog under the cover of night, along familiar roads and corridors. Dim yellow lights glimmered in the mist like muted stars, and figures moved nearby amid that indistinct interplay of shadow and light.
A port guard with a face as pale as paper passed before Vana. He wore a crisp uniform and carried a lantern that still shone brightly. His expression was meticulous and stern, yet when the two unexpected visitors appeared before him, he acted as though he did not see them.
Vana watched the guard gradually disappear into the fog with a complicated look in her eyes. Only after his figure had vanished completely did she quietly say to Lucretia, "...He wasn't breathing."
"Yes. Neither was the one before him. Most of the people here have stopped breathing already," Lucretia said softly. Shadows veiled the witch's expression. "Even the few who are still breathing have no reaction to our arrival."
"Everyone is in a kind of..." Vana began, then suddenly faltered, seemingly unable to find a suitable word for what she felt. After a long while, she continued, "A state of trance and 'disregard.' They're still carrying out their daily duties here, even handling shift changes with painstaking precision, but they simply don't react to us."
Lucretia gave a quiet hum but said nothing more. She roughly assessed the surrounding layout through the fog, then headed toward the church at the base of the lighthouse.
The church was much the same as outside, only with fewer people. Aside from a handful of figures resting and praying, there was only a goddess official in a black nun's habit cleaning the main hall. She seemed to react slightly to Vana and Lucretia's arrival—but