Amon gestated quietly within the crimson cocoon. Only a faint pulse remained in the Watertight Compartment, like thick blood flowing, along with the hollow echo of the seawater slowly rising and falling.
Above, time on the ship continued turning along its predetermined gears. The strings in the ballroom, the clamor of the casino, the low growl of the engines—everything remained as usual.
Half a day had passed since he entered the Watertight Compartment at the bottom.
At shift change, the security captain marked two absences on the roll sheet.
At first, he assumed the two had abandoned their posts and slipped off to the ballroom for fun—something far from uncommon aboard the loosely disciplined Far North.
After all, being cooped up on the ship for too long could be stifling. They turned a blind eye to minor mistakes as long as there were no consequences.
But when he sent people to look, they found no trace of them. The captain frowned, instinctively wanting to report to Mr. Vincent, only to realize he could not find the ship's highest-ranking person in charge at all.
Not only Vincent, but also the inseparable twin sisters at his side, Hervor and Olrun, had vanished without a trace.
The captain stood in the desolate corridor for a while. The unease in his heart was gradually suppressed by another kind of understanding. This ship had too many secrets. He knew there were things he should not ask about, and could not ask about.
Even a figure as important as the former "Saintess," Maria, could silently "disappear." What did the disappearance of two low-ranking guards amount to?
He did not want to become the next person to mysteriously "vanish." So he closed the roster and decided to put the matter aside for now.
Yet beneath calm waters,