The deck was in chaos. Gunfire, howls, and roars from the radios blended together like a pot of boiling porridge.
Yet somewhere aboard this ship, a secret room remained utterly silent.
The room was well soundproofed and cleverly concealed behind a false wall between the engine room and the living quarters. Its entrance was a steel door that blended seamlessly into the wall, with no handle or keyhole. Only the Elders knew how to open it.
The room was not large, but it was exquisitely furnished. The floor was covered in handwoven Persian carpets with patterns intricate enough to dazzle the eye; several ancient paintings of indeterminate age hung on the walls, their gilded frames polished spotless.
In one corner stood a small bronze statue of a coiled dragon, so finely crafted that every scale was clearly visible.
The entire room was decorated with a luxury that made it seem less like part of a ship and more like a hidden chamber beneath some palace in Rome.
Most conspicuous of all was the mirror.
Mounted on the wall, it covered the entire surface from floor to ceiling. Its surface was as smooth as water, perfectly reflecting the room and making it seem twice as large.
The mirror suddenly rippled.
Like a stone thrown into the center of a still lake, waves spread outward from its center, one ring after another.
The room in the mirror began to warp. The exquisite decorations, luxurious furnishings, and ancient paintings on the walls all swayed and distorted with the ripples, like a watercolor painting soaked in water.
A man in a suit stepped out of the mirror.
Pompeii Gattuso!
After he emerged, the mirror slowly returned to stillness, reflecting the room once more as if everything that had just happened had been an illusion.