The emerald flames slowly receded, fading into nothingness as the surrounding seas gradually calmed. Duncan released his grip from the dark, massive wheel of the Forsaken, gazing downward at his own body. Flesh and blood once more—solid, warm, alive. Around him, the deck of the ghostly ship had returned to its original condition, devoid of ethereal fires or ghostly apparitions.
Yet Duncan felt, deep within himself, that something fundamental had changed.
When he'd first grasped the helm and commanded the spectral fires, a strange bond had formed between himself and the Forsaken—a link that went far beyond mere captaincy. Even now, with the flames extinguished, that invisible connection persisted. It allowed him to sense every detail aboard the ship, every subtle creak, and whisper echoing through its vast, shadowed interior.
He closed his eyes for a moment, and in the silence, faint murmurs reached him from deep within the vessel. Strange yet oddly comforting whispers emerged from unseen corners. He sensed lanterns lighting spontaneously within the captain's quarters, their pale white flames dancing in the dark, casting ghostly shadows. Far below, he felt the waves brushing gently against the ship's hull, their rhythm strangely watchful, as though something beneath the waves observed him silently. When Duncan's awareness tried to find the source, it vanished quietly, retreating deeper into the ocean's mysteries.
He opened his eyes and breathed softly. Instantly, the Forsaken's ghostly sails stirred in response, billowing gently as if animated by his breath alone. Duncan moved toward the stairs leading from the helm to the main deck, and ropes slithered silently aside, clearing the path before him.
Understanding settled in him—the moment he had chosen to command the helm, he had truly become the captain of this vessel.
"Captain," came the goat head's voice, no longer via a speaking tube but directly inside Duncan's mind, serious and far less annoying than usual. "We're ascending from the spirit realm. Soon, we'll return to the physical world. We're fortunate; we barely grazed the edge of the deep abyss. There's no lasting harm."
Reality, the spirit realm, the abyssal depths, and something deeper—words that carried significant meaning in this strange world, though Duncan still didn't fully grasp their significance. Yet he noted a subtle shift in the goat head's tone. It now addressed him with genuine reverence and respect, a clear shift since he had controlled the ghostly flames.
He wondered briefly if this newfound respect extended so far that even if he revealed his original identity—"Zhou Ming"—the goat head might still obey. But Duncan chose caution, avoiding unnecessary risks. He also refrained from asking too many questions. Just days ago, he would have been desperate for answers, eager for clarity. But now, strangely, he felt more at ease.
After all, he'd encountered another ship, other humans, other civilizations—clear signs of society and order. It was enough to spark hope, even tentative plans, for whatever future awaited.
Lost in thought, Duncan recalled the brief yet vivid encounter with the ship that had appeared from the mist—a mechanically driven vessel, complete with a black smokestack and strange ritualistic chambers glimpsed fleetingly during their supernatural collision.
"That was a steamship... yet the Forsaken is clearly a relic from another era," he muttered thoughtfully. "But that vessel wasn't entirely mechanical either…"
Indeed, the mysterious ship bore markings, strange symbols etched along its keel and decks, resembling decorations but feeling far more significant.
"Goat head," Duncan called out abruptly, uncertain of what else to call the talking carving. "When our ships crossed, that other captain shouted something at me. Did you catch his words?"
The goat head responded readily, seemingly unfazed by the informal address. "The wind was too loud. I couldn't hear clearly."
"You didn't hear either?" Duncan frowned deeply. "He looked as though he intended to die fighting me. It must've been important."
"A desire to die fighting you is a perfectly natural human reaction, Captain," the goat head replied calmly. "Especially for sailors upon the Endless Sea. Their desperate cries before an overwhelming force need not concern you."
Duncan nearly stumbled on the deck, stunned by this casual assertion. "A normal human reaction?"
Immediately, he realized his slip—a genuine captain would never question such a basic point. Anxiety flashed through him, wondering if the goat head had noticed this lapse. But the carving seemed oblivious, continuing proudly:
"Yes, fear of you is quite normal. Sailors fear you as much as they fear the ancient gods and the shadows of subspace. Speaking of shadows, did you know there was once an extraordinary engineer—or perhaps it was an agriculturalist, or possibly a chef—who once said—"
Duncan pointedly ignored the goat head, wary of encouraging its incessant chatter. His attention, thankfully, was quickly diverted elsewhere.
Standing on the deck near the captain's quarters was a large, ornate wooden box he'd never seen before. Duncan approached cautiously, circling it with growing curiosity.
"What is this?" he muttered, inspecting the intricately decorated coffin-like box. Crafted from dark, unfamiliar timber and reinforced with gleaming golden metal, it bore strange inscriptions along its edges—symbols he could neither decipher nor recognize. "Did you see this here before?"
The goat head hesitated briefly, then answered solemnly, "Unfamiliar. But it seems to be a trophy."
"A trophy?!" Duncan blinked, bewildered. "It looks like a coffin—but far more lavish. Wait... are you implying this came from the ship we just encountered?"
"A successful hunt, Captain," the goat head declared respectfully. "You always return with rewards—it is your way."
Duncan opened his mouth to argue that he hadn't intended any such thing, but quickly reconsidered. Voicing his confusion would break his fragile facade of command. Besides, the other ship was now long gone, vanished into the misty sea. Given the enraged face of its captain, returning the item didn't seem practical—or safe.
Reluctantly accepting the reality, he placed his hand cautiously on the heavy lid. It felt oddly loose, ready to open at the slightest touch. Curiosity overcame caution, and Duncan carefully lifted the coffin lid.
He stared inside, utterly stunned.
"A person?"
Inside lay a stunningly beautiful young woman, her features flawless and ethereal. Silver-white hair cascaded gently over rich violet-black clothing that resembled a noblewoman's gown from another age. Her slender hands were folded peacefully on her chest, as if in deep, undisturbed sleep.
Perfectly doll-like, her beauty was beyond human.
Then Duncan saw the telltale joints at her wrists and elbows—distinct, intricate articulations confirming her true nature.
"No, not human," he whispered, fascinated yet unnerved. "It's a doll."
He leaned closer, inspecting the delicate, lifelike features. Her skin appeared porcelain-smooth, but warm, faintly glowing under the dim, eerie sky. He wondered who would craft something so meticulously perfect, and why it had been so carefully sealed within layers of mystic protections on another ship.
Duncan stepped back, feeling a strange, inexplicable sense of unease. Whatever this doll represented, it was undoubtedly significant—something of immense value or profound danger to have been guarded so rigorously.
Suddenly, her eyelids fluttered lightly. Duncan stumbled backward in shock as those porcelain features shifted subtly, lips parting slightly. The doll's eyes opened slowly, revealing two luminous emerald orbs, calm and deep, gazing up at him with an unsettling awareness.
"Where… am I?" she murmured softly, her voice melodic yet faintly confused.
Duncan swallowed hard, recovering his composure. He had expected many strange things aboard the Forsaken, but not this. Carefully controlling his voice to hide his astonishment, he answered calmly:
"You are aboard my ship—the Forsaken."
Her gaze drifted slowly around, observing the spectral sails and eerie deck. When her eyes returned to Duncan, a faint, uncertain smile crossed her lips.
"I see. And… who are you?"
Duncan paused, heart racing. Then he answered with quiet, deliberate confidence—the only identity he now knew himself by aboard this phantom ship.
"My name is Duncan Abnomar. And I'm your captain."