The grand statue of Gomona, the Storm Goddess, watched silently from her lofty perch, bathed in the shifting rays of morning light. Sacred candles flickered steadily in bronze holders, their faint smoke curling upwards in fragrant spirals. Beneath this quiet gaze, Bishop Valentine stood, eyes narrowed in contemplation, a shadow crossing his aged face.
Vanna stood opposite him, feeling the calm of the sacred chamber slowly dissipating the lingering dread within her. Yet the Bishop's last words had dropped heavily into the silence, disturbing that fleeting peace. She clenched her fists slightly, staring into the gentle yet unyielding eyes of her mentor.
"Revenge," she repeated softly, as though tasting the bitterness of the word. "A ghostly captain returning to the mortal world to exact vengeance upon those who represent the Storm Goddess… Do you truly believe such a thing possible?"
Valentine exhaled gently, his gaze returning briefly to the statue. "In matters of anomalies, all things are possible. Remember, there is no universal law when it comes to the unnatural. The return of Captain Duncan and the ghost ship Vanished from the Abyss itself is already beyond all common reason."
Vanna nodded slowly, letting his words sink in. "Then we must prepare for the worst. If Captain Duncan truly seeks vengeance against Gomona's representatives, we have to secure Pland and ensure our defenses are unbreakable."
Valentine raised his hand slightly, signaling calm. "Indeed. But I fear the direct, physical threat of the Vanished may not be our only concern. Your own experience reveals that its influence is subtle, working through dreams and shadows, planting seeds of confusion and denial. Such an entity attacks first through the mind."
"Then what should we do?"
The Bishop moved closer to the altar, his hand tracing lightly over the edge of the carved marble. "Firstly, notify all ranking officers and clergy within Pland. Inform them discreetly. Stress the importance of prayer and mental vigilance; organize a collective meditation tonight beneath the sacred flame. Gomona's gaze will help us purge any unseen corruption."
"And what about the citizens?" Vanna asked with concern. "We cannot alarm the city unnecessarily."
Valentine nodded solemnly. "Exactly. The city's peace cannot be disturbed. Send additional patrols to the harbor district under the guise of routine security checks. If the Vanished indeed approaches, the harbor will be our first line of defense."
Vanna felt a sense of unease tightening around her chest, recalling the chilling visions from her dream—the burning ship, the sky torn apart, and the ominous green fire. Yet the Bishop's calm, confident demeanor reassured her. He always had a way of clarifying the uncertain, bringing order from chaos.
"I will do as you suggest, Bishop," she said resolutely. "If that ghost ship truly approaches Pland, we'll be ready."
Valentine's eyes softened slightly, his lips curving into a faint, weary smile. "I have no doubt, Vanna. Gomona's light will guide us."
Meanwhile, in the quiet corners of the lower district, Duncan sat quietly behind the worn counter of his shop. The muffled noise of bustling morning life came through the walls—the distant cries of vendors, the passing chatter of pedestrians, and the occasional bell of bicycles along the cobbled streets. Beside him on the counter lay the morning's newspaper, now folded and somewhat wrinkled from repeated handling.
His new "niece" Nina had already hurried off to school after ensuring everything was in order. The ghostly captain couldn't help but admire the girl's resilience, the natural warmth she carried with her despite the harshness of their environment.
Duncan leaned back slightly, considering the information he'd gathered during breakfast. The city of Pland, the historical disaster known as the Great Annihilation, the mysterious order of "anomalies" and "visions"—each revelation was like opening another hidden door, gradually dispelling the shadows that obscured his understanding of this strange new world.
Lost in contemplation, Duncan nearly missed the soft fluttering sound from upstairs.
He glanced up instinctively. On the staircase landing above, the white pigeon—now formally christened "Sir Peep" by Nina—fluttered down gracefully, landing neatly on the edge of the counter. The bird tilted his head curiously, looking at Duncan with one intelligent black eye.
"Found any more French fries?" Duncan asked dryly, raising an eyebrow at the pigeon.
Sir Peep cooed, spreading his wings slightly as if shrugging, and then delicately hopped across the countertop, pecking lightly at the folded newspaper.
"You want me to read the paper again?" Duncan asked, half-seriously.
The bird bobbed its head energetically, pecking harder at the headline.
"Fine, fine," Duncan said, unfolding the paper once more and glancing over the front page again. The headline proclaimed the church's triumphant dismantling of the Sun Cult's hideout, complete with a photograph of the formidable Inquisitor Vanna Wayne standing proudly with her armored steam guardians.
Duncan studied the photograph more closely this time. The Inquisitor was tall and confident, a sword at her side and armor gleaming, yet her eyes conveyed something deeper—an awareness, perhaps, of the hidden dangers still lingering beneath the city.
Beside him, Sir Peep ruffled his feathers impatiently, tapping the paper again.
Duncan chuckled quietly, folding the paper back and shaking his head. "Alright, message received. Keep an eye on the city, I get it. And you might consider staying indoors; the harbor's patrols will be tighter soon."
The bird's eyes glittered knowingly, and Duncan wondered for a moment just how much intelligence truly lay behind those bright eyes.
His thoughts returned again to Pland's apparent crisis: Sun Cultists beneath the streets, the looming threat of an approaching ghost ship—his own ghost ship. Despite being the supposed captain of the Vanished, even Duncan felt uncertain about what role he was to play in the events unfolding around this city.
His musings were interrupted by the soft chime of the shop door opening. Duncan quickly sat upright, swiftly adopting the neutral expression of a shopkeeper.
Standing in the doorway was a man he vaguely recognized—short, stocky, with a neatly trimmed gray mustache and an expensive-looking waistcoat. The newcomer peered curiously around the cluttered shop before his eyes settled on Duncan.
"Good morning, Mr. Duncan," the man greeted warmly, stepping forward. "It's been quite some time."
Duncan paused for a moment, searching the scattered memories absorbed from this body's former owner. Eventually, recognition clicked into place.
"Mr. Morris," Duncan replied smoothly, adopting a familiar tone. "Yes, it's been a while. To what do I owe the pleasure?"
The older man glanced around the shop once more, slightly amused. "I'd nearly forgotten how unique your shop is, Duncan. I was hoping you might help me locate a particularly rare object—a rather peculiar antique. Considering your reputation for finding… unusual items."
Duncan felt his curiosity rising. "What sort of antique?"
Mr. Morris's voice lowered, his eyes glinting with excitement and secrecy. "It's a small statue, said to depict the lost god of the ancient seas—a deity worshipped before even Gomona. I believe it's known as the Idol of the Drowned."
Duncan's eyes narrowed subtly at the mention of the deity, an uncomfortable stirring in his chest. He knew nothing of such an idol, yet something within him resonated with the words—something deep, almost forgotten.
"I'm intrigued," he admitted carefully. "Though I'm not certain I've heard of such an idol before. Why come to me?"
Mr. Morris smiled knowingly, leaning in slightly. "Because, my friend, you always had a knack for obtaining things that others believe impossible to find."
Duncan paused thoughtfully, his gaze drifting to the pigeon, who watched the exchange with exaggerated innocence.
"Very well," he finally agreed, nodding slowly. "I'll see what I can find. But tell me first—why exactly are you looking for this… Idol of the Drowned?"
Morris's expression grew suddenly serious, his voice barely more than a whisper. "Because certain relics of the past are waking, Mr. Duncan. And it's wise to be prepared when old ghosts stir again."
Duncan met the man's gaze steadily, heart beating with newfound intensity.
He had no idea just how close to the truth Morris was—or how much the old ghosts had already stirred.
"Then let's be prepared," Duncan said softly, feeling the echoes of an ancient sea whisper through his veins. "For whatever is coming."