According to the ancient texts left by the once-glorious Cretan Empire, the world was structured in distinct layers, each more mysterious and perilous than the last.
At the pinnacle rested the divine realm—the Foundation. It was the abode of gods, a dimension forever separate from mortal comprehension. Here dwelled the eternal deities, presiding over immutable laws and timeless truths.
Below the Foundation lay the mortal world, the realm of humanity and other living beings. This was the domain of order and reason, protected by the distant but ever-present influence of the gods. Here civilization flourished, sustained by divine blessings trickling down through the layers above.
Further beneath the mortal world stretched the boundary known as the Spirit Realm, a liminal dimension where logic began to fray, and shadows began to take on strange lives of their own. Here, divine influence waned, replaced by bizarre and unpredictable forces.
Even deeper still, beyond the Spirit Realm, sprawled the Abyssal Depths. It was no longer truly physical, a shadowy echo of reality where sanity crumbled entirely, giving way to profound, alien mysteries—an incomprehensible place dominated by beings and powers beyond mortal reckoning.
Finally, at the very bottom, existed the Subspace Abyss, the abode of primal and unfathomable horrors—the realm of ancient gods whose true names could not be uttered safely by mortal tongues. From this deepest point, chaos and madness seeped upward, always seeking to challenge the order established by the gods at the pinnacle.
This hierarchy of existence, this ancient yet enduring model of the universe, was one of the greatest legacies bequeathed to humanity by the vanished Cretan civilization. Through the centuries, scholars, priests, and mystics tirelessly scrutinized it, but none had ever succeeded in disproving it. It had long become the fundamental basis of human understanding, a cornerstone of theology and natural philosophy.
Yet, despite the universality of this model, there existed anomalies—entities and phenomena that defied even these established truths.
The Vanished was precisely one such anomaly.
It had plunged into the Subspace Abyss, the darkest and most treacherous depth, a place from which nothing was ever meant to return. Yet now, against all established laws of reality, the ghost ship had reappeared in the mortal world.
It was impossible, yet undeniably real.
But even the most extraordinary anomaly had limits. The Foundation—the divine domain—was wholly inaccessible. It was inconceivable that any being from the mortal realm or below could ascend to challenge the gods themselves. Thus, despite Captain Duncan's apparent return from the impossible depths of Subspace, Bishop Valentine and Inquisitor Vanna could not believe he posed any direct threat to the Storm Goddess herself.
His true target, then, could only be Gomona's faithful followers in the mortal realm.
The grand Storm Cathedral itself was practically untouchable. It sailed invisibly upon the vast Unbounded Sea, guided by the supreme authority of the Pope and hidden by sacred wards. Striking there was all but impossible.
That left the city-state of Pland—fixed upon the ocean, open to all, visible to every vessel and every eye. Here, the Storm Goddess's influence was vast, her followers countless.
A perfect target.
And yet questions remained unanswered. What exactly did Captain Duncan plan to do?
Within the Storm Cathedral's inner sanctum, Vanna considered all the disturbing possibilities. Her grey eyes, normally filled with calm confidence, now revealed traces of worry and doubt.
"Bishop Valentine," she said quietly, leaning forward in earnest contemplation, "do you think there is a connection between the recent activities of the Sun Cultists and the return of Captain Duncan? Last night, my dream clearly showed both the flaming sun and the ghost ship appearing together. Perhaps the Goddess is warning us of two threats emerging simultaneously."
Valentine paused thoughtfully, shaking his head slightly. "We cannot be certain. Recall the underground ritual site—Captain Duncan's contamination directly caused the death of the Sun Cult's envoy. Clearly, their goals do not align. At least not directly."
Vanna frowned deeply. "Yet this does not eliminate the possibility that the appearance of Duncan and the Vanished has triggered the cultists into action. Or perhaps the Vanished intends to exploit the chaos caused by the Sun Cult."
Valentine inclined his head, considering. "This morning, I received new information from our contacts in Lensar. The Sun Cult has been unusually active lately—not just in Pland, but across multiple city-states. Many cultists have been passing through Lensar and Morco, traveling toward Pland. The captured cultists mentioned a term repeatedly—'Shards of the True Sun.'"
Vanna's expression sharpened. "The fragments of their dark deity. They believe a shard lies hidden in Pland?"
"It seems so," Valentine confirmed solemnly. "These cultists apparently have received some kind of revelation—perhaps through mad visions. Whatever their source, they are utterly convinced that a piece of their god resides within our city, a piece they intend to awaken."
Vanna clenched her fists tightly, frustration evident in her voice. "Those lunatics have already caused countless deaths with their madness."
"To us, it is madness. To them, it is truth," Valentine sighed. "They see themselves as saviors, restoring what they believe to be true order. Rationality cannot reason with zealots. Only steel and gunpowder can."
Vanna allowed herself a faint smile at the typically pragmatic attitude of the Bishop. "Then it seems we have our work cut out for us."
"Indeed we do," Valentine agreed calmly. "Chaos has always lurked beneath the surface of Pland. We face challenges from within and without."
"Two major threats," Vanna corrected seriously. "The Sun Cultists, and a ghost ship returned from the Abyss. If the Vanished and the Sun Cult are not allies, we have two distinct crises to handle."
Valentine considered briefly, then murmured thoughtfully, "Or perhaps the two threats might collide. Imagine if Duncan turns his wrath against the cultists first…"
Vanna gave a bitter smile, shaking her head. "Then we would have a single catastrophe rather than two—one capable of destroying the entire city. A battle between the Vanished and fanatical cultists searching for their god's remains would be far worse than anything we could imagine."
The Bishop sighed deeply, acknowledging her words as truth.
"Regardless, our immediate priority remains the Sun Cultists. Their presence within Pland must be contained swiftly," Vanna declared firmly. "As for the ghost ship, until we know exactly what Duncan plans, we must focus on monitoring both the spirit realm and the seas surrounding the city."
She let out another sigh of frustration. "If only we could guess what a ghostly captain might have planned."
Peaceful Interlude
"I think I'd like some extra ketchup," Duncan said casually, looking across the small kitchen table to Nina. "Could you pass it over?"
"Of course, Uncle Duncan," Nina replied cheerfully, reaching for the ketchup bottle and sliding it towards him.
It was midday, and Duncan and Nina sat together in the cramped kitchen above the antique shop, enjoying a simple but warm meal. Their lunch was nothing extravagant—just some crispy pancakes seasoned with salt, served alongside bowls of hearty vegetable soup. Still, both ate with a satisfaction that went beyond mere hunger.
For Nina, it had been a long time since she'd enjoyed such a peaceful meal with her uncle. His unexpected change in demeanor brought a sense of relief and joy, lifting the gloom that had long lingered over the household.
For Duncan, this was a welcome return to normalcy—an interlude of simple human warmth amidst the complex mysteries and looming threats he faced. It was worlds apart from the ghostly, eerie corridors of the Vanished.
He found himself smiling slightly as he passed back the ketchup bottle. Nina gave him a curious glance, noticing his expression.
"You're smiling," she said quietly, sounding almost hesitant. "Is everything really okay?"
Duncan nodded slowly, meeting her earnest eyes. "Yes, Nina. Everything is fine. In fact, I'm beginning to like this place."
The girl's eyes brightened visibly, and she returned his smile with genuine warmth.
"Then you'll stay? No more sudden disappearances?" she asked hopefully.
Duncan hesitated just a fraction of a second before nodding once more. "For now, at least, I'll stay."
Nina's smile widened, and she began eagerly talking about her classes, friends at school, and even trivial things like recipes and upcoming tests. Duncan listened attentively, savoring not only the simple flavors of their meal but also the quiet, mundane humanity of the moment.
Yet, even as he basked in this comforting illusion of normalcy, Duncan remained aware of the shadows gathering outside—of ghost ships, fanatic cultists, and uncertain destinies.
But for now, at this table in a small kitchen in the city of Pland, life was pleasantly simple.
He was grateful for these small moments.