Alice's panicked shout echoed strangely across the fragmented space, fading into unsettling silence. Duncan stood motionless for several long seconds, staring with quiet astonishment at the impossible scene before him.
The deepest chamber of the Vanished, the structure that should have lain safely submerged beneath the waters of the Boundless Sea, was utterly shattered. Massive sections of wooden decking and bulkheads floated silently, suspended like shattered islands amid an expanse of pale, ethereal nothingness. Each broken piece maintained its general orientation and spacing, as though the ship, despite being torn apart, stubbornly clung to the shape and arrangement of its original hull.
Through the gaps and fissures, an unsettling vista was clearly visible—an endless expanse of dull white emptiness, punctuated only by flickers of indistinct shadows flitting past at the very edge of perception, never fully taking shape. It was neither sea nor sky, but rather an otherworldly void, tinged with eerie luminescence.
Alice finally managed to speak coherently, her voice small and frightened. "Captain…what is this? Shouldn't we…shouldn't we be sinking right now?"
"Don't panic," Duncan replied, more calmly than he actually felt. "We're not sinking. If we were, we wouldn't be talking now."
"But…" Alice's silver eyes widened, her gaze darting around the surreal spectacle. "The hull! It's broken! It's more holes than wood—how are we still afloat?"
"Because we're not in the water," Duncan murmured slowly, realization dawning in his tone. "This isn't the sea…or rather, not the sea we know."
Alice gave him a bewildered glance, visibly distressed. "What does that mean?"
Duncan paused thoughtfully, adjusting his grip on the lantern, its green fire burning steadily brighter in response to his unease. "The Vanished sails on the Boundless Sea above," he explained carefully, gesturing to the warped space surrounding them. "But here, beneath the waterline… I think we're looking at the place the ship actually exists—the space between realities, or perhaps at the border of our dimension."
Alice swallowed nervously, nodding as though she barely understood. "So…so this is normal?"
Duncan gave her a wry look. "Absolutely not. But perhaps normality isn't the right word to use aboard a ghost ship."
Alice wrapped her arms around herself tightly, edging closer to Duncan. "What about those shadows? Are they…dangerous?"
Duncan studied the shifting shapes carefully. They moved restlessly, always at the corner of his eye, remaining indistinct even when he turned to face them directly. "I don't think so—at least not right now. They seem more like echoes or reflections than actual creatures."
Alice shivered again. "Then why can't I shake the feeling we're being watched?"
Duncan had no comforting answer. He stepped cautiously forward, testing the footing beneath him. Remarkably, the splintered deck segments, despite hovering above nothingness, felt solid and stable underfoot. Carefully, he walked toward the nearest opening in the shattered hull to gain a clearer view of the bizarre landscape beyond.
As he approached, he extended the lantern through the rift, illuminating the void outside more clearly. Immediately, he felt a strange sensation—a subtle resistance, as if pushing through an invisible barrier. The space beyond shifted slightly, the pale emptiness rippling gently around the lantern's green glow.
"Remarkable," he murmured quietly. "The boundary here isn't fully open. It feels like there's some kind of barrier or membrane keeping us separated from whatever is outside. The hull, despite its shattered appearance, still marks a distinct limit."
Alice stared at him incredulously. "Captain, please tell me you're not about to stick your hand out there."
"I wasn't planning on it," Duncan assured her, pulling back slightly and turning to face her. "At least, not yet."
Alice gave a relieved sigh. "Thank goodness."
"Still," Duncan added thoughtfully, "it means this layer of the ship functions as a sort of interface between our world and somewhere else. The structure here…perhaps it's always been like this. Not broken by accident, but intentionally constructed—or rather, adapted—to act as a conduit or anchor point."
Alice blinked several times, trying to follow. "You're saying someone built this on purpose?"
"Maybe not initially," Duncan said slowly, his mind working through possibilities. "But after whatever event transformed the Vanished, this place became a sort of dimensional anchor. It's why the ship can drift between realities without being destroyed, without losing coherence entirely."
Alice frowned deeply. "That sounds awfully dangerous."
"It is dangerous. But consider the alternative—adrift completely without an anchor would be infinitely worse." Duncan's voice lowered, growing serious. "Without this 'fractured' hull holding us together, we might drift apart into nothingness."
Alice shuddered visibly, stepping even closer. "That's comforting."
Duncan gave her a dry, reassuring smile. "Don't worry. It seems stable enough, despite appearances. The ship's been sailing like this far longer than either of us has been aboard. And remember: as long as I'm here, I can maintain control."
Alice nodded slowly, visibly relaxing somewhat at his confidence. "You really do seem to understand this ship."
Duncan hesitated briefly, then shrugged. "Let's just say the ship and I have started understanding each other."
They began to explore the fractured chamber further, carefully walking along the floating deck fragments, always careful to stay away from the dangerously thin gaps leading into the void. As they moved, Duncan felt more clearly the subtle resonance between himself and the Vanished. Each step he took seemed to restore the chaotic fragments to a more stable alignment. His mere presence was enough to soothe the restless energies contained within the shattered hull.
It was an oddly satisfying feeling, as though he were taming an ancient and powerful creature simply by acknowledging its existence.
Finally, they arrived at the far end of the fragmented hull, where the deck pieces ended abruptly in a wide-open space, revealing another massive rift beyond which nothing but emptiness stretched infinitely. Duncan held the lantern aloft, the eerie green fire casting wavering shadows onto the pale, formless background beyond the breach.
Alice looked anxiously into the endless nothingness, voice barely above a whisper. "How far do you think this goes?"
"Maybe infinitely," Duncan answered honestly, staring thoughtfully into the pale void. "Or perhaps it loops back upon itself, creating a self-contained pocket dimension beneath the Vanished."
Alice shivered again. "I don't like the idea of an infinite emptiness beneath our feet."
"Neither do I," Duncan said softly, his expression hardening. "But the good news is that this emptiness obeys some rules, or at least some logic that we can learn and use. It's not entirely chaotic. And as long as we're aboard the ship, we remain anchored."
Alice glanced up at him. "You sound so sure."
Duncan met her gaze, his expression calm and resolute. "I'm sure of my ship."
Alice managed a small, nervous smile, clearly bolstered by his steady confidence. "I believe you, Captain."
Duncan nodded once, satisfied. He took one final glance around the fractured, floating remnants of the hull, memorizing the strange vista etched forever into his memory.
"Come," he finally said, turning back toward the entryway. "We've seen enough for now. Let's return to the upper decks."
Alice was visibly relieved at the suggestion, eager to leave the eerie fractured realm behind. They made their way carefully back along the splintered deck pieces, retracing their steps until the solid hull once again surrounded them. Passing through the door marked as the "Last Door," Duncan gently closed it behind them, its heavy wood settling with a reassuring thud.
Only then did Alice finally relax fully, letting out a long, relieved breath. "Let's not go down there again for a while."
"Agreed," Duncan replied mildly, though inwardly he knew he would be returning—sooner rather than later. The mysteries hidden beneath the Vanished were vast, perhaps as vast as the Boundless Sea itself, and he was now more determined than ever to uncover every secret they held.
After all, as the captain, understanding his ship meant understanding himself. And in a world as perilous as theirs, understanding oneself was perhaps the greatest advantage of all.