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Morris’s eyes roved over the books, taking in the wide array of subjects they covered. They ranged from stories of city-states, authoritative records of past events, to the more controversial and provocative works that explored outlandish theories about the end of the world. For Morris, a seasoned scholar, the assortment both intrigued and unnerved him.

The sheer diversity of the collection hinted that Captain Duncan was on a quest for knowledge that wasn’t easily categorized. The invitation to the captain’s quarters now made sense – Duncan must’ve needed Morris’s expertise on a particular topic.

Feeling a sense of trepidation, Morris whispered a silent prayer to Lahem, the God of Wisdom, seeking his divine guidance for clarity and understanding. Subconsciously, he also caressed the multi-colored charm bracelet on his wrist, drawing comfort from it, before finally sitting down to face Duncan. “How may I assist you, Captain?” Morris inquired.

Knowing Morris’s wary look, Duncan said, “I’ve encountered some puzzles that I believe your vast knowledge might help solve.” He laughed softly, trying to ease the tension, “Relax, it might be just a query about our past.”

Could it be merely a question of history? What could be so mysterious that even the master of the Vanished ship hesitated to approach it directly?

Though Captain Duncan’s words were meant to be reassuring, Morris couldn’t help but feel the weight of the situation. To calm himself, he mentally recited Lahem’s name multiple times, invoking the god’s protective blessings. Taking a deep breath to center himself, he said, “Alright, Captain, I’m all ears.”

Duncan hesitated for a moment, noticing Morris’s heightened anxiety. He composed himself, then asked, “In all your studies, have you ever read about an event where a vast, man-made object plummeted from the sky, causing a massive fire and a blinding flash of light? Maybe this object broke apart upon impact, with its fragments spreading across various lands?”

Morris was taken aback by the question, clearly not expecting this line of inquiry. He met Duncan’s piercing gaze, momentarily stunned. “Is that the extent of your question?” he managed to ask, his voice quivering slightly.

“That sums it up,” Duncan affirmed, though he was careful not to provide too much detail, wanting an unbiased answer from Morris. “Have you come across any historical accounts that match this description?”

Still somewhat shocked by the unexpected query, Morris took a few moments to gather his thoughts. After a considerable pause, he responded, his voice filled with uncertainty, “To my knowledge, there’s nothing in the records that fits that exact scenario.”

“Are you including both the acknowledged histories and those less-accepted tales?” Duncan’s question, while persistent, wasn’t unexpected. “Considering how stories get warped over time, it’s entirely possible that this event has been embellished and turned into legend, or even incorporated into some blasphemous teachings, especially if it took place many eons ago.”

Taking a moment to consolidate his thoughts, Morris replied, “I’m quite certain of what I know. That includes the sanctioned historical accounts, the untold tales whispered in hushed tones, and even those controversial theories that many would label as heresy. I’ve yet to encounter a tale resembling what you describe. Still, the world is vast and its tales, even vaster. There might be isolated folktales or hidden chronicles that slipped my notice. But,” Morris hesitated before adding, “If such an event has eluded my knowledge, uncovering more information might prove challenging. You might consider turning to the vast collection at the Great Library of the Academy of Truth or seeking out ancient tomes in Mok and Wind Harbor.”

After processing Morris’s words, Duncan slowly nodded, “In that case, I’d like you to reach out to your scholarly peers and delve deeper. And, if it comes to it, we can initiate a dialogue with the esteemed Academy of Truth.”

The gravity in Duncan’s voice was palpable, causing Morris to acknowledge with an earnest nod. There was an air of urgency, suggesting that this was not just an academic curiosity.

Although Morris had dedicated his life to studying history, his natural thirst for knowledge was still very much alive. He ventured, “Captain, might I inquire about the root of this quest of yours?”

Taking a deep breath, Duncan finally divulged, “In truth, I’m not entirely sure. I’ve been plagued by haunting visions. Their precise meaning eludes me, but I’m convinced they bear ties to both the current state of our world and tales long forgotten.”

Nodding with understanding, Morris responded, “I’ll leave no stone unturned in my investigation.”

Morris refrained from probing Duncan further about the “visions”. He understood the need for balance in curiosity, treading the line between being uninformed and dangerously obsessed.

As Morris was about to leave, Duncan’s voice, tinged with an air of mystery, interjected, “While you search, keep the term ‘New Hope’ at the forefront of your inquiries.”

Pondering on the words, Morris speculated, “Does that refer to a ship by any chance?”

Duncan paused, then nodded slowly, a complex emotion flitting across his face, “Indeed. A ship. But not just any ship. A ship from the vast expanse of the cosmos, one that met a tragic end due to a catastrophic engine failure.”

…

Far away, in the southern port of Frost, a secret underground facility buzzed with activity. Engineers, ageless and eternally dedicated, revived practices and knowledge from fifty years prior. Dusty blueprints were pulled out from long-forgotten storage, and engineers as ancient as the designs they held gathered amidst a chaotic array of machinery, tubing, and wires, exchanging technical jargon and ideas that would sound alien to an outsider.

In the grand hall, Tyrian occupied a quiet corner, observing the flurry of activity as his team worked diligently.

“I would never have imagined these blueprints would come into play again in my existence,” mused a skeletal undead engineer, half his body augmented by intricate steam-powered devices. He held up a blueprint with a combination of bone fingers and metallic digits. “Observe these improved drainage systems and equilibrium mechanisms. The design of this submarine has evolved over time, but its foundational concept remains untouched. To descend, fill it with water, to ascend, release the water, all while maintaining balance with the ballasts positioned beneath the cabin…”

Tyrian looked over, an eyebrow raised slightly. “While I share in your enthusiasm,” he began with a tone of amusement, “I’d like to remind you of your current… condition. You’re no longer among the living.”

A dry, raspy chuckle emerged from the undead engineer, revealing a mouth of mismatched, decaying teeth. “It’s much the same really. Being undead has its own perks.” He lightly tapped the steam mechanism that powered his half-mechanical body, coaxing some stuck gears back to life. Looking towards the submarine, now surrounded by his fellow undead engineers, he let out a sigh of nostalgia. “This really makes me wonder about its creators. The thought, care, and ingenuity poured into this machine is evident. It’s a testament to their desire for it to serve a purpose.”

Tyrian, lost in thought, simply nodded. After a prolonged silence, he finally said, “Focus on your task. The submarine could be pivotal for us this time. We can’t afford errors.”

“Aye, Captain,” replied the undead, moving away. As Tyrian watched him go, he took a deep, albeit unnecessary, sigh. Suddenly, a soft glow and a faint hum emanated from a crystal ball lens adjacent to him. Lucretia’s voice playfully rang out, “Tough day at the office, dear brother? Governance isn’t as simple as piracy, now is it?”

Turning to face the slowly illuminating crystal ball, which now projected Lucretia’s image, Tyrian’s face was stoic. “I relocated this device from the ship so you could reach out during crises, not for casual banter.”

Lucretia’s laughter filled the space. “You’re not the feared pirate anymore, dear Brother. As a governor, one must strike a balance between gravitas and affability.” Her playful demeanor shifted as she leaned in, her eyes searching, “I’m genuinely curious. Is this truly the doing of our father?”

Heaving another sigh, Tyrian answered, “What else could it be? Father’s managed to make monumental changes here. The entirety of Frost is now under his sway. I find solace in believing he’s regained his lost humanity. And while his plans have caught me off guard, they’re not entirely unwelcome. Both Frost and the Mist Fleet are now in good hands.”

Lucretia’s usually playful demeanor shifted as her teasing smile faded. With a thoughtful expression, she hesitated for a moment before voicing her concern, “How is father these days? Is he… truly well?”

Tyrian nodded, offering a reassuring glance. “He’s thriving. On the Vanished, he spends most of his time either indulging in fishing or tending to a dove. Meanwhile, his avatar in Frost enjoys a serene walk in the local park every morning. In the afternoons, he oversees the engineering projects here. If it would put your mind at ease, next time he’s around, I could activate the crystal ball. Then, you could converse with him directly.”

“No, no! That won’t be necessary!” Lucretia’s response was swift and a tad louder than she intended. Collecting herself, she adopted her usual poised posture and added, “I… I need to mentally prepare for such an interaction. Let’s put that aside for now. There’s a considerable amount on my plate here, after all.”

Curiosity piqued, Tyrian’s eyebrow arched. “What might you be so preoccupied with over there?” he inquired, taking the opportunity to press on another matter of interest. “On that note, how has your research been progressing? Any updates on that ‘fragment’ that reportedly plummeted from the heavens?”

Lucretia hesitated, momentarily lost in thought. She had hoped to steer the conversation away from this topic, but now, faced with the question, she exhaled a heavy sigh of resignation.

“We haven’t made any significant breakthroughs,” she admitted, her tone tinged with frustration. “Even Taran El, the esteemed scholar from Wind Harbor, is completely stumped.”