Deep Sea Ember

The Lost Home

Second, aside from the aforementioned professional factors, there was another crucial problem hindering his seafaring journey—he couldn't sail a ship.

Duncan was a little anxious. He tried to imagine what would happen if he asked this strange and noisy goat-headed man for advice on ship piloting techniques, and the more he imagined it, the more anxious he became.

However, the goat-headed creature was unaware of its captain's thoughts. It simply asked, "Captain, what concerns do you have? If you're worried about the Lost Home, you can rest assured; the Lost Home is always ready to sail with you to the ends of the earth. Or are you worried that today's departure is unlucky? I have some knowledge of divination; which method do you prefer? Celestial phenomena, incense, crystals—anything will do. Speaking of crystals, do you remember…"

Duncan strained his facial muscles, suppressing the urge to fight the goat-headed creature to the death, and said in a deep voice, "I'll go to the deck to observe the situation—you stay here quietly."

"As you wish—but I must remind you, the Lost Home has been drifting aimlessly for too long. You must take control of it as soon as possible and get this voyage back on track…"

the goat-headed creature said, and then, with the sound of wood rubbing together, it finally returned to its initial position.

Duncan instantly felt the whole world quiet down.

He breathed a sigh of relief, the resonance in his mind gradually calming down, then picked up the flintlock pistol on the table, got up, and left the captain's cabin.

He found the rather old flintlock pistol while exploring the ship, along with a one-handed sword, which was currently hanging at his waist. These two items were his source of security while navigating the ship.

Over the past few days, he had spent considerable time roughly learning how to use them—even though, so far, he hadn't encountered any living beings on the ship besides himself.

Talking "objects" didn't count.

The salty sea breeze swept over him, calming Duncan's slightly agitated mind. He went to the deck outside the captain's cabin and subconsciously looked up at the sky. Thick, dark

clouds still covered the sky as far as the eye could see, obscuring the sun, moon, and stars; only a murky light shrouded the boundless sea.

This scene had persisted for a long time; in fact, since the day Duncan arrived on the ship, this was the only sky he had ever seen—it even made him wonder if normal weather didn't exist in this world at all, and whether this overcast sky was the eternal celestial phenomenon of this sea.

Duncan turned around and saw the captain's cabin door standing silently there. Above the door, a line of text was engraved in some unfamiliar letters, but when his gaze fell upon it, its meaning was immediately and clearly imprinted in his mind:

"Gate of the Lost."

"Gate of the Lost…the Lost City," Duncan muttered to himself, then added with a touch of self-mockery, "This ship certainly has a good name."

He then walked around the captain's cabin and up the stairs along the edge of the deck to the upper deck at the stern. There, on a wooden platform, was the most expansive view on the entire ship besides the lookout tower.

A heavy black helm waited silently on the platform for the helmsman.

Duncan frowned. For some reason, he suddenly felt a sense of urgency and anxiety, a feeling that seemed to arise out of nowhere the moment he saw the helm.

He had never felt this way on his previous visits here!

As if in response to his growing anxiety, a sudden, chaotic gust of wind swept across the deck, instantly stirring the previously calm sea. Although the waves weren't expected to significantly impact the massive "Lost Home," Duncan's alarm bells rang. The next second, driven by instinct, he looked towards the bow of the ship.

Directly ahead of the Lost Home, in that hazy expanse between sea and sky, an endless, seemingly impenetrable wall of white mist appeared out of thin air, causing his eyes to widen instantly!

It was a white mist that seemed to encircle and isolate the entire world, pressing down like a sheer cliff connecting heaven and earth. But more alarming than its terrifying scale was the fact that it instantly reminded him of the endless fog outside his bachelor apartment window!

The Lost Home was heading straight towards that wall of mist!

Duncan didn't know what the thick fog was, nor what lay at its depths, but he instinctively sensed immense danger. His survival instinct told him that being swallowed by that fog would be disastrous!

He instinctively rushed towards the platform where the helm was located—a profound sense of powerlessness washed over him at the same time: even at the helm, how could he, alone, steer this massive ship away from that wall of fog?

But he still instinctively reached the wheel, and almost simultaneously, he heard a hoarse, sinister voice coming from a copper pipe connecting the wheel to the captain's cabin. It was the voice of "Goat Head"—this time, the eerie creature's tone was surprisingly panicked:

"Captain, a border collapse has occurred ahead! We are approaching the limits of reality! Please adjust course immediately!"

Hearing Goat Head's panicked voice, Duncan almost cursed—adjusting course is easier said than done! Conjure up a hundred or so skilled sailors to get this thing moving!

He glanced up again at the masts ahead, seeing only a few bare masts standing on the deck. A wave of sorrow washed over him—there were no sails, in fact, the ship had none at all; those masts were empty! In his

emotional turmoil, he didn't even bother to consider the strange words the goat-head had just uttered. Instinctively, he grabbed the helm, which seemed to be trembling slightly. For

the first time in days, he had placed his hand on the helm of the Lost Home—the strange circumstances on the ship and the goat-head's repeated urging had made him hesitant and resistant to taking the helm. Now, however, he had no time to hesitate.

He gripped the helm tightly, his mind blank, unable to even conceive of how to single-handedly steer an empty, ghostly ship.

The change happened in the next instant.

A sound like a mountain collapsing and a tsunami crashing down on Duncan's mind, as if ten thousand cheering people were standing on the shore seeing off a ship, as if hundreds of sailors were shouting the captain's name on deck, interspersed with desolate ship's songs and invisible, raging waves.

A green flame appeared at the edge of his vision. Duncan subconsciously looked at his palm and saw a ball of emerald fire suddenly burst forth from the rudder of the Lost Home, sweeping over with astonishing speed and spreading throughout his body in the blink of an eye.

In the raging flames, his flesh and blood suddenly became hollow and illusory. The captain's uniform became tattered and worn, as if it had been soaked in seawater for decades or centuries. And beneath the flesh and blood that suddenly became as ethereal as a spirit, Duncan could even vaguely see his own bones—flames leaping on those crystal-clear bones, an inextinguishable fire flowing through his body like water.

Yet he felt no pain or burning sensation; amidst the raging flames, he only felt his senses spreading in all directions.

Fire swept down from the bridge, engulfing the deck, the gunwales, and the masts, the flames weaving like a net, rising from the deck like breath, spreading along the lonely mast, finally weaving into a vast, veil-like sail between the sea and the fog. The

Lost Home set sail, before this rapidly collapsing border of reality.