Lying in my resting pod inside the dorm of the ship, I silently stared at the ceiling, the ship's gentle hum vibrating through the walls as we cut through the purple sea. The ceiling of the dormitory was a blank slate, my mind mirroring its emptiness. I tried to lose myself in the monotony, to drown out the noise of my thoughts. Even after proving her wrong, all she did was leave the room when the energy of it had peaked. What was her issue?
Turning my head to the side, I noticed one of the crew members pacing around the dorm. He walked with deliberate steps, tracing an invisible pattern on the floor. His movements were methodical, almost meditative. I recognized this ritual – it was a practice of the Temporalists.
The Temporalists believed in the practice of temporal walks, a form of praying that involved pacing back and forth, symbolizing the journey through time and the endless cycles of existence. Unlike many religions that fixate on an afterlife or another plane of existence, the Temporalists held a starkly different view. They rejected the notion of any reality beyond the one we live in. To them, the material world was all there was, and all there would ever be.
They believed in the return of an unnamed prophet, a figure who had walked through potential epochs and singularities centuries ago. This prophet had returned to his village, claiming that all religions were wrong because he had seen the other side and found nothing there. His memories of past lives were his testament, but the villagers had branded him a heretic and executed him for blasphemy.
The Temporalists awaited his return, convinced that he would come back to rebuild the world once it had collapsed completely.
I turned my attention from the crew member's ritual to the small, round window of the dorm. The night sky was clear, a dark expanse dotted with countless stars. With the scene set in front of my eyes, I let my mind drift through thoughts for my future.
This big operation, delivering these high-value equipment, is definitely much more different than what I'm used to. It felt like it had been ages since I first met Ash, Kath, and the others. We had come a long way together, facing more than our fair share of dangers and hardships.
After this operation, I'd likely go back to working solo. The idea didn't bother me much; Being alone allowed me to move at my own pace, make my own decisions without the complications that came with being part of a group.
I wondered how I would get back to my usual routes once this job was over. We were going thousands of miles away from my typical stomping grounds. I doubt Clockwork would provide transport for me to get back. I'd likely have to find my own way. The uncertainty of it all was daunting, but it was also part of the job.
Just as I was sinking into those thoughts, my attention was stolen by a spectacular display outside the window. A massive swarm of Thallassarks, insect-like creatures with bioluminescent wings, was flying in intricate formations. They travelled in enormous groups, their wings glowing with an ethereal light that shimmered.
At night, they imitated the swirling patterns of a singularity, creating an illusion of a space blizzard. This remarkable display was their primary defense mechanism, designed to scare off potential predators. The Thallassarks' wings were like stained glass windows, each one refracting the starlight and blending together to create a view many would like to see.
After watching the display of the Thallassarks, I decided I needed some fresh air before resting. Forcing myself to sleep clearly wasn't working. I got up from my pod, noticing that the crew member who had been praying had long since fallen asleep.
Quietly, I made my way to the exit, opening the door as soon as I reached it. The door swung open, and I was immediately met with a blast of intense wind and rain. The ship was rolling left and right, tilting to degrees of almost capsizing. Sheets of rain pelted down, and the howling wind was deafening. The skies were dark and angry, flashes of lightning illuminating the roiling clouds.
I stood there, bewildered and confused. Just moments ago, I had seen clear skies and a calm ocean. The ship had been steady, not shaking at all. The storm seemed to have come out of nowhere. I struggled to make sense of it, gripping the doorframe to steady myself against the force of the wind.
As I stood at the doorframe, clinging to the cold metal for stability, I squinted through the sheets of rain and the howling wind. In the distance, at the bow of the ship, I noticed a solitary figure standing against the fury of the storm. The figure was cloaked in a long coat, the fabric whipping wildly around them. The darkness made it nearly impossible to discern any details.
The figure seemed to sense my presence. It turned its head slightly, and for a brief moment, a flash of lightning illuminated the scene. The light revealed a white mask, stark and ghostly against the dark backdrop. Unlike the crude masks the bandits had worn earlier, this one was different—more chiseled and detailed, adorned with intricate engravings of circles. The figure didn't move, maintaining its stance as if challenging the storm itself. Our eyes—or at least what I imagined were their eyes behind the mask—met for a fleeting second.
Without any further acknowledgment, the figure turned its back to me and faced the storm once more. They raised both arms toward the roiling clouds as if in some kind of ritualistic gesture. The rain seemed to intensify, the wind howling even louder, almost as if responding to the figure's silent command.
The figure at the bow stood motionless for what felt like an eternity, their arms still outstretched. Then, with a sudden, violent motion, they began to lower their hands as if trying to slam the floor. Just before their hands reached the deck, a deafening crack of thunder split the air, and a blinding flash of lightning illuminated the scene.
In that instant, everything changed. The moment the flash passes, I found myself in the exact pose and in the exact spot where the figure had been standing. The masked figure was gone, and it was just me, alone in the midst of the raging storm.
The wind still howled around me, but something was different. I looked around and noticed the raindrops suspended in mid-air, as if it had forgotten how to fall. Before it was too late, I noticed my breath was getting shorter too. I gasped, trying to draw in air, but it felt like my lungs were being squeezed. The realization hit me with a jolt. I was in the midst of a blizzard.
