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Seeing the confusion in her eyes, Duncan replied with conviction, “It’s a logical move. You’re the saint of the Storm Goddess and a recognized inquisitor of Pland. Who better to help?”

Vanna retorted, slightly defensive, “But I’m no longer an inquisitor. That title was stripped from me.”

Duncan responded, trying to assuage her worries, “That was a private decision made by your Pope, wasn’t it? In the public eye, your role hasn’t wavered.”

His words took Vanna by surprise. She had always functioned within the confines of her position, and the thought of exploiting such nuances was foreign to her. Duncan’s proposition seemed to dance on the edge of what was ethical. Searching for words, Vanna started, “This method… I’m uncertain if it’s morally justifiable…”

Duncan, not letting her trail off, interjected with a sense of urgency, “The White Oak is in desperate need to be legally recognized again. The Vanished Fleet has been long estranged from the modern world. Surely, you wouldn’t want us to forever remain an enigmatic specter across the globe. Transforming the perception of the once-feared Vanished Fleet can be a monumental achievement. As a revered saint of the Storm Goddess, isn’t it your duty to champion such causes?”

His words left Vanna ruminating, the weight of the decision bearing down on her. However, before she could reply, she was interrupted by an eerie, echoing bell that rang only in her ears.

Vanna’s eyes widened in realization, and she whispered, mostly to herself, “The summoning bell… it’s from the Grand Storm Cathedral. They’re calling upon the saints. But why do I still hear its summons, especially concerning the Tomb of the Nameless King?”

From a distance, Duncan’s voice seemed muffled by the resonance of the bell, “What’s going on?”

With a hint of astonishment, she replied, “I’m being summoned. But I don’t understand why I can still hear it…”

Duncan’s eyebrow quirked upwards in surprise, “Isn’t that expected? You still hold the esteemed title of a saint within the Storm Church.”

Vanna’s expression clouded with doubt, her brow furrowed deeply, “I was under the impression that once I stepped foot on the Vanished, the Church would sever ties with me.”

Duncan detected a slight hint in Vanna’s voice suggesting that by boarding the Vanished, she might have been considered a part of a rogue or even pirate crew. Clearing his throat, he responded evenly, “Don’t jump to conclusions. If the Grand Storm Cathedral is beckoning you, then perhaps you should head to the prayer room. And if by any chance you find yourself in the presence of Pope Helena, perhaps you could mention the matter of obtaining a pass for the White Oak.”

Though Vanna looked like she had a flurry of questions to unleash, she managed to restrain herself. The relentless ringing of the bell in her mind made her nod hastily at Duncan before she made her way to the ship’s cabin area.

Many of the rooms aboard the Vanished were unoccupied. Thanks to the generosity of the ship’s captain, Vanna had repurposed one of the cabins into a sacred space of worship. Ideally, this room would serve as a conduit for her to connect spiritually and participate in the church’s “Assembly.”

Duncan watched Vanna’s retreating figure, waiting until she was entirely out of sight before shifting his gaze. He noticed Alice, who had come aboard the Vanished with him. She was preoccupied with filling a large barrel with water, presumably to clean the deck. He let out a soft sigh, muttering, “She’s certainly not easy to deceive.”

As his thoughts wandered, he reached into the barrel and retrieved the amulet carved by Vanna from the unique sea-breath wood.

Though the amulet wasn’t especially ornate, the craftsmanship was evident. As Duncan toyed with it, standing at the ship’s edge, he hoped Vanna would make her return soon.

In the quiet lull, Duncan’s mind raced, sorting through the vast intelligence he’d amassed, notably the new insights he’d gained from the White Oak.

The sprawling shadow beneath the ocean’s surface, the entity known as Martha, and the evolving nature of the hybrid weighed heavily on his mind.

Duncan’s imagination painted vivid images: the vast shadow morphing and solidifying into the figure of Martha, and a surreal vision of a peculiar “fish” he once imagined.

His gaze was pulled to the vast expanse of the sea. It was a mysterious realm, with waves that resembled flowing curtains, concealing countless secrets. As he mused, he considered the unpredictability of fishing – the uncertainty of what one might catch.

And Duncan had certainly reeled in an unexpected “fish.”

A somber mood took hold of Duncan. He carefully placed the carved amulet back into the barrel and instead picked up a raw, unshaped piece of the sea-breath wood.

He held it up, examining it closely. Then, with a gravitas that almost seemed out of place, he remarked, “This… resembles a McDonald’s cheeseburger…”

The piece of wood remained inert, revealing no secrets or powers.

Duncan scrutinized the wood for some time, his hopes dashed. He cracked a self-deprecating grin, glancing surreptitiously around to ensure he hadn’t been witnessed in his somewhat silly moment of hopefulness. With a resigned shrug, he threw the wood back to its original spot.

“Magic isn’t child’s play… What’s the real secret behind it…” he mused aloud.

……

Simultaneously, deep within the bowels of the Vanished, Vanna was hastily preparing the ritualistic setting in a secluded cabin.

She carefully bolted the cabin door, ensuring she wouldn’t be interrupted. She then took a moment to review her hasty but carefully thought-out ceremonial layout.

Typically, a summoning response required the specialized “Tide Chambers” in churches that were designed to establish a potent psychic link. Yet, aboard the Vanished, with its limited resources, improvisation was essential. Vanna had placed her frequently used prayer book nearby, treating it as a spiritual “anchor” tethering her to sacred grounds. In the room’s center, she ignited a large candelabra, using it as a substitute for a proper ceremonial fire basin. Nearby, she positioned bottles of consecrated oil and incense she had previously purchased from various city-states. These acted as symbolic “offerings”, intended to amplify the ritual’s potency, even if it was just enough to establish the required psychic connection.

Honestly, her set-up was a far cry from the stringent standards of proper religious ceremonies and bordered on being irreverent. But she had little choice given her circumstances.

The insistent bell chimes in her consciousness persisted, echoing continuously, seemingly demanding her response. They seemed relentless, almost as if they wouldn’t stop until she answered their call.

“…May the goddess have mercy on my soul… Had I known, I would have secured finer sanctified oil,” Vanna whispered to herself. Steeling her nerves, she delicately poured the holy oil and essence into the candelabrum.

As the flames soared, she closed her eyes, taking a deep, calming breath…

A vast, ancient expanse, reminiscent of a starlit night sky, seemed to stretch out before her. Luminescent tendrils of light danced around countless majestic pillars. Amidst the vast expanse of ruins and ancient structures, shadowy figures began to materialize one after another.

Only after everyone seemed to have arrived did Vanna’s spiritual projection appear noticeably tardy.

A fleeting wave of dizziness and momentary disorientation made her stand still, getting her bearings. Once grounded, she assessed herself and the other beings’ forms.

“This was more seamless than I anticipated…” she whispered, genuinely taken aback.

She had held modest expectations about the success of the ritual, especially considering she was aboard the Vanished and had used a makeshift altar and a candelabrum instead of a Tide Chamber. Yet, everything had gone off without a hitch.

Her reflections were disrupted by an approaching figure.

As she raised her eyes, she identified the silhouette and its distinct energy — it was Bishop Valentine, a figure from her past she hadn’t encountered in ages.

“Vanna, you’ve arrived at last!” The bishop’s voice, aged but familiar, was tinged with a mix of relief and happiness. “I was unsure if you would make it…”

“I honestly didn’t think I’d make it,” Vanna confessed, her voice revealing a hint of self-consciousness. “Did the assembly have to wait because of me? I had to cobble together a makeshift ritual on the fly. It consumed a good deal of time…”

“Rest assured, you weren’t the sole reason for our delayed start,” Bishop Valentine responded reassuringly. “Oddly enough, even Her Holiness the Pope hasn’t arrived yet.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper, punctuated by a curious undertone, “Tell me, are you still aboard that ship?”

“Indeed, I am ‘on the ship’,” Vanna whispered back, matching his hushed tone and glancing around warily, “In fact, just moments ago, I was engrossed in a conversation with the ship’s ‘Captain’.”

Bishop Valentine’s brows knitted together, an expression of disbelief evident on his features. “Did the Captain genuinely allow you to establish a prayer room aboard the ship?” he inquired. “Moreover, are you telling me you successfully established a psychic link from the ship? Did you chance upon some potent artifact?”

Vanna’s cheeks flushed a shade of pink as she replied, “It’s merely a rudimentary sacred space. To be honest, I was skeptical about its effectiveness…”

“Merely a basic sacred space?” Valentine began to probe further, but his words were suddenly drowned out by a resonating rumble emanating from the square’s heart.

As the ground vibrated, the ancient and revered Tomb of the Nameless King began its ascension from the square’s center. A reverent hush settled over the assembly of saints, their attention riveted on the massive, gray, pyramid-like edifice.

Drawn to the moment, Vanna’s gaze landed unwaveringly on the formidable doors set into the pyramid’s base.

Gradually, with an air of anticipation, the doors creaked open to reveal a guardian mummy. This eerie sentinel, suspended between realms of life and the afterlife, emerged. A palpable tension seized Vanna’s heart, only to heighten as the looming figure made a beeline directly towards her, causing whispers to spread like wildfire amongst the assembly.

This was the third instance where the Tomb Guardian had singled out the same “Listener” for communication.

Yet, in the midst of this recognition, Vanna experienced a strange sense of familiarity, even… comfort. She offered an apologetic shrug towards Valentine, her gesture conveying a sense of resignation. Taking a deep breath, she stepped forward, bracing herself for the impending encounter.

The looming, skeletal guardian neared, its deep-set, murky yellow eyes settling on Vanna’s figure.

“Good afternoon,” it intoned in a voice as old as time, “Please, accompany me.”