The silence in the room was heavy, broken only by the faint creaking of the ship's wooden hull as it slid slowly through the stillness. Silas Vane sat with his usual composure on his old-fashioned chair, back straight and legs crossed, a massive, heavy book resting on his thigh.
It was no ordinary book. Its rusty cover felt cold, as if forged from unknown alloys, and its pages were not made of fragile paper, but of a strange material, smooth as silk yet tough as metal. He called it The Anchor Log. In his right hand, he held a finely crafted brass stylus, jotting down notes and characters that shimmered with a faint light on the dark pages.
The only light in the room came from a gas lamp hanging on the wall, casting long, dancing shadows over the furniture; oil paintings of unfamiliar landscapes, and velvet carpets covering the wooden floor.
Silas heard faint footsteps, so quiet they could only belong to someone skilled in silent killing. The steps drew closer, but he didn't lift his eyes from the book. His hand didn't stop writing, even when he felt the air shift behind him.
"You have five seconds to tell me who you are... and why I shouldn't kill you."
The voice was cold, devoid of any emotion, right next to his left ear. Silas's stylus stopped moving. He felt the cold touch of metal against his neck. The blade pressed gently, enough to break the skin if he so much as swallowed nervously.
But he didn't flinch. His pulse didn't quicken. He adjusted his round glasses with his middle finger in a calm manner and spoke in a steady voice:
"First, because I am the one steering this ship, and without me, you would remain lost in this fog forever. And second..."
He sketched a faint, sad smile at the corner of his mouth:
"...because I am the only person who knows exactly how much honey you like in your tea, Elyra."
The grip behind him tightened, and the blade pressed harder against his neck until a drop of blood threatened to spill. She wasn't joking. Her gaze pierced his back with deadly coldness.
Silas sighed, and with a quick but non-threatening movement, he flipped the thick pages of the log backward. He stopped at a specific page, and despite the imminent threat to his life, began to read in a melodious, rhythmic voice.
At that moment, something strange happened. As Silas spoke the words, another faint voice intertwined with his, an ethereal sound with no source, reciting the same verses in unison, like an echo from another world:
"Day 412...
The fog split like a torn veil,
As ships rose in a distant trail.
We sat on the sand, time stealing away,
Watching a sun that refused the day.
You said: I am the sword, you are the guide,
And our promise of staying shall never subside."
The echo of the two intertwined voices resonated in the room, and with every line, Silas felt the pressure on his neck ease.
Clang...
The sword, with its brass hilt adorned in intricate engravings, fell to the wooden floor with a resounding noise. Elyra stumbled back and collapsed onto the chair opposite him, burying her head in her hands as she rubbed her forehead in pain.
"Those were your words, Elyra... Do you remember now?" Silas asked, gently closing the book as the other voice faded away.
Elyra lifted her head. She was a girl of breathtaking beauty. Her skin was porcelain white, her eyes black as a starless night, and her lips stained the color of dark wine. Her long silver hair cascaded over her shoulders. Her figure was captivating, yet it was not that of a girl who sat before mirrors, but of one who had trained for long years. And on her neck, a prominent old scar stood out, a trace of a past slaughter attempt.
"It happened again..." she whispered in a trembling voice, rubbing her temple. "Ever since we entered this place, I feel unwell... I feel like we're going to get lost here without ever reaching anywhere."
Silas stood up and walked toward a copper teapot resting on a silver tray in the corner. He lifted the pot high and poured the hot tea into a porcelain cup with precision to present it to her.
"How long has it been?" she asked, watching his movements with confusion.
"Two months since you last lost your memory," Silas answered, handing her the cup, ignoring her implied question about the current time. "Don't worry, I think we'll arrive soon. If we don't find anything in two days, we'll turn back."
Silas turned toward a large pendulum clock hanging on the wall. The hands moved silently, pointing to five, but no one knew if it was dawn or afternoon, for the darkness outside was eternal.
He thought to himself: Does that island truly exist? I don't know... damn it, doubt is starting to creep in.
Elyra took the tea, took a sip, then set the cup aside and left the room without another word.
The past four days had passed heavily and slowly. The ship roamed through pitch darkness and suffocatingly thick fog without reaching a destination. Silas had already decided that in two days, he would abandon his pursuit of this island. Even he didn't really know what awaited him there; all he knew was a vague impulse driving him to find someone in this void.
Silas went to his bed, thinking of the unknown island on one hand, and Elyra's condition on the other, until sleep overcame him and he drifted off.
BEEEEEEEEEEP!
The loud sound of the ship's whistle pierced Silas's room, causing him to wake up in a panic.
He quickly put on his round glasses and long brown coat. He looked at the clock; it read eleven.
Have we finally arrived?
An anxious smile formed on his face as he grabbed his cane and rushed out the door toward the deck.
He was a young man of twenty-three, with brown hair and an elegant appearance, wearing a white shirt and brown trousers under his coat; he didn't look like the captain of a lost ship.
"Elyra!"
Silas saw Elyra standing there at the edge, staring blankly ahead.
She turned to him. "Silas... there's nothing here. Nothing is visible."
The ship seemed to be sailing in a void of fog and darkness. Even the faint light from the lamps looked like dust suspended in the dark sea.
The ship continued to sound its whistle, and Silas's mind buzzed with thoughts.
I see nothing here... Is the signal from the ship wrong? I don't think so... but how can anyone live here? Well, I have no choice but to wait.
The situation remained quiet for several terrifying minutes, and the two moved closer, shoulder to shoulder, waiting to see what would happen.
CRUNCH!
The sound of the ship hitting sand, followed by a sudden stop. They had docked on some land.
Silas pointed his cane forward, and after pressing a button on the upper side, a strong white light shot out, slicing through the gloom to see where they were.
But the light did not reveal a quiet shore.
As soon as the light pierced the fog, the silence was suddenly shattered.
From the depth of the darkness in front of them, terrifying screams erupted, overlapping, shrill, and piercing, as if thousands of throats were screaming in their faces at once to scare them away.
Silas and Elyra froze in place as the screaming intensified, drawing closer to them from the heart of the fog.