Some time had passed on the ship with red sails docked at the black beach. Calm had returned to the place after the brief chaos; those unfortunates who had been cast out to become the new homeless were now scattered. Most had run away into the fog with empty memories and hearts full of terror, and those who suffered minor injuries from the fall crawled away, while the majority remained unharmed thanks to the shallow water and soft sand.
Captain Jackson stood at the edge of the ship, blowing cigar smoke with boredom, his eyes scanning the gray horizon.
"By the way..." Jackson said suddenly without turning around, "What was wrong with that ship glowing green in the middle of the sea? I didn't like the look of it."
He was addressing two of his crewmen who had just disembarked, struggling to carry two heavy copper boxes.
One of them answered, adjusting the box on his shoulder: "We'll know when Virgo and the others return, since you sent them to check it out, Captain."
Jackson spat the cigar onto the sand and said sharply: "You didn't have to remind me, you bastard, I know that. But I think they are late in catching up with us... and that doesn't bode well."
The captain stopped speaking suddenly, standing rigid as he looked ahead, as if he glimpsed something coming from the depth of the island.
"They've arrived..." he whispered faintly.
Two figures advanced toward them through the thick fog. They were not homeless, nor did they resemble anything familiarly human. They wore long, ivory-white robes designed in a way that made the fabric drape like liquid, taking the shape of a faceless ghost. Their faces were covered with smooth white masks, showing no eyes or mouths, just an ivory void. They moved toward the pirates with steady, completely silent steps.
"You're late to welcome us..." Jackson hummed sarcastically, adjusting his collar. "I see the Supervisor didn't bother coming himself to welcome Captain Jackson."
The two men in white suits showed no reaction and spoke no words. They stood before the two crewmen and extended their gloved white hands to receive the boxes.
The boxes were artifacts of a strange and unsettling kind. Heavy copper containers, with rounded corners protected by metal fittings, bound by small pressure cylinders and precise gears rotating very slowly, emitting a faint tick-tock sound. In the lid of each box was a thick, convex glass window, behind which swirled a dense, glowing blue fog, moving without a fixed shape like a trapped spirit trying to escape.
The two men in the ghostly suits carried the boxes with unexpected lightness and turned to return the way they came.
Captain Jackson moved behind them immediately.
When the other two pirates tried to follow him, one of the white-clad men stopped, slowly raising his hand, signaling them to halt and go back. It was a commanding gesture that brooked no argument.
Jackson waved his hand to his men: "You go back and wait on the ship until Virgo returns. I will go with them alone."
He said it with a confident smile and continued his way behind the white ghosts until the fog swallowed them, and they disappeared from sight.
///
On the other side of the beach, Silas and Elyra were walking in a straight line along the strip separating the sea from the black sand. Finding their docked ship amidst this pitch darkness was like looking for a needle in a haystack, so they decided that walking along the water's edge was the safest way not to get lost in the depths.
Moros had told them about the location of the "scrapyard" before parting ways with his sarcastic manner. The place was on the exact opposite side of the island, and reaching it on foot through the rugged terrain would take a long and dangerous time, so Silas decided to return to the ship and sail around the island to get there.
"Do you trust that man's words?" Elyra asked, kicking a small stone with her foot.
"Moros seems like someone who enjoys misleading others."
"I don't trust him completely," Silas answered, wiping sea spray from his glasses. "But he knows the island better than we do. And if he's lying, we'll find out soon."
"What about the gate?" Elyra looked back. "I feel like we're leaving the real mystery behind. Those ghosts... and that security... there must be something important."
"We will return to the gate, Elyra, I promise you. But we need to understand the nature of this place first. And the scrapyard might hold answers... or at least tools to help us breach the gate."
They walked in silence for minutes, until Elyra suddenly shouted:
"There it is, Silas!"
The hull of The Floating Whisper and its distinctive Victorian house loomed through the fog.
The two boarded the ship and headed immediately to the control room located below the bow deck. The room was warm compared to the outside, filled with the smell of oil and old wood. The wooden walls were covered with complex navigational maps, some torn and some marked with red signs. In the front, there was a circular glass porthole overlooking the sea, behind which stood the polished wooden helm. On the other side, a network of copper pipes connected to a large red copper steam boiler extended, emitting a faint sound as if breathing.
Silas moved expertly toward the control panel. He pressed a series of brass buttons in a specific order, and the internal gears began to respond, moving with a harmonious click-clack sound. He lifted a heavy mechanical activation lever, and the boiler began to roar, the ship vibrating gently, announcing its return to life. Then he headed to the helm and gripped it with both hands.
Elyra stood aside, looking at him hesitantly, as if words were stuck in her throat.
"Silas..." she began in a quiet voice. "I know you want to know the matter behind those words in the book... but looking at it, they remain just words. Maybe nothing real was meant by them. Look at it realistically... what would be in a scrapyard? Maybe the place behind the gate is more intriguing, and perhaps more dangerous, but it seems important."
Silas stopped turning the helm for a moment, but he didn't turn to her immediately. He was looking at the dark porthole in front of him.
"There is a secret in this world we live in that I must discover, Elyra," he said in a deep voice, as if speaking to himself.
"Three years... three years I have been helpless, afraid to take my first steps toward the unknown. I was reading the words and fearing their meanings."
He turned slowly to look directly into her eyes, his own shining with new determination:
"I won't let him down. I will find out for myself what he wanted me to discover. Whether it's in a scrapyard or behind the gates of hell... I will find the truth."
Elyra nodded, understanding that this was no longer just a random search, but a personal journey for him. She placed her hand on the hilt of her sword and said:
"Then, let's sail."
***
"Let's stop here..." Silas said, watching the pressure gauges. "I think we've sailed enough around the island. According to Moros's description, the scrapyard should be directly in front of us."
Silas decided to drop anchor.
The two left the ship and descended onto the new beach. It wasn't much different from the other side of the island; the same black sand, the same pitch darkness, and the same fog lurking around them, except that their eyes had adjusted to the dark a little, so they could distinguish shapes faster.
They walked a distance forward, expecting to hear screams or see blue ghosts.
But they realized something strange.
No ghosts appeared.
No screams cried out.
Just a deadly, absolute silence.
Silas stopped and looked around suspiciously. He hadn't expected this quietness. He thought the place would be noisy and guarded like the gate, especially if it contained something important.
"It's a scrapyard... what would be in it other than scrap?" Silas thought, directing his cane's light toward hills of rusty metal beginning to appear in the distance.
"No ghosts here... this means either it is completely abandoned, or whatever hides here doesn't need screams to scare intruders away."
He tightened his grip on the cane and said:
"If we don't find anything here... we will go back to the gate and storm it by force."