Out at sea beyond the port of Anthony, a colossal vessel known as the Black Ship drifted upon the waves.
Nearly eighty meters long, its massive hull loomed like a slumbering beast. Two enormous, wing-like sails extended from either side of the ship at a sixty-degree angle from the water's surface, shimmering faintly as magical light occasionally swept across the vessel's black frame.
From the outside, the ship resembled a ghostly wreck long abandoned to the sea—and its interior was no less eerie. Near the stern stood a vast, cathedral-like structure with vaulted ceilings, shrouded in darkness.
On the deck before the great chapel, a squad of hooded warrior nuns knelt in prayer. Their armored forms were motionless as statues, the sea wind tugging gently at their robes. At the ship's bow, a single figure stood apart—a nun clad head to toe in full ivory-white armor that gleamed with a soft, cold luster.
Her armor was adorned with wax seals and parchment talismans inscribed with sacred prayers, each one symbolizing purity. Around her neck hung a complexly patterned amulet, while a blood-red cloak billowed behind her, fluttering like a splash of crimson against the dark sea.
At the center of her chestplate shone a white cross, and embedded at the intersection was a crystal carved into the shape of a skull, surrounded by faintly glowing flame-like etchings.
Her face, chiseled and angular like a marble sculpture, exuded an aura of solemn authority. The hard lines upon her features spoke of strict discipline and unbending faith. Only a small, blood-red teardrop tattoo beneath her right eye added a touch of color to her otherwise austere countenance.
"Lady Celestine," a voice spoke softly behind her. A nun bearing the banner of the Order stepped forward, her tone calm and reverent. "Twenty minutes ago, we once again detected the void fluctuations caused by the Child of Calamity. The readings confirm the target's presence within Port Anthony."
The woman addressed as Celestine did not respond. Her silence, however, did not unsettle the flag-bearing sister—it was something all aboard the Black Ship had long grown accustomed to.
Each voyage of the Black Ship lasted for months, and during that time, silence was their law. The sisters lived and prayed in solemn restraint, their voices only rising in fiery hymns when battle began. Outside of combat, they repressed every excess emotion and desire, maintaining a state of calm reverence.
Silence was the highest form of devotion.
The flag-bearer continued her report. "My Lady, this time the void disturbance was significantly weaker—far below the threshold of an Epsilon-class Child of Calamity. Furthermore, the intervals between surges were much longer. Sister Catherine, the scribe, suspects that within the city, a witch is assisting this newly awakened Child of Calamity."
Celestine inclined her head slightly, signaling her understanding, and raised a gauntleted hand toward the dark horizon.
"Understood," the flag-bearer replied, bowing low. "The Crimson Shroud will arrive at Port Anthony within four hours. The Battle Sisters will prepare for engagement."
As she withdrew, more than forty warrior nuns knelt upon the frigid deck. Their low, rhythmic prayers echoed softly across the black waters, blending with the whispering wind.
Below deck, the air grew colder and darker with each descending step. Flickering candlelight offered faint illumination, trembling as though afraid of the shadows that surrounded it.
Dust-covered statues lined the passageways, their hollow eyes following every movement in silence. The deeper one ventured, the more oppressive the atmosphere became—the very timbers of the ship seemed to exude a sense of despair and spiritual decay.
Death and hopelessness hung thick in the air.
In a sealed chamber utterly devoid of light, faint runes glowed faintly across every surface. Holy seals, divine incantations, and magical sigils covered the floor, walls, and ceiling so completely that not a single patch of wood remained bare.
At the center of the room sat a girl of seventeen or eighteen, cross-legged and bound by chains. Her elegant gown, intricately embroidered and clearly tailored for nobility, stood in stark contrast to the bleak surroundings.
Her hands were delicate and fair—hands that had never known hardship. Yet her composure, even while confined in such darkness, betrayed a remarkable inner strength.
Iron chains extended from each corner of the chamber, binding her wrists and ankles, leaving red welts upon her pale skin.
Her calm eyes flickered briefly with surprise, as though she had just noticed something unseen.
"Carla... is that another one of your guardians?" she asked softly.
…
Meanwhile, in the dreamscape, Aldric was hacking off the head of another shark-man. He clicked his tongue, feeling that he'd been dragged into yet another mess that wasn't his to fix.
Wielding a curved blade looted from one of his fallen enemies, he slit open the belly of another fish-headed creature. Blood sprayed across the deck like ink in the red-tinged air.
From the distant crimson sea, a massive figure emerged—a colossal octopus-like monster, far larger than the towering ship Carla had imagined. Its bloated body was covered with festering pustules, and from within them crawled humanoid creatures with octopus heads, parasitic horrors that began swarming up the beast's tentacles toward their target: the giant Bart.
The ship shuddered violently with each collision, threatening to capsize.
Aldric steadied himself, observing as the swarm of horrors poured onto the deck. This was a battle of willpower within the dream. His true purpose wasn't to fight these phantoms, but to find and sever the point where Chaos connected to the dream's fabric.
Originally, he'd intended to quietly study the dreamscape—evaluate how deeply Chaos had infiltrated it and observe Carla's mental resistance.
As a newly awakened witch with the potential to become a conduit for Chaos, Carla's ability to resist corruption would determine whether she was worth saving. But with the sudden appearance of the mysterious silver-haired woman, that test had already become meaningless.
Even if Carla's will hadn't held firm against the chaos, she had still shown courage and the instinct to resist. For Aldric, that was enough—no one could expect an inexperienced girl to withstand such horrors unaided.
If the witches failed to properly train her in the future, then he would personally correct their mistake. But for now—
"You have a good father," Aldric murmured.
With that, he drew his blade across his own arm, leaving a deep, deliberate cut. The blood that touched the air immediately ignited into searing flame.
From within the roaring blaze, his form began to sharpen and solidify, growing ever more defined—just like that silver-haired woman from before.
The fire burned fiercely, yet it caused him no pain. On the contrary, it felt invigorating, as though a miner who had lived his whole life in the suffocating air of an asteroid finally breathed in the pure, open air of a living world.
Each step he took left a trail of blazing fire across the deck. Wherever his flames passed, the Chaos-born shark-men disintegrated into ash and vanished.
Amid the flickering inferno, Aldric strode forward like a monarch surveying his realm, the crackle of flames echoing like the cheers of unseen subjects crowning their king.
I am the King of Dreams, he declared silently within his heart. I warned you once, Chaos.
(End of Chapter)
Author's Note:
I struggled for several days writing this section about the nuns… the influence of Warhammer 40K runs deep, but that universe is far too vast to replicate. I only borrowed a few concepts to enrich my own setting, so please don't flame me, fellow Warhammer fans!
For context: Celestine here was inspired by a real character from Warhammer, and there's even a Chinese novel adaptation for her story. However, this version is my own interpretation—the Silent Sisters and Battle Sisters don't actually belong to the same faction in the original lore; in Warhammer, Battle Sisters primarily serve under the Inquisition.