The three options shimmered before Jack's spectral awareness.
[BLUDNIK'S SWAMP LABYRINTH],
[GROOTSLANG'S GEMSTONE DETECTION],
[ADZE'S FIREFLY TRANSFORMATION].
Which one should he choose? He dismissed the Adze one immediately. His current spectral form was already a perfect scouting and stealth specialist.
Bludnik's Swamp Labyrinth. That one had potential. Control over a localized, perhaps illusory, watery area. Environmental manipulation. He leaned towards it. Pure supernatural power fit his core spectral and draugr forms.
But then he paused...
He was no longer a pure supernatural entity. He had a mortal incarnation. Jack Night. The human. The Steamrune Engineer.
That form walked on solid ground and breathed air. It needed sustenance. And various mundane requirements of being flesh and blood in this world.
And in most cases, it meant... money. He needed money. A reliable source of income for when he chose to exist as Jack Night. And what was universally valuable? What held intrinsic worth across most cultures and kingdoms?
Gold of course. And gemstones.
The Grootslang's ability wasn't flashy. No labyrinths. No transformations. Just detection. But detecting valuable resources was practical. Extremely practical.
He could use it to find natural deposits. Or maybe even locate caches of stolen jewels. A steady, quiet way to acquire wealth. Without resorting to outright theft.
He didn't mind stealing. As long as the target was not innocent. Or, the object was something not recognized as valuable by the owner. But, a source of legal income would not hurt.
Plus, he had spent more than a month in Whitecoal Town. Scavenging and experimenting with steamrune engineering. He had fused and inscribed runes onto metal, wood, bones, and plenty other things.
But he had never worked with gemstones. Did they have special attributes when they were used for steamrune inscription? Could he fuse them with other components, perhaps? The potential for a 'nice surprise' was definitely there.
Utility, income, potential crafting applications. The choice became clear. Survival as Jack Night, the human, required a different kind of resources. It required practicality.
He focused his will on the second option.
[NEW SUPERNATURAL TRAIT GAINED]
[GROOTSLANG'S GEMSTONE DETECTION]
A subtle energy flowed through him. Settling deep within his ethereal core. He didn't feel any immediate change. No new glowing senses or visual overlays.
Just a quiet certainty. That, should he focus, he could now sense the presence of valuable stones. The trait was a useful tool, plain and simple. He appreciated that.
...
Jack spent a few days in Calmcoast Town.
It was slowly, painfully, getting back on its feet. But he felt little satisfaction in simply observing or offering phantom comfort.
He had helped where he could. Offering nice dream comfort and dealing with a few thugs who tried to exploit the suffering people.
But the real work of rebuilding was not for him. His skills lay elsewhere. In dealing with the rot underneath.
Besides, he needed to get stronger. He needed resources. He needed to explore.
And he had set his target. Sapphire City.
The name itself promised wealth tied to the earth. It was a major mining hub on Vestrose Island. It was a significant distance across the Elrush Sea.
But it was not insurmountable for a specter like him. One unburdened by physical limitations. Five days of continuous flight should get him there. A reasonable journey.
He said his silent goodbyes to Calmcoast Town. Then, he floated away. Leaving the ruined docks and struggling workshops behind. He flew east. A silent, invisible current of will. Against the vast, majestic blue of the sea and sky.
The first two days were uneventful. Just the drone of wind. The endless expanse of water below. And the distant, hazy shapes of clouds.
He stayed in his spectral form. The most energy-efficient for long-distance travel. The only possible form actually. As the other two forms would just sink into the depth of the sea.
On the third day... The sky curdled.
What started as distant thunderheads quickly escalated into a maelstrom of wind and rain. The sea below turned into a chaos.
For the first time in his spectral life, he experienced being trapped in the storm. Ominous sky above. Raging sea below. It was... terrifying.
Even in his ethereal state, the storm caused a great impact. The violent currents of wind disoriented him. Forcing him to expend significant energy just to hold his ground... er his position.
He had to descend closer to the churning waves. Seeking whatever meager shelter he could find. And not finding any.
He endured it. He was a silent, invisible point of stillness. In the heart of the tempest. The storm raged for hours. Testing his resilience.
Finally... as suddenly as it began, it broke. Dark clouds were still covering the sky above. But the raging wind died to a mournful sigh.
And the violent moving sea began to flatten. It was calmly undulating now. Like the breath of a sleeping giant.
And there...
Drifting in the post-storm calm.. A ship. Not the bulky, modern steam-powered vessels. It was an older design. A frigate.
Its sails were tattered and ripped to shred. The masts were still surprisingly standing tall. Its hull was dark, scarred, and covered in barnacles and weed. It looked derelict.
As Jack got closer, he saw the name painted on the stern. It was barely legible through the grime and salt spray... Brilliant Twilight.
There was something deeply wrong about it. The air around it was heavy. Stagnant. Even after the storm. It radiated an aura of profound desolation and lingering resentment.
Curiosity overriding caution, Jack drifted closer.
He phased through the hull. Entering the main deck. It was deserted. Rotting ropes lay scattered. Cannons sat silent in their mounts. Everything was covered in a thick layer of salt and decay.
No sign of life. Or death. No sound but the creak of the timbers. And the gentle lapping of waves against the hull.
He descended below decks. The captain's cabin. Empty. The crew quarters. Empty. The cargo hold. Empty. Save for more debris and an oppressive chill.
He found no bodies. No skeletons. Not even stray possessions. It was as if the ship had been scrubbed clean. Of any life. And death.
Yet the foulness lingered. A psychic residue of suffering and wickedness. Permeated in every plank. Every beam.
He could feel echoes of violence. Fear. Depravity. An intense, burning resentment hung in the air. A tangible weight pressing down on his non-existent shoulders.
This ship had seen horrors. Terrible, unforgivable acts.
He searched everywhere. He used his spectral senses. Extending his awareness throughout the vessel. Nothing.
No ghosts bound to the location. No spirits trapped within the wood. No lingering life force. Just the ship itself.
Puzzled. And feeling a prickle of unease he hadn't experienced often since his rebirth, Jack drifted back up. Intending to leave. That's when he saw it.
The figurehead. It was carved from wood. Depicting a beautiful, serene angel. Wings swept back as if in flight.
But as he watched, a dark, viscous red liquid seemed to seep from the corners of its eyes. It trickled down the carved cheeks like tears. Bloody tears.
And in that moment, Jack realized... The overwhelming sense of dread and pain. It didn't come from something within the ship. It was not some soul trapped within its structure. It was the ship itself.
The ship wasn't empty. It was the entity. The Brilliant Twilight wasn't haunted. It was the ghost.
It was alive. Not in the way a person was alive, but conscious. Sentient. And it was in agony.
The immense misdeed he felt wasn't just a residue. It was the ship's own suffering. Its own memory. A ghost, not of a person. But of a vessel. A tormented, sentient ship.
Jack was intrigued and had a wild idea. His [Mysterious Dream] ability. He usually used it to manipulate the dreams of the living. Either to punish or comfort.
Could he use it to enter the dream of a ship? A haunted, suffering, possibly centuries-old ghost ship?
There was only one way to find out. He focused the trait. Attempting to bring out the dream. To connect his consciousness with the ship's tormented essence.
[Mysterious Dream]!
The power was flowing through him. It was directed not towards a sleeping mind this time. But towards the conscious, tormented essence of the ship. It worked. But it was not strong enough.
[Mysterious Lullaby]!
Calming symphony of nature resounded. A serenade of mystical dream. About nostalgic past. About beautiful times and hard times.
He reached out further. Delving into the vessel's raw, unfiltered memories. Into its perpetual, agonizing nightmare.
Suddenly, he was no longer floating on the deck. He was inside. Inside the ship's mind. Or perhaps, its nightmare.
The world warped. He stood on the deck. But it wasn't decayed. It was new. The wood gleaming. The sails furled neatly. Sunlight streamed down.
Figures moved about – men, their faces kind and weathered. Their hands calloused.
An elderly man, stooped but strong, ran a loving hand along a newly planed beam. Jack instinctively understood that he was the shipwright. The father figure of the sentient ship.
His younger disciples worked diligently around him. Their movements precise and careful. This was pure craftsmanship. The beginning.
The dream showed the ship's birth. Built with care. With pride. Intended for honest travel and trade. The elderly man poured his life's work into this vessel. His final masterpiece.
But then... The dream shifted. Abruptly and violently. Darkness descended.