East Coast of Pritt, Tivian.
In the daylight hours, the eastern port of Tivian remained as bustling as ever. Countless ships from all over the world arrived and departed. The long, echoing blasts of steamship horns rang through the air, while crowds of disembarking and boarding passengers surged across the piers. Dockworkers, drenched in sweat, labored tirelessly to move heavy cargo.
Among the many ships docked at the moment, there was a gray passenger liner—an ocean-going vessel returning from abroad. The boarding ramp had already been lowered, and the long-waiting passengers were now descending it one after another onto Prittish soil. Some were foreign travelers arriving in Pritt, while others were Prittish returning home.
Among those returnees was a particular group of young men and women, about ten in total, clad in vibrant, travel-worn clothes, each burdened with large bags and suitcases. Laughing and chatting, they made their way down the ramp and stepped onto the land of Tivian. From their accents and conversation, it was clear they were Prittish.
Once off the ramp, the group of young Prittish instinctively gathered on the dock, still chatting as they looked up toward the deck of the cruise ship, seemingly waiting for something. Just then, several older men appeared at the top of the ramp and descended. All were dressed in proper attire, led by a middle-aged man with graying temples, thick-rimmed glasses, a checkered suit, and a scholarly air as he carried a luggage bag.
The older men approached the group of young people. At the sight of them, the youths immediately quieted down and stood respectfully. The man with glasses looked over them, mentally counting heads. Once he confirmed no one was missing, he nodded with a gentle smile and began to speak.
“Students, welcome home. After more than half a year away, we’ve finally set foot again on our homeland’s soil. I am both glad and grateful—for the Lord’s mercy in allowing us to complete this long journey. Although there were risks and crises along the way, we’ve emerged unscathed. We must be thankful for this smooth voyage and for the Lord’s watchful care.”
“Thanks be to the Lord…”
The young men and women responded, though not in unison—some were half-hearted. The man didn’t mind and continued.
As he said this, he began outlining the upcoming coursework, which drew light groans and murmurs from the students. But then he shifted tone and added.
“However, those assignments will officially begin after the semester starts. The university is still on summer break, and there’s time remaining in your holiday. You may use this period to prepare, and then complete the assignments after classes resume.”
With this, the students’ complaints vanished in an instant and were replaced by cheers. Seeing their reactions, the professor chuckled and went on.
“All right, that’s all for now. Dismissed. Go home, rest up, and recharge yourselves to tackle the new semester. Farewell, students.”
“Goodbye, Professor Acheson!”
One by one, the students bid their farewells and dispersed. Just as one girl was about to leave, Professor John Acheson called her back.
“Oh right, Miss Rodlow. If you get a chance, please check in with Miss Boyle and ask how that family emergency turned out. If she’s finished dealing with it, let her know about the assignment topics so she can start preparing. She missed a lot of the study tour. If she’s unsure about anything, tell her to come to me—everyone knows where I live.”
“Got it, Professor Acheson! I’ll look for her when I get back. Goodbye!”
With that, Emma Rodlow, Nephthys’s roommate, quickly caught up with the others and left. Acheson chatted briefly with a few of his colleagues, gave some final work-related instructions, politely declined an invitation to dinner, and then also took his leave.
After bidding farewell to the colleagues and students he had traveled with for over half a year, Acheson let out a subtle sigh, adjusted his glasses, and started walking away from the busy dock with his bag in hand.
As he walked along the crowded pier, flanked by dockworkers and passengers, he passed many who were waiting to meet arriving friends and family. Some greeters held high signboards bearing names and information to help arrivals identify them from afar.
Though no one had come to meet Acheson, those signs still passed through his field of vision. He hadn’t paid them much attention—until something strange happened.
One sign in particular caught his eye. It read: “Mr. Tony Frank, this way please.” Acheson had no idea who that was, so he naturally gave it no mind.
But a few steps later, the letters on that sign began to twist and distort before his eyes. The strokes of the words writhed like snakes, slithering out of place, meandering across the board like black eels made of ink. Acheson’s eyes widened in shock.
Before he could react, the “black eels” reassembled themselves, slithering back into alignment to form an entirely new message—with new letters and new meaning.
“Professor John Acheson, please stop immediately!”
The moment he saw his own name appear on the sign, along with that urgent command, Acheson’s heart nearly stopped. He didn’t need further convincing—he stopped instinctively.
And the next moment only proved how right that instinct was.
Directly above his head, a heavy steel cargo hook—suspended from one of the dock’s loading cranes—had somehow moved over the path of the pedestrian crowd. Without warning, the iron cable holding it snapped.
With a thunderous crash, the several-hundred-kilogram hook plummeted straight down, slamming into the pier. The impact left a small crater and sent cracks spiderwebbing across the dock’s concrete floor.
The heavy cargo hook crashed into the ground just half a meter in front of John. He stared in stunned silence as the massive hook slammed down, sending dust and debris scattering over him.
The sudden noise shocked John into stillness, while the surrounding travelers screamed in alarm. Chaos erupted as people pushed and stumbled about. Seeing the commotion from afar, dockworkers immediately rushed over to restore order and evacuate the crowd.
“Sir… Are you all right? If you’re not hurt, please come with us. We’ll handle things here.”
A dockworker approached and spoke to John. Snapped out of his daze, John glanced nervously at the massive hook before him, shook his head, and composed himself. Then, without protest, he followed the staff away.
“…Thank you.”
He and a few other frightened passengers were escorted away from the scene. Meanwhile, far above, on the steel frame of the crane, a figure dressed in thick, heavy clothes and tightly wrapped lay flat, watching the scene below. Beside him sat a steel hacksaw. As he observed what had happened, he frowned.
As John was being led away, he took deep breaths, trying to calm his nerves. It wasn’t hard to imagine: if not for that strange sign, he would’ve been directly under the falling hook. That shifting message had saved his life.
Thinking of this, John quickly turned and scanned the crowd, hoping to spot that sign again. But this time, the sea of heads revealed nothing—no trace of the sign, nor of whoever had held it.
“Where… did it go? What exactly was that writing? Was I hallucinating?”
John was both confused and slightly disappointed. He hadn’t even noticed that he had already been led to a more open area. Just then, another dockworker approached, carrying a tray of small cakes and smiling warmly.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we sincerely apologize for the earlier incident. It was our mistake and must have given you all quite a fright. As a token of our apology, please enjoy some of these desserts and take a moment to relax.”
As he spoke, the man extended the tray toward the group. Several quick-handed passengers immediately grabbed a cake, leaving only two on the plate. As John’s gaze fell upon the tray, something caught his eye.
The decorative patterns on the edge of the ceramic tray suddenly began to move, just like the letters on the sign earlier. The elegant flourishes slithered and twisted like black eels, reshaping themselves into new characters—until they formed a simple message.
“Don’t eat the last one.”
John froze.
There were only two cakes left. The one on the left was already being grabbed by another passenger—meaning the last remaining cake was about to be offered to him.
Without hesitation, and still rattled from the earlier near-death, John snatched the second-to-last cake before the other man could take it. Holding it in hand, he nodded politely and excused himself.
“Thanks for the kind gesture, but I have somewhere to be.”
He turned and left swiftly, leaving behind the final cake—and the man who had reached for it, now staring at it with a slight frown and a curious, solemn look toward John’s retreating back.
Once out of sight, John quickened his pace and headed toward the port’s edge. On the way, he passed a trash bin and tossed the cake in without a second thought. He continued forward, his steps faster now, as the eerie atmosphere pressed down on him. Something about this place felt wrong.
“This place is wrong… I have to get out—now!”
Without stopping, John marched toward the carriage depot, planning to leave the port district entirely. As he walked down the street toward the depot, a road sign at the corner ahead began to change—graffiti strokes twisted and merged before his eyes, just like before. New letters formed.
“When you reach this sign, stop.”
John immediately obeyed the mysterious message. The moment he stopped, a horse-drawn carriage sped past the corner at a reckless, nearly uncontrollable speed. It mounted the sidewalk and, with a screech, raced past him by a hair’s breadth, its wind gust brushing his face and chilling him to the bone.
Frozen in place, John stared in shock as the runaway carriage crashed into a storefront just ahead. Horses toppled, people screamed, bystanders lay injured and groaning. Had he not stopped exactly where he did…
“That would’ve been me.”
“What… is going on…?”
A creeping fear gripped John’s heart. He’d only been back in Tivian for barely ten minutes, and already he had narrowly escaped death—twice. If not for the mysterious shifting words guiding him, who knows what would have happened?
The connection was too strong to ignore. John’s instincts screamed danger. He gripped the handle of his luggage tightly, his face pale, his eyes warily scanning every alley and corner as dread mounted within him.
He still didn’t fully understand what was happening—but he knew he needed to get out of here, and fast.
Just as he prepared to move again, the sound of hoofbeats returned. He tensed, turning sharply in anticipation. But this time, it was a normal rental carriage, trotting steadily down the road before slowing to a stop beside him. The coachman leaned forward, gazing at the crash site in the distance.
“Yikes… What happened there? Crashed the carriage like that—must’ve lost control…”
The young coachman remarked, then turned and smiled at the wary John.
“Hey, sir, waiting on a ride? If so, hop in. Anywhere within the city—we go wherever you need.”
John hesitated. After everything that just happened, he didn’t want to trust anything. But then he glanced at the carriage door—and froze again.
The old wooden door was scratched and worn, but now the scratches began to wriggle, just like the sign and the plate before. They twisted, shifted, and rearranged into a simple command: “Get in.”