Vestige

No sound on the water. It floats in the air, lost in space. Lost in time. It does not know where to go. We traverse the water, sail over arches and around bends that lurch the stomachs of the passengers on my vessel. And in so doing we give it something that was lost to it long ago: purpose.
And motion, and life. The light of candles and lamps hanging from the bow, from the posts at my flanks, give it color. The red light of the fire reflects off of the water and around me blends with the neon glow of this body. It casts the washed-out shades of this world from our sight, makes the vessel glow like lit up billboards at night.

Aboard my vessel now, in this time of nameless hour and date, are three passengers. A Shield has become a hub of explorers and adventurers, guiding them to a shared purpose. They gather food and resources from the dangerous beyond to bring back to the haven. Wrapped around his head is a bandanna similar to my own, each of us pinning it in place with a winged badge. For lack of direction, I follow him for now. And I find new purpose in his service. He stands at the bow, watching for our destination to come.

The two explorers with us today are not official members of the Deep Dark Dungeon Delvers. Yet. But in the haven, we must all work together if we want to live.
Adelaide is a creature known as Gardevoir. They are able to speak into the mind in a way that is conflicting to me, when she does. The act delves up old memories, makes the thought space inside of me feel less empty and lonely for a brief moment. An experience at once so painful, heart-breaking, and addictive. It is called nostalgia.
And lastly, a Girafarig creature called Otto. The tail appendage of it appears to be alive, but does not speak. I wonder if they speak to one another? That would be nice. At his side hangs a bag filled with collected deposits of sugars, electrolytes, and dense nutrition. There are also stranger components I do not fully understand. These have a noticeable effect on creatures composed of certain, compatible substances. The dark purple and bright lavender have an effect on me when I consume them. And their flavor is enjoyable.

These appendages, at once alien and familiar, grasp the wheel. I feel the distortion ahead, see the place where the once-frozen water bubbles and churns, moving in place. Experiencing the many years it has forgotten all in a single moment. Should we pass through the eye of this storm, we too would experience the many years as the water. This shell would be rusted, this vessel rotten driftwood, and my passengers old and bent.
I navigate around it, with confident ease. This is what I was made for. It is nice to do it again. Makes the deafening quiet inside of me more bearable.

Distant lightning cracks the sunless sky. It illuminates pale, floating stones and the flying islands where mystery dungeons reach down beyond their knowable depths. Below them, below us, a sea of dark clouds. As above, so below. A dead, crooked tree drifts past us on a lifeless stone that was once its home.
“What was your name again?” a soft-spoken voice behind me. I do not turn from my observations of our surroundings, ever vigilant for hazards in the path.
“Caayyn,” I hum, the name half dying in the vibrations of my glowing filaments which this shell uses to produce sound. It is a method of communication I am still adapting to.
One hand goes up to her chin. “Cayin, Qayin,” the creature in her dainty white gown repeats the pronunciation, as if turning it over and looking at it. “What a strange name. I’ve never heard it before.” Silence hangs in the air when I fail to think of anything to respond with to her comment.

The whimpering death of the conversation does not appear to faze her. Adelaide returns to the bow, watching alongside our Shield as the destination looms before us. An island covered in palm trees, water floating in globes connected by thin streams, orbiting around its sandy beaches in a pale imitation of what once was a shoreline. Tall stones stood up on the isle frame the dark pit that leads into its mysterious depths.
Named the Forlorn Shore. Such an island produces many tropical fruits, which the native creatures explain possess medicinal qualities. Valuable salvage for more dangerous expeditions.

Tapping of hooves announces Otto’s appearance at my side, now. “Thanks for the ride, Kay.” He opens the flap of his carrying bag and offers one of the ‘gummis’ inside as payment. I reach one long, glowing appendage inside and feel for the familiar taste of the dark purple. It found, I extract it, navigating the confines of the container without dislodging all within and spilling them upon the floor. “I’m always impressed how easily you do that.”
“Comess, nnaturally to mme,” my hum in answer. The three explorers climb from the bow onto shore, using a plank of wood. I remain to ensure that our vessel does not drift away, and that no danger appears from without.

Consumption of nutrition is facilitated by enzymes produced in my glowing limbs. By focusing, they break down and absorb substances in contact. I believe it is evolutionarily intended to draw in and consume small insects with its hypnotic appearance and warmth. The flavor of the dark purple gummi can be described as ‘thrill,’ or maybe ‘surprise.’ Like turning a corner and seeing something that one did not expect. The pulse quickens and the body feels ready to respond. They are useful for remaining alert while on watch duty.

With one appendage resting upon the pilot’s wheel, I look into the surrounding expanse. These floating islands, those distorted shapes, all the unsettling fractals of time and space. For them it is frightening.
For me, it is like home.