Evelyn closed the door to her cabin with a soft click, the sound reverberating through the narrow space like a final note in an unfinished symphony. The room was dimly lit by the flickering glow of a single oil lamp perched precariously on her desk, casting long shadows that danced across the walls. She exhaled slowly, letting the tension in her shoulders ease—if only slightly—as she turned toward the cluttered study table. Papers were strewn haphazardly across its surface, some crumpled into tight balls, others stained with ink smudges or hastily crossed-out lines. It was chaos, but it was *her* chaos.
Her fingers brushed against the edge of the desk as she pulled out the chair and sat down, her movements deliberate and measured. For a moment, she simply stared at the mess before her, her mind racing with fragmented thoughts and half-formed plans. Then, with a quiet resolve, she began sifting through the papers, separating them into two piles: those she could safely read and those marked for blacklisting—pages tainted by knowledge too dangerous to recall without risking corruption.
She paused briefly when her hand brushed against one particular sheet, its edges singed as though scorched by unseen flames. The words scrawled across it were barely legible, distorted by frantic scribbles meant to obscure their meaning. Evelyn's breath hitched as she caught a glimpse of phrases like Taboo Knowledge and Seven Shadows Roots. Her self-hypnosis had worked overtime on this page, burying the information beneath layers of protective amnesia. Yet even now, fragments of memory clawed at the edges of her consciousness, threatening to resurface.
"No," she whispered to herself, shaking her head firmly. "Not tonight."
Pushing the blacklisted papers aside, she focused instead on the task at hand: documenting everything she knew about the artifact uncovered on the island. In the world of Chrono Nexus, artifacts weren't mere relics—they were conduits of power, fragments of divinity, and sometimes harbingers of doom. As a former player, Evelyn understood their mechanics better than most. Artifacts came in various types and levels, each carrying unique risks and rewards. The staff they had found earlier fell somewhere in the mid-tier range—not overwhelmingly powerful, but far from harmless. To players familiar with the game's systems, handling such an object required caution but not necessarily panic.
But this wasn't a game anymore. This was reality—or at least a version of it—and the stakes had shifted dramatically. What might have been a minor inconvenience in the virtual world could spell disaster here. Real lives were at risk, including hers. And unlike in the game, death wasn't just a temporary setback; it was final.
With a steadying breath, Evelyn reached for a fresh sheet of parchment and dipped her quill into the inkwell. She began writing, her penmanship neat despite the storm brewing within her mind. The process felt oddly cathartic, as if committing her thoughts to paper somehow lessened their weight. Each word flowed smoothly, forming sentences that read almost like entries from the SCP Foundation—a blend of clinical detachment and creeping dread.
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Artifact Name: The Whispering Rod
Level: Mid-Tier (Estimated Level 3)
Description: A staff carved from an unidentifiable material, approximately three feet in length, adorned with intricate patterns resembling twisting vines and fractal designs. The surface emits faint pulses of energy, detectable both visually and tactilely. When unwrapped, the rod emanates an aura that induces unease and paranoia in those nearby.
Origin: Believed to be linked to one of the Seven Shadows, specifically associated with Morthain, Warden of Shadows. Its exact purpose remains unclear, though preliminary observations suggest it serves as a conduit for shadow-based abilities.
Impact: Prolonged exposure increases susceptibility to corruption, manifesting as hallucinations, memory lapses, and physical mutations. Direct interaction may result in accelerated decay of mental stability, particularly among individuals already burdened by pre-existing corruption.
Notes: Unlike higher-level artifacts, The Whispering Rod does not appear to possess autonomous sentience. However, its connection to the roots of divinity makes it inherently unstable. Careful containment is advised to prevent accidental activation or misuse.
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As Evelyn wrote, her hand moved steadily, filling the page with meticulous detail. But midway through her notes, something changed. Her quill faltered, leaving a jagged streak of ink across the parchment. Her breathing grew shallow, her chest tightening as if an invisible force were pressing down on her. Panic bubbled up in her throat, sharp and suffocating. She tried to continue writing, but her hand acted of its own accord, scratching out entire sections with violent strokes until the words became illegible.
"Stop…" she murmured, clutching the edge of the desk with white-knuckled hands. "Please… stop…"
Her vision blurred, colors bleeding together like watercolors left out in the rain. Vague images flashed before her eyes—shadows writhing in the corners of the room, whispers coalescing into guttural voices speaking in tongues she couldn't comprehend. The air grew heavy, oppressive, as though the very fabric of reality were unraveling around her.
And then, just as suddenly as it began, the sensation subsided. Evelyn slumped forward, her forehead resting against the cool wood of the desk. Her heart pounded wildly in her chest, each beat echoing like thunder in her ears. She took several deep breaths, forcing herself to focus on the present moment. Whatever had happened, her self-hypnosis had intervened once again, shielding her from truths too dangerous to confront directly.
When she finally raised her head, she noticed the damage done to her notes. Entire paragraphs were obliterated, reduced to chaotic scribbles that defied interpretation. Only fragments remained legible, scattered remnants of her attempt to document the artifact. Evelyn sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of her nose. There was no point in salvaging what little remained; the effort would only invite another episode. Instead, she folded the damaged page carefully and tucked it away in a locked drawer, vowing never to open it unless absolutely necessary.
---
With trembling hands, Evelyn retrieved a new sheet of parchment and began outlining a plan. The artifact posed too great a risk to keep aboard the ship indefinitely. Selling it on the black market was tempting—artifacts fetched high prices among collectors and rogue factions—but doing so would likely attract unwanted attention. Worse still, it might fall into the wrong hands, unleashing consequences none of them could predict.
No, selling it wasn't an option. Nor was destroying it outright. Evelyn knew from experience that attempting to destroy certain artifacts often triggered catastrophic side effects, especially if they were tied to divine roots. That left one viable course of action: handing it over to the church.
Specifically, the branch affiliated with the god whose servant had crafted the black cloth used to seal the artifact. If Evelyn remembered correctly, the embroidery patterns indicated a connection to Sylvara, Guardian of Nature. While the irony of entrusting a corrupted relic to a deity associated with growth and harmony wasn't lost on her, it made practical sense. Churches dedicated to the Seven Gods maintained extensive archives and resources for dealing with such anomalies, ensuring proper containment and study.
Still, approaching the church wouldn't be easy. Trust was a rare commodity in this fractured world, and Evelyn doubted they would welcome her with open arms. A deal would need to be struck—one that benefited both parties while minimizing potential fallout. Perhaps offering the artifact as leverage could secure safe passage or valuable intelligence regarding the islands ahead. Either way, preparation was key.
Stretching her arm across the desk, Evelyn sketched a rough map of their current position relative to known territories. Based on Alden's calculations, the nearest church outpost lay several days' journey eastward, nestled within the neutral zone bordering Federal waters. Reaching it undetected would require careful navigation and impeccable timing, neither of which guaranteed success. Pirate activity in the region was unpredictable, and rogue factions often clashed over resources, making alliances precarious at best.
Despite the risks, Evelyn felt a spark of determination ignite within her. This was her first true adventure in Evelyn's body—a chance to prove herself not just as a captain, but as someone capable of navigating the treacherous waters of this strange, beautiful, terrifying world. Failure wasn't an option. Not when so much hung in the balance.
Leaning back in her chair, Evelyn allowed herself a rare moment of introspection. For all the uncertainty and danger surrounding her, there was also a peculiar kind of freedom. Here, untethered from the constraints of her past life, she had the opportunity to forge a new path—to rewrite her story in ways she'd never imagined possible. Whether that path led to salvation or ruin remained to be seen, but one thing was certain:
She wouldn't face it alone.
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(End of Chapter)