The Aetherian ship floated silently above the Governor’s mansion, its massive form casting a surreal glow across the surrounding town. The vessel’s hull shimmered like polished starlight, with faint runes etched into its surface that pulsed rhythmically, as if the ship were breathing. Its ghostly sails billowed in an invisible wind, radiating soft, undulating light that painted the clouds above in hues of blue and silver.

From the courtyard below, the Grand Magus Oswin studied the ship with a measured gaze. His research station, a simple setup of an enchanted observation table and stacks of thick tomes, was nestled under a canopy that shielded him from the chill night air. The table shimmered faintly, its surface displaying real-time magical projections of the ship, though they flickered and distorted in strange, unpredictable ways.

Beside him, his assistant, a young apprentice named Kael, was jotting down notes with the hurried precision of someone desperate to impress. His ink-stained fingers trembled slightly as he adjusted his spectacles, which perched awkwardly on a nose too narrow for their frame.

“Still nothing, Master Oswin,” Kael said, his voice a mix of frustration and fascination. “Every scrying attempt is blocked before it even begins. It’s as if the ship doesn’t just reject magic—it... it consumes it.”

Oswin stroked his neatly trimmed beard, his eyes never leaving the ship. “Not consumed,” he corrected, his tone patient. “Deflected. This vessel is ancient, Kael, and its defenses are more sophisticated than anything we’ve ever encountered. It doesn’t need to fight back because it simply doesn’t allow the fight to begin.”

Kael frowned, glancing at the distorted projection on the table. The image flickered, revealing faint outlines of the ship’s glowing hull before dissolving into static. “But why? If it’s so powerful, why be so... passive?”

“Because it can afford to be,” Oswin said. He gestured toward the ship with his staff, its crystal tip glowing faintly. “Look at it. That is no warship meant for conquest. Its defenses are woven into its very essence, subtle and impenetrable. It’s not guarding against attacks, Kael, it’s ensuring that nothing unworthy can even approach understanding it.”

Kael’s gaze shifted to the ship, his expression awed. The vessel hovered serenely above them, its glowing runes casting soft reflections on the cobblestones below. “It’s beautiful,” he murmured. “But... intimidating. Like it’s watching us.”

Oswin nodded, his lips curling into a faint smile. “A fair observation. Ships like this were built by the Ancient Ones; what Marlowe refers to as the Aetherians. They were not merely constructs; they were extensions of their creators’ will. This ship doesn’t just exist, Kael. It thinks.”

Kael hesitated, his quill hovering above his notebook. “You believe what Marlowe said about the ship? That it responds to him? That it chose him?”

“His claims align with the evidence,” Oswin said thoughtfully. “The ship’s activation coincided with his presence, and none of my divinations have revealed a hint of coercion. The ship is attuned to him or, at the very least, to the ring he carries.”

He leaned closer to the projection table, his staff tracing intricate sigils in the air above it. The table shimmered, attempting to display the ship’s internal structure, but the image blurred, the magic fizzling out like water on a hot stone.

“Remarkable,” Oswin murmured. “Even the most advanced wards of our age can only repel magic. This ship’s defenses are proactive, adapting to each new intrusion. My spells don’t just fail…they are redirected, as if funneled into a labyrinth with no end.”

Kael scribbled furiously, his eyes darting between his notes and the ship. “And yet, it’s just... sitting there. Not attacking, not reacting. Why?”

Oswin straightened, his gaze distant. “Because it doesn’t need to. Aetherian constructs operate on principles far beyond our understanding. They are patient. They observe. And when they act, it is with precision and purpose.”

Kael glanced nervously at the glowing ship. “Do you think... it could act against us?”

“Not without provocation,” Oswin said firmly. “But its defenses are no accident. This vessel was created for a purpose, and I suspect that purpose is more dangerous than even Erik Marlowe realizes.”

***

Berndhardt leaned against the gleaming countertop of the galley, arms crossed and brow furrowed. The kitchen was pristine-too pristine for his taste with its smooth, polished surfaces that reflected the soft glow of the ever-present runes. The air smelled faintly of herbs and spices, though no pots boiled, no meats roasted, and no bread baked.

“Bah,” Berndhardt grumbled, glaring at the room as if it had personally insulted him. “How’s a man supposed to cook if the place doesn’t even look like a kitchen? Not a spit, not a fire. Not even a proper knife rack.”

The ship hummed softly, almost mockingly, and a panel in the wall slid open, revealing a compartment filled with neatly arranged plates, cups, and utensils that gleamed as if freshly polished. In the center of the galley, a smaller glowing rune pulsed faintly on a counter, as if waiting.

Berndhardt approached the rune, narrowing his eyes. “You’ve been watching me, haven’t you? I know you can hear me, blasted ship. If you’re so clever, make me something to eat. A roast boar, dripping with fat. And mead! Lots of mead!”

The rune pulsed once, then twice. With a faint shimmer, a large, steaming platter appeared on the counter. Berndhardt’s eyes lit up as he took in the sight of perfectly roasted boar, its skin crisp and glistening with juices. A tankard of golden mead materialized beside it, frothy and inviting.

“Well, I’ll be,” Berndhardt said, rubbing his hands together. “Maybe this ship isn’t so bad after all.”

He reached for the tankard first, but the moment his hand touched it, the tankard zapped him with a sharp jolt of energy. “Ow!” he yelped, shaking his hand and glaring at the cup. “What was that for?”

The tankard shifted slightly on the counter, as if daring him to try again.

“Oh, you want to play games?” Berndhardt growled. “Fine. You’ll learn not to mess with a Viking!”

He lunged for the cup, grabbing it with both hands, but the tankard wiggled out of his grasp like a slippery fish, clattering to the floor and rolling away. Berndhardt gave chase, muttering curses under his breath, but the cup evaded him with almost comical precision, darting around corners and even leaping back onto the counter when he thought he had it cornered.

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“You’re not getting away this time!” Berndhardt roared, grabbing a large pot as a makeshift trap and slamming it down over the tankard. He grinned triumphantly. “Gotcha.”

The ship hummed again, louder this time, and the countertop beneath the pot glowed with a sudden burst of light. The pot rattled violently before flying out of Berndhardt’s hands and clanging against the far wall. The tankard, unharmed and somehow smug, returned to its original place on the counter.

Berndhardt stared at it, dumbfounded. Then he scowled. “Alright, if that’s how you want it...”

He reached into his pouch and pulled out a small flask of Viking blood…his pride and joy. “You’re a fancy magic ship, aren’t you? Full of runes and whatnot. Well, let’s see how you like some proper Viking spirit!”

He strode over to a nearby compartment, the one he’d seen glowing faintly when he’d first entered. It was some sort of receptacle, clearly designed for adding food or drink to the ship’s stores. Without hesitation, Berndhardt poured a generous splash of Viking blood into the opening.

“Now we’ll see if this ship has the stomach for—”

Before he could finish his sentence, the floor beneath him rumbled ominously. A section of the floor opened, and with a loud whoosh, Berndhardt dropped straight through the trapdoor.

Grand Magus Oswin was seated at his observation table, carefully sketching a new array of glyphs to represent his latest findings on the ship’s defenses, when a loud thud interrupted his thoughts. He looked up to see a large, Viking-shaped figure sprawled in the dirt not far from his station.

A muffled groan rose from the heap as Berndhardt rolled onto his back, his massive frame denting the soft earth. His axe clattered to the ground beside him, and his helmet sat askew on his head.

Oswin raised an eyebrow. “It seems our Viking friend has discovered one of the ship’s more... proactive measures.”

Kael, who had been tending to a stack of notes, rushed forward, nearly tripping over his own feet. “Is he... dead?”

“Doubtful,” Oswin said dryly. “I suspect his pride suffered the greater injury.”

Berndhardt groaned again, louder this time, as he sat up. “What in all the bloody realms was that?” he muttered, rubbing his back. “The blasted ship ejected me!”

As if in response, a faint shimmering sound drew their attention upward. From the ship, a small splash of liquid fell gracefully through the air, landing unceremoniously on Berndhardt’s helmet with a wet plop.

Kael squinted. “Is that...?”

“Viking blood,” Oswin confirmed, his tone laced with amusement. “It appears the ship rejected his offering as well.”

Berndhardt pulled his helmet off, staring at the splash of viking blood now dripping down his face. He let out a frustrated growl, shaking his fist at the ship above. “You can’t get rid of me that easily! I’ll be back, you oversized lantern!”

Oswin sighed, motioning for Kael to return to the table. “Let him yell. It’s good for morale.”

Kael hesitated, then asked quietly, “His morale... or yours?”

The Grand Magus’s lips twitched into a faint smile. “Both.”

***

Erik and Vesper sat on opposite sides of a circular table in the ship’s quiet central chamber. The room glowed faintly with a soft blue light, the runes on the walls pulsing gently, as though breathing in rhythm with the ship itself. The air was warm but carried an almost electric charge, like the moments before a storm.

“You’re unusually quiet,” Vesper said, leaning back in her chair. Her green eyes studied Erik closely. “I’d almost think you were... thinking.”

Erik smirked faintly, running his fingers along the edge of the table. “Don’t sound so surprised. I do that sometimes.”

“Rarely,” Vesper teased, but her tone softened as she glanced around the chamber. “This place is... unsettling. These runes, the way they shift and move…it’s like they’re watching us. And then there’s the hum... I can’t decide if it’s comforting or unnerving.”

“It’s both,” Erik admitted. “The runes are alive in a way. Not sentient, but... responsive. They’re woven into the ship’s essence, like veins in a body. They don’t just power the ship-they are the ship.”

Vesper tilted her head, curious. “You seem to understand them better than you let on. How much of that is from your Lethri training?”

Erik hesitated, his gaze drifting to a glowing sequence of runes on the wall. “Some of it, sure. But there’s a lot I can’t explain. I look at these runes, and I just... know what they mean. It’s not logical. It’s instinct.”

Vesper leaned forward, her tone sharp. “Instinct? You’re telling me you just feel your way through ancient Aetherian magic?”

“Pretty much,” Erik said with a shrug. “It’s like the ship is trying to talk to me, but not in words. More like... impressions.”

Before Vesper could press further, Erik stiffened, his eyes narrowing as he tilted his head slightly. A faint pulse of energy rippled through the room, and the runes on the wall flickered momentarily. He frowned. “Speaking of impressions...”

“What is it?” Vesper asked, her hand drifting to the hilt of her sword.

“The ship’s trying to tell me something,” Erik said, his voice low. He closed his eyes, focusing on the strange sensation. “It’s... annoyed. Something about an ‘idiot in the galley removed.’”

Vesper blinked. “What?”

“I don’t know,” Erik admitted, opening his eyes. “But it’s definitely annoyed. And for some reason, I think it’s Berndhardt.”

Vesper groaned. “Of course it is.”

As Erik stood, the demon’s voice slithered into his mind, its tone dripping with amusement. “Ah, Erik, always stumbling into puzzles you can’t solve. Lucky for you, I have an idea.”

Erik scowled. “What do you want now?”

“To help, of course,” the demon purred. “Do you remember that little orb you picked up before all this mansion nonsense? The one gathering dust in your pack? That could be... enlightening.”

Erik frowned, his hand absently going to his pack. He did remember the orb, an impulse buy from a traveling merchant that he’d barely thought about since. “What does it have to do with this ship?”

“Everything,” the demon replied, its tone suddenly serious. “Aetherian artifacts have a way of... interacting. I’m curious what this ship might reveal if the orb were activated in its presence.”

Vesper watched Erik closely as he muttered to himself. “Talking to your invisible friend again?”

“Something like that,” Erik said dryly. He pulled the orb from his pack, its smooth surface gleaming faintly with an inner light. “The demon thinks this could be useful.”

“And you trust it?” Vesper asked, arching an eyebrow.

“No,” Erik said, turning the orb over in his hands. “But if something goes wrong, it’s not me that’ll get hurt.”

Before Vesper could respond, Erik allowed the demon to pass from the sword, its energy briefly rippling through his body before channeling into the orb. The artifact flared with light, and Erik set it on the ground.

The reaction was instant. The ship’s hum grew louder, and the runes on the walls flared brightly. Energy arced from the walls, coalescing around the orb in spiraling patterns. The ship vibrated gently, almost as if... laughing.

Erik frowned. “Well, that’s new.”

Oswin was making adjustments to his sigil array when he glaned up to see Berndhardt trudging toward him, his armor slightly scuffed and his expression sour.

“I’m fine, thanks for asking,” Berndhardt grumbled. “Your precious ship has a sense of humor, though. It tossed me out like old laundry.”

Oswin raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps it didn’t appreciate your... unique culinary contributions.” Briefly pointing at the liquid viking blood covering Berndheart

Berndhardt huffed, but before he could retort, Oswin’s gaze shifted upward. His sharp eyes caught a glimmer of something falling from the ship; a small, glowing object spinning rapidly as it descended.

“Watch out,” Oswin said calmly, stepping aside.

“What?” Berndhardt asked, just before the orb struck him squarely on the helmet with a hollow bonk. He staggered, swearing loudly in his old tongue as he rubbed his head.

Kael, who had been scribbling nearby, froze mid-note, staring wide-eyed at the orb now lying in the dirt. “Master Oswin... is that what I think it is?”

Oswin crouched, carefully picking up the orb. Its surface pulsed faintly, and the energy within seemed to shift and swirl like liquid light. He studied it closely, his expression darkening. “An Aetherian catalyst,” he murmured. “A rare artifact designed to amplify magical resonance.”

Berndhardt groaned, still rubbing his head. “Well, it’s amplifying something, alright. My headache.”

Ignoring him, Oswin turned the orb over in his hands, his voice thoughtful. “It feels as if the orb is inert, but its almost like its been deactivated or silenced?.”

Kael’s voice was hushed with awe. “What does it mean, Master?”

Oswin’s gaze flicked back to the ship, his expression unreadable. “It means the ship didn't like whatever the orb was doing.. Or saying...”

Berndhardt groaned louder. “Great. Wake me when it’s time to eat.”