In the management area of the eastern military port of Frost, countless individuals had been working relentlessly throughout the night. The alarm bells had rung for over a day and night since the last contact was made with the naval vessel, the Seagull, and the heightened tension was palpable. Despite desperate attempts by the psychic personnel stationed at the port’s chapel to reach out to the ship’s spiritual advisor onboard the Seagull, all calls fell upon deaf ears, only fueling the mounting dread.
Hints and remnants of information they had at their disposal painted a grim picture, each detail suggesting dire circumstances. In the midst of this chaos, the harbor office, normally bustling with activity, was draped in heavy silence.
A middle-aged man, clad in the distinguished uniform of a Frost Navy Commander, with signs of his hairline receding, sat behind his desk with a stern countenance. Although not especially large, the room was packed with several other high-ranking officials. The atmosphere hung heavy with anxiety, mirroring the tension and anticipation of an impending storm.
“Yet again, no sign of the Seagull,” announced a civilian officer, his light brown hair shaking subtly with the negative gesture of his head. “We’ve conducted thorough searches originating from the Seagull’s last reported location towards Frost, and repeated them thrice over. Nothing surfaced from the ocean depths.”
“Our most hopeful scenario is a failure of the Seagull’s communication system, coupled with a possible accident involving the ship’s priest that led to the vessel veering off course and out of control,” another officer sighed heavily before continuing, “But, truthfully, that’s a highly optimistic assumption. A vessel of the Seagull’s magnitude, even if adrift, could not have moved out of our search parameters in such a limited span of time. A more plausible explanation is that the Seagull encountered a disastrous event and now lies at the bottom of the sea… Previously, a nearby patrol vessel reported faint sounds of explosions and distant flashes of light piercing the dark sky. It’s conceivable that was the Seagull.”
“But a vessel that size would take hours to sink, wouldn’t it? We deployed search teams instantaneously when the Seagull ceased communication,” countered the light-haired civilian officer, a frown creasing his forehead. “Moreover, there would be considerable oil spillage contaminating the sea’s surface; how could all traces vanish so abruptly? Could the entire ship have plummeted to the ocean floor in a blink?”
“A search party should be dispatched to Dagger Island to investigate,” suggested a female officer. “Perhaps the Seagull did not set its course towards Frost as planned and was instead delayed near Dagger Island due to unforeseen circumstances…”
“Dagger Island is currently in a sensitive state. Any attempt to send personnel there will require a complicated set of procedures…”
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