The High Seas: Unexpected Warning

~Aboard the 5 Wood

"Don't close your eyes. Don't even blink. For in the space between heartbeats, here, the definition of 'turning a blind eye' slips within. When one is blinded to self, soon that which was self is blinded to one."

There was no warning besides these words. In an instant the air and seas went from fair to a maelstrom of painful color, flashing like a rainbow. The first instinct was to close the eyes, and it was almost impossible not to, but those in attendance knew not to ignore The Bard Gone Deadeye. A few seconds later it ended, as immediately as it began, and all remembered and accounted for still existed. This was of some comfort, though little, as it was known that such junctures narratively erase their victims, to the root. πŸͺ™

******
The Moment opened a channel, transmitting far and wide
*******

~Aboard The C'

The warning was narrative, not verbal. That was our only chance.

“Don’t close your eyes. Don’t even blink...”

That line hit The First Mate like a deckboard to the chest. He whispered, "Deadeye..." like it was a curse, like saying the name might call attention.

The sea turned to stained glass.
The air spasmed with impossible color—every wavelength trying to confess at once.

Reflex is a hard thing to override. Several crewmembers flinched.
One blinked.

When the lightstorm collapsed in on itself, like a lie losing coherence, we performed immediate roll call.
We believed we all remained.

But The Scribe’s pen faltered.

“There was a name here. A name I can’t now recall.”

The First Mate.1 stared out past the railing, where time still shimmered. “We’ve crossed a coinline,” he muttered. “Deadeye must’ve forced a divergence.”

I finished writing the moment in two columns—one for those present, and one blank, for the erased.

Somewhere, aboard The 5-

But the signal had cut out.

*****

"I hope they're okay. They are very well trained, and the die is cast. I bet they're okay."

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