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Lawrence didn’t immediately answer, opting to deliberate over the perplexing assertion carved into the stone. At last, he broke the mounting silence, his question probing into the possible origins of the inscription, “Who do you believe might have authored this engraving?”

“Could it possibly be… the original inhabitants of this island?” The first mate speculated hesitantly, “There were people dwelling here before us, right?”

“It’s tough to confirm with certainty about this particular island, but it’s an undeniable fact that humans lived on Dagger Island in our known history,” Lawrence affirmed, his fingers lightly tracing the bold, deeply cut script. The raw, genuine feel under his fingertips seemed to reverberate with the forceful emotions and the determined intent that had driven the creation of the engraved message, “‘Humans only have two eyes.’ Someone purposely carved this phrase here, and it might symbolize something…”

“Symbolize something? Like what?” the first mate asked, his voice echoing the uncertainty in his mind.

“Possibly that this island was once inhabited by beings that were humanoid in appearance but differed in the attribute of ‘having only two eyes’,” Lawrence suggested, his gaze lifting to scrutinize the dense fog and the shadowy forms concealed within it, “These entities could blend unnoticed into human societies, avoiding straightforward identification.”

On hearing this conjecture, the first mate drew a subdued breath, his voice shaking slightly as he questioned, “Then… where did the author of this inscription vanish to?”

“I don’t know,” Lawrence confessed, shaking his head. His thoughts spontaneously veered towards the sticky black mud they’d come across during their exploration and the strangely deserted docking area. He pushed these seemingly unrelated thoughts to the back of his mind, focusing instead on the port office door, his hand resting on its handle, “Stay on high alert.”

The distinctive sound of firearm safeties being disengaged echoed behind him. As Lawrence composed himself, he gently pressed the door, gingerly pushing it open.

He deftly stepped aside, positioning himself away from a direct line of sight to avoid becoming an easy target for any potential threats hiding inside. The first mate moved forward, adopting a defensive crouch as he pointed his rifle into the room’s dimly lit interior. The sailors following them also raised their weapons, securing the door from various angles and vantage points.

The inside of the building lay enshrouded in an unnerving tranquility.

The first mate, positioned at the entrance, took a moment to steel his nerves before daring to peer into the interior.

“There’s no one in here,” he reported, his voice echoing in the silence, “Just an abandoned office, eerily well-lit.”

Following this assurance, Lawrence motioned to the sailors and, together with the first mate, ventured inside the vacant space.

The room was an unoccupied office devoid of any human presence. A few desks occupied roughly half of the room, with chairs arranged randomly as if the occupants had left in a rush. The overhead electric bulbs and the wall-mounted gas lamps were fully lit, casting a surreal, bright illumination across the room. One peculiar detail stood out – the floor was speckled with patches of the mysterious black mud they had encountered earlier.

“This dreadful sludge seems to have seeped in here too…” The first mate grimaced at the sight of the ominous, dark substance that contaminated the room, his face displaying clear repulsion. He skillfully sidestepped the mucky patches on the floor and proceeded towards the desks. His gaze darted over the cluttered array of paperwork and various office materials scattered haphazardly, “Captain, should we inspect these?”

“These are typical documents involved in port operations: cargo logs, staff transfers, patrol records, machinery, and equipment check reports…” Lawrence moved closer to the desks, briefly studying some of the papers. His brow furrowed in worry as he continued, “The dates… these are from just a few days ago?”

“It seems someone was operating here quite recently,” a sailor commented nervously, his voice barely audible, “Then they must have left in a hurry, not even sparing the time to tidy up…”

“A rushed departure?” Lawrence echoed, his gaze scanning over the disordered desk. An unfinished cup of coffee sat abandoned on a table, a thin layer of dust coating its surface. Near this table, a patch of the black mud had dried, some residue of the substance clinging stubbornly to a chair. His face adopted an increasingly grave expression, “Was it really an evacuation, or…”

The first mate caught the subtle change in the captain’s tone: “Captain, have you figured something out?”

Just as Lawrence was about to respond, an ear-splitting noise suddenly shattered the silence from outside the room that emanated from the direction of the harbor square. It was the shrill whine of loudspeakers snapping into action!

“Buzz—”

The abrupt sound startled everyone. The sailors reflexively turned their attention towards the window, and in the next instant, a fragmented, distorted announcement marred by static rang out across the entire harbor. The quavering voice of an elderly man, shaken by age, echoed ominously: “Announcement… we have been infected… this island… is beyond salvation… we will initiate Contingency 22… It’s been an honor working with you all… we’ll meet again beyond the gates of Bartok.”

With a final, abrasive squeal, the transmission came to an abrupt halt. The first mate, his eyes expanded in disbelief, pivoted rapidly to face Lawrence: “Captain, what on earth is happening…”

But before he could finish articulating his panic, a cataclysmic blast echoed from a distance!

In sync with that terrifying detonation, a series of successive explosions reverberated, sounding as if the heavens were rending and the earth was fracturing!

A chain of calamitous detonations roared across the entirety of Dagger Island, sending chills of terror and apprehension down the spines of everyone present. Lawrence almost instantly discerned what was transpiring.

These were not the sounds of ordinary thunder, they were the deafening roars of explosive charges. It was the island’s self-destruction protocols, setting off a domino effect of facility demolitions!

“Evacuate the building at once!” Lawrence’s command sliced through the cacophony, his pistol brandished as he discharged a round towards the ceiling, “This place is rigged to explode!”

The thunderous explosions almost drowned out Lawrence’s urgent command, but the abrupt report of his gunshot effectively roused the sailors from their state of shock. Without a moment’s hesitation, they sprinted towards the exit.

A cluster of around a dozen people sprang from the building, barreled down the incline, and bolted towards an open area. The relentless symphony of explosions resonated from all directions, creating the impression that the entire island was being shattered in an apocalyptic blast. However, amidst the chaotic retreat, Lawrence noticed something peculiar.

“Halt!” His command rang out as he skidded to a halt. He discharged another shot into the air, his voice resounding, “Stop!”

His abrupt order caused the sailors to halt their frantic escape, who then also perceived the irregularity.

The echoes of explosions persisted, but there were no accompanying plumes of smoke nor bursts of destructive light. Only the thunderous noises reverberated across the island.

Soon after, the tumultuous noise faded, and the surroundings again fell under the eerie hush that the dense fog seemed to enforce. It was as if the earth-shattering detonations had been nothing more than a communal auditory illusion.

“Only the noise?” The first mate scanned the surroundings in disbelief, grappling with understanding.

“It’s an echo from the past,” Lawrence quickly hypothesized, his heart rate slowly returning to normal. Even though he wasn’t entirely certain of his conclusion, as the captain, he had to provide the crew with an immediate decision, “What we heard was a replay of a past event that transpired on this island, not a present-day explosion.”

“I was terrified just now,” one of the sailors confessed, his voice barely a murmur, “I thought we were amidst a colossal explosion…”

“The nearest explosion appeared to originate from that direction,” the first mate inferred, focusing on the precise point on his compass before indicating towards the farthest edge of the harbor square, “Should we venture over there?”

“Let’s investigate,” Lawrence made the decision swiftly, “If something truly catastrophic did happen here, there should be some leftover remnants.”

With that, the exploration team immediately mobilized towards the enveloping fog, this time treading with a heightened level of caution than before.

After an undeterminable amount of time had elapsed, Lawrence found himself standing before the towering silhouette of a large, rundown building.

Perched on the edge of a small inlet and buttressed by a rugged cliff face at its rear, the building exhibited unmistakable evidence of severe damage… it was clear that an immense explosion from within had led to its disastrous collapse.

From an elevated viewpoint, the first mate examined the remnants of the shattered structure, his voice filled with disbelief.

“What was this place… its magnitude is astounding…”

“Our focus should be more on the cataclysmic event that led to such an immense facility being obliterated without hesitation,” Lawrence retorted solemnly, advancing a few steps, “If the inhabitants of this island…”

“Stop,” a voice abruptly sliced through the air, causing Lawrence to stop in his tracks.

“Martha?!” He pivoted quickly towards the source of the voice, his tone imbued with a mixture of astonishment and apprehension.

But there was only the gently undulating fog devoid of the familiar figure he expected.

“Captain?” The first mate noted Lawrence’s unusual reaction and hurriedly scrambled down from his observation point, approaching Lawrence with visible worry, “What’s wrong?”

“…Hallucinations,” Lawrence admitted immediately, his face lined with severity, “Did any of you hear a voice?”

“We didn’t hear anything.” The sailors exchanged puzzled glances before one of them finally confessed.

“Perhaps it would be wise if we didn’t venture any further,” Lawrence suggested, his face adopting a thoughtful frown, “Let’s head back to the harbor first, and then…”

Once more, Martha’s voice echoed in his ears, but this time it felt closer: “Return to the ship, without delay.”

Lawrence was momentarily flabbergasted. He forced himself to resist the instinct to turn towards the source of the voice again. He was about to continue speaking when Martha’s voice interjected once more. This time it was as if she was whispering directly into his ear, her tone infused with urgency: “Get back to the White Oak, NOW! Lawrence, they’re coming!”

A fleeting expression of surprise darted across Lawrence’s face as he involuntarily shot back, “Who? Who’s approaching?”

The first mate tensely gripped Lawrence’s arm, “Captain, who are you conversing with?”

Instead of answering, Lawrence abruptly turned his gaze in the direction where their ship, the White Oak, was moored.

A feeling of dread started to bubble up within him.

And in the very next moment, a muffled thud reverberated from that direction as if giving credence to his growing fears.

It was the distinct sound of cannon fire.

“There’s cannon fire…” the first mate swiftly realized, “We’re under attack!”

“Back to the ship!” Lawrence ordered, spurring the team to dash towards the harbor. As the wind picked up its ferocity, swirling around them, Martha’s voice brushed against his ear like a soft whisper: “The Seagull has arrived…”