The Great Drowning—the pivotal rupture in this world's history—had severed all ties with its ancient past and marked the birth of the so-called "Age of the Deep Sea."
From what Nina had explained, Duncan now understood, at least in broad strokes, the magnitude of the catastrophe that once reshaped the entire planet. This strange world, riddled with anomalies and haunted by shifting phenomena, was not always like this.
Long ago, the oceans were not boundless. The world was mostly land, and what little sea there was had clear borders. Back then, people lived on solid ground. No rifts to the spirit realm, no anomalous storms that tore open space, no whispers from the void. That ancient age—the so-called Era of Order—reminded Duncan uncannily of the world he had come from.
To the people of this new era, that ancient world was a myth, a paradise whose order had long since vanished under the waves. But for Duncan, the current world felt like the aberration.
Strangely, despite the world-shattering scale of the Great Drowning, no one truly knew how or why it had occurred. The catastrophe lay behind a wall of ignorance. Even the most learned scholars admitted defeat: they had theories, yes, but not a single shred of proof survived from before the fall. No artifacts, no documents. Just oral histories, fragmented and contradictory.
Now, only scattered islands remained, scattered across the Boundless Sea. What little civilization survived clung to these fragments. And as if that weren't enough, the sea had brought with it something even more disturbing—anomalies and phenomena that twisted the rules of nature itself.
Yet here he was, Duncan, the so-called ghost captain, listening to a schoolgirl recite lessons in history as if they were bedtime stories.
Nina was unaware that the man before her was absorbing every word like vital intelligence. She just thought her uncle was having a rare good day. And when he had good days, she wanted to make them last, to share everything she'd learned before he slipped back into silence or one of his tempers.
"…That's why Professor Morris emphasized the importance of the Cretian Kingdom," she continued eagerly, twirling her spoon absentmindedly. "Even though it only lasted about a century, it was the first civilization to rise from the wreckage after the Great Drowning. They weren't just survivors. They documented the early anomalies. They built defenses. They tried to live alongside the phenomena without being consumed by it."
Duncan leaned forward slightly. "And that's when they created the classification system?"
"Yes!" Nina's eyes lit up. "That's how we got the distinction between anomalies and phenomena—or 'anomalous entities' and 'phenomenal fields,' if you want the official terms."
She cleared her throat, then quoted from memory: "Anomalies are typically small in scope, often confined to an object, creature, or—rarely—a person. They can sometimes be moved or contained. If they're stable enough, some can even be used, like tools, under specific protocols."
"Tools," Duncan echoed, intrigued. "You're saying people can use anomalies?"
"Only certain ones, and only with strict procedures," Nina replied. "But phenomena are something else entirely. They're massive. The smallest ones might cover a building. The biggest could span an entire city-state—or more. They can't be moved. They operate on their own logic and affect anything within their range. It's why we treat them more like natural disasters than artifacts."
"And the most dangerous ones?" Duncan asked.
"They usually don't move," Nina said. "That's the one good thing about them. The ones that do move… those are the ones entire city-states evacuate for."
She paused, her expression turning thoughtful. "But our professor always reminds us: these rules are guidelines, not guarantees. Anomalies and phenomena break their own rules all the time."
Duncan nodded slowly. "That's where your so-called 'Zero Law' comes in."
Nina beamed. "Exactly! The Zero Law: 'No matter how many rules we've written, something will always break them.' It's the only law that applies to all anomalies and phenomena, always. Every book on the subject lists it first—even before chapter one. It's how we got the Principle of Permanent Instability. Basically, never assume the rules won't change."
Duncan sat back, quiet for a moment, absorbing everything.
The Zero Law. A beautifully simple expression of chaos.
A world that had codified its own madness. And somehow, civilizations still thrived.
He glanced at Nina again. She had no idea how important the information she'd just shared truly was. To her, it was just another school lecture. But to Duncan, it was a revelation. A frame of reference for everything he'd seen—and everything yet to come.
For now, though, he smiled and gestured at her half-finished breakfast. "Eat up. I want to hear more about these anomalies later."
Nina grinned, picked up her fork again, and took another bite of the cake he'd brought home.
And for the first time in a long while, Duncan felt something in his soul relax.
A piece of solid ground beneath his feet, even if only metaphorical.