((THERE IS AN OOC SOMEWHERE))

Juxtaposed to the cool, clear night sky, a solemn fleet of sturdy steel machines lumbered over the rolling waves of the open ocean. Water vapor rose in hazy columns from the stout proud chimneys of the watercrafts, accompanied by the frosty breaths of the restless crew. A thousand passengers, assumed sleeping at the late hour, had paid for passage within the colonial convoy of Northern Coast Company. By mid-morning’s stretch, they’d make berth near bustling New Porksure, already filled by a few hundred fresh arrivals.

The Northern Ocean was a nice place to be on a nice night, and it was a terrible place to get caught in a storm. The sheer expanse of the whole sea made it a brewing pot for storms of mythical magnitude. Surveyors had put a measure on the trip, and the one-way distance came to be just over half-a-million miles. The insular nations had placed their bets on conquering the distance with the help of industry and the support of an overflowing surplus population. Northern Coast Company had led the way with the financial backing of the progressive Porksure monarchy. Two colonies had been settled on the coastal plain, given life by the continuous outflow of addictive greenery. New Porksure was the more active of the two, notorious as a safe haven for both the ostracized and alienated. The title was set firmly in fact, despite only a single initial trip to establish the port city. The surrounding wilderness really had proved to be a wonderful place to elude authority, even if the royal government had possessed any effective power over the civilized part of the distant territory.

Competing nations had placed their bets on promising entrepreneurs, striving to carve their name on the endless shores in the north. Agrarian Caputan, too poor to afford its own stake (And continually coerced by upstart Lemushi), was forced to pool its resources into a Lemushian shipping company. The new fascist regime of Osteon had appealed to the masses and carefully planned their conquest of the North Coast, after a history of continual repulsion by neighboring nations. Caputan had barely escaped the clutches of Osteon just a decade ago, and the idealistic democracy of Lemushi had acted to guard the sea of Minor Caput from the talons of fascism. Despite an armistice, Osteon still occupied three of the nearest isles. When war with someone became unavoidable, Porksure had reached a reluctant peace with them, which would’ve certainly been broken had the backwards Caputanese surrendered.

Admittedly, Porksure was more concerned with its northwestern flanks, a region thrown into rebellion after years of occupation by Orpum, Osteon, Aeika, and Porksure. Lemushi was the daughter of a similar revolution (undertaken at the expense of Porksure), though outstandingly stable with a century’s backing. Porksure did profit off the turmoil by annexing several willing islets, but the conflagration had become so viral as to sweep the Kingdom of Aeika herself into the fires. That whole rebellious region of Sevonsia was completely ignored while the promises of free land filled the ears of the politically potent. It was considered good fortune by the unaffected nations that two powerful competitors had been crushed by the uprising; Orpum had lost her superior armada to sabotage, and Aeika would have a tough time to even claim that it was unified.

The four stable powers wrangled for their seats of authority on an untainted wilderness. Only Porksure had anything to show for it. Tropical storms had drowned a Lemushian convoy, but the Congress was determined to risk subsidizing another endeavor. Orpum had her own strategy to undermine the efforts of other nations, by playing off of their mutual hostilities with one another. So far, it had proved to be just a minor setback to foreign officials with tunnel vision tuned on territory.

The night sky was an awing sight to behold. There was never a moon to be seen, but two beautiful striped-blue pillars rose wide from the east and west horizons, diminishing asymptotically until they met at an invisible point directly overhead. The pillars there were slightly wider than the sun when it was out. The sun by now was starting to peek from behind the blackness, supported at the apex of the arch in the sky. Once the sunlight was unsheathed from its untouchable black veil, its brilliance had effortlessly masked the dull glow of the dual pillars within the azure sky.

The six ships in the Porksure convoy docked at the empty pier. Two soldiers of the Crown marched down the shallow ramp of the flagship, cautious yet composed with their machine guns held ahead of them. Wary eyes darted around the ghostly pier, not even a soul to be seen in the nearby town. It was still early in the morning, and chances were that the town was full of sleepy people.

One man came after them, keeping the crates and people in procession behind. He wasn’t a young man, at least in his middle years, graying hair and gaunt cheeks. The happy man strode bright-eyed to the docks and bowed to the guards. “They’ve done well for a month,” he said with a kind smile. The hypnotic forest held him fast, before he came back to reality, at the call of a laborer. He responded duteously, “Yes! See to it that the passengers are all off before we start with the supplies! I’ll make my way to greet the governor. That’s all I’m good for, you know,” the grinning man strolled up the pier, intent to see what the company had done for the little village.

The streets were yet to be paved, but there was nothing outside of walking distance in New Porksure. Even the forest was close by; a man with a long stride could hopelessly lose their bearings after three minutes of hiking in there. The smiling man was content to just look into the darkness, rather than pursue. He inattentively sauntered to the city hall, the most imposing building in the shabby brick settlement, by far.

The heavy ebony doors were pleasant to pound on, answering every rap with a melodious wooden sound. The grinning man stopped knocking after a spirited campaign to wake any lazy person yet to answer. The door was unlocked and invited itself to being pried ajar. “Governor Stessel! The convoy is finally arrived! It’s just Krimlee. Come down here for a word with me before I get back to the ship!” He waited in the atrium, fixed on the chipping stairwell. Nobody appeared, and nobody replied. Krimlee considered sitting on the sofa to wait, drifting in thought with his thumbs in his pockets, but he decided that he ought to be back at the pier instead. It was a few minutes after the incident that Krimlee was given the definite news: Every colonist in New Porksure had vanished from the hollow town, gone without any trace but the brick homes.