Ambrose had seen ghost ships before. He had just ridden one, in fact.

But a ghost ship that had gained sentience, standing before him as a powerful demigod? That left his jaw hanging open.

No wonder there were no other undead aboard. A self-aware, demigod ghost ship probably didn't appreciate others wandering in and out of her body.

Almost instinctively, Ambrose floated up into the air, no longer daring to keep his feet on the deck.

His small gesture drew a faint smile from Aige. Compared to the ignorant undead pirates under her command, Ambrose was far sharper and far more attentive. If they hadn't both been members of the Elegiac Society, she might have been tempted to recruit this lich into her own ranks.

After steadying himself, Ambrose continued, "A shipwright... a ghost ship... Captain Aige, your original body must have sunk in an accident, which is how you became what you are now. Did your creator die in that disaster?"

Aige nodded. "Yes. By the time I regained consciousness, only his bones remained."

She lifted a finger. The cabin doors creaked open, and a crystal coffin glowing with pale blue-white light floated out.

Ambrose peered inside. A tall elderly man lay within, his hair and beard completely white.

"This is his body? There's no trace of a soul left at all."

"I've tried many methods," Aige explained. "I restored his body, but his soul has never been found."

A strange thought flashed through Ambrose's mind. He murmured to himself, "A revered figure whose death irreversibly changed your life... Wait. Why does that sound so familiar?"

"Captain Aige, please give me a moment. I need to consult someone."

Aige watched in puzzlement as Ambrose took out a peculiar gold coin. The divine power clinging to it made it clear that it was a divine artifact. What was this lich planning to do? Could the coin restore a dissipated soul?

Ambrose dispensed with ceremony and spoke directly to the coin. "Master, are you there? I have an important question."

Aige: "???"

The coin burst into radiant light as the phantasmal image of the God of Alchemy appeared above it.

"What is it this time—" the God of Alchemy began irritably, then noticed Aige. "Oh! A powerful demigod! Has my troublesome student offended you? For my sake, please spare him. I'll make him apologize properly."

Aige's expression turned to shock. A true deity, summoned by a single sentence?

Even demigod children might not receive such preferential treatment.

Ambrose quickly interrupted, "Don't slander me! Do I look like someone who just casually offends people? I just want to ask you something. Have you ever built a ship?"

The God of Alchemy blinked. "Build a ship? Why would I? I've barely even seen the ocean. Oh, are you underwater? I didn't notice. Have you found the elven divine artifact already?"

"You've really never built one?" Ambrose pressed.

"Why would I lie? I'm an alchemist, not a shipwright. Those are completely different professions!"

That was... fairly convincing. Ambrose waved him off helplessly. "Fine. That was all I had to ask. You can go."

The God of Alchemy shot him a disdainful look before vanishing.

From the moment the god appeared, Aige's lips had remained slightly parted in astonishment. Was that truly a god? Summoned at will and dismissed just as easily—was that really how gods behaved?

She dominated the Silent Sea. Even the Ragetide Kingdom bowed before her, and she was only a demigod.

How could a true god be so accommodating? And yet the divine power had been unmistakable. That was no illusion.

"You and that God of Alchemy... seem rather close," Aige ventured carefully.

"More or less. The old man tricked me once before. I thought maybe he'd done the same to you, but that doesn't seem to be the case."

Thinking it over, Ambrose realized something else didn't add up. The God of Alchemy had once told him that he had not yet ascended to godhood by the time Ambrose buried him. Meanwhile, Aige's history likely predated even the founding of Lyon. The timeline didn't match.

Aige found herself speechless. Despite her long existence, this was the first time she had seen a god treated so casually.

As expected, members of the Elegiac Society were all extraordinary figures in the undead world.

She abandoned any lingering thought of recruiting him and returned to the matter at hand. "Then, do you have any way to restore his soul?"

Ambrose studied the lifeless corpse again, pondering the question carefully. "If Wish couldn't restore him, there are likely three possibilities. First, his soul may never have dissipated at all. It might be located elsewhere. In that case, Wish would not have been able to fulfill your request."

Aige shook her head. "Impossible. I was a pirate ship. By the time I gained consciousness, everyone aboard had long been killed and left to rot in the sea. My creator was only a mortal. His soul couldn't have endured such circumstances."

"Then the second possibility: a deity has claimed his soul, preventing Wish from taking effect. Did your father harbor faith?" Ambrose asked.

The most common scenario was that a soul had ascended to a god's divine realm. Wish could not snatch someone from a god's domain; doing so would invite divine wrath.

Again, Aige shook her head. "He was not devout. I doubt he qualified to ascend to any divine realm."

"How can you be so certain? You were born after his death," Ambrose noted.

Aige produced a thick notebook and handed it to him. "His diary, along with the ship's remaining logs. It's how I learned everything."

Ambrose flipped it open. The pages were filled with shipbuilding records: from the earliest sketches of the Aige, to her maiden voyage. The shipwright consistently referred to the vessel as his daughter. His affection was unmistakable. He knew every plank, every nail intimately. Every maintenance session was conducted with painstaking care.

But he had been old. After sailing with the ship for several years, he had begun to sense that his life was nearing its end.

On the final page, written in shaky script, was the following: "I shall be buried in the deep sea, but my daughter will sail the Silent Sea in my stead. Aige, you will become a legend of these waters. Your name will be spoken across the sea forever."

In a way, his wish had come true.

The ghost ship was indeed the most famous warship upon the Silent Sea. But the shipwright himself had vanished into thin air.

Ambrose closed the diary calmly. Aige's second conclusion seemed correct. The entries were filled with craftsmanship and paternal affection but almost no prayers, save the occasional casual "May the gods protect us."

The shipwright indeed seemed to be no devout believer. He shouldn't have ascended to any divine realm.

If his soul neither persisted elsewhere nor was claimed by a god, then the failure of Wish was exceedingly strange.

"That leaves only the third possibility," Ambrose said slowly. "If your father were revived, you would die. The most fundamental principle of Wish is that it will not directly cause the caster's death. Natural law might punish you for invoking an unreasonable wish, but it would not kill you outright."

"What does that have to do with me?" Aige frowned. "How could reviving a soul kill me?"

"It doesn't make sense to me either. But if Wish failed, those are the only three explanations. Perhaps there's some detail we've overlooked."

He grimaced. The situation sounded illogical even to himself.

"Forget it," Aige replied calmly. "I never truly harbored much hope. After all these years, I'm used to disappointment."

But Ambrose did not drop the topic. "Captain Aige, what I'm about to ask may be somewhat offensive. Please forgive me."

"Go on. There's no need to be nervous. We're both members of the Elegiac Society."

"Very well. Is this shipwright truly that important to you? As far as I know, ghost ships aren't like liches. You don't require an obsessive fixation to sustain your consciousness."

Undead came in many forms. Liches required an overwhelming desire to anchor their souls, binding them to a phylactery.

Vampires required no such fixation. They could eat, drink, and feel. Aside from their aversion to sunlight, they were nearly human.

Zombies didn't require one either. With regular sustenance of flesh, they could persist indefinitely, though most were mindless.

Ghost ships were similar. They did not depend on obsessive will in the way liches did. And Aige had only gained awareness after the shipwright's death. Her understanding of this "father" came entirely from diaries. That kind of indirect connection should not have been enough to become a fixation strong enough to justify spending a Wish on him.

It didn't add up.

Yet Aige seemed unconcerned. "This seems to be a meaningless question. We undead live for eternity. One must find something to occupy the time. This wasn't originally my obsession, but after so many years of thinking about it, I suppose it has become one."

Ambrose sighed. "Fair enough. In that case, I may not be able to help. I could fabricate a similar soul based on this diary—but it wouldn't be your father. Only a counterfeit substitute."

He could create a convincing shipwright in accordance with the diary's persona, but in the end, a fabrication was still a fabrication.

Aige's eyes widened slightly. "You can forge a soul according to custom specifications?"

That was no minor ability. Even most gods likely couldn't manage such a feat.

"Yes. Custom orders are always welcome, and members of the Elegiac Society will receive a discount."

Ambrose was always open to expanding his clientele.

"I'll have to consider it seriously," Aige said. Then her tone sharpened. "But for now, let's retrieve that divine artifact." She looked at him intently. "Are you prepared to wage war directly against a kingdom?"