[{"data":1,"prerenderedAt":-1},["ShallowReactive",2],{"origin-notes-on-kraft-anomalous-studies":3,"chapter-notes-on-kraft-anomalous-studies-notes-on-kraft-anomalous-studies-chapter-81":6},{"origin":4,"title":5},"chinese","Notes on Kraft Anomalous Studies",{"chapter":7,"nextChapterSlug":19,"prevChapterSlug":20,"totalChapters":21,"novelImage":22},{"id":8,"novel_id":9,"title":10,"slug":11,"index":12,"content":13,"wordcount":14,"created_at":15,"updated_at":15,"volume":16,"translator":17,"content_hash":18},2283559,4467,"Chapter 81","notes-on-kraft-anomalous-studies-chapter-81",81,"\u003Cp>Siman dragged him forcibly into the cabin, hiding them in the dim interior until the relieving sailors passed by and vanished completely down the stairs to the deck.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Could it be drifting right toward us?” His companion answered his own question with another absurd one, eyes darting everywhere, searching for a foothold, finally settling on Siman.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>It was clear he needed some validation—a nod, or an affirmation—but Siman couldn’t give him that.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He’d never seen a giant iceberg, but he’d seen plenty of large floes. Floes often served as motion reference points; they had no sails, and their minimal movement was negligible compared to the ship’s speed, quickly left behind, letting the crew know they’d drawn closer to their destination.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He’d never seen an iceberg, but he felt icebergs shouldn’t be an exception. Logically, the answer should be negative—but Siman didn’t want to admit it. “Who knows? Maybe it’s not the same one at all.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>This explanation convinced his companion—and even Siman himself. The odds of encountering two giant icebergs, unseen in a decade, in succession on this sea were too small to calculate, but far greater than the chance of an iceberg moving at ship speed.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>With the last glimmers of light, they stumbled back to the cabin and decided to sleep. The officer in charge of this watch was the captain himself—the reliable old ice-sea helmsman Becker—perhaps by morning, the problem would be resolved.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>With this thought, Siman smoothed out his damp patch of hay, shared yesterday’s frozen meat with his companion in the dark, and each lay down, praying they wouldn’t see it again at dawn.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The exhaustion from daytime labor didn’t bring peaceful sleep; the ocean’s waves were erratic, constantly interrupting his already restless slumber. He heard uneven footsteps above on the deck—likely adjusting the sails again.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The thing he’d seen by day kept surfacing in his memory, emerging as drowsiness crept in, merging with his companion’s terrified expression. He recalled the scenes: sails unfurling, the ship racing forward, flinging floes behind.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>That thing on the horizon hadn’t been left behind. It was too far—too distant to discern any detail, so distant that Siman could convince himself and his companion that what he saw at dawn and dusk were two different objects.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In some hidden corner of his mind, a thought rejoiced that he’d only seen it twice—otherwise, he’d have no excuse to avoid facing it. But he couldn’t consciously admit this, muttering that they were merely two icebergs coincidentally appearing in roughly the same direction, struggling to clear the chaotic images from his mind.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Woken for the third time from shallow sleep, Siman heard the murmured voices of other sailors who’d gone to bed earlier. They thought they’d lowered their voices enough. Amid gaps in the waves, these sounds were as noticeable as moonlight patches through a small window—environment ensured they’d be heard no matter how faint.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The conversation contained things no one dared say when the sea and sails were visible. Waves slapping the hull drowned out parts of it; the first half of the whisper vanished, the second half dripped like cold water into the ears of the silent listener.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“...It seemed to have grown a bit bigger this afternoon?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The casual remark pierced Siman’s mind. He urgently compared his memories of the iceberg at dawn and dusk, forgetting he’d just convinced himself they were two different objects. The dark silhouette edged by the setting sun’s glow—indeed, it looked a full circle larger than what he’d seen in the morning.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The sleep he’d accumulated over half the night vanished instantly. Now he faced his inner truth: he could no longer deceive himself into treating dawn and dusk’s sightings as two separate things.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Siman felt the hay beneath him dampened, water seeping through, soaking his undergarments. He reached behind—his fur coat remained dry as ever, but his body was slick with cold sweat he hadn’t noticed.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He rolled over, reaching to shake his companion awake, but found the man hadn’t slept either. No snoring—only irregular, heavy, labored breaths, revealing his inner turmoil.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Not just here—where the cabin had once been filled with snores, it was now so quiet you could hear whispered conversations. How many others lay awake, listening to the night’s murmurs, recalling that thing they dared not speak of when the sails and horizon were visible, saying nothing?\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“God protect us.” Siman tore open his collar, gripped the winged circular amulet hanging around his neck, pressed it to his forehead, and plugged his ears, waiting for dawn.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Similar prayers rose from nearby—he knew they came from other sailors, hoping God’s power might extend to this lawless land without churches, driving away evil, ensuring they wouldn’t see it again when they stepped onto the deck tomorrow.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A mood spread through the cabin—low prayers echoed everywhere. Some muttered simple verses; the more devout recited exorcism passages from sacred texts.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The holy invocations offered slight psychological comfort, as if this cramped space had returned to the civilized world, under God’s radiant protection—though the only witnesses to this fervent prayer were the dark, narrow cabin walls, not cathedral domes or saintly statues.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>After gaining a little solace, exhaustion surged. Siman vowed to donate to a church if he returned safely. As he closed his eyes, he heard scattered footsteps on deck, synchronized shouts hauling ropes—the sails were being adjusted again.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>…\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Siman expected to be woken by the relieving sailors at dawn—but he awoke to the chill on his bare skin.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The light streaming through the small window was no longer moonlight, yet neither was it normal daylight—it was like light filtered through gauze, soft and feeble, offering only the barest illumination.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He instinctively pushed off the cabin wall—his hand slipped on the wet surface, nearly sending him tumbling back into the hay. Siman drew a deep breath; the thick, freezing vapor filled the air, as if he were swimming underwater.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“What’s going on?” The moisture was heavier than before a storm. Siman wiped his hands on his pants—everything he touched felt cold and damp. The chill seeped through his loose collar. Last night’s sweat hadn’t dried; his sticky clothes clung to his back.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He ducked low, avoiding his companion’s sprawled limbs, and, gripping the cabin wall, walked toward the exit to the deck.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The poor lighting forced him to move slowly, taking several times longer to find the stairs.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Looking up, Siman saw no faint morning glow—he saw only a chaotic, blinding white. The light above had traveled through endless obstruction, now spent, utterly exhausted.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Confused, he rubbed his eyes and climbed toward the deck, hands and feet scrambling up the waterlogged, slippery wooden steps, stepping onto the eerily silent deck.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He finally understood the source of the heavy, freezing vapor in his breath.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Boundless fog surrounded them, rolling thick white waves surging toward the ship, carrying the sharp, biting cold unique to the ice sea, coating every surface capable of condensation, transferring its chill to skin and to everyone’s plummeting spirits.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Just as visibility was restricted, so was the ship’s speed—the wind was too weak to disperse the fog. Without reference points, the limp sails made it clear: they wouldn’t escape this endless ice fog anytime soon.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>What the hell is going on? Siman wanted to shout this to the sailors tense-eyed at the rails—but the man on the stern bridge made him drop the thought.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Captain Becker leaned against the helm, staring ahead, fulfilling his duty. Hearing footsteps, he glanced at Siman, face stern, waved him off with a hand—go relieve the watch.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Such a captain was rare. Usually, Becker was easygoing and talkative, happy to slack off and let the first mate and boatswain take over, retiring to his cabin for leisure. Even on deck, he’d chat with the sailors.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The ice sea had no reefs or currents; even with poor visibility, they could sail straight ahead. Hitting a floe might cause a jolt, but nothing worth his full attention.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“To your station, Siman. You’re not new here.” Seeing Siman hesitate, Becker spoke up, eyes beneath his cap seeming to pierce his thoughts. “Just some fog. Seen plenty.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Siman walked to the nearest sailor’s back and tapped his shoulder. The man turned, still gripping the rail tightly, unwilling to leave. His fingers, red from the night’s cold fog, clenched involuntarily, as if trying to dig into the wood.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He glanced at Siman, then at the captain—preferring to freeze rather than leave.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Relief! No lingering!” Becker barked toward them. Everyone sensed the usually easygoing old man had lost his patience today—something was draining his strength, leaving no room to soothe the sailors’ small fears.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Yielding to the captain’s authority, the man reluctantly released the rail, his eyes locked on the white fog until, under orders, he descended the hatch and vanished.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“If you see anything on the water, alert me immediately to change course,” Becker ordered.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>This was redundant—Siman could plainly see everyone was on guard. While the captain’s gaze shifted, Siman touched the hand of the sailor beside him, still gripping the rail. “What are you looking for?”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He didn’t think visibility was good enough for the captain to spot something as small as a floe—and even if he did, they couldn’t maneuver skillfully enough to avoid it.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>His frozen lips trembled, uttering the answer he’d already guessed:\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“That thing from yesterday.”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“God protect us.” The prayer slipped out automatically. Siman immediately recognized its cruel irony—somehow, yesterday’s prayer had been answered in a twisted way.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The sailors had wished not to see that thing on the horizon again. Instead, overnight, freezing fog had descended—not only hiding it, but obscuring everything.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Last night...”\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>“Closer.” The man knew exactly what Siman was about to ask, cut him off with a brief reply, eyes fixed on the fog—as if staring hard enough could pierce the veil and trace its path.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>An iceberg never seen before—or something resembling one—was approaching them through the blinding, impenetrable ice fog.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Siman reached out, touched the rail, and held his hand aloft—felt no wind.\u003C\u002Fp>",1674,"2026-06-20T02:15:55.761Z",1,"Qwen3-Next 80B","360ebd3f04bdff2048054b68ca142d6bcf96c11acdd9bbf8fb72d657cfb0980e","notes-on-kraft-anomalous-studies-chapter-82","notes-on-kraft-anomalous-studies-chapter-80",406,"https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002Fnotes-on-kraft-anomalous-studies-cover.jpg"]