The translation from the open void into the outer threshold of the magical anomalies occurred with a sharp, sickening deceleration that made the massive timbers of the ship groan. The translucent emerald currents they had tracked for days suddenly flattened, curdling into a thick, shimmering expanse of reflective liquid that stretched across the horizon like a mirror made of cold mercury. This was the border of the Constellation of Alchemy, a localized celestial territory ruled by the Scribe of Forbidden Formulas, a minor deity who held the gate to the great libraries of Arcana.
The ship came to a forced halt, its obsidian-silk sails snapping violently against an atmospheric pressure that tasted heavily of copper, sulfur, and distilled silver. The liquid element beneath the hull did not splash; it parted with a thick, syrupy resistance, generating a low metallic hum that vibrated through the iron keel and into the lower decks where the survivors huddled in terror.
