My father had gone to an antique shop and spent a long time there. When he came back, he was holding a cannonball - and then he solemnly placed the thing in the best position on the antique shelf, and wiped it carefully every now and then.

Every time she thought of this, Heidi became very worried about the mental health of her father at home.

"I'm telling you the truth, you don't know how weird it looks," the psychiatrist couldn't help but sigh again, "He treated it like a treasure, saying it was a very, very special antique. Every day before he washed his face, he would wipe it with the shell - but my mother didn't care about anything. When I said something, she would say, 'This is your father's only hobby of collecting. Don't bother him.'"

Vanna didn't know how to comment on this matter. After all, she knew nothing about antiques. The most impressive close contact with antiques in her life was when she was a child, she practiced jumping and slashing with a toy sword and smashed her uncle's vase. She still remembered the beating very clearly, so she held it in for a long time and could only say dryly: "...Mr. Morris is a respected historian and collector. I think his collection must have a special vision."

"I've never heard of anyone holding a cannonball as a treasure - even if the cannonball is real," Heidi sighed, "it must be real. At least it's solid and heavy."

Vanna didn't speak for a while. She seemed to be thinking about something. After a while, she suddenly said, "Let's talk about the amulet. Did Mr. Morris get you another identical amulet?"

"Yes, that's it," Heidi nodded, reaching out her hand to pull out the "crystal" pendant from her clothes on her chest, "You've seen it. I had an identical one before, but it was destroyed in the previous 'disaster'. The monk who registered it for me at the time analyzed that it might be an item that was accidentally contaminated with supernatural powers, but usually concealed its own special properties..."

Vanna looked at the "crystal" pendant that Heidi took out with a thoughtful expression.

"Do you think something is wrong?" Heidi couldn't help asking.

"...After the disaster, the cathedral was short-handed, but we still sent people to investigate the antique shop. It turned out that everything was normal, from the store's supply channels to the owner's identity and background. There was no problem at all. It was clearly stated in the city archives. The pendant incident seemed to be just a coincidence," Vanna said slowly, her eyes always fixed on the pendant, "but I always feel a little concerned... Heidi, do you remember that I went to that antique shop with you?"

"Of course I remember," Heidi nodded. "To be honest, I have some connection with that store. The store owner saved my life in the museum, and his niece was one of my father's students. The pendant I got just happened to come from that store... But you also said that the church conducted a secret investigation and found nothing wrong."

Vanna didn't answer anything, but after thinking for a moment, she stretched out her hand: "Can you show it to me?"

Heidi didn't think much about it, and took off the pendant and handed it over: "Of course, here you go."

Fanna took the crystal pendant that still had a trace of body temperature, and looked at it carefully in the sunlight. After a long time, she spoke as if talking to herself: "There is no extraordinary aura."

"Yes, it's just an ordinary amulet, and it's even made of glass," Heidi said, and then looked at her friend in front of her seriously, "Vanna, you are a little too nervous. I know this is your occupational disease as an inquisitor, but I think... the store owner is really a good person. You shouldn't doubt him."

"I am paying attention, not doubting. I always feel that there is something wrong with that antique shop, but I don't look at it the same way an inquisitor looks at heresy," Vanna said, returning the pendant to her friend. "But you are right. I may be a little nervous."

Heidi put the pendant back on and then glanced at the mechanical clock hanging next to her: "Ah, it's this time already?!"

"Are you leaving?"

"I have to go," Heidi said as she stood up and picked up the suitcase that had been placed next to her. "I have an appointment this afternoon - with the captain who has been under quarantine at the cathedral for several days."

Vanna frowned and recalled for a moment, and soon found the corresponding memory: "The captain of the White Oak? I remember his name was Lawrence... Is he in trouble?"

"It is normal for a captain who travels on the vast seas and is at that age to need the help of a psychiatrist," Heidi said, as if she had thought of something. Her expression was a little complicated, but she quickly shook her head. "But compared to most captains of the same age, Mr. Lawrence is actually in a good condition. I can't say more, that is the patient's privacy."

"Well, good luck with your work."

※※※

The first thing Morris did when he returned home was to hug and kiss his wife, and the second thing was to carefully wipe the cannonball on the antique shelf.

Although he felt a little strange when he brought this thing back, he knew that this seemingly strange "collection" had a special meaning.

It represents the connection between himself and the Lost Homeland, and also represents Captain Duncan's "goodwill" towards his family.

The incredible ghost captain always conveys his goodwill in various strange ways, including but not limited to soup stewed with deep-sea offspring, cannonballs with steel stamps from a century ago, and tutoring the less educated among his relatives to learn to read. Morris thought it was a bit strange at first, but now he has adjusted his mentality perfectly.

What Captain Duncan said was right, and what Captain Duncan did was normal.

Keeping this mentality, Morris feels that he has fully adapted to the atmosphere of the new team.

Footsteps sounded from behind.

Without looking back, Morris knew it was his wife.

"You've almost wiped it clean enough to reflect a person's reflection," the graceful old lady smiled and looked at her husband. "Didn't you say before that antiques shouldn't be wiped too frequently?"

"But this is no ordinary 'antique,' Mary," Morris turned and smiled at his wife, "this is part of the miracle."

The old woman raised her head and examined the two special collections on the antique shelf - a dagger and a cannonball. After a moment, she suddenly spoke: "Will you tell your daughter some truth later? About this 'miracle', about...your new 'identity'."

Morris stopped what he was doing.

There are some "miracles" that can deceive others but cannot deceive the people who have witnessed the miracle themselves.

As the product of an incomplete "warp prayer", my wife had been lying in the water for eleven years in the form of human-shaped ash. She herself was very clear about this. Now that she had truly survived due to the influence of the Lost Homeland, she naturally had doubts about her own survival.

This is unavoidable.

So after getting the captain's permission, Morris told his wife about the Lost Homeland, but he did not tell Heidi.

"…It's not necessary yet," Morris said. "Heidi doesn't need to get involved in this matter yet, and whether to tell it or not… depends on the captain's opinion."

Just then, the doorbell suddenly rang, interrupting the conversation between Morris and his wife.

Just as the old scholar was about to open the door, his wife stopped him with a smile: "I'll go - I haven't walked for years, and now I need more exercise."

As she said this, she turned and went to the entrance. A brief conversation came from the direction of the door. After a while, she returned to Morris.

"It's the postman," the wife handed over a letter, "for you."

"A letter for me?" Morris was a little surprised. He noticed the large-denomination stamps and several special stamps on the envelope at first glance, and couldn't help but frowned. "I have written letters to a few friends far away, but I don't think they will reply so quickly... huh?"

He suddenly stopped opening the letter, his eyes fell on the first stamp on the envelope representing the place of origin, with a strange look on his face.

"Where did it come from?" The wife's curious voice sounded beside her.

Morris was silent for two seconds, then whispered, "...Frost."

"Frost? That's a very far place," the wife said, recalling for a moment, and then said uncertainly, "I remember you had a friend in Frost, named Brown or Brun?"

"Brown Scott," Morris said slowly. His tone became particularly low and serious for some reason, and his movements of opening the envelope with the letter opener became particularly hesitant. "Like me, he is a scholar of history and is also fascinated by the field of occultism."

"Oh, yes, Brown Scott, I remember him as a thin man, giving people a meticulous feeling," the wife suddenly realized, "Is he still in touch with you? I remember that he moved to Frost many years ago, but before he moved, he and you had a very good relationship..."

"He's dead," said Maurice suddenly. "He died in a shipwreck six years ago."

As soon as the words fell, the room fell silent.