Forgotten Journal, by the Masked Assailant.
Ghost Ships, Soulflame Captains, Flames of Fate... All of them weakened the barrier between worlds. It was enough for us to flit back and forth as needed. But wounds heal. Our old routes have slipped from our grasp, been blockaded or sealed away. That left me trapped here, alone. At least the box has allowed us to stay in contact. The power to carry words to and fro, even to the land of the dead! I wonder if Morrow knows the truth. Sister wants my notes destroyed, but why? The book is already ripped apart; its pages repurposed for messages and orders to dim-witted Phantoms. Once I bury the final fragments, my tracks will be covered. One day, I may even come back for them. A little memento of the day my new life began.