Hans’ thoughts kept circling back to Miss Rodd’s words. Pulling Alfie into this reckless venture… Looking back, it wasn’t admirable, no matter how he tried to justify it.

“What about an engineer?” Hans finally asked, breaking the silence.

Murray, who seemed lost in thought, snapped back to reality.

“Huh?”

Hans raised an eyebrow. “Wait. You didn’t even think about an engineer?”

“We don’t need one,” Murray replied flatly.

Hans stopped walking, staring at Murray in disbelief. “Nice joke,” he said, trying to keep calm despite the insanity of what he’d just heard.

“I’m not joking.”

“You know,” Hans began, smacking his forehead, “I’m really starting to regret promising to follow you on this expedition.”

“Too late to back out now,” Murray said with a smirk, continuing ahead.

Hans cursed himself silently before picking up his pace to catch up. They’d been walking for at least an hour now, weaving through bustling streets lined with stands, shops, and carts.

The Ydgar Trading Center was alive with activity. The air was thick with the mingling smells of sweat, metal, spices, crops, and fresh fish. Hans had been so lost in thought earlier that he hadn’t even realized where they were heading.

“What are we here for, exactly?” he finally asked.

Murray turned to him with a grin. “What else? Shopping.”

Hans sighed, his patience already wearing thin. “Where are we going first?”

“The bookstore.”

Hans blinked, momentarily thrown off. “Books? Why books?”

“Why not?” Murray replied, his tone infuriatingly casual as he led the way into a building to their left.

Hans followed, pulling the doorknob. A small bell dinged as he stepped inside, and he paused to admire the sound. He’d love to have a bell like that someday.

The interior was neat and orderly, with metal shelves stretching across the room, each packed with books. It was almost overwhelming.

“Wow…” Hans muttered under his breath, unable to hide his awe.

Murray would’ve teased him for it if he’d been paying attention. Instead, he was already scouring the shelves, clearly on a mission. Watching him, Hans couldn’t help but marvel at Murray’s unpredictability. It was like his mind was a spinning wheel—you thought you knew what he was planning, but the next moment, he’d throw you in a completely different direction.

Not as random as Alfie, though, Hans thought with a small smirk.

Shrugging, Hans grabbed the first book he saw and sat down. He inspected the cover:

A Land of Outcasts: Intricate Workings and Origins of the Freeborn

By Roth Anderson

What luck, Hans thought, looking at the cheap cover of the book he’d picked up. If he wanted to occupy himself while Murray browsed, he’d better start reading now. Judging by Murray’s slow movement through the shelves, Hans knew they’d be here for a while. He figured he might as well learn about one of the major dangers at sea. Opening the book, he began to read:

"For centuries, we Remnants have fended off many threats while uncovering the secrets of Chos. One of the most fiendish among these is the ever-growing Freeborn.

At first, it began as a simple rebellion in the Scavenger territory—a gang of rebels in a society where rebellion was common due to their brutal taxes, which were even harsher than the dreadful Remnant levies. Even the wealthy sometimes struggled to pay.

The Scavenger’s ultimate goal was straightforward: to recover the surface world as it had been before the Flood and the Great War of Conquest. After the Flood, humanity broke free from Scavenger rule. The Remnants and other groups emerged, creating distinct factions.

Back to the main topic—the rebellion evolved, uniting thieves from other groups. They laid attacks on Scavenger cities and eventually became known as the Freeborn, a faction composed of thieves, criminals, and those who couldn’t fit into the structured societies of other groups.

Not long after earning this title, the Freeborn became enemies of the Skytides, Tidal Walkers, Remnants, and Deepwakers, making them a universal threat. Overpopulated cities house their members, and truly, anyone you know could be a Freeborn."

Hans rolled his eyes. “More conspiracies,” he muttered. While the Freeborn were undoubtedly criminals, he found it absurd to believe they were hiding among ordinary citizens. Still, he glanced at Murray before returning to the book.

"They steal most of their weapons or craft them crudely and are known for boarding or stealing ships from all factions. They target Seekers and Land Markers for their valuable ships and resources but are often warded off by Hunters and high-level weaponry."

Hans sighed. Their expedition had none of those. Alfie was an inexperienced hunter, and Hans doubted Murray had spent much on weaponry. If they encountered Freeborn during their journey, Hans wasn’t sure how they’d survive.

After half an hour of reading, Hans stumbled upon a section worth noting:

"These are signs that your acquaintances or relations may be Freeborn:

* Sudden changes in schedule

* Odd behavior

* Shifts in attitude

Many other subtle warnings may indicate Freeborn members living among you."

If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

Hans shrugged off the warning. He had no one to suspect—except perhaps the tax workers, but that was out of hatred rather than suspicion.

Flipping to the final page, he found a list of notorious Freeborn members:

"Marsh (bounty hunter), Atre (thief), BO123 (thief), Psyche (rogue hunter), and last but certainly not least, Bane (leader of the Freeborn). If sighted, survival is unlikely.

Bane, the Blackbeard of the new world, has no equal. Known for his brutality, he uses the heads of his enemies as cannonballs—a signature that strikes terror across the seas."

Hans paused. “Who’s Blackbeard?” he muttered. The reference was lost on him.

"The Freeborn have terrorized Seekers for thousands of years, their motives still unclear. But for now, I end this book."

Hans was startled when a finger tapped his back.

“Reading a book? That’s a sight to remember,” Murray teased.

Hans shut the book and placed it back on the table. He looked at Murray, who was carrying a hefty stack of books. Hans recognized a few titles:

* "Basics of Ship Management" by Erling Voss

* "Aerial Species and Beasts" by Nick Zennan

* "Guide to Essential Sailing" by Tom Allaby

The rest were in languages Hans couldn’t read.

“So you’re bilingual?” Hans asked.

“Of course. Who with a decent education isn’t?” Murray replied.

Hans grimaced at the veiled insult but held his tongue.

“Follow me,” Murray said, heading toward the librarian’s desk.

“Would it hurt to say ‘please’?” Hans muttered under his breath as he followed.

Murray placed the books on the desk with a thud. Hans anticipated the bargaining that would follow. Murray never shied away from a heated negotiation, and Hans knew better than to get involved. Instead, he mentally tuned out the escalating argument. After a while, curiosity got the better of him, and he listened in.

“Well, listen here, ***face! I’ve seen people sell bigger books for less!”

“Sir, could you please tone down your language?” the librarian asked, clearly exasperated.

“500 Jounans or nothing!” Murray declared.

Hans cringed at Murray’s audacity. Jounans—the universal currency of the Remnants—didn’t mean much to Hans, but even he knew Murray was being unreasonable.

“Once again, sir, we cannot go for that price,” the librarian replied firmly.

“**** **** ****** ****** ****!” Murray spat.

After several minutes of relentless cursing, the librarian finally gave in, practically begging Murray to take the books for next to nothing. Hans felt a pang of sympathy for the poor man.

As Murray approached him with a smug grin, Hans shook his head. “Think the librarian will ever let you back in?”

“Course not. That’s the seventh library I’ve been banned from this month,” Murray said nonchalantly.

Hans sighed. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that?”

“Books? Check. Shopping? Almost done,” Murray said, ignoring the jab.

“Is that all for today?” Hans asked, hoping the answer was yes.

“For today, yes. Tomorrow, we finish shopping. The day after, maintenance checks. Then we set sail.”

“Two days? That soon?” Hans asked, surprised.

“I’ve been preparing for months,” Murray replied.

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“Course not. If I did, it wouldn’t have been half as fun.”

Ding dong, ding dong.

“You better go,” Murray said as the fishing bell rang.

“I spent way too much time with you,” Hans quipped, already turning to leave.

“Hans.”

He paused mid-step and turned back, curious about the uncharacteristic tone in Murray’s voice.

“It’s not like you to accept something like this,” Murray began. “For whatever reason you’re doing it, I’m really glad you agreed to follow me.”

Hans raised an eyebrow. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve said all day. The heat must really be getting to you.”

“You deserve that one,” Murray admitted. “I know it’s not easy for you to leave it all behind.”

“Well,” Hans said, his expression softening, “it’s about time I stepped out of my comfort zone.”

With that, he gave a casual wave and walked away, leaving Murray behind.

As Hans made his way through the bustling streets, his thoughts turned to his mother. She had always voiced subtle disapproval of Murray, calling him a bad influence in her indirect but pointed way. And yet, she’d treated him with polite kindness, never making her dislike too obvious.

He wondered how she’d feel, watching her son follow Murray on this desperate, reckless mission.

Would she disapprove? Definitely.

Would Hans care? Probably not.

For once, he thought with a twinge of rebellion, it was time to defy expectations. Maybe it was time he had a rebellious phase of his own.

But just as he embraced that thought, an unwelcome memory crept into his mind, unbidden and persistent, like an unwelcome guest.

(Hans returned home after another grueling day of work, his shoulders heavy and his heart heavier. He pushed the door open and was greeted by the sight that had become all too familiar: his mother, frail and bedridden, lying on the mat he’d bought to make her as comfortable as possible.

He missed the days when things were better, back when she didn’t need him to carefully tilt a glass of water to her lips or stay up until the unholy hours of the night, just to catch the brief ten or fifteen minutes she might wake. Those fleeting moments were his chance to feed her, though they often came with sentimental talks he dreaded. They forced him to confront the fears he tried so hard to bury.

Her condition was worsening—it was clear she needed proper medical care. If only a fisherman’s wages could cover that. He thought of Miss Rodd, but borrowing from Alfie’s mother was a debt he couldn’t bring himself to take on.

The wrinkles on his mother’s face seemed almost theatrical, exaggerated, as if mocking her suffering. It wasn’t fair. Alfie’s mother was the same age, yet she was full of life, her energy matched only by her endless taunts. Why wasn’t his mother like that? Why couldn’t she be vibrant and strong?

She had never been robust, but this… this was different. As far back as Hans could remember, his mother had always been sickly—coughing fits, frailty, and a poor immune system—but never like this. Strangely, she had avoided the waterborne diseases that plagued their town. It was almost as if her body reserved its strength for battling a deeper, more insidious enemy.

Hans crouched beside her, placing the plate of food he’d prepared—boneless fish, soft enough that she wouldn’t choke—on the floor. He waited. Minutes passed, maybe hours. Eventually, her eyes fluttered open.

“Hans,” she said softly, her frail voice tinged with surprise, as if astonished to find herself alive another day.

“Mom, it’s me,” Hans replied, his voice steady though his heart ached.

“It’s always just you,” she murmured, her lips parting as he spooned food into her mouth.

“Mhm,” she hummed as she swallowed.

“How’s Murray doing?” she asked, her tone lighter, curious.

“He’s fine,” Hans replied. “He still wants to be a Seeker, though.”

“I wish him good luck,” she said, her gaze distant. “The seas are a dangerous place.”

“Mom, you know it’s impossible.”

“It’s not,” she said firmly, her eyes meeting his. “You should believe in him—and in yourself. Build up that confidence.”

Hans tensed. He hated where this kind of conversation always led.

“You’re a good man, Hans,” she continued. “Anyone who says otherwise is lying.”

Compliments like these always felt hollow to Hans, like lies people told to prop each other up.

“Like your father,” she added, her voice softening. “His death never sat right with you, did it? I remember when Alfie cried his heart out because he looked up to him so much. And you… you got jealous when you ran out of tears.”

Hans chuckled bitterly at the memory, though it was tinged with pain.

“Alfie’s a good one,” his mother said, a faint smile on her lips. “A little off in the head, but good.”

“Mum, please,” Hans interrupted, his voice cracking. “Stop talking like you’re not going to see tomorrow.”

“Hans,” she said, her eyes welling with tears. “You have to let go.”

Her words broke something in him. No matter how many times she said it, he couldn’t help but cry. He tried to protest through his tears.

“No, you’re going to get better,” he said desperately. “You’ll see tomorrow, the week after that, the year after that—so many more.”

He wiped his face as he set the empty plate aside, his tears refusing to stop.

“Hans,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I want to believe that too. I want to see that with you. But it’s my time. Ursa has decided it.”

Hans sobbed harder.

“You need to stop obsessing over an old goose like me,” she said, her voice cracking. “Find other relationships. I wanted to see you succeed… I wanted to…”

Her voice trailed off as sleep claimed her.

Hans stared at her, tears streaming down his face. Like so many nights before, he cried himself to sleep beside her.

The next morning, when he reached for her hand, her heart had gone still. It would never beat again.)