In the face of the high sea winds, General Aleyn, a giant dwarf was in good spirits aboard The Elsa, his warship painted in white, silver, and gold. A marvel of engineering that could soar through the skies, but today it braved the ocean's fury, the crew fearing the storm might tear it apart in the air. An extraordinary seaman turned fisherman, Aleyn possessed an almost sixth sense of the sea and skies. After circling the rendezvous point for hours, he saw no sign of the refugees.

The bow and stern turbines spun with a subsonic rhythm, cutting through the rain and keeping the ship afloat. Its sails filled with wind, propelling them forward. Crew members manned their stations, accustomed to the harsh conditions, having served under Aleyn for years. The ship was their home, and the rough seas were their backyard.

Aleyn stood out on the bow of his ship, the storms still raging, blowing rain as sharp as daggers in everyone’s face. It had been hours now, and he hoped to see something, but the oceans gave nothing.

“Weren’t we supposed to see the vessels by now?” Rowan Voss, his first officer, shouted over the howling wind.

“Aye, the winds are fierce as a Highland gale. They’ve likely blown us off course, but we’ll find our way!” Aleyn replied, scanning the turbulent waters.

Suddenly, a faint wail pierced the air. Thunder cracked, and lightning illuminated a massive tsunami barreling toward them.

“Hard to port!” Aleyn roared. The crew braced themselves, the ship responding like a well-trained organism. They welcomed the wave with laughter, embracing the chaos.

The wave crashed over them, threatening to capsize the vessel, but it held firm.

“General, no one could survive this! We should head back!” another crewman yelled.

Aleyn hesitated, glancing toward the relentless sea. Just as he contemplated turning back, something caught his eye. As the clouds parted and moonlight broke through, he spotted a young boy floating on a piece of debris among the wreckage of a shattered vessel.

“Full sails down, lads! We’re goin’ to save the wee lad, no matter the cost!” Aleyn commanded, tying himself to a rope before diving into the frigid water. It felt like a thousand knives stabbing at him.

As he reached the boy, who hung limply in the water, Aleyn felt the icy grip of despair clutch at his heart. The boy’s pale face contrasted with the dark, roiling sea, and Aleyn’s fingers grazed the cool, damp fabric of the sling bag, reminding him of the boy’s last fight for survival. The markings on the debris confirmed it—the vessel he was meant to escort was lost. He pulled the pale, exhausted boy close, struggling to wrap his arms around him.

“You’ll be alright, laddie! Just hold on, lad. Keep fighting’!” He pushed forward through the water, every stroke a promise of safety.

As Aleyn pulled Sky from the frigid water, the icy grip of the sea seemed to cling to him, numbing his limbs and stealing his breath. The boy’s body hung heavy in his arms, utterly spent, his face pale and lips tinged blue against the dark backdrop of the storm. Even when unconscious, fleeting images of the boy’s mother flashed in his mind—her warm smile and beautiful hair that danced like sunlight. He could almost hear her laughter, a melody lost to the chaos of the storm. What calamity had befallen this boy? he wondered. The wind howled like a banshee, and the thunder cracked overhead, drowning out the crew's shouts.

Despite the chaos, Aleyn's focus narrowed. The waves roared around them. Sky’s breath came in soft, labored gasps, barely registering in the chaos around him. As Aleyn swam back to the ship, he felt the boy’s body twitch involuntarily, a reflex of his subconscious battling the icy grip of the sea. Clutching the gemstone tightly in his hand, Sky seemed to hold onto it as if it were a lifeline tethering him to the world - a world that now felt so far away.

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Once they reached the deck, Aleyn laid Sky down gently. He pressed his ear to the boy’s chest, listening for any sign of life, feeling the faint thud of a heartbeat beneath his palm. “Come on, please…” he murmured, beginning the revival process as the crew watched, their hopes dwindling.

“Sir, there’s nothing we can do—” Rowan said but was interrupted by the unmistakable sounds of coughing.

“That’s it, laddie! Ye’ve got this!” Aleyn cried out.

The boy stirred, a violent cough tearing through him as water spilled from his lips. His color returned in a rush, the pallor of fear replaced by the faint blush of life. Aleyn's breath hitched as he watched Sky’s eyes flutter open, confusion mingling with a spark of recognition. It was a miracle—he was alive. Aleyn raised his hands in triumph, and the crew erupted in cheers, their spirits lifted.

As his eyes opened, panic flickered for a moment before confusion took hold. Where was his mother? The reality of his loss crashed over him like another wave, pushing him deeper into despair.

They fetched warm clothes and wrapped him in blankets, but Aleyn's heart crumbled as he noticed Sky's blank stare, the weight of his trauma evident in his vacant expression. ‘He’s lost so much,’ Aleyn thought, a pang of guilt gripping him as he rummaged through the sling bag, desperate to find clues about the boy’s past.

“Lad, what’s yer name? Can ye tell me?” Aleyn asked gently, but received no response. He rummaged through the sling bag, finding bandages, a medallion, and a waterlogged journal filled with sketches. Among the items, he also found the crest that Zain had passed to Sky.

Aleyn's eyes widened as he recognized the crest, a symbol of Elysian Royalty that had once adorned the halls of power. His mind raced with questions—What calamity had befallen this boy? How did he come to possess the crest, a symbol of such noble lineage?

In an attempt to brighten Sky’s spirits, Aleyn remarked, “Ye draw well, lad.” Among the soggy pages, he found a drawing of the island and one of Sky with a woman—his mother. Aleyn’s heart clenched.

“Oh… I see.” His throat tightened with understanding. He stepped aside, scanning the horizon for more survivors, but found only emptiness.

Returning to the journal, he deduced the boy’s name: ‘Sky.’

“Sky?” he knelt beside the boy, who gave the faintest nod. Aleyn smiled. “Ye can call me Aleyn. Ye’re alive, laddie! We’re going home.”

With Sky barely able to stand, Aleyn guided him to his private cabin—luxurious compared to what Sky was used to. He placed the boy in a soft bed, surrounded by warmth and candlelight.

“Rest here for the night,” Aleyn said softly, laying the journal and Sky’s belongings on the table before closing the door behind him. The crew’s concern for the boy mirrored Aleyn’s own pain.

“Alright, men, let’s get out of this storm and head home.” They responded and immediately set to work.

Inside the cabin, Sky lay in silence, the heavy footsteps and murmurs of the crew a distant echo. He unwrapped his bandaged hands, then opened his palm. The gemstone, still warm from his grip, glowed faintly as he drifted into a restless sleep.