35,7,326. Thirty days after the seas stopped burning.
It’s been ten long days and I’ve finally reached the open shore. Ten long days without rest. I’ve been able to get ahead enough to rest for a few days and think about what my life will be from now on. I’ve come to the conclusion that writing in this journal will alleviate my burden, and give the world a memory of me and the things I’m destined to see.
So, this will be a diary, of me talking to you. Day to day or most likely whenever I can stop for a bit. Garoned told me of the famous Oten the poet, who would balance his ink, quill and parchment while walking the most perilous of the wilds; there will come a day when I can do the same.
Yesterday my hunger overcame me, I tried going into the nearby town to trade what skripture skills I had for some food and clean water. It was all but five minutes before I was run out of town. I guess this mark really is universally understood, damn it. I’m still shuddering at the type of skripture the guards were launching at me, some form of everburn mixed with healing. If I used my studies sadistically then it wouldn’t be all that hard to make. But how they managed to get their hands on even something like everburn is beyond me, the production should be stricken from all records and never used. To burn endlessly is a fate worse than death.
Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.
I digress. And one missing chicken makes the trip worth it, add that to my list of crimes.
Sitting next to the blue light of my fire is illuminating the foam of the sea. The bubbles thousands of sparkling stars. The reflection off the moon is breathtaking and the lowered water levels prevents even the would be waves from distorting the image. Funny how fire is soothing to me, how I can even stomach the sight of it near water. So many blackened corpses and ashen skies overtake my sight for but a moment.
The makeshift bed I’ve made out of the sand is the peak of luxury, that and the warm air combined with the large charred driftwood I found and propped up against the wind. Almost luxury.
The stars are so clear beyond the light of man they can express their brilliance unhindered. Now more than ever I wish I had paid attention to Garoned when the taught the constellations.
He used to say in that old voice of his “It would be incredibly arrogant of us to assume that we are the only beings out there capable of looking to the stars and dreaming of a world not their own.”
He also said that when I write I should declare the purpose of it for all who read what for, “and especially yourself.”
So I write to let those curious souls, hidden hideaways, landlocked mainlanders, and those who have condemned me to this endless path for the folly of youth to know that there is a life beyond this great island we call home and sanctuary. That the perils beyond are not just that.
Come dawns shining rays upon my eyes I will run once more away, always followed but this time out passed the fogged steps of the great oceanic passage and towards whatever awaits.