The air in the hospice was thick with the scent of antiseptics and the low murmur of suffering. Nurses rushed by, their faces etched with lines of exhaustion, carrying trays laden with potions and bandages. The wounded and the ailing lay in beds that lined the walls, each a testament to the harsh realities of life at sea or the perils of military service.

It wasn’t a place a man went to recover. It was where you ended up when the sea, or fate, or your own damned stupidity had broken you beyond repair. I’d been assured, repeatedly, by everyone from the Commodore to the shipyard rumor mill, that this visit was a waste of time. “Poor bastard’s gone round the bend. Lost his mind out there. Nothing but ramblings and screams.”

Finding my way through the labyrinthine corridors of the hospice – a place clearly designed by someone who enjoyed confusing the already disoriented – I finally managed to corner an orderly who looked like he hadn’t slept for days.

“I’m here to see the soldier by the name of Alaric Rudoff. Could you guide me to him?”

“Ah, ye be wantin’ to see ol’ Alaric, eh? That be a rare request, that be,” he said, his words tinged with an accent that placed him from the northern reaches of the empire, perhaps near the Frostpeak Mountains.

“Why is that?” I asked, following him down a narrow hallway that smelled of disinfectant and something … sweeter. Lilacs?

“Naught but nurses and healers go to ’im. Family’s long given up, and friends, if he had any, be scarce as hen’s teeth.”

We reached a door at the end of the hall. The orderly pointed to it with a bony finger. “There ye go. But be warned … he ain’t exactly… company.”

I nodded, pushing the door open and stepping inside.

The room was as bare and unwelcoming as a prison cell. A single, narrow window, barred and grimy, offered a view of the grey sky and the restless sea beyond. In the center of the room, hunched over a small table, sat Alaric Rudoff.

He looked… exactly as I’d been warned. A broken man. His hair was a tangled mess, streaked with grey and falling into eyes that darted around the room like those of a trapped animal. His skin was pale, stretched taut over bones that seemed to want to break free of his flesh.

He was clutching a piece of charcoal, scribbling frantically on a sheet of parchment, his lips moving in a silent, unceasing litany of words I couldn’t understand. But what really chilled me were his fingers. They were long, bony things, the nails broken and stained, but they moved with a speed and precision that seemed… unnatural.

I pulled a chair over to the bedside, the wood creaking under my weight.

For a long moment, I just sat there, watching him, listening to the scratch of charcoal on parchment, the murmured words that seemed to spill from his lips like water from a broken vessel. Finally, I cleared my throat.

“Alaric?” I said, keeping my voice low, calm. “My name is Aedan. I’m… here to talk to you about Elysara.”

His head snapped up. For a fleeting instant, those wild, haunted eyes seemed to focus, a spark of recognition flickering within them. But just as quickly, it was gone. His gaze drifted away, fixated on a point somewhere beyond my shoulder, his lips moving soundlessly.

“Water…” He whispered, his voice a raspy croak. “Sky… no sky. All dark. Eyes… so many eyes. They watch. Always.”

I waited, holding my breath.

“Do you hear them too?” he suddenly asked. “The whispers? The songs?”

I shook my head. “No, I don’t hear them. But I want to understand, Alaric. Can you tell me what happened on Elysara?”

He laughed, a sound devoid of humor. “Happened? Happens. Will happen. All the same. Time… time is a lie there. You go, you stay, you never leave.”

“But you were able to leave.”

He leaned closer, his eyes wide and unblinking. “You go, you become part of it. Part of the song. The eternal chorus. And it never ends. Never.”

Frustration warred with pity. I needed answers. Coherent ones. I pulled out a notebook and a pen, starting to jot down his ravings. Madness or not… there had to be something here. A clue. A warning.

“Alaric… what happened on Elysara? What did you see?”

“The water… it breathes… whispers secrets…”

“What secrets, Alaric?” I pressed. “Tell me the secrets!”

He looked at me then, a flicker of… recognition? … in those haunted eyes. “Don’t go… Don’t let them… take you…”

“They… who will take you?” I pressed, hoping to tease out some thread of coherence from the tangle of his words.

“The song,” he whispered, his eyes wide, unseeing.

“Song?”

“Song is all. All is song. You hear it once… it never leaves. Eats at you. Becomes you.”

“What song, Alaric?”

“Everything is song. The wind… the waves… the stars…” He rocked back and forth, his voice rising to a keening wail. “They sing. And they… they listen… All. None.”

“You… you heard this song on the island, right?”

“Song is everywhere. It… travels… through the doors.”

“What doors?”

“Doors are eyes,” he whispered, his voice dropping to a barely audible murmur. “Song comes through. Takes you in. You see them… they see you. Forever.”

Frustration gnawed at me. This was going nowhere. I shifted tactics, asking about the lost expedition – their ship, their route, the events that led to their… disappearance. But his answers remained just as fragmented, just as maddening.

“The ship… she… she sang too. A different song. A song of… hunger…”

“And your crewmates, Alaric? Where are they?”

He just shook his head, those wild eyes darting around the room. “They’re… they’re part of the song now.”

I gave up. I didn’t know what I’d been expecting – a map, a warning, a coherent explanation. But Alaric Rudoff, for all his ravings, had given me nothing but chilling glimpses into a madness I couldn’t begin to comprehend.

I stood up, pushing my chair back with a sigh.

“Thank you for your… time, Alaric.”

I was halfway to the door when he reached out, his long, bony fingers closing around my wrist with a surprising strength. I turned back, startled.

“Shadows dance where light cannot tread,” he rasped. “The path is there, but not there. A journey through whispers, not shouts.”

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“A path? Through what? Whispers?”

His grip tightened, his eyes almost pleading. “The silent song beckons. It calls, but does not scream. To hear it, one must be still. To walk it, one must… bow.”

“Bow? To what?” I was grasping at straws.

“Not to, but with. A dance, not a march. A surrender, not a conquest.”

And then, as if a switch had been flipped, his grip loosened, his hand falling limply to his side.

The brief flicker of lucidity was gone, replaced by that same haunted vacancy. I stared down at him, a wave of disappointment, of … pity… washing over me.

I’d been a fool to think I could find answers here, in the ruins of a man’s mind.

As I stepped out of the room, the orderly was waiting for me, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, a look of mild curiosity on his face.

“Ah, Captain, ye’re done chattin’ with our resident oracle, are ye?” He grinned, pulling out a key to lock the door behind me.

“Oracle? More like a riddler,” I said, tucking my notebook into my coat pocket.

“Aye, he’s a bit of a puzzle, that one. Can’t let folks wander in there without supervision, ye know. Never know what he might say or do.”

“Eavesdropping, were we?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

He shrugged. “In my line o’ work, it’s more like … ‘observational learning’.”

I chuckled. “Observational learning, you say? And what have you learned from observing today’s session?”

“That ye’ve got the patience of a saint, and the curiosity of a cat. A dangerous combination, that.”

“ You might not be wrong. I’ve got a notebook full of riddles, and not a single bloody clue what any of it means.”

The orderly chuckled, a surprisingly warm sound. “Ah, ye’re not the first, and ye won’t be the last. But don’t ye worry… riddles have a way of solvin’ themselves, when the time’s right.”

“ Is that southern wisdom, or ‘observational learning’ ?”

“A bit of both, I reckon,” he winked. “But if ye ask me, the most elusive riddles in the world are women.”

I laughed, “Ah, the age-old enigma. I suppose you’ve cracked that code?”

“Me wife would say otherwise, but I like to think I’ve got a clue or two.”

“Ah, an expert on subject, are you?”

“More like a lifelong student. And the syllabus keeps changin’.”

“Doesn’t it always?”

As we reached the main hall, bustling with the comings and goings of nurses, patients, and visitors, I paused. “Would it be possible … to visit Alaric again?”

“Ye think there’s sense in his nonsense, do ye?”

“ I don’t know. But… I want to talk to him again. I think it could be helpful.”

He thought for a moment, then nodded. “If ye come in the late evenings, it should be alright. Less… commotion then.”

“Thank you,” I extended my hand.

He shook it firmly. “Anytime, Captain. And if ye ever crack the code, do come back and enlighten us, will ye?”

“I’ll make it the first item on my to-do list,” I said, smiling as I walked away, my mind still a labyrinth of questions, with not a single answer in sight.

----------------------------------------

“Name and business.” The guard at the entrance was a mountain of muscle and scar tissue.

“Captain Aedan, I’m here to see a prisoner. Lee wat.” I replied, watching as the guard consulted a ledger on a wooden stand beside him.

“Ah, the pirate. Very well, you may proceed.

I submitted to the pat-down – a necessary but irksome procedure. Satisfied, he nodded to his companion, who pulled a heavy lever. The iron gates creaked open, granting me entry into the bowels of the prison.

There were easier ways to spend an afternoon. Like, say, getting flogged by the Admiral.

The prison adjacent to the Naval Headquarters in Anchorfell was a formidable structure, its walls built from dark, weathered stone that seemed to absorb the light around it.

Anchorfell was… a curious blend of the ancient and the modern, a place where tradition and progress often clashed. Its legal system was no different. There was the regular court, of course, for landlubber disputes and minor misdemeanors. But when it came to matters of the sea… well, that’s where things got interesting.

The Tribunal of the Sea was an institution as old as Thalassar itself, a blend of maritime law, ancient ritual, and a healthy dose of superstition. Crimes committed on the open water – piracy, mutiny, disrespecting the throne(a surprisingly common offense, especially after a few barrels of rum ) – were all brought before the Tribunal.

The underground prison housed both regular criminals and those unfortunate enough to find themselves on the wrong side of the Tribunal.

The air grew colder and damper as I descended the stone steps, following the guard deeper into the bowels of the prison. Torches flickered on the walls, casting grotesque shadows that danced with every draft. The stench of sweat, fear, and something else … something unclean… clung to the air.

We reached a cell at the far end of a long, echoing corridor.

“Ten minutes, Captain,” the guard said, unlocking the heavy iron door with a grating sound.

I stepped inside.

Lee Wat sat on a rickety stool in the corner of the cell, his back against the damp stone wall, his eyes closed. He didn’t look like the kind of man who could chart a course. He was older than I’d expected - his hair a shock of iron-grey, his face etched with lines that told tales of storms weathered and battles fought.

“Who might ye be?” He asked opening his eyes.

His voice was as rough as barnacle-encrusted hull, his words a salty brew of dialects. It was an accent I couldn’t quite place, a blend of various dialects one picks up from a life at sea.

“I’m Aedan,” I replied, my eyes drifting to the small table in the corner of his cell. Atop it was an offering to Inirie, the goddess of wealth– a few tarnished coins and a half-eaten apple arranged with surprising care—“Planning on taking your riches to the afterlife, are you?”

“Ah, Inirie be a fickle mistress, but she’s got a soft spot for scoundrels like meself. A wee bit o’ coin for her, and who knows? Maybe she’ll grant me a lavish afterlife, eh? Silk sheets, rivers of rum… and a harem of mermaids.”

“Or perhaps,” I retorted, leaning against the cell door, “She’ll find it amusing to let you swing from the noose with empty pockets.”

“Ah, ye’ve got a sharp tongue, young man. So, what brings ye to me cell? Lookin’ for some last-minute confessions, or are ye the hangman come to measure me neck?”

“Neither. I’m here to offer you a… choice. A way out. Perhaps.”

“A way out, ye say? Now that… has my attention.”

“An expedition.” I let the word hang in the air, watching his reaction. “To the Isles of Elysara.”

For a moment, Lee Wat was silent, those hard eyes widening ever so slightly. Then, he threw back his head and roared with laughter.

“Elysara? Seriously? When did Thalassar start believing in fairy tales?”

The laughter died down, replaced by a shrewd glint in his eyes. “So, what’s the catch? Why would ye want a condemned pirate on yer crew?”

“Because I need someone with your particular set of skills. And because, as you said, Inirie has a soft spot for scoundrels. Maybe fate does too.”

“And what be in it for me , eh? Aside from dodgin’ the noose.”

“Freedom,” I said simply. “And a chance to rewrite your story. But make no mistake, betray me, and you’ll find that I’m far less forgiving than the gallows.”

Silence fell, heavy and expectant. Lee Wat stared at me, those hard eyes narrowed into slits, as if he were sizing me up, weighing my offer like a sack of dubious treasure.

“Nay,” he said finally, his voice a low growl. “If I’m to die, I’d rather it be at the gallows than chasin’ after some cursed isles. Seen too many good men – pirates and sailors alike – lose everything to that wretched place.”

I raised an eyebrow, surprised. “Turning down a chance at freedom, Wat? I thought a pirate would leap at such an opportunity.”

He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that seemed to echo in the confines of the cell. “That’s the problem with ye landlubbers. Ye think all pirates be the same – reckless, greedy fools. But I’ve survived this long ’cause I know when to take a risk, and when to walk away.”

“Perhaps.” I conceded, studying him intently. There was more to this man than met the eye. “So… what is it you want, then, Wat? If not freedom… what?”

“Ye’re not daft, are ye? Ye get it, don’t ye?” His eyes twinkled, as if delighted by a newfound game.

“I get you want more than just a way out of the noose. That’s why you’re playing coy. So, let’s cut to the chase.”

“Ah, a man who knows the art of negotiation. Refreshin’, it is. Most just throw a few coins and expect me to jump like a trained monkey. It need—”

“I don’t haggle, Wat,” I cut him off, my voice tinged with impatience. “I have little time as it is. So, out with it. What do you want?”

Lee Wat closed his eyes, a deep frown creasing his forehead. He sat there, silent, for what felt like an eternity, the only sound the faint drip of water from a crack in the ceiling. I waited, my frustration building with each passing second.

Just as I was about to tell him that my generosity had a strict time limit – and that time was rapidly expiring – He opened his eyes, a look of determination settling on his weather-beaten face.

“There’s a town. Vione. North, past the Shadow Mountains. I want a sum of money sent there. Enough to… sustain a family of four. For a good long while.”

“Trying to absolve some guilt, are we?”

He chuckled, but there was no humor in the sound. “As much as I’d love to regale ye with tales of my past, it’s got nothin’ to do with you or this… deal. ”

“Fair enough.”

I thought it over. It was an odd request… but not impossible. I’d made stranger deals, struck bargains with shadier characters in my time. If this guy was as good as Luke claimed… well, a few gold coins sent to some remote town were a small price to pay.

“You have a deal.”

“Smart man, ye are.”

“To whom should I send the funds?”

“To a woman named Heraphil Wynton.”

I raised an eyebrow. The name was as unusual as the man himself. “Very well. I’ll make the arrangements.

“Then it seems,” Wat grinned, his teeth a jagged landscape in the dim light of the cell, “ye’ve got yerself a navigator, Captain.”

“Remember, Wat, this isn’t charity. It’s an investment. I expect… returns.”

“Ah, don’t ye worry. I’ve always been good at deliverin’ on my promises.”

I turned to leave. “Good. Because you’ve just bought yourself a new lease on life, Wat. But remember…” I paused at the threshold, “You betray me… and you’ll wish you’d faced the gallows.”

“Don’t ye worry, Captain,” his laughter followed me out into the corridor. “I’ve got no plans of dyin’, not on land, nor at sea. Seems ol’ Inirie’s lookin’ out for me. She knows a good investment when she sees one.”