Rowan’s summer had taken on a whole new rhythm, and each day he spent hidden within the fortress walls felt like a grand escape. He explored every corner of the ancient castle, clearing out spiderwebs, crumbling relics, and items damaged beyond repair. Anything unsalvageable, he gathered into a heap and burned carefully, watching the smoke rise against the sea breeze, signaling the fortress’s gradual revival. With each item gone, he revealed more of the fortress’s original beauty—the intricate carvings, the faded frescoes, the astonishingly sturdy walls built to stand the test of centuries.

Rowan’s imagination took flight every time he entered a new room or uncovered a hidden alcove. He envisioned the castle in its glory days, bustling with people who had sailed the high seas. It was clear that, at one time, the fortress had been a place of wealth and power, adorned with silver-plated mirrors, ornate tapestries, and chandeliers made of intricate metalwork.

But as much as Rowan wanted to restore the fortress and bring it back to life, he knew there were limits. Furnishing it would mean hauling heavy items across the secluded, tree-lined paths leading to the hidden beach, a near-impossible feat for someone without the right resources. Besides, he didn’t want to draw any attention to himself or the fortress. The thought of trying to sell the gold wall lamps or silver-studded furniture had crossed his mind more than once. Yet, he realized it was too risky.

It was tempting—an easy way to get rich beyond his wildest dreams. But Rowan also knew that the moment he sold even one piece of treasure, questions would start piling up, and he’d no longer have the solitude he cherished here. People would trail him, curious to know where he’d found such wealth. They’d follow him to the beach, and the castle would be discovered by someone else.

Rowan began to collect various things from the fortress, carefully selecting items to bring back without drawing attention. He picked out items that wouldn’t immediately scream “treasure” but were still worth something—miniature ship models, worn maps, whaling harpoons, and other weathered trinkets with a maritime theme. Each piece was just intriguing enough to fetch a decent price at the pawn shop, but plain enough that no one would suspect they came from a great collection. Gradually, his pockets started filling with a modest but steady flow of money.

The extra cash was a relief. Ever since his father, Benjamin Creed, had vanished at sea, Rowan and his mother had struggled to make ends meet. Carina worked tirelessly, taking on extra shifts wherever she could, but there was never quite enough. With Rowan’s small earnings, he could finally help out more than before.

The small coastal town of Ashmere had turned colder toward them after his father’s disappearance. Old friends and neighbors avoided Rowan and his mother, offering polite smiles from a distance but rarely stopping to talk. Rowan understood, even if he resented it. People knew they were struggling and feared that even a friendly conversation might lead to an awkward request for help. The social distance had been painful, but over time, Rowan had become used to it, learning to stand on his own and accept that he couldn’t rely on others.

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In a town where connections meant everything, Rowan felt like an outsider. He was "the poor kid," the boy from the family who had lost their breadwinner to the sea. His clothes were often secondhand, his shoes worn down, and his world was far removed from the lives of his classmates, many of whom didn’t even spare him a second glance. At first, he’d tried to make friends, but he’d soon realized that his poverty made him invisible. Eventually, he stopped trying.

Yet, as he stashed away his earnings from the fortress trinkets, Rowan felt a glimmer of hope. He wasn’t looking for acceptance from anyone in Ashmere anymore; his goal was to provide for his mother and keep their lives afloat. He was resourceful, more so than most kids his age, and he’d managed to keep his secret hidden well.

Rowan sat at his desk, his small room illuminated by the soft glow of a desk lamp. Spread out before him were dozens of maps, their edges frayed and corners stained with time. He had spent weeks carefully extracting these treasures from the fortress, each map telling a different story. Some depicted familiar coastlines and landmarks, their accuracy confirmed by modern atlases. But others… others spoke of places that simply didn’t exist.

Rowan leaned in closer, tracing his finger along one particular map. Its parchment was thicker, darker, and far older than the rest. The ink had faded in places, but the craftsmanship was undeniable. Islands floated in the middle of vast oceans, surrounded by intricate waves. Tiny symbols were scrawled in the margins, written in a language he had never seen before.

He reached for his notebook, flipping through pages of scribbled notes. Rowan had spent hours in the Ashmere Library, poring over every cartographic reference he could find. But some of the maps he found in the fortress matched anything in the library’s collection, nor did the mysterious script.

“Who drew these?” Rowan muttered to himself, tapping his pencil against the desk. “And why would they map places that don’t exist?”

He turned to another map, this one showing a small island with a massive mountain range at its center. Unlike the others, this map had no names or labels, only symbols and the same unknown script. Rowan squinted, then grabbed his magnifying glass for a closer look. At the base of one mountain, there was a small symbol he hadn’t noticed before—a tiny ship.

His heart quickened. The ship looked eerily similar to the one he had seen in the book about Captain Eldritch Gosling. Was this one of Gosling’s hidden routes? Had the pirate discovered islands lost to time or intentionally erased from history?

Rowan leaned back in his chair, his mind racing. Ever since he’d found the coin and stepped into the fortress, his world had shifted. The rational part of him wanted to dismiss the maps as nothing more than an old sailor’s fantasies, but the glowing pendant around his neck said otherwise. Magic was real. The fortress had proved that much.

“What were you hiding, Captain Gosling?” Rowan whispered.