Gele did not know when he hit the river. Rather, he did not know there was a river there at all. Everything was spinning. Even if he had heard the flowing water or Sawyer had sensed it with the wind, none of it mattered as the invader tried to strangle him. Fingers were tight around his throat, and water poured into his mouth as he tried to suck in another breath. Sawyer was screaming, either in the past or present. He could not tell anymore. As Gele flailed under the water, he swore he could see a hundred different versions of the spirit holding him down. But really, it was the pirate, frenzied eyes glaring under his curly yellow hair.
Gele kneed the invader in the chest and kicked him back. Crawling, he pulled himself out of the pool, coughing and hacking up water. Looking back, he saw the pirate wading in the stream. His trembling hands reached into his jacket and drew a pair of daggers.
“A person?” The panic in the thief’s voice spiked, his teeth chattering.
“You should have pulled those out earlier,” Gele said as he rose to his feet. Nearly drowned once again. Now try not to get stabbed.
Yet the pirate did not attack. Rather, he stood there stunned. “You speak our words.” He looked almost afraid.
“What?” Gele heard the word come from his own mouth. It sounded like Sawyer. Not identical, but the accent, the cadence, he had borrowed it all.
“You’re not from here, right?” The man put his daggers away. “We were told no one lives on this island anymore, just bones and ghosts.”
“I’m not from here. I come from somewhere far away,” he hesitated to mention Galu.
“Captain said that the cannibals here died, at least that the people on the Funnel and along the Glass Islands told us that. The Glass Islanders themselves said they slaughtered the cannibals, and we heard all about the tales.”
Glass Islands . . . another name for Rem? Gele backed away from the river, giving himself more distance. “I learned this tongue from a trader from there, yes.” Another lie, would the invader catch it? “But there are still people here, families. You need to get your Captain and make him leave. Now.”
“You cannot make the Captain leave,” now his voice was estranged by fearful shivers. “It was fate that brought him here, he says. And why did it bring him here, twenty thousand miles away from home? He will not tell us, only pay us in gifts and promises of greater treasure.”
“There is no treasure here, only people, with nothing worth the price of your voyage.”
“To some alchemists, I’ve heard, that is treasure equal to gold.” The pirate hung his head low. His fingers traced the copper wire.
The rhythm of the rain and violent winds made Gele pause. With it, he could kill the pirate and take the copper and fling it into the sea. None of the other thieves would know they lost a man. The same thought crossed Sawyer too, as she tapped the empty scabbard on her belt. “If that is what you intend to do here, we have nothing else to talk about. There are people living here, I’ll say again, and you will not commit your sacrifices here.” Never had his voice packed so much venom. His voice matched the Admiral, tone and all.
“Twenty thousand miles, over a year of sailing, a hundred different islands seen,” the man whimpered. “You cannot just make the Captain go home.”
“Yes, you can,” Gele picked up a clump of mud and flung it at the pirate. “Go! You will find nothing here!”
“Do you think I have not tried telling him before? Do you think I have not compiled every detail of how futile this is?” His voice swelled. “Come with me! You tell him yourself! Face his rage, just as I have! Men more clever than me have tried and lost much more than wasted time!”
For a moment, it seemed the rain had gone silent as the man’s voice boomed over the storm. His lungs created a shrill thunder. And Gele began to notice more shadows coming closer.
“Niall?” A figure in the distance called.
“Boy, you see something?” Another voice farther away added.
The invader’s heart dropped, and his pink sunburnt face turned pale as pearls. “Run,” he whispered, sheathing his weapons. “You cannot fight them, run!”
Sawyer ducked down behind a wall of thin bristly reeds, waving for Gele to follow. It was dark enough to conceal him, but he moved away from the river entirely in case he needed to run. Hiding behind a tall mossy stone, he laid amongst the grass, which grew far above his head. Sawyer came with him, leaving the stream. She went to be at Gele’s side, and he held onto her as footsteps grew louder and louder. Pirates stomped through the puddles. His heart thumped and thumped, like his blood was bubbling and his skin was boiling, all matching the pace of the rain’s pitter-patters. The spirit next to him listened through the wild winds, thinking of half a dozen instances where she had been in a similar state. But, as a thing of seawater and souls, she had the luxury to peek from her hiding place, to look upon the pirates circling the man still standing in the stream.
Even if the spirit was cloaked in a soft glow, all the pirates had were the shadows of dark clouds and the thick canopy above. Gele could no longer see the man’s face, and those who climbed out of the thicket to greet him were equally dressed in shadow. But their voices rattled like shackles and bells, rummaging in Gele’s ears as they gathered at the riverbank.
“Better places to take a bath, Niall.” The first one laughed, a tall man with stocky shoulders. Some kind of rifle was strapped to his back, sealing Gele’s chances of running.
“I’m fishing,” the blond man, Niall, said with an unsteady laugh. “Nearly caught a fish, maybe a mermaid, but it slipped between my fingers.”
“Shame, be nice to take a mermaid home.”
“Be nice to go home,” another one grumbled.
“Be nice to go to the Second Sea too, but none of you cowards have taken the plunge just yet,” a raspy, hoarse voice sizzled under the rhythm of the raging storm. Rain had extinguished the torches, vanishing the light. And the cold creeping of the man’s croaks flourished, reaching out like fingers in the dark void. It demanded silence from the other men as the old voice took a long clamoring breath. “What of this wasted time, Stolen Niall? Which men are more clever? What have they tried? What did they attempt, and what did they accomplish? You are not a quiet kid, and your lies are dull. Who were you talking to? What did they say? Even if you were speaking to the trees or the fish, they are not to be trusted here. I have seen it.” The final word came out as a long hiss, mixed with murmurings. “Every lie you tell, I will see it in your soul. Every lie, I will lash you. This is our shared destiny, where all will become realized. You want your cut of the riches, don’t you? Think wisely, Stolen Niall. You only get warned once in my company.”
“There was a man. He spoke our language,” Niall whispered. The rain came down and down, flooding the river as the pirates surrounded him. “Maybe it was a woman . . . it is so dark, Captain. They said, they said people lived here . . .”
“A ghost, perhaps. No, your eyes are not as attuned.”
“What?” Niall whimpered.
“Keep talking, you saw a thing in the woods, but I remember telling you all the people here died long ago.”
“They didn’t. People are living here, families. They said so.”
“Cannibals, most likely, the glass savages warned us. Skinny feral things who eat babies as they fall from the womb and elders after their final breath. Abominations, happy to die and meet the Second Sea. They are not people, boy, listen to me. The cannibal lied. The treasure is what is true. Our fate is here . . . our destiny. If you are too weak to go, boy, let me know, and I will meet you above when all of it is done.” His voice was as soothing as claws scraping against rust. As he reached out his hand, a collection of bracelets jangled around a thin bony wrist. Something on his chest was twitching. But it was too dark to see, only sounds and the storm.
“What is the treasure?” Was all Niall asked.
“I could explain to you all, I could preach for a hundred years, but you would not understand. You need my eyes to see it and the witch’s eye to translate it. But I promise you, it is worth more than gold. Rather, it will make the price of gold meaningless, and all would be rich then, us with the swords and the ship. Pirates, thieves, rats, a treasure only for them. I have told you this every time you asked, and my answer will never change. You need my eyes to see it. So Niall, what are some cannibal families to you?”
“The same as a family of saints, I suppose,” Niall stood in the river, cold and wet, but he hid his shivers and did not tremble. “I will not judge a stranger, Captain. That is what I told you when you saved my life. Ghosts, cannibals, does that matter? You might be lying. You might be wrong.”
Gele heard a sword, or a knife, or the rain. A guttural wail next, scaring the owls from their nests and throwing bats up into the air. It roared out, louder than any cry Gele had ever heard. It was more grisly than the groans of captives spitting up their souls to feed the Salt Wench’s wings. Another hopeless scream and there was splashing—a sound more haunting than a dead dolphin stuffed with gold coins. Muffled by drowning, Gele heard begging. Splashes then screeches as grunts came with raspy breaths. He’s beating him to death. Do I go and stop him?
“No,” Sawyer said. The wind blew past her and she grabbed his arm. It ignored her plea as she tried to catch it with mangled fingers. “You cannot fight them alone.”
“I am not alone,” Gele pointed at her.
“Get shot with a rifle and see how fast that changes.” Sawyer snapped, making her words sting. “Be smart.”
And then it was over. “Do not touch me!” The captain cried out, like a crying child, shrill and high-pitched.
“He’s dead,” a pirate said. “See?”
“That was the end of his path. All he was, it seemed, was a drowned boy. Stolen Niall, not a name anymore, washed away.” The Captain feigned sadness as if he spilled a drink.
“What do you mean?” A different thief asked.
“He followed for a year, watched the miracles, and now? Be careful. This wicked land may corrupt the mind.”
“We were trading with the Funnel, with the Glass Islands, and then there was treasure. What is there now?”
“Magic and revenge,” the Captain answered, “now follow. We need to let him rest. We’ll come to check on him soon. Trust my miracles, as you did on the voyage here. We have eaten well because of me, and we will feast soon enough. Disobedience, though, look at what Stolen Niall chews on now.”
Gele waited until the rain had stopped. Words echoed in his head. Why did he kill his own man in front of the others? Why? In Sawyer’s memories, even the fiercest captains were not so cruel. They said they would check on him. Why? He sat there, trying to comprehend what he heard in the dark, the reason for the visions, and the pirates’ arrival.
Sawyer cursed to herself and rose from behind their hiding place. The spirit scanned the dense maze of trees and mud. Stone statues stared at her, knowing and watching. And the island, it was certainly spectating the spirit, from the bark, the water, or everywhere at once.
“He’s alive,” Sawyer gasped. “This boy, Niall’s alive. But . . .”
Gele could see it as he climbed into the red river. One of his eyes was cut out, half his fingers too, when he raised his hand to guard his face. Floating on his back, he had drifted down the water into a meaningless grave. But he was breathing. Heavy pants came from him as he cried. How could they think he was dead? Was it really so dark?
“He is trying to bait us out,” Sawyer said. “Cannibals? No, if Niall was willing to stand against him, maybe the people on this island were kind and friendly. And perhaps they are still nearby and willing to save his life. Or they came to see the corpse and reveal their location either way. They want us to lead them to the House, so they can have their treasure, the souls under our feet.”
“We either let him die here or risk the lives of everyone else,” Gele thought, tsking.
“Mysk ran. Maybe he’s still around,” Sawyer said. “No, do not call him here. They’re still watching.”
“I am no healer, but I will not let him die.” Gele lifted the man onto his shoulders. “We need Mysk or the House.” Upon a second look, he really was only a boy, a couple of years younger than him. Blood dripped down Gele's back as he carried him. Each step became agonizing as he struggled with the weight. Coan could do this so easily, he cursed to himself.
“Who are you?” Niall whispered.
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“Gele of Melaopel,” he finally admitted.
“Where’s Melaopel?” The boy’s words were delirious groans.
“My father,” Gele muttered, and Niall said nothing more.
Sawyer scouted ahead and behind. With the storm quelled, the wind was hers again. The spirits are watching . . . Gele listened as the breeze whipped around, feeling the space in between the plant life.
“Mapsokas,” Sawyer said, half-cocking a smile but still in a trance.
Gele turned his head but could not see the woodcutter. He pivoted, scanning the dark shadows that surrounded him. Only when she walked up to him could he see her, camouflaged in the tapestries of grass and leaves.
Her axe was poised at Niall, “who is that?” She whispered. “I heard screams, and while I looked back, Mysk kept running. I’m . . . I’m sorry I left you behind.”
“He protected me,” Gele replied, nearly speaking in Allecrean, “I need to get him to a healer.”
“The House, that is where they will be, even Mysk,” Mapsokas sighed. “Let me help you carry him.”
“The pirates, they are most likely following us.” Gele gasped in between each breath. The deep pockets of mud, the man on his back, his muscles were aching.
Mapsokas took half of Niall’s weight, and the two crept cautiously towards the House. It was slow, and Gele was sure the pirates would catch them, but they never came. Even when Niall groaned or let out a muffled scream, the enemies never appeared. But they could hear them. Manic laughter and raving came from behind them as far-off echoes. Sweat raced down Gele’s face as he tried to think. What did they find? The faint words he could hear were distorted by the raspy laughter, all of it coming from one man. “Yes . . !” Gele made out a single word and felt something twitch on his back. Sawyer stood frozen, shaking her head, and continuing on.
Then they went silent, and an hour passed by with no noise but the whispers of tree cats and bugs. Bats chirped overhead, but they only ran. And above, with the clouds gone, the Second Sea was above them, a spectator privy to the primal fear engulfing Gele. Do they know if we have a chance? How many times do doomed victims enter the sky with apathetic fanfare? He took a deep breath and kept going across the gray wasteland. If the spirits were watching from everywhere now, he refused to falter. Niall was groaning, blood coating both Mapsokas and Gele, leaving a road of red in their wake. But then, it was washed away by new rain. Green drops drizzled over Gele, landing on his face and lips. It tasted of something strange he never tasted before. Staring up, there were no clouds. From the Second Sea, he realized. A fish fell a few feet from him, splattering into a pink paste as it impacted the ground. Something else crashed down as flattened red gore. The walls of the House were in view now as the putrid stench of dead fish filled the muggy night air.
“The end,” Mapsokas whispered, “when the Second Sea comes for us, with all its monsters.”
Gele said nothing.
“You saw it, right? Coan’s Cave?” Mapsokas asked.
“I did,” Gele muttered. “What happens after, though, when the Second Sea falls.”
“People are made of clay, and we will be washed away like dirt in a stream. And eventually, something else will be made, that is inevitable.”
“Is that good or bad?” Gele asked, watching birds coming to feast on the fresh meat.
“I don’t know. I never thought it would happen. I thought Vall was already close to dying. There were never going to be monsters or invaders, just one person left, with no children to take their place. That was how the people of Vall would end, and we would be the island forevermore.”
“What do you believe now?”
“I believe that we’ll die today, but doing nothing means we are pigs waiting for our butcher. I chose to be a soldier of Vall today. I will never squeal when the knife comes.” She paused, shaking her head. The mask over her face had eight eyes and three mouths, but underneath, Mapsokas was cursing to herself. “I am sorry I left you behind. You should leave now before you die with us. Someone needs to survive this, take the children too. They can live as new people and be free from this fate.”
“No,” Gele said sternly, refusing. Coan had made the same plea, and he had made the same promise. Reaching the river, the raspy words of the captain seared his mind as he spoke, “I have already made my choice.” Gele thought of the spirits in the amber, what Sawyer saw. They can’t know the future, can they? The doubt infected him, leeching off him. They saw the Second Sea fall. A warning or a promise?
Massamurr opened the gate for them, calling out for Coan as they dragged Niall inside. The gatekeeper, only a boy, accidentally grabbed the pirate’s arm, and he let out a painful yelp. By now, it was red and swollen. Only two fingers were left on the hand, soaked in red. And half his face looked dead already.
“I’ll get a h-healer. N-no, I’ll get all the healers,” Massamurr said, shocked and stuttering.
A bed was set—of animal skins and dried grass—under the shelter of the giant shell at the center of the House. And in only seconds, it was stained a filthy scarlet. Six healers swarmed him with splints and bandages, feeding him water and alcohol. He gagged at first but muttered a soft “thank you” as they covered his bleeding hand and face.
“What happened?” Coan called out as she gazed at the pirate. “Who is he, and why did you bring an invader here, Gele?”
“He tried to protect me from his captain, and he was beaten and maimed for it,” Gele knelt down beside him. “The captain, he spoke of magic. And, most likely, he and his crew followed us here, thirteen, no, twelve in all.”
“Twelve? Maybe we can kill them all in one attack.” Coan paced around, gazing at the crafters building spears and cudgels. “Not like we have any time left.” She turned to an old woman tailing her and Nimereen, who stood all but frozen looking upon Niall. “Mashur and Nimereen, help me find twenty strong soldiers to take with me. Twenty is all I’m willing to risk. None of them should be younger than you, Nimereen. I will not be taking children.” She glanced at Gele and Mapsokas. “You two, please, if we can hit them in the jungle, we might be able to stop the invaders without magic and without blood.”
“You did not have to ask,” Mapsokas said.
Gele only nodded, “of course, but please, look after this man.”
“Take his weapons and bind his wrists,” Coan said, dubious. “Give the iron to me.” A healer passed her a pair of knives, and inside the pirate’s leather coat were five more. “Pass these out to those with the flimsy spears, the ones we have no time to replace,” she told Mapsokas.
“Sister, let me come with you!” Mysk standing a few feet away, one of the only healers not helping Niall. “I want to fight,” he said, looking at Gele and the invader he brought, “I ran last time. I hid when Rem came years ago. Not again.”
“No.” Coan gave a quick and clear answer.
“You will need a healer with you, one that can look after any wounded,” Mysk shook his head, knowing the argument would be futile. “I cannot stand aside while you go out there. I’m scared I will not see you again, like every other time you leave. I ran before. Gele . . . Mapsokas . . . I’m sorry. I could have killed you both. Not again. I will not sully my name with fear.”
“Come, be a healer, take a knife, but do not fight.” The warlord commanded, weapons hanging limply in her hands. “You’re my brother, not a soldier.”
“You can give me commands, not a role, sister,” Mysk said. “I will come with you, but if I need to, I’ll do what it takes to keep Vall safe, as everyone else here has.”
Coan pressed her mask close to her face, “Fine, but get ready, bring your healer’s tools. There will be lots of work when this is done. You know his words,” she pointed at Gele, then to Niall, “find out all you can, we leave when we are ready. There may be no time, even now.”
Green water splashed down from above, with fish made of only bone plates falling with them, smashing like glass on the ground. Gele knelt beside Niall, where the healers sewed his eye shut and wrapped it all in cloth. “Broken ribs and a broken arm,” one said, pointing at the bruises that ran across his stomach. His clothes were set aside, with meager possessions, only knives, and a few copper coins.
“Can you help us?” Gele asked. He pointed around the House, at the workers and the children. “You helped this place, thank you. But we need to know all we can about your captain.”
Niall felt his face with his hand. Only his thumb and forefinger survived. The words could out quiet, surrendered through clenched teeth. Fury fueled him, forcing him to speak, to endure. “He’s a summoner. The eye, he named it Bale. When he feeds it copper, fish rain down like they do now. He says there was a plan told to him, in Allecros, to stop us all from being taken, stolen, like me.”
“Stolen?”
“I left home when I was a boy and became a beggar.” He groaned, trying to sit up, but a healer pushed him down. That made him cry and nearly retch. “The Navy kidnapped me, conscripted me as a sailor for some war. Gele of Melaopel, the captain sunk us the same way. He used oils and fire and summoned a plague of red rain on our warship. The Navy had no chance. I only lived because they tied me to the mast as punishment for disobeying orders. He’ll do the same to you. He makes deals with monsters from Hell and the Second Sea. He is a wizard, a real one. His eyes, they . . . I’ll get him back for . . .” He quivered, then leaned over and puked, coughing so hard he nearly fainted. The healers pushed Gele away. “No more,” one said as she hurried to sit the pirate upright.
Sawyer stood over him, stunned. “Never in my time as a sailor have I heard of a ship being won by sickness. Sure, scurvy, fever, and a hundred other things, but never through magic like that.”
“A summoner, you’ve seen beastmen, chimeras, even a Siren from the Second Sea. What is a summoner?”
“Could be all those things and more,” Sawyer tsked. “Some pirates are said to have spoken to ghosts, to sewn souls into their hulls, but that means nothing, only myths. To call down the Second Sea, not just a few fish, but the heaven itself? No wizard books talk of summoning on that scale. But, all the books I’ve seen have been far from Allecros, where wizards hoard secrets.”
“And that’s where this man is from.”
“Get a knife Gele, plunge it in his heart,” Sawyer grabbed his shoulders. “Do it. I warned you of this. You warned yourself of this. People far worse than me are out there, and they have come straight for you. You cannot stop it. They are here.”
“And they will take everything away, and I will be dining in Hell with all your victims.” Gele clenched his teeth and touched his broken nose. All around him were faces he could not read, except for the two pirates, one dead and the other dying.
Coan came to Gele, handing him an iron knife. “Your ghost,” she whispered, “does she have a plan better than mine? Say so now.”
Sawyer shook her head, Gele though already knew what she was thinking. “The pirate leader, he’s a wizard of abilities Sawyer has never heard of before. Our best chance is sneaking up behind them and taking the men out with rifles, the thunder weapons, first. The captain too, there is no way to tell what tools he carries with him. And, without hesitation, he used his own ally as bait.”
“We’ll keep the temple safe. We’ll keep the House safe.” Coan took a deep breath. “It’ll work, right?”
“I don’t know,” Gele murmured. A waterfall of memories fell over his head. Each one of them was a battle. None of them were his, and none of them helped.
“Tell me this will work,” Coan grabbed his scarf and tugged on it. “Tell me,” her eyes were strained and red, too dry to leak tears anymore.
“I can’t,” Gele pushed her away. All I see is the Second Sea washing us all away.
Coan recoiled, “sorry. I . . .”
The warlord turned, and twenty soldiers, Mapsokas, Nimereen, and Mysk among them, had lined up by the gate, all with weapons in their hands. It was no army, not like the ones Sawyer had seen. They were all scared, just people able enough to fight. What would Nab say about these warriors? What would the people of Galu think of him if they saw this? These were no soldiers, but they were all that was left on Vall, victors in the war against oblivion, so Gele joined them as Massamurr and Zassamurr opened the gates, and the militia of stone weapons and painted skin went out to meet gunpowder and twisted magic. The night swarmed them as they stepped out, like a blanket of comforting cold.
Across the ashfield, in the forest, a sea serpent was impaled upon the trees. Guts streamed across the branches like pink ribbons. Its jaw held no fangs, only flat molars made for crushing. Under the mess of entrails dripping down on the leaves with the Second Sea’s green water, Coan told her soldiers to spread out among the wilds. It was quiet, just the bugs and faint breathing. Gele lay in the mud next to Sawyer again, as red dripped onto his clothes and back. He had seen sights like this before. When Sawyer lost her ear in a duel with a wizard clad in bronze, against the moose chimera, against the Siren in Chorllow with things falling from the sky. This was the first time he saw it, though. The first real battle of Gele of Melaopel. He was not a visitor, not a ghost looking upon a different past. The scars on his chest ached. Gele waited as Sawyer listened to the wind.
“They’re here,” Sawyer whispered, “maybe they’ll walk right by us, then we’ll strike.”
Gele held onto the knife, plucked from Niall's jacket. Do I? It was so sharp. A few yards away, a twig snapped. Figures came creeping through the shadows, carrying freshly lit torches and poking the brush with their rifles. They know, Gele realized, but he could not shout it out now. How? Each step of leather boots stomping through the mud and mire clapped and echoed inside Gele’s ears. Every breath was a screech of terror. Closer they came. Why did they not come before when we were carrying Niall back? Were they watching us leave the House? It was still night. It was dark. How? How? How?
A gravelly laugh rumbled over the crunching steps of twelve invaders. There are twenty of us, but we have sticks and they have everything else. He pressed himself against the ground. What would Nab do? A fleeting thought came to him as the torchlight brought shimmers to the steel hanging on the thieves’ belts. A stench followed them, not of blood, smoke, or rum, but a different smell, one of bitterness and the pungency to bring tears to Gele’s eyes. It was a smell of the body, from the lovely ones to the rotten ones, the smell of spices and feasts, to the smell of men held captive in a menagerie, spewing their souls out into an elixir unfit for mankind. At the center of it, the putrid, wondrous air, Sawyer saw a man who breathed it in without wincing while Gele kept his head low and shivered.
The captain wore a jacket weaved with blue velvet sprinkled with rusted iron pins that looked like stars. Potions and flasks hung on their belt, the liquid inside black and gold. Trousers and boots were embroidered with silver, and his shirt was loose silk. An amulet rested alongside gold chains and beads. The center of the talisman held a strained eye, always blinking and twitching. The pupil was as gray as the Sea of Shrouds. The beastman and the witch, no, this one is different. This eye was beset by mold, slowly eating away at the sides. Bit by bit, the fungus took over the writhing thing.
A flintlock pistol rested in one hand, the barrel aimed at Gele’s skull. Jade decorated the gun, green serpents coiling around the trigger and the hammer. But, the sword had been pointed at Sawyer, the blade a golden brass. Runes had been scrawled along the metal, ending at the handle. Made of amber, the hilt held something inside, frozen within the sap. Coan’s sword, Gele realized. The captain’s face was old and wrinkled, sporting scars and tattooed runes. Matted gray hair ran down to his shoulders. And the monster’s eyes glinted with a prismatic shine, like stained glass—shards of purple, orange, and green shattered together as one. At the center, little pockets of white locked onto the spirit. Chapped lips curled into a smile.
“Sawyer Jean . . .” He said, gasping. “I knew it was you. I knew. I followed a thousand rumors, a hundred gambles, and in the end, I would never have guessed that I would find a harpy at the end of the world.”
“Arnie?” The Admiral gasped, clutching her head. Falling to her knees, she reached for her sword, panicking when it was not there. The gills and wings seemed to twist, nearly snapping as she glared up at the old man. “You were just a boy back then! What happened?”