Korax 17 – Inselaciune 1, 1308.

The sea had always filled me with dread. Which, in hindsight, made perfect sense, seeing as I’ve drowned more times than I can count.

That feeling came crawling back when I entered the docks. You’d have laughed, I know, with that annoying smirk of yours, if you could see me. I was practically tiptoeing as if I’d dropped mum’s needles, hugging the inner edge of the walkway, trying to picture myself anywhere but here. Didn’t work, though. It never did. One glance between the cracks – those gods-awful gaps in the planks – and I’d be reminded of what lay beneath. Then the memories would come back. The water closing in, the desperate struggle for air, the darkness embracing me as I fell—

‘Move out of the way, lad!’

A foreman’s yells shocked me back into reality. I stumbled back from the edge, mumbling an apology, and took a moment to orientate myself. Regrettably, I was still in Eldryn’s Quay.

Why had I even come here? I’d promised that little girl I’d find her missing father. But was that it? I’d met her at the Coral Festival a few nights back. She’d described her old man as troubled, unlike himself. I almost walked away right then and there, ready to dismiss him as a mere drunk. But then there was the other word she used… ‘haunted’. That word had brought me to the Quay. It was a long shot, but if a spirit was involved, I had to help.

I took another look at Kefnfor’s oldest harbour, my gaze sweeping across the quiet scene, looking for clues.

A crew of humans and dwarves unloaded crates and nets from a newly arrived trawler just off to my right. The foreman, the same charming fella from before, was back to barking orders like he owned the place. They were hauling the day’s catch to the warehouses by the old whaling station, on the north side of the harbour. Busy as they were with their tasks, this group didn’t strike me as the kind who’d humour my questions. I could compel them to talk, of course – a simple whisper of magic would do the trick – but the effort seemed excessive.

That left only the foreman. Terrific.

As I stepped forwards to question him, a voice stopped me in my tracks. An achingly familiar voice, murmuring through the mist, ‘Something’s coming. Something strange.’

My spirit companion urged me not to worry, that the voice was not a threat; it was merely making an observation. But I was worried. What was watching me?

Even if that tiny ember inside – my mate, as I liked to call it – insisted the voice wasn’t hostile, I remained unconvinced. I needed another approach, at least until I knew what kind of spirit had taken an interest in me.

I turned around and went back to the street running alongside the docks.

Eldryn’s Quay was the city-state’s beating heart, at least when it came to trade, and the shops lining the main street reflected that. You could find anything from fishing supplies and eateries to something called ‘Morgan and Sons Clothing Emporium’ – fancy name for a shop hidden in the Quay. With enough coin, you could probably buy anything here. Even information about a missing man, if you knew whom to ask.

Along the way, I passed in front of a small grocer’s, more run-down than the other shops, with peeling paint and a faded sign. Inside, a woman paced restlessly, restocking shelves and wiping down counters with an old rag. A small child trailed behind her, clutching a doll in one hand and a bucket of murky water in the other. And there, tucked between the pots of honey and tins of salmon, a small spirit – Affection, by the looks of it – watched the scene with quiet delight.

I chuckled to myself. A part of me wanted to go inside, corner the little spirit, and ask it what fascinated it so much. It looked older than most spirits around here; imagine the stories it could tell.

Pity that I couldn’t stop to chat with it. I was headed somewhere else. A place of laughter and off-key singing, where the harbour workers went to unwind after a long day under the sun: Dafydd’s. With any luck, someone inside could tell me where to find the missing father, or at least point me in the right direction.

The pub was tucked away in the narrow streets separating the harbour from the rest of the city. Palladian windows and old brickwork suggested it was older than most buildings in the Quay, yet it didn't seem out of place. It was as if the surrounding structures had been built to match its style. My favourite detail, though, was the oil lamps hanging from the facade, casting a warm, dim glow over the path. Call me old-fashioned, but I couldn’t stand the gas lamps they used in the rest of the city, let alone those new electric ones popping up in the wealthier districts.

As expected, the pub was packed to the brim. Someone had even dragged barrels and crates outside to make makeshift tables for the overflowing patrons. Even then, plenty of blokes were left standing, drinks in hand, laughing and singing with a joy I couldn’t even fathom. One group of dwarves and humans were particularly loud, sharing tales of their, and I quote, ‘troubles with the lady-folk’. Lovely.

As I stepped inside, the warmth, scents, and sounds of the pub washed over me, stirring a raging sense of nostalgia. Every table was packed, men and women from all walks of life crammed together like life-long mates. A cacophony of music, chatter, and drunken ramblings filled the air. Some blokes were even singing – and ruining while doing so – old Cleițian shanties, mixed with more modern Kefnforian tunes. And the smells… The place reeked of beans, pork, a hint of spicy paprika, and of course, dill. Smoky Cleițian Bean Stew. I’d have known that smell anywhere.

And of course, there were the spirits, tucked away in every nook and cranny, observing quietly from their invisible realm. Most just drifted aimlessly at the edges of my sight, floating from table to table, slipping under counters and through the walls. Some didn’t even bother with the pretenses of the Physical Realm, vanishing mid-air with a faint pop that most folk wouldn’t even register. A sensation they’d remember only in dreams, before forgetting it again upon waking up.

But then there were the others. The curious ones. The ones I had to keep an eye on.

Luckily for me, a large mirror hung behind the counter, perfect for observing the spirits. Unluckily, the one tending the bar was the pub owner himself.

The old dwarf hated my guts. No other way to say. A regular could get a pint and a plate of chips for a single bani, but I’d have to fork over three or four for a cup of stale juice and some leftover snacks. My only comfort was that the old miser seemed to love money more than he hated me. A small, expensive victory, but a victory nonetheless. Was I petty, spending four or five bani just to watch him fume and mutter under his breath about us ‘evil’ holders? Probably. Was it worth it? Absolutely.

I braced myself and took a spot at the counter. Now wasn’t the time for pettiness, though. I needed his help. The publican knew everyone in the Quay, which made him my best shot at finding that girl’s missing father.

‘Evening, mate!’ I said, taking a seat. ‘Busy night, eh. Business booming, I hope?’

The dwarf approached me the moment I sat down. He always did. Probably figured the sooner I got my order, the sooner I’d be out of his fur. He just stared at me with those beady yellow eyes, and the same annoyed frown etched on his narrow snout. One hand, covered on that cobalt blue fur common in the southwest, was curled into a fist, ready to strike me if needed. He scratched his good ear, the one without the scars, and let out a theatrical sigh. Didn’t say a word. But he didn’t kick me out, either. That counted as a win in my book.

‘Could I get some apple cider and a serving of chips?’ I asked, taking his silence as permission to speak.

‘Two bani.’

‘Here you go. So I was wondering if—’

The dwarf snatched the two copper coins from the counter and walked off without a word. Same old routine. For a second, I doubted my decision to come here. The publican loathed me, probably loathed every holder who walked through his door. I couldn’t blame him, not really, considering this city’s complicated relationship with magic. But it still stung. Some of us just wanted some decent chips, a bit of friendly banter, and maybe some information about a crazed man who was two words away from transforming into a Rotten. Was I reaching for the stars here?

Maybe I should have gone to the foreman after all.

While the dwarf was off getting my order – hopefully without spit this time – I took a look at the mirror. It was a good chance to check on the pub's invisible guests, and maybe fix my hair. A few strands had come loose with the breeze. I needed a new pomade. The stuff I’d bought at the Octant’s market was the worst investment I’d ever made.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

One thing I’d never understood about spirits was their perception. When they took their animal forms, they’d mimic the beasts, acting like they saw and heard the world just like any living creature. But sometimes they’d do something that made you doubt that. Take mirrors, for instance. Spirits didn’t seem to see them. Or rather, didn't seem to see through them.

Except for the obvious buggers like Truth, Insight, and, of course, Pride, spirits didn’t seem to grasp what a mirror was or how it worked. I once spent hours watching a little one through a reflection, and the thing never reacted, not even once.

That’s how I figured out that mirrors were perfect for keeping an eye on the little, ethereal bastards without them noticing. And where better to use that trick than in a cosy pub like this? I could use one eye to watch the dwarf in case he decided he’d had enough of me, and the other to make sure the spirits weren’t getting up to anything strange. Too strange. If I had a third eye, maybe I could finally figure out a hairstyle that wouldn’t turn into a rat’s nest under the sea’s breeze. Pity, the gods were cruel and only gave me two eyes.

Only a handful of spirits demanded my attention, though. Near the front door, a small spirit of Want slithered between the coins of a group of men playing cards, its translucent skin pulsing with a brighter light each time someone drew. On the table beside them, Sorrow swung from the ceiling beams, weeping as it listened to a sailor’s tale. I couldn’t hear the words, but judging by how the spirit was wiping its tears with its tail, I reckoned it was probably a tragic one. Further in, a hairless, dog-like spirit of Treachery slept at the feet of a woman who seemed a bit too friendly with the man she was talking to. Definitely not her husband.

What surprised me most, though, was the sheer number of spirits of Concern in the pub. I’d counted at least twenty when I came in, and that number had easily doubled. But they weren’t doing anything, just drifting aimlessly among the patrons, like they were waiting for something. Had they followed me? Their presence here was unsettling.

‘Your food,’ the dwarf grunted, slamming the plate down in front of me.

‘Hold on a second,’ I said, a little more desperate than I intended. ‘I need your help with something. I’m looking for a mate of mine. Thought maybe you’d seen him.’

‘A mate?’

‘He’s gone missing, you see. He’s kinda short for a human, red hair, green eyes—’

‘A holder,’ the dwarf said, flatly. It wasn’t a question. He’d seen right through me. The word dripped with enough venom to poison an entire village.

‘Aye,’ I admitted. I had to be careful here. ‘He might be. His daughter thinks…’

‘You have your food. Eat it.’

Godsdammit. Why was this man being so difficult? I thought about trying to buy the information, but something told me he wouldn’t budge. I had to convince him the old way.

‘My mate works at one of the warehouses here,’ I said, ignoring his dismissal. ‘Maybe at the old whaling station. His name’s Elian.’

‘Elian.’

‘Aye. You know him? Might have been one of your regulars. He was always fond of good spirits.’

‘Many people are. This is a pub.’

‘Right, of course. His daughter said he liked to come here sometimes. That’s why I—’

‘Ask the Hospitallers for help. Or the guards. I haven’t seen him.’

Gods, I wanted to smash that vulpine face of his. He knew something, I was sure of it. The way he hesitated when I said the name. The way his pointy ears flattened against his head and swivelled back. He was agitated, scared even.

I hated using magic unless I absolutely had to – there was always a downside – but he’d backed me into a corner.

I glanced at the spirit crawling on the counter, its amphibian tail leaving a trace of slime behind. It wasn’t large, maybe the size of the dwarf’s forearm, but it held a certain unsettling presence. Its head was wide and flat, like a snake that had been stepped on, with vacant, beady eyes that, strangely, offered a sense of comfort if you met their gaze. But this wasn’t just one spirit. Something about it was off. The creature’s body was covered in dark, plated scales that oozed with blood-like ichor. And if you looked close enough, you could all but taste the wrongness of it. Every joint of its tiny body – knees, elbows, tail, even its knuckles – was a gaping, ravenous maw lined with rows of needle-sharp teeth.

Concern. A twisted fusion of Compassion and Fear.

I spoke again, keeping my voice soft and steady – or as steady as I could make it with the stutter. I pretended to address the dwarf, while focusing my words on the spirit.

‘Please, I need your help. I’m worried about Elian. He might be in danger. He might be a danger to others. Wouldn’t you be worried if it was your mate?’

The dwarf’s eyes narrowed to slits. He still wasn’t buying it. But it didn’t matter. Concern was focused on me now, its black, beady eyes fixed on mine. I had its attention.

The spirit flowed through the air behind the counter, slithering closer to the dwarf. Its tail, a grotesque parody of an axolotl’s, twitched as it moved, dripping spectral slime on the wooden floors. Then, without physically touching him, it worked its magic, its influence coiling around the dwarf’s own emotions.

You could almost see the gears turning behind the dwarf’s eyes as Concern’s influence took hold. His eyes widened, his mouth started to quiver. He leaned closer, almost hesitantly, close enough for me to smell the sweat beadings on his forehead.

‘I want to help. It’s just…’ the publican hesitated, his voice trembling with every word. ‘I don’t know where Elian went. We saw him three days ago… and then nothing.’

‘By the Navigator’s teats, Dafydd!’ a man roared from the other end of the counter, his voice booming over the pub’s din. ‘Tell the bloody holder the truth!’

The man stormed towards me, covering the distance in a heartbeat. So, I was the ‘bloody holder’ in question. Great. This is why I hated using magic. All I got was free insults and angry seamen on my face.

‘You looking for Elian, are you?’ the man barked, his eyes narrowed.

‘Yes. His daughter asked me to. She hasn’t seen him in days.’

‘Worthless drunk, that one. Lost his job at the Branwen’s for drinking on the job. Sodding waste of space, can’t even hold a job down to feed his own daughter.’

‘So where does he work—’, I started, but the man cut me off again. I was really starting to hate this bloke. Maybe the dwarf's hostility wasn’t so bad after all. At least he let me speak. Sometimes.

‘Some eatery next to the whaling station. The Branwens built it for their workers. Bloody imbeciles. We were all trying to get away from the stench of blubber and blood.’

‘I think I know the place,’ I said. ‘Should be easy enough to get there from here. Thanks for—’

‘You’re going alone?’ another voice asked. I’d noticed more and more people turning to listen in on our conversation about Elian. I’d hoped they were just nosy about all shouting. Clearly, I was wrong.

‘If Elian is a holder,’ I began, trying to reason with them, ‘it could be dangerous. It’d be best if I went alone—’

The punch came out of nowhere. It wasn’t the loud bloke, or the nosy one from before. Not even the dwarf, though I bet he’d been itching to do that for a while. No. A middle-aged woman, a merchant of some sort based on her clothes, had taken it upon herself to deliver a proper hook to the ‘bloody holder’. The force of the punch, or maybe just the shock at the absurdity of it all, sent me sprawling to the floor. But what really worried me was the mob of angry faces now looming over me.

‘Like hells you are,’ she bellowed. ‘Elian’s one of ours. We look after our own and we look after our harbour. We don’t need a promise-breaking dog to tell us what to do. This is our livelihood we’re talking about.’

Promise-breaking dog. So that was still a thing. Hadn’t heard that one in ages. Must be going out of fashion. I sighed internally. Different faces, same tired prejudice.

‘You don’t understand, holder’, the dwarf said, his voice surprisingly strong from behind the counter. His hands were clenched into fists, shaking with a mix of anger and fear. ‘This might mean nothing to your kind, but this place is all we have. We’re going with you.’

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Concern hopping up and down, practically trembling with delight. If I didn’t know better, I’d have sworn it was happy.

I could probably take them all on, but explaining to the city guards why I’d knocked out a pub full of ‘innocent’ patrons wouldn't be easy.

I sighed. There was always a price to pay. There’s always a catch. At least I’d got my clue.

‘Alright,’ I conceded. ‘But stay close. If things go south, I’d feel better knowing you’re safe.’

Or as safe as one can be when dealing with holders and crazed spirits.

‘Will things go south?’ the pub owner asked.

‘I hope not.’

The music had stopped. The workers were clearing tables while the patrons settled their tabs. The mood had shifted – my fault or Concern’s, or both. Didn’t matter. Several men, humans and dwarves alike, were now forming bands to help search for our missing man, discussing plans and possible locations.

A knot tightened in my stomach. My heart raced. These men were ready to put themselves in harm’s way. Was it Concern’s influence that made me worried? No… it was something else. Something about the way they’d spoken of Elian. I was missing something.

I wished, not for the first time, that my own spirit could offer some guidance and actually speak to me. Instead, it remained stubbornly silent. I didn’t like this feeling one bit.

As the crowd dispersed, the loud bloke helped me to my feet. He muttered a quick apology for the shouting and his wife’s punch. I told him not to worry about it. My cheek still throbbed where the woman’s fist landed, but I knew there wouldn't be a mark.

My hand went to my pocket, instinctively checking for the few bani and caini I had left. Thankfully not a single coin slipped when I fell.

I headed for the door.

Before leaving the pub – this beacon of decency and refinement – I glanced back. The spirits of Concern were congratulating themselves for a job well done. Their grotesque tails wagging back and forth, and their maws, all of them, stretched into what could only be described as a horrifyingly comforting grin. They were so pleased with themselves. Bloody parasites.