Everyone else is either asleep, or staring at their ceilings. I stand at the edge of the ship’s deck, a melancholy sorrow sifting through the foggy night. The last of the debris from the sunken Depth’s fragment lies scattered across the ocean. My only source of light is the white sparkles incandescent upon the water, emanating from the moon. Chunks of rock, coral, the occasional severed limb, and above all else, tragedy. Not one person who walked onto that island survived. It came, and it took. A father, and a son. Watching what unfolded awakened something primal in me. A drive, not just to explore and uncover the city and its riches, but instead one of fear. One of realization. Realization that if I fall behind, there truly is no second chance in Celtor. No steps back. Forward. I will go forward. My brothers and sisters along with me.
The stillness of the rubble is interrupted as a wave crashes through a cluster of debris. The rocks sway even further, and my eye catches something in the dispersed rubble. The outline of something gold. Could this be what I think it is? Without a second thought,
I dive.
I don’t like the ocean, but I embrace it nonetheless as I swim blindly in the direction of the sunken island, holding my breath. I propel myself in wide strides with incremental bursts of Thundercall— above the surface, I’d look like an electric eel pulsating. I open my eyes, only to see pitch black. My only source of light is my own Thundercall, yet I must push forward. I don’t want to think about what lies below me. I glance down briefly, only to see a murky void of an abyss. It almost feels as if the jaws of some gargantuan serpent are opened wide beneath my feet, urging to swallow me alive.
“Lightning Cloak,” I yell underwater, filling my mouth with the taste of salty sea. Everything is illuminated for a second thanks to my attunement, and in that moment of brightness,
I see it.
A few meters forward, above me. A brown ornate chest, outlined in gold. My heart fluctuates. There is a silver lining.
I concentrate all of my Thundercall into the heels of my feet, crouching downwards. I propel myself upwards in the chest’s direction. I reach the chest, clutching it firmly in my arms as I’m launched out of the water. I overshot. I land back-first on the top deck of the Chief’s Ironclad. Despite my circumstances, at least I hold the chest in my grasp. My body shudders involuntarily in anticipation. I clutch my necklace, opening the chest.
A teardrop falls from my eye.
Riches. Treasure. Jewels glinting in every color imaginable, and enough gold to keep us afloat and comfortable for years. Enough gold to make us forget why we’re even going to Celtor in the first place. I let go of my necklace, dropping the chest to the floor. People are probably already on their way from the noise I made. I can’t keep this treasure a secret. Our lives could be changed forever. I pick the chest up frantically. Where do I go? Where can I hide?
All of a sudden, the idol on my necklace begins humming. It speaks to me in whispers—unintelligible whispers.
I glance back towards the rubble.
If they see this treasure… I can’t go to Celtor.
They’ll lose motivation. They’ll be satisfied, and live in leisure till the chest is on its last shriveling piece. Then we’ll be back at square one. I’m sorry, everyone, but this is what’s best for us. Tears stream down my face, dripping onto the moonlit floor as I slowly walk towards the ledge of the ship with the treasure in my hands.
“I’m sorry, everyone. I’m so sorry. I have to do this. I have to. I don’t have a choice. Please forgive me.”
I dump the treasure over the edge of the boat.
Without a single noise, it all instantaneously vanishes into the murky seawater. In the grand scheme of things, this will benefit us all.
“Hello?”
A voice screams in the distance behind me. I turn with the empty chest in my hand, to see a confused Charlie, barefoot, scouting the deck. I quickly wipe the tears from my eyes.
Charlie lets out a yawn.
“Is anyone ther—oh! Zadahn, are you alright? It sounded like a thunderstorm out her—”
“Keep it down, Charlie. I’m fine, man. I was restless and wanted to practice a few Mantras,” I say, half-drenched in seawater and sweat, attempting to think of any other feasible lies. This isn’t good.
“That doesn’t explain why you’re soaking wet.”
“I, uh, took a late-night swim.”
“I-Interesting… Uhm… Alright, well I’m glad you’re okay, but can I ask why you felt the need to swim in the freezing ocean at this hour?”
“Something personal. I was called to it. I can’t really explain it to you. You’ll just have to trust me on this.”
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“You’re talking weird. Goodnight, Zadahn.”
“Hey, Charlie?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry.”
“I don’t know what you’re apologizing for, but I forgive you, Zadahn. Get some rest.”
He disappears beneath the deck back to the quarters. It’s getting late. I should probably take Charlie’s advice. I glance one more time at the full moon in the starry night sky, praying to any deity—Navae, the Drowned Gods—anyone—to give me a sign that it was worth it. That what I did wasn’t morally unjustified.
I stare at the moon for ten long seconds before turning around. Walking past the entrance to the war room towards the stairs to the quarters, the doors swing open abruptly.
“Zadahn Vali. The hour is late, but the time is right. I have something to show you. Come.”
I follow Raeis into the war room. The space is dim, lit only by a hanging lantern swinging with the rhythm of the sea. Around a broad circular table stand the four Elders, cloaked in their signature red Nomad robes, their expressions rigid with thought. On the table is a massive map with more markings than my eyes can count, and countless connecting lines. Likely of Minitrysa.
A single open scroll lies collecting dust in the center of the table.
It is bound in dark leather. Engraved on the top is a crest—an emblem I’ve only seen once before.
The symbol of the Ministry. A bulbed arrow crossed with two lines across the middle.
Raeis paces the room in slow, deliberate steps. “What is before you,” he begins, “was delivered by one of their beasts. I only wish I had noticed their foul presence earlier. This is what my scouts reported that day, Zadahn Vali.”
“A bat,” Elder Jazto says in a tone filled with contempt. “Eight eyes. Same as the one you spotted after the battle.”
I nod stiffly, remembering how it vanished into the horizon, and how I was helpless to stop it. Raeis outstretches his arm onto the table, grasping the scroll.
“Our journey is nearing its end. It’s time you hear this,” he says. “You deserve to see it—to truly understand who you’re marching into war against.”
His voice is low as he begins reading:
To the foul Bloodfrost Imperator Raeis Fawra, and the scattered remnants of his pitiful nation littered with tribal strife.
We write not in cruelty, but in the embrace of mercy. For the life of the precious girl you’ve foolishly brought into the domain of war, we offer kind terms. Surrender your fleet. Return to your shabby outposts. Accept our prophecy. The one true prophecy. You, Chief Raeis Fawra, know better than anyone. You should be grateful we don’t offer the blood of this child to the Drowned Gods with all the insolent inconvenience you have caused us. Count your blessings. Navae can only dish out so few.
Etris must drown, as must all who resist rebirth. This is a kindness—the old world must end so a new one may rise in its place. That is the natural order. A tale as old as time itself. Deny it, and I will ensure every man, woman, and child in every single Navaen tribe chokes on blood and salinity.
But perhaps I’ll be generous. Perhaps I’ll let you keep a colony. A small one. For the sheep you’ve herded, and for you—if you bow low enough.
Regards,
—Prophet Zi’eer.
Raeis’s hand tightens on the scroll, the veins on his head looking like worms trying to escape his skin, pulsing in anger.
One of the Elders, Narza, slams her fist against the table. “Scum! They’re disillusioned, brainwashed generation after generation. Bred through ignorance.They think they’re owed worship for slaughter. Cowards hiding behind riddles, codes, meaningless justifications for atrocities.”
“They drowned the greatest city this world has seen,” Jazto mutters. “Wiped out cities of impoverished families and blamed it on natural disaster. On a ‘Celtorian Horror.’ “
“They turned their own youth into vessels,” says Elder Mazahr, voice heavy with sorrow. “We’ve seen it. The blindfolded ones. They’re just hosts. Empty of soul. The cycle repeats generation after generation, each indoctrination more successful than the last. Their blood debt is reaching its threshold.”
Azarro, seated silently until now, speaks in a voice like a slow-moving river. “This is not conquest. It is consumption. They seek to erase memory, identity—history itself. They wish to rewrite it in their image.”
“We are not negotiating,” Raeis says, voice cold as the ice he wields. “Diplomacy is not an option with these immoral parasites.”
He turns to me. “Orbona is alive. That much is clear. They wouldn’t have sent this if she wasn’t. But we don’t know for how long. The Ministry doesn’t take prisoners—they take leverage.”
“What do we do?” I ask, trying to steady my voice, still worried that this is all just a setup to confront me on the treasure that’s now on the seafloor. The atmosphere is tense, riddled with hatred.
“We move forward,” Raeis says. “We make landfall at Minitrysa, as planned.”
Mazahr nods solemnly.
“Even I’ve seen the promise you’ve shown, Home-lander. At the pace you’re progressing, by the end of this war you will be ready for Celtor. If you manage to persevere to the end, that is.”
Raeis steps away from the table and removes a sealed envelope from his cloak. He hands it to me.
“This contains a detailed copy of war plans, along with a personal letter explaining the circumstances of you and your guild,” he says. “You will deliver this to the Eastern Chief. Regardless of what happens to me, or this fleet—you must get this letter to him. No matter what, Zadahn Vali. The fate of the people of Navae relies on this singular piece of paper. Do you understand?”
I stare at the envelope. It weighs more than any gold I’ve ever held.
“I understand.”
“Good. Chief Bazaar will guide you towards the whirlpool, and train you in what I can’t,” Raeis says. “Rest while you can. Fate hastens our arrival.”
“Thank you, Chief. Elders.” I nod my head in respect, exiting the room in a sigh of relief.
Though I’ve witnessed the brutality of the Ministry firsthand, to hear those horrifying tales from the Elders rattles me. I have a clear and simple mission when my boots meet the snows of Minitrysa—rescue Orbona. I can’t let Antarc share that burden on his own.
I exit the war room slowly, my fingers brushing the edge of the letter in my coat. The hallway is quiet, the only sound being the taps of my feet as I do my best to tiptoe through. I reach our quarters, opening the door as softly as I can. The others are curled in their bunks. Alexandria looks up from her pillow with tired eyes and a half-smile.
“Where did you sneak off to?” she inquires.
I smile faintly, brushing wet strands of hair behind my ear.
“Nowhere important.”
She doesn’t press. Instead, she turns over and drifts back to sleep. I walk to my bed, slip under the blanket, and stare at the ceiling until my eyelids give in.
We met Orbona just under a week ago. Soon, we sail into war for her, and now I carry the weight of our future in the pocket of my garments.