Zayan secures her hammock, his hands quick and sure, and she gives him a tight nod, her gaze dropping to the two compasses clutched in her hand. One gleams gold—the Lady’s compass, second is a normal, battered one.
“Let me take them,” Zayan says, steadying himself as the ship heaves, tipping gravity sideways. “You try to sleep. It’ll be half a day, at least, before we reach the destination.”
She studies him for a heartbeat, her face drawn with exhaustion and a flicker of something darker, like she’s debating whether she can allow herself to lose control in this situation. But in the end, she hands the compasses over, her fingers clinging to the battered one for a beat longer.
“But you need to check it every minute you’re awake,” she warns, her voice dropping to a murmur. “If the beast pulls us anywhere but the Sister Islands, we’ll have to act fast.”
“Aye, love,” he whispers, his tone soft enough to drown in the creak of the wood. “You can count on me.”
Miss Captain leans back, her shoulders loosening, but her gaze doesn’t shut off entirely—no, she’s like a cat resting with one eye half-open, ready to pounce. She watches Zayan settle himself across from us, tying himself down.
Beside him is a middle-aged man, his face dotted with greying stubble and his hair rebelling in every direction. He’s got these gentle, nonjudgmental brown eyes, though he clutches a cloth in his right hand like it’s a lifeline. His gaze wanders a bit beforelanding on me. I smile, and he returns it with an uncertain twitch of his lips, lifting the cloth as much as his hammock allows.
“My daughter’s handkerchief,” he says, his eyebrows lifting, almost shy. “From her wedding,” he adds, voice barely more than a whisper against the constant groaning of the ship. “She insisted I take it for good luck.”
I squint at the handkerchief, all frayed and delicate, a faded sky-blue like a scrap of leftover sky. Can’t help picturing this man’s daughter, smiling as she tucked it into his hand, thinking it would somehow keep him safe. I let out a low whistle.
“A daughter’s handkerchief,” I murmur, almost to myself. “A family waiting for you on shore... now that’s something rare for a pirate, isn’t it?”
The man shifts, his fingers tightening over the delicate fabric. “For most pirates, maybe,” he says, voice rough. “But I’ve never thought of myself as one of them. I’m a father first. That... that doesn’t go away.”
“Aye!” chimes in another man from the shadows, his face half-lost behind a wild mess of curls and a scar slicing across his brow. “I’ve got a little lad myself. His mum and me? We’re like cats and dogs, but he’s mine. Nothing’ll ever change that.”
“Is that so?” I say, something thick nestling in my throat.
“Haven’t seen him in ages, mind you,” the man continues, tapping a worn leather bracelet around his wrist, a child’s clumsy initials etched into it. “But I keep this. Reminds me of the why behind all this madness.”
A low hum fills the hold, a ripple of nods and murmurs as men pull out little keepsakes—a seashell here, a worn ring there, tokens from lives left behind. Things they clutch to their chests like the sea won’t take everything. I catch myself biting the inside of my cheek, thoughts turning to my own reasons for being here. I have someone to come back to—at least, I think I do—but it’sdifferent, somehow. I’m not tethered to any life on a ship. I’m just… adrift.
“Forgive me for being nosy,” I start, trying to keep my tone light, “but… why do it? Why leave all that behind?” I glance at their trinkets. “Especially when the return trip is so… uncertain.”
There might be no return. For all we know, the beast might suddenly lurch into the depths and drown us in one move.
The first man, the one with the blue handkerchief, smirks a little, his gaze distant. “Because the job’s mad as it is good-paying. I don’t want my daughter growing up in a shack with a leaky roof and wood molding under her feet. No, I want her to have a life better than this.” His voice wobbles, and he clears his throat with a quick shake of his head. “Sailing wasn’t the plan, but a coin like this… well, it changes things.”
Another man, the one with the leather bracelet and a scar, nods. His hair falls over his cheek as the ship rocks “The coin’s good, but there are plenty of pirate crews to earn it from, no?” He pauses, his voice rough as gravel. “But my brother… he died to the sea. And the sea chooses whose life it takes…”
I glance over, feeling Fabien shift beside me. It’s subtle—just a flicker of apprehension. He doesn’t say a word, but there’s something sharp in his gaze now, something focused. Even Miss Captain notices it.
“Everyone knows a man bent on revenge against the Lady,” the scarred man continues, his words hanging heavy in the air. “I’m just a man, powerless. I don’t know the first thing about revenge on a goddess. But I can follow someone who does.”
At that, Miss Captain’s eyebrows lift.
“Would you look at that,” she mutters, voice barely more than a whisper. “Given your face, Rancour, I’d wager you didn’t know that Rye here looked up to you, huh?”
Fabien remains silent, but given a new kind of glimmer in his eyes, I’d say Miss Captain hit jackpot.
But Rye just chuckles, low and rough. “Aye, it should be like that. I’m not here to add to the pressure. Just being part of this is enough to settle my soul, beast or no.”
Silence settles briefly, heavy with the hum of the hull, and then the ship lurches again, hard. My stomach spins in a sickening sweep that sucks the breath right out of me. Heads bob and thud against wood, and for a moment, we’re all groaning, joined in the misery together.
When we finally right ourselves, it’s Fabien who speaks, breaking the silence with a quiet, measured voice. “Rye, is it?” he asks, tilting his head toward the second man. He nods toward the first one. “And you are?”
Miss Captain cocks her brow at the fact Fabien doesn’t know these men’s names, but she doesn’t say anything. Clearly, he never cared enough to ask before.
“Joshua, Mr. Rancour,” the man replies.
Fabien nods slowly. “Well, Rye and Joshua…” His gaze sweeps over the room, catching the others in turn. “And to the rest of you,” he adds. “After the first Trial, we’ll stop somewhere. I’ll pay you your wages for your servitude until now. And if you want to go ashore, you should. It won’t be getting easier from here on out.”
