Iwas certain today would drag me down to the murkiest depths of misery, beyond even the finest spirits’ reach. That dream of home had seen to it—the way it wove itself into my sleep, so vivid and unforgiving in its half-finished cruelty.
I saw her, my mother, like a sunlit apparition, almost whole. Her floral dress laced up snug around her waist, that little umbrella she always carried perched on her shoulder, her hair spilling in soft waves down her back like honeyed silk.
Everything was just so—right there, as if I’d just left her for a moment’s stroll down the road. But her face? That, cruelly, was lost to me. Blurred, wiped clean by two long years of salt air and bitter sea spray. And I’m not one to forget the important things—oh no—but it seems even my mother’s face hasn’t withstood the relentless winds of the Archipelago.
Just as I thought, I am a man lost.
So yes, I was rather miserable. Perhaps more than a touch. But then… then I sawthis.
A vast, flat stretch, dotted with stones so bright they look like fragments of some forgotten world. Pebbles the size of my hand, each one glowing violet under the moon’s gaze, blanketing the ground like stars plucked right out of the night sky. It’s as if every single one of them stole a piece of some ancient constellation, a bit of magic just lying here, scattered without a care.
A thousand tiny miracles.
“Oh, Miss Captain,” I breathe, stepping off the skiff as my boots sink into this carpet of stardust. And suddenly, just like that, the ache in my chest loosens a touch. The fears, the shadows—they lift, just enough to let me breathe easy. Even if only for this wondrous, fleeting moment.
“Isn’t that something?” she mutters. Her sharp eyes, usually cutting through everything, have softened and widened. For a second, she doesn’t look like the fierce captain I know. She looks… a bit gentler. Still like the sea’s own daughter, but more… lenient.
She steps forward, her boots crunching over the stones as she bends down to touch one, holding it delicately in her fingers. Under the moonlight, her dark hair catches a silvery sheen, and I can’t help but marvel at her—just as much as I marvel at this place.
So different from what I know, and yet so beautiful.
“It’s more than something,” I say, my voice barely a whisper. “It’s like someone went and stole a slice of heaven, just so us land-folk could feel a bit of awe.”
She raises an eyebrow, but I can tell—she feels it, too. She’d never admit it, though. Would probably call it “hogwash” before letting me catch her in such a sentiment.
Still, I know a place like this isn’t meant for me. Not in her company. It’s the kind of spot you’d see in a love song, for a pair of star-crossed souls, not a foolish bard who talks to himself and gets into scrapes and his captain. No, she’d probably rather be here with Zayan. Now that’s a pair the stars would bless.
But I’m here, and I make fine company regardless.
“Imagine if Solis is like this, but even grander,” I muse, my voice drifting like a dream. “Golden crystals scattered across the ground… mountains carved like ancient statues… forests with trees that glow from within…”
Oh, I see it all so clearly in my mind’s eye.
But before I get too far in my daydream, she snaps me back with a sharp shake of her head. “Hold up, Vini,” she says, crossing her arms, the edge in her voice returning. “You think this place is harmless just because it’s pretty? Keep your eyes open.”
Right. Eyes open, ears alert. A beautiful place doesn’t mean a safe one. Nicoleta, after all, was as dazzling as any gem, all sweetness until she turned venomous. If not for Miss Captain, Nicoleta’s father would’ve had me roasting over a flame by now. And that’s not a figure of speech—Dorian genuinely roasts his enemies.
Oh, what Mother would say if she knew I almost met my end that way. I can practically hear her voice now, echoing across the seas, “Vinicola! Roasted! Have you no shame? No common sense?” But if I make it back to her, I’ll tell her all about Miss Captain’s daring rescue. She’d love it, I’m sure. She’d probably toast to Miss Captain herself, demand a thank-you feast, maybe even tease Fabien until that serious face of his cracked. Quite a sight, that would be.
Gypsy strides ahead, her boots stirring up tiny clouds of dust with each step. I keep close behind, attempting—perhaps in vain—to match her near-silent tread. Every step I take echoes a bitlouder than I’d like in the quiet around us, but Miss Captain doesn’t seem to notice or mind. She’s already focused on one of her two compasses, flipping it open and studying it with that cool, calculating gaze of hers.
“We came from the southeast,” she murmurs, tilting her head just so, absorbed in the art of navigation. “Center of the island should be northwest from here.”
I watch her, feeling a little awestruck, if I’m honest. She’s so locked in, so ready to charge into the unknown even if we might not like what we find here. It’s impressive—and a touch intimidating. But, as these things tend to go, a thought nudges its way to the front of my mind, one I should likely keep tucked away but simply can’t.
“Actually…” I say, waving my hands. “Are we absolutely sure we’ll know what we’re after when we find it? Look around, Miss Captain! Every rock here looks like it was polished by the gods themselves. The whole island practically glows! How are we supposed to know what’s worth pocketing?”
I flash her a grin, hoping to coax even a hint of a smile. Just a little one. But instead, she stops and turns to look over her shoulder, one brow slightly raised.
“That’s… a very good question,” she mutters, her voice almost contemplative. “Think we should take one of those rocks with us? You know, just in case?”
I peer down at the nearest pebble—perfectly unremarkable, yet suddenly magnificent in its ordinariness. Before I know it, I’ve plucked it up, holding it out like a prize.
“Well,” I muse, giving it a little spin in my fingers, “if it’s just lying here, waiting for the right hands… who are we to deny destiny?”
She scoffs, but I catch a faint twitch at the corner of her mouth.
“Destiny, huh?” Her voice dances along the edge of sarcasm. “Let’s hope not. But anyway, let’s keep moving.”
