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Chapter Text

“Fuck… Salem, come on! We have to get out of here!” Morden shouted at her from a distance.

With her back against a boulder, she closed her eyes and drew in a deep breath. The sound of bullets, crisp and final, ricocheted past her ears, small splashes sounding as they landed in the water around her. Too close for comfort.

“Salem!” he cried again, voice cracking. He sounded pained, like he needed help.

Shit.

She looked out from behind her hiding place, feeling her magic coursing through her veins, ready to be released. A flash of black hair and a beam of darkness – Morden was just a few feet away now. He was supporting Tucker’s weight and trying to hold off a guard from the facility at the same time. The guard’s sword caught the setting sunlight, glinting in its rays as he held it high above his head, ready to find purchase. Salem found herself pushing through the water, the sound of waves crashing starting to become indiscernible from the sound of the blood rushing through her ears. She needed to warn him, trying to shout his name over the roar of the current, over the chaos around them. For just a moment, he caught sight of her, eyes wide in a flash of panic as she pushed him backwards, lips starting to form her name again.

She looked up. The glint of the sword seemed brighter, this time. Almost beautiful. A swing downwards. A ringing in her ears. A searing pain.

And then – darkness.

Chapter Text

Salem opened her eyes to the faint flicker of a lantern, hung somewhere above her. Her surroundings should have felt familiar, but they weren’t. Her vision was blurry, barely there, and there was a ringing in her ears that grew louder with every second. She curled her fingers, digging them into the ground beneath her.

Sand.

Sand? When was the last time she had seen the shore? Felt the sun on her skin? Seen the glint of the rays on the tumbling waves? 

Moving was arduous. She ached with every breath, but mustered what strength she could to try and stand. Her head was pounding, but she pushed through, finding her way out of the makeshift shelter and latching onto the bottom of a cliffside, wet from the fresh rain. Legs trembling, she collapsed, exhausted, and closed her eyes, taking deep breaths to try and find her strength again.

She could hear the sound of footsteps in the sand starting to get closer, and she opened her eyes again, wincing at the sunlight as it flooded her senses. 

A tall figure came into view, holding a stack of crates, looking out into the ocean. She should have felt scared, but he felt familiar. Safe. He caught sight of her, immediately dropping what was in his hands and running towards her. 

He was saying something, kneeling next to her. She squinted, trying to understand, but it was all muffled, camouflaged by the pounding in her head. Her vision blurred, her eyes unfocused. She blinked a few more times, trying to get a hold of herself, but she could feel her head lolling backwards. She felt him grab her hands, gripping them tightly as she struggled against the beckoning darkness. 

He was pleading now, desperate, palms on the sides of her face like she would disappear if he let her go, but his words slipped past her, grains of sand falling through her fingers as she tried to grab onto them. Darkness called once again, and she slipped away.

Salem woke up in darkness the next time. The pounding in her head that was there before was more bearable now. Still there, but dull. She blinked to clear her vision, sitting up.

A shuffle sounded beside her.

She looked to her side and found that familiar-unfamiliar face, scowling in his sleep. His wavy, dark locks had stuck to his forehead, beads of sweat forming as he shifted restlessly, grimacing at what she assumed to be an unpleasant dream. Salem felt the urge to reach out and touch him, but decided against it, laying down and closing her eyes again.

A muffled cry roused her before she could return to the depths of sleep. He faced away from her this time, awake from a nightmare, she assumed, trying to stifle his sobs so as not to wake her up. She inched closer to him, a soft hand on his shoulder. 

“Salem,” he whispered, voice breaking. It didn’t take long for the rest of him to break, too. He pulled her into a tight embrace, resting his head onto her chest. She felt the silent tears streaming down his face and tried to offer comfort as his body shook, trying not to wince as every movement still brought an ache to her bones.

Like he could read her mind, feel her pain, he tensed, pulling away from her and muttering, “You’re still hurt. I don’t want to hurt you more in my sleep.”

“I’ll manage,” she replied, swallowing, her throat sore from days of unuse. "Come here." The words tumbled out immediately without her meaning them to, but they felt natural. They felt... good. 

He relented, starting to relax in her arms again as his eyelids fluttered shut. She watched him, sleeping peacefully now, feeling the even rise and fall of his chest against the side of her own, until her own eyes grew heavy and she was pulled back under.

Chapter Text

Morden woke up to the feeling of warmth and something soft against his skin. As he opened his eyes, he realized that his face had been buried in Salem’s chest, and he quickly extricated himself from her arms, face flushing. Still asleep, Salem muttered something incoherent, turning away from him. 

He paused, watching the even rise and fall of her breathing for a second before making his way out of their makeshift shelter to check on Tucker. He’d sustained a nasty wound to the abdomen during their escape, but seemed to be on the mend the last he’d talked to him right before Morden went to, or at least tried to go to sleep the night before. Tucker had been unusually distant at the end of the night, like his mind had drifted elsewhere, but Morden chalked it up to him needing some rest and some time alone.

“Hey, Tucker? Still holdin’ up okay?” he asked, peeking his head into Tucker’s tent. No response. He must still be sleeping, Morden assumed. He ducked into the tent, kneeling next to his friend. 

“Tucker,” he whispered loudly, a grin on his face, gently tapping his friend’s shoulder. “Wake up, man. I’m bored.” Still no response.

“Tucker?” He shook his shoulder more vigorously this time and recoiled almost immediately at the stiffness of his body. Morden froze, eyes wide in disbelief, feeling a ragged tearing in his core that grew more cavernous with each passing second, ripping him apart at the seams.

“Tucker, seriously,” Morden’s voice broke, hands trembling as he reached out to touch his friend. 

Cold.

The sensation caused him to plunge into a feeling of irrevocable darkness, like the ground had been ripped out right from under him, and he was trying and failing to find his bearings.The weight in his chest was excruciating now, a vice around his lungs, making it harder to breathe. He shook Tucker’s shoulders again. “This isn’t fucking funny, Tucker. Wake up!” he pleaded, desperation starting to edge its way into his words. He slammed his fists into the ground, hands clenched so tight that his knuckles turned white. Morden tried to rouse him again to no avail, choking back a sob. He sat back and buried his face in his hands, shaking soundlessly.

“Tucker, you idiot!” Salem hissed, climbing into the empty train carriage. She had a scowl on her face as she pulled the sliding wooden door shut, leaving only a sliver of light as the three of them huddled closely together. “What could possibly have been so important that you had to risk all of our asses getting caught?” Her palms glowed an angry crimson as she spoke, tiny cinders falling off the tips of her fingers. Morden quietly placed a hand on her shoulder, and she closed her eyes and inhaled, the glow fading at his touch.

Ignoring her, Tucker grinned, dumping his satchel in the space between them. Out came a bundle of fresh fruit, and the three of them raced to grab their favorites.  “I can’t remember the last time I saw real food,” Morden remarked with a small smile, looking up at his friends. It was true. Ever since their country had been taken over by some unknown, albeit powerful, syndicate, on the hunt for those with magic, all their food had been replaced with packaged, processed rations. Probably to weaken the citizens enough to the point that they couldn’t fight back, he thought with resentment. 

Morden was pulled out of his rumination by the sound of Tucker’s obnoxious chewing of an apple. Morden rolled his eyes, but found the corners of his mouth turning up. 

Salem was smiling now, too, looking reluctantly content as Morden cut a mango in half and handed it to her. 

“That’s not all,” Tucker added. He reached into his pocket and pulled out three golden rings, each with a different-colored stone set in the band. “I’m taking the green one, Salem, before you say anything,” he teased, mockingly patting her on the shoulder. 

“It’s way too big for me, and I liked the red one better anyway,” she retorted, snatching the ring from his hand. She tried to fit the ring around each of her fingers but resorted to adding it onto the chain around her neck. “Thanks, Tucker,” she beamed, admiring it. “It’s amazing.”

“That leaves the black one for you, Mord. Fitting.” Tucker extended his open palm towards Morden, who nodded at him in silent thanks. Morden took the ring, holding it up in the sliver of dying light. The black stone, an onyx, if he had to guess, caught the glint of the setting sun’s rays. Slightly too small for his other fingers, Morden slid it onto his pinky, satisfied with its perfect fit. 

Tucker cleared his throat, speaking up again. “The border is just south of here. Once this train gets going, which it should soon, freedom is just past the shore. We’ll escape from this place together. I’ll make sure of it. I promise.”  His voice softened as he met their eyes.

Tucker’s words were like a breath of fresh air for Morden. The atmosphere around him had been stale and grey ever since their country’s infiltration, tinged with anxiety and fear for what was to come in the future. It felt like they had been on the run for centuries, only just narrowly escaping imprisonment with each risk they took, but Tucker’s encouragement reminded him of why he was bothering to fight in the first place.

Salem extended her hand, outstretched and determined. “No matter the cost,” she declared, her voice steady and resolute.

Tucker placed his hand on top of hers. “No matter the danger,” he affirmed, his eyes locked on Morden’s.

Morden regarded the two of them, a fire burning in his eyes. He added his hand to the center. “No one gets left behind.”

"And once we’re out of here,” Tucker said, wrapping his arms around both of them, “we’ll never look back.”

No one gets left behind.

Morden didn’t know how long he sat there, next to Tucker. Morden’s chest heaved up and down, his breaths shallow and ragged, fists clenched. The ground beneath his knees had grown cold. Grown cold like the air around him, stripped of warmth and life, like the world had turned its back on him in his grief. Cold like the tearing feeling in his chest, once searing and hot and painful, and now just numb. Cold like-

He suddenly stood up, looking down at his friend’s body, then tearing his eyes away. Stifling his emotions, he took a shaky breath and left the tent, heading up to a small hill. Taking the biggest coconut husk he could find, he plunged it into the earth, digging it up bit by bit until his arms were numb. 

As the sun began to set, its rays spreading over the surface of the ocean, Morden buried Tucker in silence, jaw set into a firm line as he tried not to look at his pallid form. Each thud of dirt hitting Tucker’s body made him feel sick to his stomach, like a knife twisting itself further and further into his abdomen. At the end of it all, his hands were raw and blistered, but he barely felt any pain, just emptiness. A sense of hollowness had consumed him, one that he knew would linger long after the sun had set.

He was pulled out of his vacant thoughts by a clap of thunder accompanied by the beginnings of steady rain. He heard the sound of footsteps coming from the underbrush, but didn’t flinch. 

"Hi.”

Salem. 

He felt a shallow wave of relief wash over him, but not enough to take his grief away with it. He didn’t look up from where he was sitting, terrified that he’d break if he met her gaze. He willed himself to stay in control, nails digging into his palms. “You’re awake,” he said numbly, “I thought you’d be out for a few more days.”

“You know who I am?” she asked, eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

“This isn’t the time for jokes, Salem. Tucker is…” He winced, trying not to look at the fresh pile of dirt that was his friend’s makeshift grave. “He’s dead.” 

“I’m sorry… I-” There was an uncertainty in her voice that Morden had never heard before. She almost sounded… scared. A feeling of dread started to burrow its way inside of him, but he pushed it away, standing up to meet her.

“Salem? Are you okay?” He met her gaze and found her eyes empty, her face blank.

“What happened?” she asked, in a haze, eyes starting to unfocus. He grabbed her arm to steady her, gently pulling her down so they could sit on the ground. 

“You don’t remember?” 

She shook her head, looking away.

“I guess that head injury was pretty nasty, huh?” he shrugged, feigning nonchalance. I was worried about you for days, praying that you would wake up. I’m not even fucking religious. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

“I… I don’t remember anything.”

Morden felt the sense of worry inside of him beginning to grow, his breath starting to quicken in pace. He’d been so focused on his grief that he hadn’t even considered how much worse this could get. “Nothing at all?” he asked, voice slightly rising.

She shook her head again slowly, and the panic building inside of him came to a crescendo. He ran an anxious hand through his hair. “Do you remember me?” he asked quietly, voice trembling.

“No… I’m sorry. But you feel familiar, somehow. I know that I know you. That I trust you. I just… I don’t know how.”

Okay. I can work with that, he tried to convince himself, trying to ignore the fact that in the matter of a day, his entire world had been fractured into pieces.

 He took a deep breath, trying to ground himself again before speaking. “I’m Morden,” he said, barely keeping the desperation out of his voice. “We’re…”

He paused, looking at her, her eyes darting around their surroundings. She had her brows furrowed, scrutinizing him, in the way that she did when she was trying to figure out whether or not someone was trustworthy. It hurt to have it directed at him.

“We were… friends,” he continued, trying to stay calm. “We were held captive for months; I don’t know where. We were tortured and experimented on for so long because of our magic. It’s a miracle that the both of us are still alive.”

He couldn’t help but get up and begin to pace. The rain was starting to fall harder, but the chill it gave him was nothing compared to the frigidity he felt deep in his bones. 

“I don’t know what the point is,” he said, his resolve starting to break. “Tucker is dead, and here we are with nothing.” He paused in front of her, eyes pleading. “You really don’t remember anything?” he asked again, on the precipice of shattering.

She got up, gently grabbing his arm. “I’m sorry, Morden. I don’t. I-”

Her lack of recognition cut him to the core. There was that tearing feeling again, ripping through him a second time. If he didn’t gain control over himself now, he’d crumble to pieces right in front of her, and he couldn’t do that.

“I need time to think,” he said, cutting her off, voice barely above a whisper. He pulled away from her. “I can’t…” he started, turning away from her and squeezing his eyes shut. “I’m sorry, Salem, I… I can’t deal with this right now.” He couldn’t bring himself to meet her eyes again, knowing he’d shatter if he did. He walked away, struggling to hold himself together. 

“Morden, wait!” she beckoned from behind him. 

He didn’t look back.

Morden was by Tucker’s grave again, sitting down on his knees by his sorry excuse of a headstone. The rain was still coming on steady, strands of dark hair stuck to his forehead as he stared pensively out at the calm ocean, his turmoiled mind racing as he tried to come up with a solution. Fear and guilt clawed at his insides as he contemplated what had happened and what was to come.

Those people had been ruthless in their pursuit, striking to kill, so who was to say that they wouldn’t come back for Salem and Morden? They’d seen the inside of those facilities, underwent those experiments firsthand. If they didn’t want that information coming out, Salem and Morden were as good as dead if they were ever found. Despite all of their precautions, they’d been reckless in concealing their identities during their escape.

This will keep us safe.

With Tucker dead, everything had changed. Morden was the only one carrying the burden of their memories now, the good and the bad, and he’d do anything to prevent her from meeting the same fate. If they were found together, there was no doubt in his mind they’d use Salem to force him to comply. They didn’t have use for her anymore if she didn’t remember anything, so they could do anything they wanted to her. Hurt her, kill her, worse. 

He grimaced, flinching at the harrowing possibilities. 

This will keep her safe.

They were both safer if they separated. He had to make her leave. Make it so that there was no chance they’d be found together. The thought of being away from her, especially in her current state, made him ache, but it was the only way to keep them both safe.

“Morden?” Salem called, approaching him again.

“I’m here,” he replied, voice devoid of emotion. He couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that had settled over him since the day began. He wasn’t sure if it would ever go away.

“Listen, I’m sorry about earlier,” she began. “If it was too much for you-”

“Head to Redwake,” he said abruptly, standing up to meet her. Her expression shifted from concern to confusion, her eyes wide. 

“It’s just a port east of here,” Morden continued. “Being around people may help jog your memory a bit.” The idea of leaving her alone, vulnerable, went against each and every one of his instincts. He felt a pang of guilt, another weight threatening to pull him under.

This will keep her safe.

“You’re not coming with me?” 

“No.” 

He regretted the word as soon as it came out of his mouth. I can’t let them hurt you because of me. I need you to be safe.

“So you’re just going to leave me alone? Just like that?” Salem snapped, voice sharp as a knife. He heard a quiet crackle and found that familiar crimson glow, tiny tendrils of smoking particles starting to emanate from her fingers. She always struggled to control her magic when she was angry. Just a day ago, he’d have been able to calm her with a knowing look or a gentle hand on her shoulder, but he was the reason for her anger now, and that made his stomach turn.

This will keep her safe. It hurts. It hurts like hell, but this will keep her safe.

He hesitated. “Look, I’m sorry. There are some things that I need to take care of and-”

“You’re lying.” 

Silence. He looked away. 

“You know what, Morden? Forget it,” Salem said after a second, tone laced with quiet disappointment. She turned on her heel, starting to walk down the hill towards the shore.

“Salem, wait,” he implored, following her. 

She paused for a second before turning to face him.

“Listen to me,” he said, grabbing her hands, desperation evident in his grip. She flinched slightly at his touch, and he resisted the urge to just shatter right there and then. “You have magic. Ash magic. More powerful than anyone I’ve ever seen,” he murmured fervently. “You’ll make it far in this world. I know it.”

Salem nodded stiffly, looking away. The way she looked at him chipped away at his will, causing it to waver. All he wanted for her to do was stay, but even considering that was selfish. After a moment, she met his gaze again. “Will I ever see you again, Morden?” she asked in a hushed voice, laden with an emotion he couldn’t quite place.

Gods, I hope so. 

“Someday, maybe.” Morden barely managed to choke the words out without his voice breaking. He prayed she couldn’t see through his façade.

Her eyes started to well up with reluctant tears, and he loathed himself for everything he had done to her.

This will keep her safe.

Salem pulled away and left without another word. 

Chapter Text

My name is Salem Adventos. I am 20 years old. I have black hair and green eyes. I have ash magic. I–

Frustrated, Salem started to row harder, oars sloshing through the water erratically as she tried to summon the things she knew about herself. Her lungs started to burn, but she hoped the pain would bring on some type of memory, anything that would help her understand herself.

Now the things that Morden told her.

I escaped from a facility somewhere where they were experimenting on us for our magic. I was friends with Tucker. He’s dead now. I was friends with Morden. I think. I’m pissed at him, though. Her oars splashed loudly as she plunged them into the water. She seethed as she violently pulled them through the gentle waves. I don’t know where he’s going. I don’t know if I’ll ever see him again.

Stick to what you know, Salem, she interrupted her own thoughts, determined to grasp onto something tangible amidst the chaos. What else do I know? Fuck, what else do I know? Her frustration mounted, matching the intensity of her rowing.

A loud thud jolted Salem back to reality as her rowboat collided with the dock. She winced at the crack that now marred the bow of her boat, traveling down its center and groaned.

After tying her rowboat down to the dock, she ventured up a wooden ramp that led her into the heart of Redwake. The town unfolded before her, a maze of wooden structures rising from the sea. Labyrinths of ramps, stairs, and bridges connected the tall, stone spires in the Jaws together. She could hear the rhythmic cadence of the ocean waves lapping below her, a steady constant sound that calmed her nerves.

As she walked aimlessly around the plaza, she noticed that something seemed off about the town’s residents.  She watched as a man rushed past her, eyes filled with fear as they darted around him. A woman quickly glanced at her before looking away, quickening her pace. A small family walked hurriedly down the path, a mother shushing her children as she pushed them along with haste. In contrast, an older woman with weathered features offered her a kind smile, her expression standing out from the town’s unease. Feeling lost, Salem approached her, asking where she could find lodging.

“It’s not a good time to be visiting Redwake, young lady,” the woman whispered. “Pirates are everywhere, and they’ve been terrorizing this town for months now. The inn is on the north side of town. Take that path over there and it’ll be next to a big staircase.” The woman motioned vaguely to her left, pointing her down a labyrinth of ramps and bridges, and Salem nodded despite not understanding.

“Are you traveling alone?” the woman asked. Salem nodded and the woman shook her head. “You ought to be careful around here,” she said quietly. “Especially a pretty girl like you. Take care now, and hurry along!” the woman chided, pushing her gently. 

Following the woman’s directions to the best of her ability, Salem turned the corner into a narrow alley, only to find herself face-to-face with a group of menacing figures. Dressed in tattered clothing and brandishing crude weapons, they were pirates for sure. One sneered at her and lunged. Fear coursed through her veins, but mingled with a sense of rugged determination.

With an instinctive rush of energy, she tapped into her dormant power. Ash particles materialized around her, spiraling towards the pirates in a fiery blaze. The sudden surge of power she felt was intoxicating, filling her with a mix of awe and uncertainty. 

Startled, the pirates stumbled back and retreated into the shadows, murmuring to each other. Emerging from beyond the alley, a woman close to her age approached Salem with admiration. “I’ve never seen anyone like you before,” the woman said in awe. “The name’s Estrid. I’m a bartender at the inn here.”

“Salem Adventos,” she introduced herself, smiling. “That’s perfect, actually. I was just looking for the inn.”

The two walked side by side in silence, still on edge from their encounter with the pirates. As they reached the safety of the inn, Estrid shut the door quietly behind them. Her gratitude overflowed as she spoke, a mixture of relief and appreciation in her voice.

“Those pirates have been scaring patrons away from this area for ages. I can’t thank you enough, really. Please, allow me to offer you a room free of charge during your stay,” Estrid said sincerely.

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly-” Salem started.

Estrid held Salem’s hands in hers, staring at her pleadingly. “It’s the least I could do, Salem. Consider it a token of gratitude,” she insisted.

“Estrid, I–”

Shit, I have no money, Salem realized, the reality of her situation quickly dawning on her. She coughed nervously, searching for the right words.

“I appreciate your generosity,” Salem replied, her smile stretching slightly too wide. “Thank you so much. It really means a lot.”

“Of course,” Estrid replied, eyes softening as she sensed the underlying concern. “Rest well tonight. There are clean clothes in the room for you. Come down for breakfast in the morning?”

Salem nodded. “I will. Thank you again, Estrid.”

After a much-needed freshening up, Salem nestled into her bed, her gaze fixed upon the intricate patterns of the wooden ceiling above. Time stretched by like a languid river, each passing second feeling agonizingly slow. Her eyes wandered aimlessly, drifting across the room without settling on anything in particular.

My name is Salem Adventos, she recited in her head for what seemed like the millionth time. I am 20 years old. I have black hair and green eyes. I have ash magic. I want my stupid memories back. She recited her mantra over and over and over again, a fragile lifeline to her identity. 

The little she knew about herself weighed heavy on her, a constant reminder of the missing pieces that were ripped away from her against her will. Desperately trying to reclaim what was her, she repeated the fragments of her knowledge, as if will alone could bring back the past.

Time was unyielding, with its iron fist tight in its grip. Minutes stretched into hours, and hours melted into an eternity as her thoughts raced. As exhaustion crept in, she found herself being pulled into sleep, still yearning for the clarity that had been stolen from her.

Fear coursed through her veins as she struggled against her restraints. Clouds of angry, red cinders filled the air; the chains around her wrists struggled to suppress her magic.

“I’m not leaving you!” 

“I’m sorry,” she wept. “I’m so sorry.”

Salem jolted upright, her breathing heavy and erratic. Beads of sweat glistened on her forehead as she made eye contact with herself in the room’s mirror, wide-eyed. The small room felt suffocating, air heavy, making her heart race. She tensed, clutching onto her sheets with her eyes squeezed shut, trying to anchor herself. 

She slowly opened her eyes again. The room came back into focus, bathed in the soft glow of the late afternoon. 

A dream, she thought to herself. Or a memory. 

She stood up on unsteady legs, making her way to the vanity in front of the bed. As she braided her long, raven tresses, she scrutinized her features. She knew someone had taught her how to braid her hair. Was it her mother? A sister? A friend? Salem prayed that these people weren’t lost to her. Her eyes. Did she get them from either of her parents? A great-great-grandparent? Did she share the color with her siblings? 

Her hand traveled to the chain around her neck, where a golden ring with a red gemstone rested gently against her chest. The ring was much too big to find a place on any of her fingers, but it must have been important to her if she kept it so close. She traced her fingers over its smooth surface, yearning for the memories it carried. It was a talisman of what she had lost, a connection to someone she couldn’t remember. The ring brought a pang of sadness, a testament to the fact that she couldn’t grasp the person that she was before, but she decided to keep it on, close to her heart. While she couldn’t grasp the full extent of its significance, she knew it represented a part of her that was worth fighting for.

“I was starting to get worried about you,” Estrid said from behind the bar as Salem walked down the stairs. “You slept for nearly a day,” she said, concern palpable in her statement.

Salem was at a loss for words, fatigue etched on her face as proof of her restless sleep. Her mind was still running rampant, but Estrid was unfazed by her silence.

“The Chief is back,” the bartender continued, her tone shifting to one of anticipation. “Have some lunch first. You need it after everything. But he heard about what you did last night, and he wants to speak with you.”

As she made her way to sit, the scent of Estrid’s freshly cooked meal wafted towards Salem, tempting her senses and reminding her of her own physical needs. It was a gentle reminder that despite the chaos in her mind, there was still a world outside of it that demanded her presence. It gave her a taste of resolve amidst the maelstrom of her thoughts, and she steeled herself, stronger than before.

The Chief of Redwake was a tall, weathered man. Salem felt his stern gaze scrutinizing her as she ascended the steps to Shark Hall. His hunters remained stone-faced, standing with their backs to the wall as they watched her make her way to the top. As she found herself face-to-face with Chief Alfarin, she saw a timeless wisdom in his eyes, and a glimmer of kindness that softened the severity of his expression. 

“Welcome, welcome,” the Chief began. “So you’re the lass Estrid was talking about.”

Salem nodded, unsure if she should say anything.

“I’ve heard about your abilities. Are they as remarkable as they say? It’s not often we see someone like you around here.”

Remarkable.

The word echoed in Salem’s mind, and she couldn’t help but think of Morden’s words, right before they parted. 

“You have magic. Ash magic. More powerful than anyone I’ve ever seen. You’ll make it far in this world. I know it.”

The thought of his belief in her, his unwavering faith that she held power beyond measure, made her chest ache with an indescribable feeling, but she toughened her resolve and continued. “Yes, Chief. I possess ash magic. I do have to hone my skills a bit more, but I can wield it as a weapon and utilize it for various tasks.”

Chief Alfarin stroked his grizzled beard, considering her words. “These cursed pirates have been botherin’ us for a few months now, and we can’t find their hideout to put an end to them. They pillage our resources and threaten the safety of our people. If what you say is true, your powers could be instrumental in helping us get rid of those marauders.”

Salem’s eyes lit up with a flicker of excitement. The idea of a purpose, a goal – it was as if she’d been stranded in the middle of the ocean, battered by its waves, for weeks and finally been found. Lost in a world she couldn’t remember, it felt euphoric to take a step toward finding her place again. “I’m more than willing to help, Chief,” she said with a smile, trying to contain her enthusiasm. “It’s time these pirates faced the consequences of their actions, don’t you think?”The Chief’s expression softened slightly at her words, a quiet approval in his eyes. “Very well, Salem Adventos. If you’re to aid us, you’ll need to prove your worth. If you can demonstrate your skills and commitment to our cause, we’ll consider you an ally in Redwake.”

Without hesitation, Salem accepted the challenge. “I won’t let you down, Chief Alfarin.”

With a nod of acknowledgement, Chief Alfarin extended his hand towards her. Salem shook his hand firmly, a spark of determination igniting within her.

“Welcome to Redwake, Salem. Prove yourself, and you’ll find a place among us.”

That night at the inn, Salem found herself staring up at the ceiling, like she did every night. Recited the little that she knew about herself, like she did every night. But tonight, something had shifted. The weight of her uncertainty began to lift, replaced by a renewed sense of purpose. The past would never come back, not even if she remembered it, but the future was something she could control, its boundless possibilities setting ablaze a feeling of exhilaration and anticipation.

My name is Salem Adventos, she thought to herself. I am 20 years old. I have black hair and green eyes. I have ash magic. This is the start of something new, and I can’t wait.

Chapter Text

It was a bright and sunny day in Palo Town, and Morden despised it. He wiped the sweat from his brow, feeling the weariness seep into his muscles as the blazing sun beat down on his back. Hammer in hand, he drove a rivet into the worn deck of an old sailboat. The town’s bustling harbor surrounded him, filled with the sights and sounds of sailors preparing for their next voyages. 

The sailboat’s owner, an aging man with a hint of nostalgia in his eyes, had approached him just minutes after he’d arrived. “You look like a capable young man,” he had said. “You got any experience working on boats?” Morden was hungry and tired, and most of all needed a nap after everything that had ensued, but there was something about the old sailor’s demeanor that made it hard for him to refuse. Plus, he needed the money if he was planning on staying in Palo Town. The ship had most definitely experienced its fair share of rough voyages, its wooden planks faded and sails frayed by years out on the sea, but he met the challenge, albeit reluctantly.

The sun had started to dip lower from its summit, casting a warm golden hue over the harbor as Morden finished patching up the sails, fingers deftly weaving threads together to breathe new life into the fabric. Satisfied with his work, he reattached them back to the mast and secured them to the rigging, the soft breeze causing the fabric to billow gently. Stepping back, he admired his handiwork, a sense of accomplishment almost distracting him from the weariness in his bones.

“Did you check the deck rivets? Replace all the rusty ones?” 

He could practically hear Salem’s voice in the back of his head as he made his final checks on the ship. Her father was a seasoned sea merchant who had passed on his annoyingly meticulous nature on to his daughter. Her voice, both nagging and comforting, urged him to ensure every detail was in order.

“What about the rigging? Any frayed ropes? Are there any holes in the sails? Fix even the smallest ones!”

Well, meticulous when it came to sailing and ships. That was about it. With everything else, she charged in head-first without ever really thinking. In all the years that he’d known her, her impulsiveness had been both a source of amusement and annoyance. The thought of her washed his pride with a tinge of guilt.

“Are you about done there, boy?” the old sailor’s voice cut through the quiet bustle of the harbor. “You’ve been standing there for quite some time.“

Blinking, Morden refocused his attention on the sailboat. “Yep, she’s ready to sail again,” he replied, his gaze still lingering on the vessel. 

The sailor approached, his eyes wide with wonder and gratitude. “You’ve given her a second chance,” the man said, his voice filled with awe. “I can’t thank you enough.” The old sailor handed Morden a bag of galleons, who tried not to react to how heavy it was. 

“Wow.” Morden cleared his throat, running a hand through his sweat-dampened hair. “Uh, it was no problem. Let me know if you need anything else in the future. I’d be happy to help.”

With a grateful smile, the sailor climbed aboard his resurrected sailboat, casting off the dock lines. A gentle wind caught the sails, propelling the vessel forward, as Morden watched it disappear into the distance. Left standing in the heart of the harbor town’s hustle and bustle, his weariness was momentarily forgotten as he searched for a place to spend his galleons.

He found himself at a small shop not far from the town’s center. A pair of sturdy black trousers and a loose-fitting buttoned shirt seemed like the perfect replacement for his worn attire, which he couldn’t wait to burn. With the new clothes in hand, he started to make his way to the counter, but his eyes wandered across the store, where a beautiful leather-bound notebook caught his attention. Something about its aged cover and worn pages called to him. He grabbed it off the shelf and put it with the rest of his things.

Approaching the counter, he cleared his throat and caught the attention of the clerk, a girl his age with a warm smile. “Hi. I’d like to purchase these clothes,” Morden said, placing his chosen items on the counter. His voice, although soft-spoken, held a certain firmness and quiet confidence.

As she rang up his purchase, her gaze briefly lingered on his rugged appearance before she turned her attention to the notebook. “And the notebook as well? Are you an author?” she asked, her gaze falling back on him.

His stoic expression shifted ever so slightly, and a faint blush colored his cheeks. He shifted uncomfortably, looking away at nothing in particular before meeting her eyes again. “Not exactly,” he replied, his tone betraying a mix of surprise and self-consciousness. “I’ll probably use it to… document my travels.”

The girl’s smile widened, a subtle twinkle in her eyes as she leaned closer. “Ah, a traveler then? Planning on staying in town for a while?” she inquired, her voice laced with an underlying playfulness.

Morden’s demeanor grew slightly more guarded, his responses measured and deliberate. “For a time, yes,” he replied, his gaze drifting towards the bustling streets outside. “There are some things I need to take care of before I leave.”

The clerk nodded understandingly, though a hint of disappointment flickered across her face. “Well, if you need anything while you’re here, don’t hesitate to ask,” she said, her tone softening. “I’m Paige. It’s always nice to see new faces around.”

Morden managed a faint smile, a mix of gratitude and mild discomfort. “Morden. Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, retrieving his purchases and preparing to leave.

He stepped back into the plaza, where the sun was starting to dip below the horizon, casting the town in a soft, orange light. He found himself drawn to the warm glow emanating from a modest inn nearby. The galleons he had gotten from his earlier repair job had not lasted him as long as he thought, and he figured that the little he had left would cover a meal and a night’s stay at the inn, at most. 

Pushing open the inn’s heavy wooden door, he stepped into a cozy common room filled with the sounds of chatter and laughter. The aroma of hearty stew wafted through the air, making his stomach growl in response. He approached the innkeeper, a stout woman with kind eyes, and requested a room for the night. 

She handed him a key with a warm smile. “You’re in luck, dear boy. We have one room left, upstairs, second door on the left. Have some dinner before you head up,” she said, giving him a knowing look.

After eating, he ascended the worn wooden staircase, his footsteps echoing softly in the quiet hallway. As he entered his room, his weariness finally caught up to him, a reminder of the long day’s work and the weight of the previous day’s events. Settling onto the simple bed, he stared up at the wooden ceiling, the candle by his bedside flickering quietly as shadows danced around the room.

Sleep refused to come despite how much he wanted it to. With a sigh, Morden shifted restlessly, finally succumbing to the restlessness that plagued his mind. He reached for his worn leather journal, the only companion he had. As he opened it, its pages blank and waiting, he traced the embossed cover with his fingertips, finding solace in its smooth texture. His inked words began to flow, attempting to capture his thoughts as they came.

Picked up this journal right when I came to Palo Town, to document my day to day experiences, he wrote. It seems odd after what happened to Salem, I figure it’s better to keep a log incase I somehow develop amnesia too. Although I’ve been through far less experimentation, I just don’t want to take any chances.

Putting the thought on paper made him nauseous. Salem had been captured a full three weeks before him and Tucker. It made him sick then, and it made him sick now to think of what she’d been through alone. He squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his hand against his chest to try and calm the rapid beat of his heart as his mind plunged into the cold depths of memory.

Three weeks now she’d been missing. Three weeks since he and Tucker had narrowly escaped capture, just to turn around and find her gone. Morden had started to assume the worst, while he and Tucker scoured the city and its outskirts relentlessly. The grip of despair threatened to suffocate him with each passing day.

Morden was pulled out of his thoughts by the sight of cinders in the air, forming a smoky column above what looked like an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city. The acrid scent of burning mingled with the tang of anticipation as Morden felt a shiver travel down his spine. The cinders glowed a deep crimson and he looked over at Tucker, eyes meeting in a silent acknowledgement – it was unmistakably her.

The pair cautiously approached the walls, the crunch of branches beneath their booths muffled by the weight of foreboding that hung heavy in the air. The distant sound of a voice, strained and desperate, pierced the silence.

“I told you already. I was alone when you captured me, I don’t know where they are!” Salem’s voice echoed, tinged with fear.

Tucker looked at Morden, wide-eyed. They had her.

“Liar!” a voice boomed, its venomous tone reverberating through the empty space. 

Even through the cold, unforgiving walls, they could hear the defiance dripping from her tone. “Even if I did,” Salem spat back, “I’d die before I told you.” 

A sharp crack echoed through the air, cutting through her words like a whip. The sound of Salem’s pained cries filled the space, heavy with anguish, and the cinders overhead grew darker, their once-angry crimson glow fading into a deep, brooding red. Morden squeezed his eyes shut, feeling the ache of his own helplessness rise like a storm within him, crashing against the walls of his resolve. 

“We have to get her out of there,” Tucker said in a low voice. Morden gave him a terse nod, his breaths shallow and rapid as he tried in vain to soothe the raging tempest starting to build inside of him with each passing second.

Another stinging impact struck, followed by an agonized scream, and it was as if the floodgates holding back Morden’s indignation finally crumbled. He sprinted toward a cracked window, Tucker following behind him and desperately trying to pull him back.

 “Leave her,” the voice from earlier hissed with sadistic satisfaction. “We’ll find them in due time.”  

As Salem sobbed, Morden heard the sounds of footsteps getting farther away. He shattered the window with his magic, climbing inside as glass shards cascaded to the ground. The tension in the air grew thicker with each step they took until they reached a large, decrepit room. At the center of it all was Salem, wrists bound by thick chains, glowing an angry scarlet as they struggled to contain her magic. Bruises, both old and new, marred her once vibrant features, painting a grim tapestry of the three weeks she’d been gone. Her tear-filled eyes widened with a flash of relief at the sight of them before turning into dread as the reality of their presence sank in.

The pair rushed to undo her shackles. “What did I just do… what did I…” she muttered to herself, chest starting to heave. Her eyes suddenly grew wide in realization as she started to panic, trying in vain to move her hands away from them. “No, you have to get out of here! Morden. Tucker. You have to leave!” 

“Shut up!” Morden hissed as a shadowy tendril came from his palm to try and undo the mechanism. “We’re getting you out of here."

“No, you don’t understand,” she pleaded, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and urgency. “It’s a trap. They knew my magic would lure you both here. Please, Morden. I’ll be fine. Please just–”

“I’m not leaving you!” he snapped, his grip tightening around her shackles as he fought against his rising desperation.

“How touching to see you lot reunited,” a voice sounded from the shadows. Before they could react, a flash of blinding light erupted as Morden and Tucker were flung towards the wall. 

A piercing ringing filled Morden’s ears as his shoulder seared with pain. With determined grit,  he staggered to his feet, pushing through the haze and forcing his vision to clear. A cloaked man stood before them, holding a knife against Salem’s throat as tears ran down her face. She mouthed desperate apologies to them, glassy eyes flicking from Morden to Tucker, back and forth, unable to settle on either one.

“Let me make something abundantly clear,” the man sneered, his voice laced with malevolence. “If you want her to live, both of you will come with us.”

Morden clenched his fists, gaze unwavering as he met the man’s icy stare. Anger burned within him, threatening to consume him, and he resisted the urge to let it take over.

“I’m sorry,” Salem wept. “I’m so sorry.” At the sound of her voice, the man pressed the blade against her, crimson droplets forming around the edge as she cried out in pain. “Let him kill me!” she begged, voice shaking. “Go!”

Tucker shot a pained glance at Morden and the two exchanged a silent, anguished understanding.

No matter the cost, no matter the danger.

No one gets left behind.

This also serves as further proof against those accursed human trash that experimented on us. He steeled himself and continued writing, hand trembling with indignation as the pain of the past came rising to the surface. I miss Tucker. I miss Salem. I miss my family. I’m tired of losing people. The ink seemed to bleed with the weight of his emotions as he scrawled his last thoughts, words seeping through the pages. He slammed the journal shut, snuffed out the candle, and rolled onto his back. The room, now shrouded in darkness, seemed to mirror his turbulent emotions. His anger lingered in the air, mingling with the weight of his weariness as he begged for sleep to come.

Chapter Text

“Not quite, Adventos. Do it again.”

Salem huffed in frustration, her grip tightening around the hilt of her sword. She swung it over her head again with a grunt, watching the blade slice through the air and make a jagged mark on the wooden training dummy.

“Nope. Again–”

Salem’s eyebrows furrowed, and she flung her sword aside in a fit of annoyance. It crashed into the barrels against the railing, making a painful clanging sound that echoed through the training yard. “Why do I have to keep doing this?!” she shouted, her voice echoing through the training grounds. “I’m a mage for Gods’ sakes!”

Ingvar let out a resigned sigh, lines etching deeper into his weathered face. As one of the hunters’ most seasoned captains, Chief Alfarin had assigned him the task of overseeing Salem’s training during Redwake’s ongoing battle against the pirates. Only a few days in, and Salem was sure he was getting just as fed up with her defiance as she was with his relentless guidance. 

“Look, Salem,” Ingvar said, voice calm yet tinged with the slightest bit of irritation. He reached out, intending to place a reassuring hand on her shoulder, but she abruptly jerked away, folding her arms defensively over her chest. 

“Quit doing that,” Salem grumbled, avoiding his gaze.

“Sorry,” the older captain winced, eyes crinkling with understanding. “Anyway, we’re hunters, Salem. Not mages.” His voice carried the weight of experience and years of training. “I’d love to train you to use your magic but that’s not my expertise. This is what we’re good at, and this is the only way-”

“This is what I’m good at!” Salem interjected, her voice quivering with a mix of frustration and determination. She unleashed a focused beam of ash from her palm, watching as it obliterated the training dummy in front of them. “I’ve had enough of this,” she declared as she stormed away.

The training yard fell silent in her wake, save for one hunter who followed after her.

“Hey, Adventos! Wait up!” a woman’s voice called from behind Salem, catching her attention.

Salem halted in her tracks, her frustration momentarily forgotten as her curiosity got the better of her. She turned around to face the source of the voice, her gaze falling upon a tall and formidable woman with flowing blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. It was Ragna, the only other woman who was part of the hunters. Her presence exuded confidence and strength, making Salem feel slightly intimidated, yet intrigued.

“If you’re just gonna drag me back there, then don’t bother,” Salem retorted, her tone laced with a hint of defiance.

Ragna raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “Woah, there. I’m not here to drag you anywhere. Just checking to see if you’re okay.”

Salem’s guarded expression softened slightly, her curiosity piqued by Ragna’s unexpected concern. “I’m fine, thank you very much,” Salem replied, her voice carrying a touch of gratitude.

Ragna took a step closer, her piercing blue eyes meeting Salem’s with an unspoken understanding. “Good to hear. I’ve heard some great things about you, Adventos.”

Salem’s brow furrowed in surprise, her guard momentarily lowered. “You have? I mean, thank you, I guess.”Ragna let out a hearty laugh, the sound echoing through the empty street. “No need to be modest. You’ve got quite the reputation, kid. Chief Alfarin believes you’ve got potential, so don’t blow it by acting all high and mighty to our Captain, okay? He’s seen more battles than you can imagine.”

Salem’s eyes widened, realizing that her attitude might have come across as arrogant. “Oh. I’m sorry–”

Ragna gave her a knowing smile. “Don’t apologize to me, kid. I was in your shoes not too long ago. You can talk to Ingvar later, but I’m curious.” Her eyes scanned Salem’s petite frame with a mix of interest and approval. “You definitely don’t look like you’re from around here. Why Redwake of all places?” 

Salem’s shoulders relaxed slightly at Ragna’s non-judgmental approach. “Actually, I lost all my memories. I don’t know where I’m–”

“Pfft, real funny, Salem,” Ragna interrupted, her eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “You’re joking, right?”

“No, I’m not,” Salem replied, her voice steady and resolute. She watched as Ragna’s eyes widened, her surprise turning into genuine concern. Undeterred by Ragna’s initial skepticism, Salem felt a wave of relief wash over her as she finally found someone willing to hear her story. “I woke up on the island just west of here with someone else. He told me that we escaped from some facility, but I don’t remember anything. After that—”

Ragna’s grip tightened around Salem’s wrist, and she pulled her towards a more secluded street, away from prying eyes and curious ears. “You can’t just go around telling people that, you idiot!” Ragna hissed through gritted teeth. “You’re gonna get taken advantage of.”

“But–” Salem tensed, realizing the potential consequences of her openness. She nodded, gratitude mingled with apprehension. “You’re right. I didn’t think about that.”

“Let’s go to the bar. We can come up with a story, something that will keep you safe,” Ragna suggested, voice softer now. “And besides,” she added with a wry grin, “I could use a drink and a break anyway.”

“So this Morton guy–” 

“Morden,” Salem corrected. 

“Morden. Whatever.” Ragna dismissed her with a wave of her hand. “So he knew that you had no memories, and he just let your little amnesiac self venture off alone into the open ocean? Sounds like a complete ass to me. I think–”

“I’m sure he had his reasons,” Salem defended, a hint of sadness in her voice. “I don’t remember anything about our time together, but deep down, I know that I trust him. It just hurt a little bit to hear him–”

“Well, Gods, yeah it would hurt!” Ragna scoffed, taking another gulp from her tankard. “The nerve of that boy. If we ever meet, I’ll teach him a lesson he won’t forget.”

Salem choked on her food, struggling to stifle a laugh. As she managed to regain her composure, a mischievous glint shone in her eyes. “I just might have to join you.”

Ragna’s smile softened, her eyes reflecting a genuine concern. “Well, for what it’s worth, kid, I’m sorry you had to go through all of that,” she said, her voice filled with empathy. “I hope things get better for you this time around. It sounds like you needed a fresh start.”

Salem’s smile wavered as she nodded appreciatively at Ragna, gratitude and vulnerability flickering in her eyes. “Thank you,” she said softly.

“Speaking of which, we should come up with a story for you,” Ragna said, shoveling roast chicken into her mouth.

Salem nodded, her gaze fixed on the wooden table. “What do you suggest?”

“Redwake is sworn to Sameria, but we’re quite a ways away from the capital. If you’re gonna be staying in the Bronze Sea a while, you’re probably best off saying you’re from one of the towns under Ravenna.” Ragna took a big swig of ale from her tankard, leaning back in her chair as she studied Salem with amusement. “You know, with that face of yours, though, you could probably pass as a noble from Ravenna,” she remarked, a playful smirk playing on her lips.

Salem’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and she couldn’t help but snort at the idea. “Oh, please. No one is going to believe that for a second. Plus, I’m pretty sure saying something like that is considered treason.”

Ragna just let out a hearty laugh, unruffled by Salem’s comment. “Well, maybe not a noble, then, but definitely someone important. We’ll just say you’re the daughter of a renowned cargo merchant from Palo Town. You spent most of your life out at sea with your father, which is why folks around here haven’t seen you before.”

Salem’s eyes sparkled with the excitement of creating a new identity, but she couldn’t help reaching for the ring on her necklace, a reminder of a past she’d never known. “That could work,” she mused quietly.

Ragna nodded in agreement, taking another bite of her food. As they continued brainstorming the details of Salem’s new background, the tavern buzzed with lively conversation and the clinking of tankards. Salem’s hand never left the ring on her necklace, fidgeting with it as she and Ragna hammered out the details of her new life. 

After everything was set, Salem took a final sip from her tankard. “Well, It’s been quite a night. I should probably get some rest. Don’t want to be stumbling around like you tomorrow morning.”

Ragna grinned at her comment, slinging an arm around Salem’s shoulder. “Can’t argue with your impeccable judgment, kid. I’ll walk you back to the inn. Wouldn’t want you getting lost in the dark. Plus, I might need you to hold me up if I stumble.”

Salem playfully rolled her eyes, feeling a sense of camaraderie with her new companion. The two of them made their way out of the tavern and through the dimly lit streets of Redwake. As they approached the inn, Ragna stopped, turning to Salem to place a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

“The past, real or not, is over,” Ragna said, a serious look on her face. “Remember, whatever happens from here on out is in your control. That’s what matters. Okay, kid?” She ruffled Salem’s hair affectionately. “I’ll see you tomorrow, bright and early.”

Salem nodded, grateful to feel a sense of comfort in Ragna’s presence. With a final wave, Salem pushed open the inn’s heavy wooden door, greeting Estrid and making her way up to her room. As she settled into bed, she stared up at the ceiling, like she did every night. 

My name is Salem Adventos. I’m 20 years old. I’m from Palo Town–

No, that felt wrong. It wasn’t just a flicker of unease anymore; it gnawed at her, a persistent ache in her heart that she couldn’t ignore. Her fingers instinctively fidgeted with the ring on her necklace, the simple band that had become her only constant companion. There was no inscription on it, no hidden clue to her past, but its weight on her chest had served as a reminder of the person who had given it to her, a person she couldn’t remember. She felt like she was betraying them, replacing their significance with a story hastily crafted over the course of an hour at the bar.

The conflict within her grew, intensifying the mournful longing for the memories she had lost. Fragments of a forgotten identity slipped through her fingers like grains of sand, leaving her grasping for a past that remained just barely out of reach. The sense of disconnection, of never truly belonging, made her heart feel heavy. But deep down, she knew that forging a new path, despite how uncomfortable and unfamiliar it felt, was what she needed to do to survive.

With a resolute sigh, she stilled her restless fingers and traced the wooden patterns on the ceiling with her eyes. 

Whatever happens from here on out is in your control, Ragna had said. That’s what matters.

Recalling the words gave her a tiny ounce of strength. The weight of her decisions settled heavily upon her, but Salem was determined to carry them forward. She closed her eyes with a new determination, ready to barrel through whatever obstacles stood in her way next.

A drawing of three soaring birds on a crumpled piece of parchment.

“We’ll make it out of here. Someday.” 

“If you believe it, then so do I.”

She smiled, warmth blooming in her chest. 

“Why do I have to row, Ragna?” Salem complained, beads of sweat appearing on her forehead from her exertion. “The Jaws are so hard to navigate and I–”

Ragna’s eyes grew wide, spotting something in the distance. “Shut up,” she hissed, steadying herself with a hand on the boat’s edge before standing up on her seat. “I hear something.”

Salem squared her oars in the water, slowing the boat to a stop as she turned to see what Ragna was talking about. In the distance, she heard raucous chatter and the slamming of crates. 

“Those are Elgfrothi’s supplies!” Salem exclaimed, palms starting to glow red in anger. “He needs them to fix the ships!”“Quiet!” Ragna hushed. “Calm down, kid. Your magic is… leaking. You’re gonna disintegrate those oars.”

“This has to be their hideout!” Salem whispered urgently, pointing at the huts nestled between the Spires of the Jaws. “The two of us can take them out, and they’ll never bother Redwake again! Let’s go!” She took hold of the oars, starting to row with a sense of excitement.

“Salem, stop,” Ragna hissed, forcefully grabbing the oars and bringing the rowboat to an abrupt halt, louder than she would have liked. “You’re gonna get us killed. We don’t know how many of them there are. Let’s go back and tell the other hunters. Then we can come up with a plan, and then we can take them out.”

Salem and Ragna walked briskly through the narrow streets of Redwake, their footsteps causing the worn wood beneath them to creak. The weight of their discovery pressed upon them, urging them to reach the hunters’ base and share their findings. As they approached the entrance, their anticipation mingled with a sense of trepidation.

Just as they were about to enter the base, the sound of boisterous voices reached their ears. Curiosity piqued, Salem and Ragna exchanged glances before quietly moving closer to the source of the commotion. They peered around the corner, their expressions quickly shifting from anticipation to disappointment.

A group of hunters were engaged in a conversation that carried a sharp, derogatory tone. Their words stung like barbs as they spoke dismissively about the two women. 

“What do those girls think they’re doing trying to look for a hideout?” one of them guffawed. “They’re no match for the challenges we’re facing. Ragna’s skilled, but at the end of the day, she’s just a woman.”

“And that kid?” another one added. “What could she possibly contribute? This is serious business.”

“It’s a shame they’re wasting our time by training her to be one of us,” the first voice replied. “She’s better suited putting that pretty face to use in a brothel.”

Salem clenched her fists, knuckles turning white, while Ragna’s jaw set into a hard line, a quiet fire burning in her eyes. “Maybe you’re right, Adventos,” Ragna said, her gaze unwavering. “Let’s not waste our energy on them. The two of us can handle that hideout on our own.”

Chapter Text

Morden found himself stuck in the never-ending cycle of mundane tasks that defined his days in the harbor town. While the repetitive routine of doing odd jobs around town provided him with the necessary funds to pay for his room at the inn, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of monotony and a yearning for something more exciting. However, the alternative of sleeping in his cramped rowboat didn’t quite appeal to him, keeping him chained to the routine he despised.

He rose with the sun, gaze set on the horizon outside his window as he donned his work clothes. Paige had spotted him fixing another ship in the new clothes he’d bought from her when he’d first arrived and insisted that he wear something more durable. She’d given him a pair of working boots and a hardy jacket free of charge, but he’d resolved to pay her back as soon as he was able. 

He ventured down to the docks, the familiar tang of saltwater mingled with the scent of fish filled his senses.

“Ah, there you are, lad,” the town’s shipwright called from below. “Cargo from Ravenna’s due today.” Morden gave the man a stoic nod before meeting the ship as it nestled against the weathered pilings. The rhythmic thud of wooden crates landing on the ground was the soundtrack to each one of his mornings, his strong and calloused hands handling each one with practiced efficiency as he moved crates from the ship to the dock. He rarely took part in the dockworkers’ idle chatter, instead preferring to listen to their news about the Bronze Sea.

After finishing with the laborious unloading, he moved on to his next task – repairing fishing nets. Perched at the ship’s edge, he meticulously inspected each net, mending their holes, and tugging on them to ensure their durability. He let his mind go blank as he worked, a welcome reprieve from the nights he spent ruminating about the fact that his entire life had been blown to pieces in a matter of hours, the two people he had left in this world lost to him. One of them he’d never see again, and the other… 

Well, that was his own doing, and every day he tried not to loathe himself for his actions.  

A sudden, sharp sting on his index finger broke his reverie – a fishing hook concealed within the net had claimed its price. Maybe his mind wasn’t completely blank. He cursed, standing up and making his way back to the docks, using the cleanest cloth he could find to try and stem the bleeding. 

“Hey, you alright there, boy?” the fisherman called from his ship.

“Yep. Fine,” Morden replied with his back turned, trying not to wince at the throbbing ache in his finger.

“Why don’t you take the day off?” the man persisted, an edge of genuine concern in his voice.

“No can do, sir. I need the money,” Morden said, awkwardly trying to muster a polite smile that ended up looking more like a grimace.

“At least take this bandage to patch yourself up,” the fisherman offered, extending a strip of cloth towards him. Morden mumbled his thanks and continued on with his work, adjusting his grip to avoid aggravating his finger. 

As the day wore on, Morden found himself scrubbing the decks of fishing vessels. He was reminded of his particular hatred of this task as water splashed against his face and soaked his clothes. He cleaned vigorously, brush moving in aggressive circles to remove the grime and salt residue from every nook and cranny in his eagerness to get the job over with.

He breathed a sigh of relief as he finished, bidding his farewells to the ship owners and walking towards the harbor town’s sandy shores.

“Excuse me, sir. You do any job, right?” a small voice from behind him asked, barely audible amidst the bustling sounds of the harbor. “Do you mind picking some bananas for me? I want to sell them to the rest of the town.”

Morden sighed, his fatigue wearing at the final shreds of his patience. Anxious to get some rest and the slightest bit annoyed, he didn’t bother turning around, his mind already craving the solace of his bed. “You could easily do that yourself. There are bananas all over town, why don’t you just–” 

A soft cough interrupted his words, and he glanced down, his eyes meeting a pair of big, green orbs brimming with curiosity. The annoyance melted away as he took in the sight of a young girl, playing with the hem of her tattered shirt.

His voice softened. “Sure. How many do you need?”

There has to be more to this than slaving every day to pay for a room, Morden thought to himself, muscles aching from his day of work.

He stopped abruptly as he stood in the center of the town’s plaza, his eyes fixed on a piece of worn parchment pinned to the bulletin board. 

Wanted. Dead or alive. Finneas Banks. Ten thousand galleons.

He glanced around, the townspeople going about their daily activities, oblivious to the piece of paper that held the promise of many, many nights at the inn and a much-needed change of pace.

Stepping closer to the bulletin board, he cleared his throat, addressing the hooded man that stood next to it. “Uh, excuse me, sir. Do you know if anyone can take this contract? It seems interesting, but I want to be sure.”

“Aye, lad,” the man responded, his gaze lingering on Morden’s features with a discerning intensity. “Anyone can take a contract. It’s open to all who think they can handle it. But mind you, bounty hunting ain’t no walk in the park. It takes skill, determination, and a keen eye.”

Vague. But it seemed like a challenge he could take on.

“Take this, lad,” the hooded figure added, handing him a silver coin, a raised image of a shield nestled in alms at its center. “Press the center and lock the shield into place once you’ve completed the job. The Grand Navy will be notified of your location to take the target into custody, and you’ll be rewarded with your payment.”

Morden nodded, his resolve solidifying. With determination, he tore the bounty contract from the bulletin board, folding it neatly and tucking it into his pocket. He decided that it would be best to conceal his identity if he was going to take this on. The dangers of standing out, the consequences of being recognized were much too great. The stories he’d heard from the dockworkers each day were enough to remind him of that, of those who had fallen victim to their own notoriety. The weight of the decision settled on his shoulders, a mix of excitement and apprehension. 

“Hey, Paige. Sorry for coming in so late,” he said, pushing open the door to the tailor’s shop.

“No worries!” she piped up from behind the counter, smoothing down her short, brown hair. “What are you looking for today?”

“Just this.” He placed a simple black bandana on the counter.

Paige tilted her head to the side, curiosity piqued. “A bandana? May I ask what it’s for?”

Morden’s senses flared for a moment and he hesitated, his eyes studying her expression. After a moment, he decided to just be cautious with his response.

“Just some personal business,” he replied evasively, tone low and guarded.

She seemed to sense his wariness, lowering her gaze and fidgeting with the fabric in front of her. She bit her lip for a moment before looking back up at him, concern etched on her face. 

He regarded her for a moment, his steely gaze softening just a touch at her concern. “Don’t worry about me. I know how to take care of myself.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh, I wasn’t–”

“It’s okay,” he reassured her in his usual, reserved tone. “Thank you,” he said. “For everything.”

A flicker of disappointment flashed across her face before she smiled softly, eyes full of earnestness. “Be safe, Morden.”

With a nod, he tucked the bandana into his pocket and stepped back out into the streets, now quiet in the cover of the night. As he made his way back to the inn, his footsteps echoed through the deserted alleyways, each stride a reminder of the weighty task that lay before him.

Back at the inn, he sat on the edge of his bed, the flickering candle casting dancing shadows around the small space. The room felt cramped, stifling even, as his mind raced with thoughts of his upcoming mission. The bounty contract lay open on the worn wooden table, its contents engraved into his memory. The promise of a substantial reward enticed him, but it also brought a wave of nerves that he couldn’t quite shake off. 

He ran a hand through his jet-black hair, a nervous habit that he’d developed over the years. Fingers trembling slightly, he reached for the black bandana on his bed. His touch lingered on the fabric for a moment, feeling its texture between his fingers. He unfolded it slowly, his gaze fixed upon the simple cloth. A flicker of doubt crept into his mind as he carefully tied it around his head, obscuring his features.

Am I actually doing this shit right now? 

His heart pounded in his chest as he met his own eyes in the cracked mirror. The person staring back at him was different – a face stripped of individuality, hidden behind a mask of anonymity. The realization sank in, and a mixture of excitement and unease coursed through his veins. 

He took a shaky breath in, attempting to anchor himself. He reminded himself of the skills he had honed over the years, some that he was forced to learn, the relentless hours he spent mastering his magic as a formidable weapon, cultivating his strength, and honing his ability to remain calm under pressure. He knew he possessed everything necessary to get this job done, but he couldn’t help but let the fear of the unknown gnaw at his insides. It was a heady mix of exhilaration and nervousness, challenging him to rise above his doubts. 

As he fastened his belt and secured his weapons, Morden’s hand brushed against the ring on his pinky finger. The simple golden band was worn and weathered, the small, black stone in the center catching the stray rays of moonlight that came in through the shutters of his window. He twisted it anxiously, the smooth metal offering a small comfort in the face of uncertainty. The weight of it on his finger served as a constant reminder of why he was bothering to fight in the first place.

Just one more thing, and you can finally go to sleep, he told himself, steeling his nerves one last time before heading out into the darkness.

Last spotted in Limestone Key.

Morden untied his rowboat from the dock, the quiet lapping of the waves against the pilings the only sound in the dead of the night.

Ten thousand galleons.

His heart hadn’t stopped pounding since he left the inn. He tried to steady himself, taking focused breaths in and out.

Ten thousand galleons.

With each pull of the oars, his resolve grew stronger. Nearly there. 

Ten thousand fucking galleons.

He pulled his rowboat onto the island’s sandy shore, tightening his bandana. The remains of a fire were just up ahead, softly illuminating a clearing surrounded by tall, stone statues. Morden cautiously approached the makeshift camp, his senses heightened and body tensed as he searched the shadows for any signs of movement. 

Suddenly, a sharp impact struck his side, knocking him off his feet. He hit the ground hard, instinctively unleashing a cloud of swirling shadows, engulfing him and his assailant as he bought time to gain his bearings. 

The criminal emerged from the shadows with a wicked grin spreading across his face, the air crackling with tension as they circled each other.

Finneas Banks. Ten thousand galleons.

With a sudden surge of aggression, Banks lunged forward, launching a frenzy of slashes and attacks with his dagger. Morden swiftly evaded each strike, his mind a whirlwind of calculations as he analyzed Banks’ every move. Shadows coiled around Morden as he retaliated with a combination of his own, tendrils of darkness landing with decisive impact. With each strike, he reveled in the raw power coursing through his veins, unable to contain the satisfied smirk starting to form on his face.

Banks was a formidable opponent, blocking and countering with precise, calculated skill as the once-peaceful island now echoed with the sounds of combat. He refused to yield as the ebb and flow of the battle turned into crashing waves. Morden’s euphoria transformed into a gritty determination as the battle wore on. He couldn’t sustain this relentless pace forever. His mind raced as he analyzed Banks’ attacking patterns, seeking an opening, a weakness that he could exploit.

Finally, a moment of opportunity presented itself – Morden seized it with pleasure. He caught Banks off guard with a lightning-fast strike, a beam of darkness causing his dagger to fall to the ground with a resounding thud. Morden hesitated a moment, surprised, before Banks launched a desperate counterattack, fueled by desperation. Each blow landed with bone-jarring impact, but Morden gritted his teeth, willing himself not to wince at the pain. In a moment of sheer instinct, he summoned the last shreds of his strength, channeling his determination into a final, decisive strike. The blow connected, knocking Banks out cold. 

Breathing heavily, he restrained the fallen criminal, the air still fraught with tension and uncertainty. His gaze hardened, and as the adrenaline wore off, he felt his heart jackhammering in his chest. Slowly, he reached for the coin in his back pocket, relishing in a feeling of accomplishment as he locked the shield into place. 

After what seemed like an eternity, a grand, royal blue ketch appeared on the island’s sandy shore, dwarfing Morden’s tiny rowboat. Three officers disembarked, two of them taking Banks’ crumpled form onto the ship and one staying behind to speak to Morden.

“Your assistance in capturing Finneas Banks is greatly appreciated,” the officer said, handing him a hefty bag of galleons. “Here is your reward.”

Assistance? I did the entire thing, idiot.

Morden gave the officer a curt nod of gratitude, adjusting his grip on the bag to better support its weight. He waited for the ship to disappear into the beginnings of the dawn before setting off, back to Palo Town.

Morden stirred, his eyes blinking open to the soft golden glow of the late afternoon. The previous day’s events had taken more of a toll on him than he’d thought they would, his side aching. The bag of galleons, a hefty reminder of his actions, was sitting on the vanity in front of this bed, its weight causing it to sag to the side. 

The rush of using his magic again felt euphoric, but the mission hadn’t unfolded as smoothly as he had planned. The margin for error had been razor thin – one wrong move and he’d have been the one unconscious on the ground, defeated. He resolved that he’d have to do some more training before taking on another contract. 

With a sigh, he pulled his journal out from under his pillow, before peering out of his small window. His mind was still frantic, and he needed to do something to calm the whirlwind in there before making a start to his day, however late it may be. His pen hovered over the blank page, his hand itching to make a mark on its clean surface. Three birds soared over the horizon, calling to each other, and he couldn’t help but feel an inexplicable weight settle in his chest.

Salem had been put through a particularly cruel trial that day. The piercing sound of her anguished screams echoed through the dimly lit corridors, testing Morden’s resolve to the core. He glanced across the cold, desolate cells to Tucker, whose gaze seemed distant and forlorn, his shoulders slumped in defeat. 

Salem finally returned, her body trembling with each step as hooded figures callously cast her back into her cell before disappearing again. She stumbled, her weakened form lurching forward before retching into the rusty metal bucket that they’d oh-so-considerately thrown in the cell with her. Morden tore his eyes away.

“What did they do to you this time?” he asked, a mix of concern and dread in his voice as he ran a nervous hand through his hair. He knew his turn was imminent, and he wanted to brace himself for the torment that awaited him.

“Injections,” Salem managed to utter, her voice strained and raw. She met his eyes, shaky hands clutching the sides of the bucket. “My arm fucking burns. Everything hurts.” With a shudder, she heaved into the pail again, her body convulsing with spasms.

She wasn’t herself the rest of the day. Her banter with Tucker was usually Morden’s daily source of amusement, but the weight of their captivity pressed upon them heavier than ever before. Salem was silent, lying on the cold, stone floor with her back turned to him. Morden watched her shoulders rise and fall shakily with each labored breath, his own frustration growing.

He sought solace in the corner of his cramped cell, retrieving a tattered piece of parchment that he had hidden under his bed. He held a piece of charcoal he had carefully smuggled in, fingers moving with a determined grace. The corners of his mouth quirked up as the charcoal danced across the paper, giving life to a whimsical scene. With each stroke, the weight of their captivity seemed to fade away, replaced by the innocent joy of the moment. 

Morden slid the parchment through the bars into Salem’s cell. and she turned over, her curiosity piqued by the sound. Her eyes widened at the drawing, and she sat up.

Three soaring birds, wings spread wide against a vibrant sky. 

She looked at him, teary-eyed. “Morden–”

“We’ll make it out of here. Someday,” he whispered, a fire in his eyes. He reached his hands through the bars, offering a smile, and Salem took them, grinning.

“If you believe it, then so do I.” She gave his hands a reaffirming squeeze, then carefully folded up the drawing, hiding it in the crevice between her bed and the wall.

“Oi! Unfair, Mord!” Tucker whispered sharply from across them, pouting. “Where’s my drawing? I’m sad, too!” 

Morden and Salem exchanged playful glances, and the three of them couldn’t help but laugh, a moment of fleeting levity amidst the surrounding darkness.

Drawing had always provided him with solace, happiness, even, when he needed it, but the picture staring back at him, a single bird, wings folded with its feet planted firmly on the ground, served as a bitter reminder of what he had lost. He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, trying to ignore the annoying, stinging feeling in his eyes.

He sniffled once, rubbing his nose with the back of his sleeve, and found that his gaze wandered back out of his window. The town’s cobblestone streets, cramped buildings, and quiet bustle had become familiar to him over the course of his stay, but his attention was drawn to the alley, where an unfamiliar figure disappeared, a cloak billowing in their wake. 

Morden stood up, squinting to try and catch a better glimpse. There, for a brief moment, he caught sight of a symbol etched into the fabric. The purple, candle-like symbol seared itself into his vision, its familiarity sending a snaking feeling of unease through his veins. His hands trembled involuntarily, his instincts screaming at him to leave, but an insatiable curiosity held him captive, chaining him to his position. He couldn’t tear his eyes away.

With shaky hands, he reached for his pen again, frantically scrawling a copy of the symbol into the pages of his journal. Its presence lingered, tugging at the depths of his subconscious.

Chapter Text

“Nice, Adventos!” Ingvar clapped Salem on the shoulder, an air of pride in his features as the two of them regarded the training dummy before them. Or, what was left of it.

She panted, wiping the sweat off her brow as she sheathed her sword. Her swing had cleaved the upper half of the mannequin off, a straight, clean, diagonal cut. It took her a moment to process what she’d just accomplished, a rush of exhilaration and adrenaline coursing through her veins before a wide grin spread upon her face.

“Very much improved,” Ingvar noted with a satisfied smile. The sound of his praise echoed in her ears, filling her with pride. After her frustration had come to a head a few weeks before, the excitement of taking down the pirates’ hideout gave her a new motivation to keep training, and Ingvar had been gracious enough to take her apology in stride, helping her to grow as a warrior. “Why don’t you go take a quick break?” Ingvar continued, “We’ll be moving onto firearms soon.” 

She nodded, still beaming, and gratefully accepted the chance to catch her breath. Making her way over to the edge of the training yard, Salem’s gaze met Ragna’s as the older hunter pulled an axe out of the center of a target with a grunt. 

“You look happy, kid,” Ragna remarked, playfully nudging Salem with her elbow.

“Maybe this weapons stuff is kind of fun,” Salem said. “Did you see what I did to that training dummy?”

“Sure did! Keep it up,” Ragna encouraged her, a friendly arm around her shoulder. Ragna glanced around the training yard before leaning in close, her voice dropping to a low murmur. “I went back out with your boat to scout the south side of the camp this morning–”

“Hey!” Salem started to protest, but Ragna swiftly silenced her with a finger to her lips.

“Shh! You were in training. You’re back on Ingvar’s good side, which means you’re on the Commander’s good side, so you have to stay there. I’m just looking out for you.”

Salem frowned, but she knew that Ragna was right. It had been just over two weeks since they had first spotted the camp. Salem had wanted to jump in and take care of it right away, much to Ragna’s dismay. But because of the older hunter’s admittedly better judgment, the pair had crafted a careful plan, taking shape as they learned more about the pirates’ hideout, one annoyingly cautious step at a time. 

“But anyway,” Ragna continued, voice filled with determination, “I think we have everything we need. Meet me at the docks after the sun sets. Let’s raid that place tonight.”

Salem’s heart quickened with excitement at the mention of the impending mission and she met Ragna’s gaze. Her own determination and nervous anticipation seemed to be mirrored in Ragna’s blue eyes. She gave Ragna an enthusiastic nod and headed back up to the middle of the training yard, where Ingvar was starting to distribute flintlocks to a small group of hunters. 

She’d never really liked shooting. It was her least favorite out of every skill that she’d learned in her few weeks of training with the hunters. She reluctantly took her position among them, the weight of the flintlock in her hands. Her eyes scanned the open field, lined with targets, the sound of gunshots echoing in the distance.

She couldn’t help but feel a sense of detachment as she raised the flintlock, peering down its sights. The weapon required meticulous concentration, focusing on the alignment of the sights, controlling her breath, and squeezing the trigger at the right moment. The mental process took away from her natural instincts, much too robotic to implement with her fluidity in combat.

She pulled the trigger, and with a sharp and powerful jolt, the gun discharged. Salem felt a distinct kickback, a force pushing against her shoulder as the weapon discharged its payload, leaving an ache in her arm. Glancing at the target, she sighed as she found a mediocre result. 

Her mind wandered to her preferred weapons as she went through the motions of training – the graceful arcs of her spells, even the swift and precise strikes of a sword. There was an elegance and a connection that she felt with her magic that nothing else could replicate, and she longed for movement, the freedom of using her instincts that came from channeling her abilities. As the session came to an end, she resisted the urge to sprint to the mess hall for dinner, eager to leave the monotony of target practice behind. 

Three huts. Ten tents. Twenty-five pirates.

Easy.

Right?

Salem couldn’t suppress the unease bubbling within her, manifesting as a growing knot in her core that grew ever-tighter with each passing second. She glanced at Ragna, who was lost in contemplation, eyes fixed on the murky water as it gently sloshed with each of Salem’s strokes. The light of the moon cast a faint glow on their faces, revealing a mix of determination and uncertainty.

We’ll dock on the southern edge, Ragna had strategized earlier, an excited glint in her eye as she laid out a hand-drawn map on the ground. You take the east, I’ll go west.

They were well concealed in the dead of the night, their vessel safely concealed among the island’s reeds. Salem fastened the rowboat to a sturdy oak and proceeded with the plan, her heart continuing to thump loudly. She pressed her palm against her chest, feeling the cold outline of her ring under her hand as she tried to calm the erratic racing of her heart.

Hit one of the trees with your magic. It’ll fall and they’ll go check it out. I’ll take out any guards on the west side. That’s your cue to slip in unnoticed.

Salem leaned against the massive oak, seeking its grounding strength as she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to hone her focus.

Inhale, exhale.

Inhale, exhale.

A gust of determination tore through her body. She thrust her arm forward, fingertips ablaze with raw power. A wide beam of concentrated, fiery ash shot forth, slicing through the night air. The targeted tree shuddered, its branches creaking in protest before it succumbed to gravity, crashing to the forest floor. Salem silently praised the Gods as the guards on her side left their posts, leaving a clear opening for her to enter. 

Once you’re in, use your magic and the campfire to make a smokescreen. I’ll meet you in the east hut, and we’ll make our way from there.

A pit of dread was starting to gnaw at Salem, but she tried her best to ignore it. Trying to remain undetected when there was so much she could do if just given the chance went against her every instinct, but she knew that they needed to go about this slowly and surely if they wanted to be successful. Her hands trembled ever so slightly as she manipulated the fire at the camp’s center. 

She caught sight of a flash of blonde hair coming her way, and she breathed a sigh of relief, slipping into the first hut, muscles tense and ready for a fight. There were just a few pirates in the first hut, their roughened faces illuminated by the flickering of a lantern. Without a moment’s hesitation, she unleashed her magic, swirling ash engulfing them as Ragna struck them down with lethal efficiency. The pirates in the next hut went down without much of a fight either, disoriented and in shock.

On to the last.

The pair slipped into the last hut under the cover of Salem’s magic. There were five this time, and the commotion in the first two huts had woken them up. Salem and Ragna exchanged a quick glance, their eyes reflecting a shared understanding.

Stay calm, kid. She could hear Ragna’s voice in her head. We’re nearly there.

With a swift, synchronized motion, they burst through the door, catching the pirates off guard. Chaos erupted immediately, the room becoming a mess of weapons and bodies.

Salem’s instinctive reflexes kicked in, her movements a blur as she weaved through the melee. Her ash magic crackled to life, deep crimson dancing on her fingertips and she channeled her energy, sending forth a cascade of ash to obscure the pirates’ vision. They stumbled and cursed, swinging their weapons blindly.

Taking advantage of the chaos, Ragna swung her axe in a wide arc, her weapon finding its mark with deadly accuracy. The clash of steel against steel filled the air as Ragna blocked and parried, her years of combat experience evident in each and every move.

Salem darted between two pirates, her movements fluid and unpredictable. Like a tempest unleashed, she struck with unforgiving force, exploiting gaps in their defenses as they appeared. Her sword found purchase, making a slice in one pirate’s leg while the other surrendered, grabbing his injured comrade, and scurrying out of the hut.

The desperation in the space mounted, the pirates fighting back with an ironclad grit. Blades clashed, and Salem felt her power waning, but her grip tightened around the hilt of her sword as she hardened her will.

One of the pirates, a burly brute, broke free from the chaos and launched himself at Ragna. Before she could react, he had her in his grasp, blade pressed against her throat.

“Think about your next move very carefully, lass,” he sneered, crimson droplets forming around the blade’s edge as Ragna struggled against his grip.

Time seemed to freeze, and Salem was struck with a sense of eerie familiarity, like the past was colliding with the present.

No time for weird shit, shake it off. 

She met Ragna’s panicked eyes and felt a renewed rush of adrenaline tear through her body. Salem summoned her strength directing a burst of scorching ash toward the pirate. The intense heat caused him to recoil, loosening his grip on Ragna. Seizing the opportunity, Ragna retaliated, her axe finding its mark as her assailant crumpled to the ground, defeated. 

“I’ll take the right. You go left,” Ragna commanded over the chaos as they made their way to the tents. Salem gave her a determined nod, charging into the fray with her palms alight.

So much for a silent entrance.

Her magic crackled to life, a shield of embers forming around her as two pirates lunged at her with a synchronized attack. She weaved through them, unleashing a torrent of fiery ash that caused them to stumble back, momentarily blinded by the onslaught. Salem took a quick glance to her right, where Ragna was valiantly chopping through hordes of adversaries. 

The two pirates regrouped, her muscles on fire as she tried to parry both of their frenzied attacks, her breaths starting to come in ragged gasps. She managed to disarm one of them, sending his weapon clattering to the ground, but the other managed to land a glancing blow on her upper arm, leaving a bleeding cut that stung with each movement.

Undeterred, she pressed on, returning each one of their swings and strikes with equal ferocity. Each clash sent shockwaves through her aching arms, but she remained determined, her will unwavering. Sweat dripped down Salem’s brow, mingling with the soot and grime of her face. The cut on her arm throbbed with each movement, but she forced her focus to remain razor-sharp. She thought of Redwake’s struggles and the faces of its resilient inhabitants as she continued to fight, fueling her anger. Narrowing her eyes, she cast her sword to the side, forcing the pirates on the defensive with a relentless storm of rapid blasts, relying on her magic’s destructive power.

Chest heaving with exertion, she stood her ground, bloodied and battered, but resolute. The pirates exchanged wary glances, realizing her tenacity. They backed away, eyes filled with a mix of frustration and begrudging respect.

The hideout was now desolate, and Salem and Ragna stood in the epicenter of the storm they had created. 

“We have to show them that they can’t mess with Redwake anymore,” Salem said, grabbing flags and emblems from the wreckage, proof of their successful defeat.

Ragna clenched her fists, unwavering dedication to her home evident in the intensity of her voice. “You have my permission to burn this place to the ground.”

As the pair ascended the stairs to Shark Hall, Salem felt the other hunters’ eyes on them, scrutinizing and cold. She couldn’t tell if their gazes held contempt or reluctant acceptance, but in either case, her heart swelled with pride for what she and Ragna had accomplished.

Chief Alfarin regarded them with a nod, and Salem couldn’t help the excitement that was starting to build inside of her. Knowing she’d have trouble remaining composed, she let the older hunter take the floor.

“A few weeks ago, Captain Ingvar sent Salem and I on a recon mission in the Northern Jaws to see if the pirates had a hideout there. It was successful–”

A few of the hunters cast surprised looks at each other. “Why didn’t you–” one of them started, but Chief Alfarin silenced him with a wave of his hand. Salem recognized his voice as one of the hunters they had heard dismissing their abilities, and she looked down to conceal the triumphant grin starting to spread on her face.

“It was successful,” Ragna continued, the ghost of a smile starting to appear on her face, too. “And the two of us devised a plan to take it down, which we accomplished last night.” She looked at Salem, glancing at the crumpled flags that she held tightly in her fists and giving her a nod.

“Here is proof of their defeat,” Salem said, handing them to the chief. “I would have brought back more, but a lot of it is just piles of ashes now and I thought–”

The chief held a hand up, cutting her off gently. “This is proof enough. Well done, you two,” he congratulated. He studied the crumpled flags in his hand, a symbol of their successful mission, and a proud smile tugged at the corners of his lips. 

“You’ve both displayed exceptional bravery and skill,” he praised, deep voice resonating with a genuine approval. “To undertake such a mission and succeed speaks volumes of both of your abilities.” He glanced at the other hunters, who shifted uncomfortably, before continuing. “You have my utmost respect, and I expect that everyone treat the both of you with the same regard.”

Salem’s heart swelled with a mixture of relief and pride. She’d worried that the Chief would reprimand them for keeping their discoveries from the rest of the hunters, but Ragna had reassured her that he prized strength and bravery over all. 

Chief Alfarin turned to the gathered hunters, his authoritative voice demanding attention. “Salem and Ragna have proven themselves as formidable warriors and true assets to our ranks. From this day forward, Ragna shall be promoted to the rank of Lieutenant…”

“..and Salem,” he continued, his gaze steady on her, “I bestow upon you a proper sailboat of your own. May it carry you to even greater accomplishments.”

She met Ragna’s eyes with an excited grin as the Chief dismissed them with the hunters. As she was about to descend the staircase back to the heart of Redwake, the Chief cleared his throat. “Before you depart, Salem. I’d like a word with you,” he said.

“Go on, kid,” Ragna smiled at Salem, an encouraging hand on her shoulder. “I’ll see you later for dinner.” Salem nodded and returned to face Chief Alfarin.

“May I ask what your next plans are?” he asked, a thoughtful hand on his chin.

Salem hesitated. She hadn’t thought about that before. She paused, starting to look for the right words, but she decided to be truthful, shrugging. “To be honest, Chief, I’m not really sure myself.”

“You’re free to stay here as long as you like, but I’m sure there’s a greater adventure out there for someone like you,” he replied. His eyes shone with the wisdom of his years as he continued, “And it seems to me that you’re still searching for something more.”

The weight of the ring on her necklace hung heavier than usual. Determined to do right by the person who entrusted it to her, she replied with a bittersweet smile, “I think you might be right.”

“Well, when you’re ready to leave us, I’d appreciate it if you could head to Frostmill Island and search for my scout, Hallfrid. I sent him there to see if he could find anything about those cursed pirates, but he hasn’t returned yet. Tell him that it’s safe to come home, if you’d be so kind.”

She nodded. “Of course, Chief. I’d be happy to.”

“The two of you saved our people and our way of life, and for that, I’ll forever be grateful. You’ve earned your place among us, young one.” The chief extended a hand, and she shook it firmly. 

She couldn’t help but think back to when she’d first arrived at Redwake, scared and alone. Shaking the Chief’s hand back then had filled her with a sense of belonging. Now that she’d accomplished what she promised, she didn’t feel empty as she had expected, but rather filled with anticipation for what lay ahead. She left Shark Hall not just with a renewed sense of determination, but now with a newly forged part of her identity.

“So, where are you off to next?” Ragna asked, helping Salem unfurl her boat’s new sails. The salty breeze swept across the docks as the air buzzed with anticipation and a hint of melancholy.

“The Chief asked me to send a scout back from Frostmill Island,” Salem replied, occupied behind the mast. She hesitated, furrowing her brow. “After that… I’ll figure it out.”

Ragna expertly tightened the knots that secured the sails. “You were never one to plan ahead anyway,” she remarked, a bittersweet smile appearing on her face. She looked up at Salem, fondness in her eyes. “I’ll miss having you around, kid.”

Salem felt a pang in her chest as Ragna’s words sank in, the realization that their paths were about to diverge, hitting her with a wave of sadness. Unable to contain her emotions any longer, she threw herself into Ragna’s arms, seeking solace in her familiar embrace. Ragna tensed at first, but softened, holding Salem tighter.

“I’ll miss you, too,” Salem whispered against Ragna’s shoulder, words muffled but brimming with sincerity. She held on tightly, as if trying to imprint every detail into her memory, reluctant tears welling in her eyes. 

She’d considered asking Ragna to come, but knew that this is a journey that she had to face alone, for now. 

Salem reluctantly released her grip on Ragna, tears drying on her face. “You’ll always have a home here,” Ragna said, her voice filled with a mix of pride and a touch of sadness. 

“Thank you, Ragna,” Salem said, hoping that Ragna understood just how much she’d helped her. “For everything.” The older hunter gave Salem one last encouraging smile and headed back down to the docks. 

Salem cast one last glance at her as she turned her sails to face the wind, etching Ragna’s image into her memory. The wind whispered a promise of uncertainty, but she knew that the things she’d learned in Redwake would give her the strength to take on whatever lay ahead.

“Don’t be a stranger, kid!” Ragna called from the docks, waving. 

Salem laughed, a wistful smile setting on her lips before she set her sights on the horizon. Her sails caught the gentle breeze, and she began her voyage into the open sea.

A distance now from Redwake, the gentle waves of the Bronze Sea lapped quietly against her ship’s hull. Every movement felt natural to her, every adjustment made easily as she guided her sailboat through the rhythmic dance of wind and water. It was as if the instinct was ingrained in her being, in a way that she couldn’t understand. 

Her mind drifted as the boat glided over the waves. She wondered who’d taught her to tie a reef knot, how to maneuver with tacks and jibes. She furrowed her brow, the thought both frustrating and intriguing her. As the wind shifted, she pulled on the sheet to change the angle of her sails and was met with the same sense of uncanny recognition during her standoff in the third pirate hut, time seeming to freeze in place.

“We’ll end up in the Nimbus Sea if you keep the sails like this,” she joked. 

A hand twitched under hers.

She hesitated, trying to ignore her heart jackhammering in her chest.

During her lapse in concentration, she’d pulled on the sheet a little too far. Salem sighed, shaking off the slight unease that had settled on her shoulders and righted her course.

Chapter Text

Morden’s eyes burned as he scanned what he thought was his thousandth page of text. He’d been at the library for hours each day, and he hadn’t found a shred of useful information relating to the symbol he’d seen almost two weeks prior. The librarian had warned him that their collection was limited, and he was starting to reach the end of the pile of dusty tomes that she’d handed him.

Patience wearing thin, he rubbed his weary eyes and flipped through the volume in his hands, scanning over passages and examining the illustrations within. Sighing with disappointment, he snapped the book shut, eliciting a couple curious head turns from the library’s other patrons, and handed the stack of volumes back to the front desk.

“I couldn’t find anything. Thank you for your help, though” he said to the old librarian, a touch of resignation in his voice.

She offered a sympathetic smile, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Oh, that’s a shame. I’ll let you know if anything new arrives in our collection, dear.”

Morden nodded appreciatively, heading back out into the center of town. The bulletin board stood tall and proud next to the town hall, and he eyed a few new contracts that had been posted. He’d taken on a few lower-profile contracts since his encounter with Finneas Banks, the training he’d been doing in the cover of night every day since then proving helpful as he detained them with ease. Despite that, he was starting to reach the end of his reward money and knew that he’d have to take another contract soon unless he wanted to scrub ship decks again. 

He walked up to the board, the same hooded man from the first time he’d taken a contract regarding him with a glint in his eyes. Morden couldn’t discern if it was one of approval or amusement. 

Wanted. Dead or alive. Adam Vale. Fifteen thousand galleons.

An upgrade from Banks, Morden thought, but he figured he could handle it with the training he’d been doing.

In the midst of his contemplation, Paige had spotted him from the crowd, and she met his eyes with an excited smile. “Hey, Morden!” she waved. He quickly crumpled the contract into his bag and walked to the center of the plaza to meet her.

“Paige? I never see you outside of the shop,” he remarked, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. “What brings you here?”

She grinned, her enthusiasm contagious. “Oh, I’m on my lunch break! My brother’s taking over the shop for an hour or so. Gonna head to Aimee’s for some food. Wanna come along?” she asked hopefully. She searched his face for a moment and hastily added, “That is, if you don’t have other plans.”

Morden paused. He’d just been planning to go back to the inn, maybe draw in his journal, stare up at the ceiling… A change of pace was definitely welcome. “Sure.”

The eatery was fairly empty in the early afternoon, and the slight bustle in the kitchen was the only other sound in the room as Morden swirled his mashed potatoes around with his fork.

“So, um,” Paige broke the silence, looking up from her plate. “What have you been up to recently?”

“Not much, really,” he replied, voice hesitant.

Gods, this friend thing is harder than I remembered.

He couldn’t remember the last time he held a proper conversation with someone who wasn’t Salem or Tucker. 

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, spinning his ring around his finger under the table as the silence settled between them once again. Opening up had never come naturally to him, but he could sense Paige’s genuine interest and decided to take a chance.

“Actually,” he continued, after a deep breath, “I’ve been… digging through old books at the library lately, trying to research a symbol I came across. It’s been frustrating, though. Haven’t found anything useful yet.”

Paige leaned in, her eyes bright with curiosity. “A symbol? What does it look like?”

His gaze softened as he reached into his bag and retrieved his notebook, flipping it open to the page where he’d scrawled the symbol. “It’s like this,” he said, sliding the notebook across the table to her.

She studied the symbol intently, furrowing her brows. “Huh. I haven’t seen anything like this before. But I can ask around, see if anyone in the shop or in town knows something about it. If I find anything, I’ll definitely let you know.”

“That would be amazing. Thank you,” Morden said, the ghost of a grateful smile on his lips. “But how are you?” he asked, genuinely curious. “How’s work been at the shop lately?”

Paige’s eyes lit up as she eagerly shared her experiences. “Oh, you know, the usual. Assisting customers, stocking shelves, trying not to break anything valuable… A lot of travelers pass through here, you know, harbor town and all, so there’s always something to do,” she chuckled. “It keeps me busy, that’s for sure.”

He listened intently, nodding. Paige’s enthusiasm was contagious, and she was a pretty good conversationalist, so he found himself at ease, slowly opening up with her gentle guidance as they continued on with their exchange.

“I saw you bought a sailboat the other day,” she remarked, taking a sip of water from her glass. “When did you learn how to sail?”

“Oh, uh, I was eighteen, so that’s three years ago, now? A….” He paused, suppressing a smile at the memory. “A friend taught me.”

Morden stood at the bow of the boat, his heart pounding with nervousness as he knit his brows together. He watched as Salem confidently took her place at the helm, her long hair catching the gentle breeze. The sea stretched out before them, vast and inviting.

“You sure about this, Salem?” he couldn’t help but ask, his voice tight with apprehension.

She turned to him with an exasperated sigh. “Yes, I’m sure! Don’t worry!” she reassured, voice dripping with a confidence that he couldn’t quite believe. “My father said it was alright for us to take the boat out. Actually, he was even excited when I asked him.” She looked up at the sails, avoiding his gaze, and he knew she was lying straight through her teeth. He suppressed a laugh, knowingly shaking his head with a quiet smile as he looked out at the ocean.

“But nevermind that,” she continued. “This is a perfect day for sailing! The wind’s blowing straight north and…” She leaned over the railing, standing on her toes. “...it looks like the waves are really gentle today. I don’t see any whitecaps.” She sighed wistfully, and his expression softened at her enthusiasm. 

As the boat glided across the water, she attempted to teach him the intricacies of sailing – how to catch the wind, adjust the sails, and maneuver the boat. Despite her best efforts to instruct him, he struggled to replicate her graceful movements, stumbling through them frustratedly.

“No, not like that,” her voice rang out with a trace of impatience. Salem looked at him and her tone softened. “We’ll end up in the Nimbus Sea if you keep the sails like this,” she joked. She put a hand over his on the sheet to guide his direction, and he twitched as a jolt of electricity coursed through his veins. Salem hesitated for a fleeting second, glancing at him a moment before she continued, more gently this time. “Pull it this way… yep. Just a little bit more.”

Hours passed by in what seemed like seconds and the sun began its descent, casting a warm glow over the calm waters of the sea. Morden and Salem sat side-by-side on the ship’s deck, a comfortable silence settling between them as the sails overhead captured the last traces of the fading breeze.

He stole a quick glance at her, watching the golden light dance in her green irises as she gazed longingly out at the ocean. She suddenly turned to face him and he flushed.

“What’s up, Morden?” she asked, curious.

“Huh? Oh, nothing. I was gonna ask you if I could try to dock the boat.”

“Oh, yeah, sure! You see it, right?” She pointed southward, towards the docks. “It’s a straight shot from here. Just keep her steady, I’ll take care of the sails.”

Morden focused intently on maneuvering the boat, frowning as he concentrated on keeping a straight course. Salem eyed him mischievously, a grin on her face.

“I can feel you staring at me, Salem. What are you smiling about?” he asked, eyes still on the docks. 

She plunged her fingers into his sides and he yelped in surprise, swatting her hands away as she erupted into a fit of laughter. Caught off guard, his grip on the wheel faltered for a split second, causing the boat to collide with the dock with an unexpected thud. Salem sobered up immediately and they froze, eyes wide as they looked at each other in surprise.

“What was that?” she whispered, her voice barely audible. 

Morden’s heart raced as they mustered up the courage to investigate the potential damage. They tiptoed to the edge of the boat, peering over to find…

Nothing.

Thank the fucking Gods.

Relief washed over him like a tidal wave, and Salem burst into laughter again.

“Well, I hope you enjoyed your attempt at sabotage,” he remarked dryly, mouth curling into a faint smile as he gave her a playful shove. “Next time, maybe choose a less critical moment to test my focus?”

She shoved him back, still laughing. “Oh, stop. You’re just mad that you failed my test.”

Morden sighed, an amused glint lingering in his eyes. “You’re impossible.”

He regarded her, her face all red and tears in her eyes from her laughter, and his eyes filled with fondness. He couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped his lips at the sight.

The smile he was fighting to contain broke free as he recalled the moment, when his only worry was getting scolded by Salem’s father. It was a bittersweet memory, a stark contrast to the hardships and dangers he had faced alongside Salem and Tucker. For a fleeting moment, he allowed himself to be transported to that simpler time. “I wasn’t very good at it at first,” he told Paige, smile slowly fading as he noticed his lapse in composure.

Ever-so-perceptive, she noticed the subtle shift in his demeanor. A hint of curiosity flashed across her face as she caught a glimpse of a side of him he rarely revealed, but she didn’t press, which he was thankful for.

“This was fun,” Paige said, smiling. “I do have to head back, but thanks for joining me. We should do this again.”

“Agreed,” Morden replied. He meant it, surprisingly. It felt nice to finally have company.

“If you ever feel like taking a break from those dusty books, you know where to find me,” she offered, giving him an understanding glance and bidding him farewell.

His conversation with Paige had left him with an aching feeling of nostalgia, and with his new sailboat, he figured it was time to pay his old friend a visit. He stepped back out into the center of town, heading to the docks. 

The island looked exactly as he had left it, frozen in time. A light rain had started to fall, and Morden gazed pensively at its landmarks. On the shore, between those two trees, that was where he and Tucker had pitched makeshift shelters, using old sailcloths and some fishing line they’d found, where he’d changed Salem’s bandages, where he’d prayed to the Gods that she’d wake up, despite his own wavering faith. 

It was where he’d found Tucker dead, cold and motionless, the moment his already-shaky fidelity came crashing down right before his eyes. 

He walked up the island’s sole hill, rain starting to come down harder as the smell of petrichor emanated in the air. The headstone he’d fashioned out of sticks and rope was starting to fall apart, and he made a mental note to replace it with the money he’d earn from the contract he was pursuing.

He sat by the headstone, facing the ocean, and took a deep breath.

“Hey, Tucker.”

He paused, waiting for a response that would never come. A wistful smile played on his lips as he continued.

“You won’t believe what’s happened in the past month.”

As the words came out, he questioned his own sanity for a moment. But as the rain soaked through his clothes, a strange warmth enveloped him. 

“I’ve scrubbed thousands of disgusting ship decks, picked too many bananas to count for a new friend I’ve made… and did I mention that I’m a bounty hunter now?” His voice wavered with amusement as he imagined Tucker’s reaction to the news, all wide-eyed and with that signature lopsided grin. 

A bittersweet feeling of comfort swelled inside of him as he recounted the past month without his best friend by his side. Through it all, he could almost hear Tucker’s laughter and his witty remarks.

“I wish you were still here,” Morden confessed with a longing ache in his chest, still staring out into the ocean’s vast expanse. “It would make things a hell of a lot easier.”

The rain intensified, drumming against the ground as the wind picked up, but Morden remained rooted in place.

“But somehow, sometimes it feels like you’re still by my side.”

The sun had dipped below the horizon, giving way to the dusk as the island was cast into twilight. He needed to set sail soon, before his target made a move.

“That’s my cue, Tucker. Gotta go bring this guy to justice,” he murmured, running a hand through his hair. With one last look at the grave, he put his hand on the earth.

“Wish me luck, man.”

Morden never much liked climbing. Especially in the rain.

Trying to soundlessly ascend the steep cliffs of Goso Jungle, stone slippery in the relentless downpour, made it irritatingly difficult for him to stay undetected despite the darkness of the night. With painstaking effort, he finally reached the summit, clothes drenched and sticking to him. Ahead stood an old hut, a feeble lantern flickering against the gusts of wind next to the remnants of a long-abandoned farm. Morden’s mind raced, trying to come up with the best course of action when his thoughts were interrupted by a sudden, smug remark.

“I was wondering when someone was going to try and claim my bounty.”

Shit.

Relying on pure instinct, Morden ducked just in time, narrowly evading a savage strike that surely would have ended the fight right there and then. He spun around to face his adversary, unleashing a tendril of darkness that knocked Vale off his feet. Seizing the opportunity, he sent shadowy blades hurtling towards his target, a smirk on his face as he watched each one find purchase. 

But Vale was relentless, scrambling to his feet with a surge of determination and refusing to yield. With a primal ferocity, he met Morden blow for blow, each one sending a shockwave of pain through his body. Rain mingled with sweat and the taste of blood in Morden’s mouth as Vale landed a hit that knocked the wind out of him. Morden faltered for a fleeting second, and Vale pressed his advantage, sending him sprawling to the ground with a well-aimed knee to the ribs. He ruthlessly closed the distance between them, pinning Morden to the ground as he gasped for air.

Vale’s forearm dug against Morden’s throat, cutting off his airflow as Morden’s pulse throbbed under his target’s unyielding pressure, frantic and erratic. Each breath was a desperate struggle, darkness creeping into the edges of his vision he tried in vain to escape Vale’s vice. With a sadistic grin, Vale leaned closer, his grip tightening as he tore off Morden’s bandana, exposing his face. “I want to see your face when I kill you,” he snarled, voice dripping in malice.

Vale raised his dagger, the blade catching the light of the full moon overhead. If the weapon found its mark, it was over for sure. 

Time slowed to a crawl, each second stretching out into an eternity. Every heartbeat echoed in Morden’s ears as he choked out his breaths. In a rush of desperation, Morden’s hand shot to the dagger in his belt, summoning the remnants of his fading strength. With a grunt, he plunged the blade into the side of his assailant’s neck. He pushed it in deeper and deeper until Vale loosened his grip, fighting against layers of flesh and sinew as his target choked on his own blood, bright red and spewing from his lips. Gasping for air, Morden pushed against his assailant’s weakening frame, watching with gritted teeth as the light drained from his eyes. Vale grew limp, his lifeless weight sagging against Morden’s chest, and Morden sat up, casting the body aside and reaching into his pocket to notify the Grand Navy.

His chest heaved up and down as he rose to his feet, watching the crimson puddle steadily pooling around Vale’s neck. Morden looked down at the dagger in his trembling hand, coated in blood. Recoiling from the grisly sight, he flung it to the side. In its wake, it left a trail of crimson in the rain-soaked soil. The image of Vale’s life fading from his face branded itself, red-hot and searing, into Morden’s memory.

He’d crossed a line.

As the reality of his actions sank in, a wave of nausea washed over him and he stumbled away from the violent scene in front of him, the taste of bile rising in his throat. He doubled over, retching onto the ground with a shudder. 

Guilt tasted bitter, and so did regret.

The sound of a royal blue caravel docking below caught his attention, and he wiped his mouth with the back of his trembling hand, reaching for his bandana and tying it back on. He tried to ignore the metallic smell soaked into the fabric, stomach churning. Still reeling, he averted his eyes from the gruesome scene he created, his self-loathing making a home for itself deep inside his core.

A voice interrupted his inner turmoil, and Morden looked up to see an officer from the Grand Navy approaching him. His gaze was sharp, scrutinizing the haunted emptiness etched on Morden’s face. A solemn question hung in the air.

“Was this your first kill?”

Morden nodded, unable to find his voice.

The officer’s expression softened, a wordless recognition passing between them. “It gets easier with time,” the man remarked, his words carrying an air of hardened experience. He dropped a heavy bag of galleons into Morden’s shaking arms, and Morden flinched at its weight.

“I can’t,” he managed to utter, voice choked with remorse. “I don’t deserve it.”

The officer sighed, his gaze on Morden a mix of sympathy and resignation. “Nothing you can do now. Might as well walk away from this with something,” he said. 

Morden didn’t respond, his gaze distant.

Without another word, the officer nodded to his other two partners, who carried Vale’s body, now wrapped in a white sheet, to their waiting ship. 

As the departing ship faded into the distance, Morden stood alone in the aftermath, still clutching the heavy bag of galleons. He let it slip from his grasp, and it fell to the ground with a dull thud, the sound echoing in his ears.

He left the island without it.

Chapter Text

Frostmill was damn cold. 

Salem could see each of her breaths materialize as white puffs in the air as she disembarked her ship, trying to ignore her own shivering. There was no way she was going to survive on this island with just her leather armor from Redwake.

Frostmill was freezing, but it was beautiful. The village was nestled into the side of a tall, icy mountain, overlooking the sea. Cozy cottages lined the sides of the streets, roofs adorned with tiny icicles. The glow of lantern light faded through their windows, illuminating the snow-covered streets of the early morning with a soft, golden radiance.

The soft ring of a bell accompanied her entrance into the cozy tailor’s shop, providing a bit of respite from the biting cold outside.

“Hi, miss.” The owner looked up from his work, stitching a pelt to a jacket, to greet her with a warm smile. “Looking for anything specific?”

Salem returned the smile, wrapping her arms around herself in an attempt to get warm. “Anything warm, really. It’s freezing here.”

The shop owner chuckled sympathetically. “Well, you’ve arrived during the coldest part of the year, lass. This may be an island, but it’s no tropical paradise. What brings you around here?”

Salem’s gaze wandered over the walls adorned with fabrics and garments. She paused for a moment, contemplating her answer. After sending Hallfrid home, what was she really there to do? “Just… exploring, I guess,” she replied after a moment.

“Hm. These should serve you well,” the shopkeeper smiled, handing her a coat and some gloves. She put them on immediately, placing a small pile of galleons on the countertop. “Travelers haven’t been coming to Frostmill for quite some time now,” he continued. “You’re the first I’ve had in the shop for a few weeks.”

She couldn’t help her curiosity. “Oh, why’s that?”

“Some say the island’s melting. People have been moving away in droves, so business has been really slow.” The shopkeeper’s expression turned somber, and he continued, gaze now distant, “My family and I can’t really afford to relocate just yet, so we just have to hope that things will sort themselves out.”

Salem’s expression softened at his words. “I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine what that feels like.. Are there any rumors about why the island is melting? Has anyone tried to investigate?”

“Rumors are aplenty, but there aren’t any concrete answers, miss. Some say it’s the work of a powerful mage. Others say it’s the Gods, punishing us for a reason that we don’t know. As for investigations, well, it’s hard to say. Most folks around here are just focused on surviving and finding a way out.”

“If there’s anything I can do to help you, I’d be happy to,” she offered. “I have… some experience with magic, so I think I’m going to look into this further. Maybe I can find some answers, or at the very least, do something to help.”

“That’s very kind of you, miss,” the shopkeeper smiled. “We could certainly use any help we can get. If you’re willing to dig deeper and see what you can find, it would mean a lot to us.”

Salem nodded. “Consider it done. I’ll do what I can.” 

She stepped back out into the cold, a new determination in her gaze.

When looking for someone from Redwake, always check the tavern first. 

The hunters loved spending their nights and their salaries at the bar after a long day of training, so Salem figured it would be the same for the Chief’s scout, Hallfrid. Sure enough, there he was, downing a tankard at a table by himself, despite the fact that the rest of the village hadn’t woken up for breakfast yet. The small tavern was filled with the faint aroma of stale ale and the sound of quiet bustling behind the bar.

He raised an eyebrow at her as she approached, taking a seat next to him. “Hi. Are you Hallfrid?”

“Aye, that’s me,” the scout replied. His rough, weathered face and grizzled beard showed signs of a life spent outdoors, and he eyed her curiously.

“The Chief sent me,” she said.” He told me to tell you that it’s safe for you to come back to Redwake.”

Hallfrid took a swig from his tankard, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Yer from Redwake? You sure don’t look like it. What’s yer name, lass?”

“Salem.”

“Well, Salem, the Chief must really trust ya if he sent ya here,” Hallfrid remarked, his gruff voice carrying a hint of surprise. “So the pirates have been taken care of?”

“Yes, they have,” Salem replied with a hint of satisfaction. “Ragna, one of the hunters, and I found their hideout in the Northern Jaws,” she continued, voice growing more animated. “It’s a pile of ash now.”

The scout’s eyes widened, clearly impressed. He took another sip from his tankard before leaning back in his chair. “You two did that all by yourselves? Well, I’ll be damned, kid.”

“Ragna and I make a good team,” Salem smiled fondly, thinking about her friend and what they’d accomplished.

Hallfrid set his tankard down with a thud. “I should head off soon, and ya should too. This ice block of an island is melting, if ya haven’t heard, and I don’t want to be here when it turns into a puddle.”

Salem’s expression turned serious at the mention of Frostmill’s problem. “The tailor mentioned it when I went to get some warmer clothes. Do you know anything else about it?”

Hallfrid leaned in, studying her. “I don’t, but I see that look in yer eyes, lass,” he cautioned. “Don’t go looking for trouble around here. Pirates are one thing, but this is another. This involves powerful magic, and ya don’t want to get caught up in that.”

“I can’t just stand by and do nothing when people’s livelihoods are at stake!” Salem exclaimed, eliciting curious looks from the few others at the tavern. She flushed, dropping her voice down to a whisper. “I have to do something, Hallfrid.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn ya,” Hallfrid said with a knowing look. He stood up with a grunt. “But if you really want to know, go see Enzior, the town’s alchemist. That’ll be a good way to start. I’ll be off now. Fair winds, lass.”

The alchemist’s tower stood tall at the edge of town, its silhouette reaching towards the sky. As Salem got closer, she could feel the power radiating through its walls, filling her with a sense of anticipation. She hesitated in front of its arched entrance, her hand hovering over the door’s handle. Before she could make a move, the door swung open, revealing an old man dressed in black robes.

“I could sense you from outside, young one,” Enzior chuckled, his voice a rich timbre that echoed through the chamber. “Why the hesitation? This old man won’t bite.” 

“What? How did you–”

“The same way you probably felt this tower’s power from the outside.” The alchemist’s weathered face creased with amusement before he turned back to his work.

Huh. I’m not even gonna ask how he knows that.

She stepped inside, the scent of old parchment and rare herbs filled her senses. Her gaze wandered to the towering bookshelves that lined the walls, full of what looked like thousands of volumes of arcane knowledge. She itched to ask about them, but restrained the urge.

“What brings you here? These are troubling times in Frostmill Village,” the old man remarked, his hands deftly stirring the contents of his cauldron.

“Oh, my name’s Salem Adventos. I heard that the island was melting, and people say it’s because of magic. What I’ve gathered from asking the other townspeople is that it looks like it’s a young woman with red hair who’s responsible. I was wondering if you knew anything about it? You know, alchemist and all.”

“A woman with red hair on Frostmill Island?” Enzior asked with amusement, adding a jar of herbs from his shelf into his cauldron. “No one that lives here looks like that. If it’s a mage, then it’s probably Iris.”

“Iris?”

“News has been spreading around the Bronze Sea about her. She’s a young mage who happened to learn a lost magic. Usually only the most experienced mages can wield them, so Iris is a really strange case.”

Salem furrowed her brow, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her face. Maybe I’m in over my head, she thought, but I have to at least try. 

“If it’s really her, then we should try and stop her,” Salem said resolutely. “People are losing their livelihoods over this.”

Enzior turned to her, his gaze penetrating. “Not so fast, young one,” he said. “I can sense your power, but you’re not fully prepared yet. Lost magic can be deadly in the hands of the right user. I can enchant something for you, but you’ll need to gather some ingredients to help me do that.”

“What do you need?”

Enzior scrawled out a list on a piece of old parchment, handing it to her with a grin.

4 mangoes, 2 bananas, 1 coconut husk.

She looked up at him, a quizzical expression crossing her face. “Enzior, are these ingredients for enchantments or for a fruit basket?”

He laughed. “Do you want your armor or not?”

If Salem could remember correctly, she and Ragna had sailed past an island just northwest of Redwake, during their search for the pirates’ hideout. It was about a day’s journey away from Frostmill, but if she was to stand a chance against a lost magic user, it was what she had to do.

She grounded her sailboat on the island’s shore, throwing an anchor off the ship’s edge before disembarking. She put a few fallen mangoes and coconuts into her bag from the shoreline before venturing forward to look for the banana trees.

As she treaded up a small hill, smoke wafted into the air from a distance, catching her attention. She approached it cautiously, palms alight with her magic.

Before her stood a modest hut, in front of it, a pot of stew simmering on top of a crackling fire. And there, on the edge of a small cliff, sat a man, fishing.

“Oh, hello there,” he said, turning to greet her, then turning back to face the ocean. 

Okay. Weird.

She hesitated, furrowing her brows and studying him. 

“If you’re just going to stand there and watch me, you might as well help out,” the man spoke up again. He turned to face her once more, patting the spot next to him on the cliff. “Come on.”

She glanced at him, his casual demeanor taking her by surprise. His light brown hair, tousled by the sea breeze, framed a face that exuded ruggedness and experience. However, it was the scar across his cheek, a visible mark of a past encounter, that added a hint of mystery to his appearance. There was a story written in the lines etched upon his weathered features. Intrigued, she took a few steps closer.

With a quirk of her lips, she replied, “Well, I guess I can spare a few moments to lend a hand. Don’t expect too much from me though, I’m no expert.” 

He smiled, scooting over to make room for her. She settled down beside him on the cliff’s edge, an oddly comforting feeling washing over her as the waves crashed against the rocks below. He handed her a nearby rod, and together they cast their lines into the water.

“So, what’s your story, mysterious man?” Salem asked after a moment, looking out at the ocean.

“The name’s Edward. Edward Kenton. I’ve been living here a few weeks now.”’

“Nice to meet you. I’m Salem Adventos. Why are you living here, of all places?”

“I’m a Grand Navy deserter. I served for seven years and thought I’d spend the rest of my life there, but… the things they asked me to do, things that I did… Let’s say they didn’t exactly align with my moral compass. I’ve been here ever since, just living off the land. It feels sort of… empty.”

She listened intently to his words, her gaze shifting from the rolling tides to his face. In his eyes, she sensed a depth of experience, a weariness that resonated with her own search for purpose and truth.

“I can understand that,” she said softly. “But that was brave of you.”

He met her gaze, a glimmer of appreciation in his eyes. As they continued to fish side by side, conversation flowed effortlessly, and as the barrier of being strangers started to fade, Salem started to feel like she was talking to an old friend.

Before they knew it, the sun had started to dip toward the horizon, and the basket behind them was filled with fish. Salem couldn’t help but feel a connection, a bond forming between them. Like their paths had converged for a reason, intertwining at this secluded cliff in Elm Island for Fate’s own amusement. If she was going to continue on this journey, she might as well do it with someone she liked.

“Look, Edward, this is going to sound insane, but you said you’re looking for adventure, right? Would you consider joining me and being part of my crew? Well, the first member of my crew.”

She realized the lunacy of her own words as soon as they came out of her mouth and tried not to cringe. Too late now, she thought to herself. If he says no, you’ll never have to see him again anyway.

His answer surprised her even more. 

“I’d be happy to join your crew, Captain,” he said with a smile.

Her eyes widened at his address. “Oh, please do not call me Captain.” She felt about a thousand years old when he said it.

Salem stood up, dusting off her pants and reaching for the basket of their fruitful catch. “Our valiant vessel awaits just by the shore, Edward Kenton,” she said, a mischievous grin tugging at her lips. She grabbed his arm and pulled him towards her sailboat before he could protest.

“I probably should have asked this earlier,” Edward said, “but where are we going?” The sea was rougher than usual today, the boat’s hull being battered by the waves as the wind whipped around them.

“I’m staying in Frostmill, for now. The island’s melting, and I want to help find out why,” Salem replied, eyes focused on the horizon as she deftly steered the ship.

“Why’s that?” he inquired, genuinely curious.

“Why do I want to help? It’s the right thing to do,” she replied. Her brows were furrowed in concentration as she eased on the sheet, steering the bow away from an incoming wave. It was a success – the wave crashed just to the side of the ship, missing the deck completely.

Edward regarded her with a quiet approval before asking, “Where’d you learn to sail? You’re pretty darn good for someone your age.”

“Hey, I’m not much younger than you!” she protested, gently slapping his arm.

“Just a small seven years,” Edward chuckled, the warmth of their camaraderie filling the air.

They shared a laugh together, their bond growing stronger with each passing moment. As she pondered over his question, Salem grappled with her options. However, If he was to be part of her crew, she figured it was best to start off on the right foot. The truthful one. She felt a slight sense of guilt at even considering lying to him.

“You know, I came up with this grand cover story and everything while I was in Redwake, but I think you deserve the truth, Edward,” she answered, looking off into the distance. “I actually don’t remember anything about my past.”

His eyes went wide, full of disbelief. “Er… Salem, are you joking, or…?”

“No, I wish I was.” Her expression grew solemn as spoke. “I woke up on an island just west of Redwake just over a month ago, with someone named Morden.”

She felt a pang in her chest as his name left her mouth, and a raw, indiscernible feeling lingered inside of her that she couldn’t quite shake off despite how hard she tried. 

“He told me we escaped from a facility where they experimented on us for our magic, and after that, he told me to go off on my own,” she continued, “But as for where I learned to sail? I honestly have no idea.”

She recounted that day on the island, the rain, Tucker, how scared she was, how angry she got. Edward’s expression softened to one of concern as he realized the weight of her revelation and the complexity of her situation.

“I don’t know why he would do that to me,” she confessed. “I mean, if we were friends before, why wouldn’t we stick together? But I’m trying to believe that he had his reasons.”

Trying very, very, very hard, she thought to herself. It’s not really working.

He hummed in agreement. “Well, he said that you two escaped from a facility somewhere? Maybe whoever’s behind all of that is still searching for you. Since you don’t remember anything, they probably wouldn’t have any use for you. But, if they caught both of you together, they could use you as leverage against your friend. If only one of you is found, then they have less power over the other.”

She paused, realization crashing down on her like a tidal wave. “So you’re saying that he wanted me to go off on my own to… to protect me?”

“I’m not saying anything for certain. Just another way to think about it,” he clarified. “Not saying that it was the right decision, but trust me, protecting someone you care about means making difficult decisions sometimes. Your friend might have believed that it was the best way to keep you safe. ”

“Huh, I didn’t think about it like that. I don’t even know what to think, to be honest with you, so I try not to think about it at all anymore. I was so angry at him, Edward. So angry.” She looked at Edward, who was regarding her with quiet sympathy. Despite his rugged appearance, there was a kindness in his eyes that was unmatched by anyone she’d met thus far, and she prayed a silent thanks to the Gods that they’d sent him her way.

“For days afterward all I thought about was what I was going to do if we ever saw each other again. Maybe turn him into a pile of ash with my magic,” she continued with a laugh, amused at her own foolishness. “But maybe you’re right. I’ll try and give him more credit.”

Edward chuckled softly, and a comfortable silence settled over the two of them before Salem spoke up again. 

“Well, if anyone asks, tell them I’m from Palo Town. The daughter of a merchant that spent her life out at sea. That’s the cover story.”

“Aye, Captain,” Edward replied playfully, giving her a mock salute.

“I told you not to call me that!”

Chapter Text

Morden couldn’t remember the last time he had a restful sleep. Every night since that contract, he’d woken up, covered in sweat, barely able to breathe as he relived Vale’s arm against his throat, the edges of his vision starting to fade, the blood that covered his hands after the deed, and the life draining from his target’s face as the dagger shook in his hands. Every night, he saw it. Every night, he experienced it again, over and over, all too real, all too much.

Tonight wasn’t any different.

He met his own gaze in the inn’s cracked mirror, his chest heaving up and down with each ragged breath. 

Get over it, he told himself. It’s done. Get over it.

He tried to settle back into bed, gaze fixed on the wooden ceiling, but sleep refused to come. With a frustrated sigh, he sat up, running a hand through his hair. The soft rays of moonlight coming in through the window reflected off of his journal’s binding, catching his attention. He hadn’t touched it for a few days now, drawing never giving him nearly the same amount of comfort as it did before, no matter how many times he tried. But the echoes of his nightmare still reverberated in the back of his mind, and he needed something to ground him. He grabbed the notebook along with a piece of charcoal, flipping it to an empty page. 

His hand hovered over the page, trembling slightly, as he struggled to decide what to draw. In a rare moment, Morden let impulse take over, and with a deep breath, his instincts guided his even strokes and graceful lines. He hadn’t intended to draw anyone specific, but his subconscious seemed to move his hand for him as an image started to take shape on the page. His lines danced and curved, forming the delicate contours of a face and cascading strands of hair as the soft sound of charcoal meeting paper filled the air.

Morden’s brow furrowed as he watched the portrait emerge before him, his eyes widening in recognition as he took in the features that had come to life on the page.

Salem.

It was unmistakably her. A sense of calm washed over Morden as he took in the drawing, a bittersweet pang in his chest. He looked at it a second more before closing the journal, a fleeting surge of guilt coursing through him as he put it back on his bedside table. 

It had been a week since his last hunt, and Morden prayed that a successful detainment was in his cards today. The contract he’d chosen had brought him to the Whispering Caverns, an abandoned Ravenna outpost just under a day’s journey west from Palo Town. 

He docked his sailboat, cautiously making his way to one of the fort’s desolate lookouts. The night air was heavy with moisture, and a damp mist clung to the fortress’s crumbling stone walls. Whispers seemed to echo from the cavernous depths below, and Morden tried not to look down, a chill running down his spine.

 His target today was Anaïs Ren, a glass conjurer whose talents made her a formidable adversary. Rumors had spread that she was masterminding a series of daring prison breaks, freeing incarcerated rebels from the Grand Navy’s clutches. 

Ascending the lookout’s moss-covered steps, he used the cover of the night and his own magic to conceal himself in darkness. As he reached the summit, he caught a glimpse of a woman’s silhouette in the dim moonlight.

“Make this easy for me, will you?” he called out, his voice carrying a hint of both determination and weariness. Her eyes widened with surprise, her gaze meeting his for a fleeting moment before she turned and bolted.

Without hesitation, Morden gave chase, his boots pounding against the worn stone. The cavernous walls seemed to close in around him, amplifying the sound of his breaths. He weaved through narrow passageways, his senses on high alert, but Ren was quick and elusive, her footsteps barely audible.

The chase intensified as they started to navigate treacherous terrain. Worn away by the weather, the stone beneath his feet was crumbling as Morden leaped over fallen debris and turned around sharp corners. Now desperate, Ren created obstacles with her imbued sword, shards of glass flying in his path. Morden relied on his agility and quick reflexes to avoid being impaled, breathing a quick sigh of relief at a near-miss.

The tension was thick in the air as the pursuit continued. Morden pushed his exhaustion aside, his determination unwavering as he closed the gap between them. He summoned a wall of shadow, placed just in front of her to throw her off, and she faltered. He lunged, sending them both crashing to the ground.

Ren gasped, her eyes wide with fear as she struggled against his hold. With a clap of thunder, rain began to fall, pattering against the leaves and dirt around them. As it intensified, all Morden could see was Vale’s face, blood mixing with rain as it poured from his mouth. He paused, loosening his grip as his breathing grew ragged and erratic.

His distraction allowed Ren a brief moment of respite, and she seized the opportunity, slipping out from under him with a swift movement. She scrambled to her feet, disappearing into the foliage.

Fuck.

Morden realized his lapse in focus, quickly regaining his composure. He pushed himself up from the wet ground, trying to ignore a throbbing pain in his shoulder. As the rain came down harder, he struggled to gain his bearings as he chased after Ren. 

He ran blindly for what seemed like an eternity, but there was no trace of her. He whipped his head around, listening for any sort of sound, but the rain was deafening, the sheer volume of it obscuring his vision. There was no way he’d catch up to her now.

“Fuck,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. A tempest of frustration brewed inside of him as he stood in the pouring rain, his chest heaving with each labored breath. Fists clenched, he took a shaky breath in, knuckles turning white as he tried to keep his composure. 

As the rain soaked through his clothes, mingling with the sweat on his brow, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of self-disgust. He knew he had let his guard down, and that if he were unlucky, it could have cost him his life today. His mistake was an unwelcome reminder of his own fallibility, a bitter pill to swallow. 

He sailed back to Palo Town as the sun began to rise, his mind quiet for the first time in ages.

The sun had set again by the time he made it back, painting the sky a dark grey as the night began to emerge. The beginnings of a storm seemed to be present in the sky, clouds darkening and a charged feeling in the air. Morden’s gaze was distant as he disembarked his ship, thinking about nothing in particular, which he was grateful for. He was about to push open the door to the inn when a familiar voice broke him free from his reverie. 

“Morden!” Paige shouted from the plaza, running up to him. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you! Where have you been?”

“Paige? Uh–”

“I saw a ship,” she said, grabbing onto his shoulders. “With that symbol you showed me.”

He froze, wide-eyed.

Holy fucking shit. 

“It passed by just a few minutes ago,” she continued urgently.

Morden’s heart started pounding in his chest. It had been so long since he’d first seen the symbol, and he’d almost all but given up trying to figure out what it meant. Now that he had the chance, he didn’t know how to feel. “Where was it headed?” he asked, running a hand through his hair. 

“South, from the looks of it,” Paige answered, “but–”

He turned back towards the docks, boots pounding on the cobblestone streets as he fought the urge to run back onto his sailboat.

“Morden, wait,” Paige called from behind him.

“I can’t lose that ship, Paige,” he said, not bothering to turn around.

“Morden!” she yelled, a trace of anger in her tone.

He stopped, turning to face her.

“I know you said you can take care of yourself, but I… I’m worried about you,” she said quietly.

His eyes flashed with a mix of frustration and desperation, and his next words came out sharper than he intended. “I don’t have time for this right now, Paige! This is important to me. I have to go!”

She flinched, both hurt and surprise crossing her face for a split second. His words hung heavy in the air, and he immediately regretted his outburst.

“Look, Paige, I’m sorry–”

She shook her head, holding her hands up. “No, it’s okay. I know you have your reasons. Just… let’s talk when you get back, okay?”

He sighed. “Yeah. Promise,” he said, mustering as much sincerity as he could. 

She gave him a small, understanding smile and he felt relief washing over him. “Fair winds. Be careful, it looks like the ocean’s rough today.”

Morden nodded, and turned back on his path, resuming his hurried pace. On his way back, he passed the tavern, the warm, yellow glow coming from its windows a stark contrast to the darkening grey hues of the sky. He heard the light sound of laughter, all-too-familiar, like the soft chime of bells, ring through the air, and he instinctively turned towards the source, heart swelling with both hope and trepidation.

To his surprise, he locked eyes with a red-haired girl, wearing an equally perplexed expression. Her face contorted into a mixture of confusion and mild discomfort, but she shrugged and continued on her way.

Morden sighed, shaking his head and starting to walk again.

I’m starting to go crazy, aren’t I?

It had to be her. Her laugh was distinctive. He’d heard it about a million times, could pick it out in a lineup of thousands. If it wasn’t her, then–

There it was again, refreshing and clear as day. He turned back to the direction of the tavern, the faint sound of laughter disappearing behind its doors. His heart hadn’t stopped jackhammering, and he took a shaky breath in, taking a moment to collect himself and reminding himself of his purpose.

He shook off the lingering sense of longing, resolving to continue his pursuit. 

The wind howled around Morden as he clenched the steering wheel, knuckles turning white as he tried to maintain his course. He could just barely see the ship he was chasing after in the distance. The rain was coming down in an onslaught, the sea roaring below as waves crashed against the hull of his boat, threatening to capsize it at any moment. 

He was blown off course by a strong gust of wind, and with gritted teeth and muscles straining, he fought to right his course. His sailboat pitched and rolled with each tumultuous wave, testing his sailing skills to the extreme. The distance between the two ships was starting to close, and Morden felt a pit in his stomach as he inched closer. 

All of a sudden, the storm intensified, wreaking its havoc on the open sea. His ropes started to tangle, the sails threatening to tear under the relentless force of the wind. The sailboat was being tossed around in the waves like a plaything, but Morden set his jaw into a firm line, the image of the ship and the answers it held motivating him to push forward. He strained his eyes in the torrential downpour, trying to keep the ship in his line of vision.

Driven by determination, he caught a burst of wind in his sails, propelling him closer. He caught sight of hooded figures on the ship struggling to keep it on its course and he felt a pit of dread in his stomach start to grow, the same feeling as when he had seen the symbol for the first time. There was something familiar about them, something he couldn’t quite place. 

He itched to get closer, but the ferocity of the sea rose up against him, sending a wave crashing down on his ship with a deafening roar. The impact sent him sprawling to the deck, the dull ache in his shoulder from before intensifying into a sharp, shooting pain.

Morden winced, struggling to gain his footing on the deck’s slippery surface, frantically assessing the damage. His sails were torn, ropes snapped, and water was seeping into the lower compartment. The wood started to groan under the strain, and he cursed under his breath.

His pursuit had become reckless, and if he kept going, he’d end up as a pile of bones on the ocean floor. He cast an aching glance at the direction of the elusive ship, but it had faded into the distance, no longer in view. He limped to the steering wheel, reluctantly redirecting his boat back to safety.

South.

What else was south of Palo Town?

They’d long since passed Silverhold, and he was sure a mysterious ship like that definitely wouldn’t make a stop at the Grand Navy’s base of operations. There was nothing due south of Palo Town that made sense, nothing where a ship like that could go and stay hidden.

Realization struck him like a bolt of lightning – Ravenna.

Chapter Text

Salem bounded down the spiral steps of Enzior’s tower, her hand gliding along the rough stone wall to steady herself. The old alchemist had been kind enough to offer Salem and Edward a place to stay while they were in Frostmill, and it was safe to say that the pair made the place a lot more lively in the few days they’d been there.

“You know, you should really consider installing a railing for these steps or something, Enzior,” Salem called out as she reached the ground floor. “One wrong step and I’ll break my neck,” she added jokingly.

Enzior gave her a soft chuckle, and returned to his work, flipping through a weathered old tome.

“You sure you don’t want breakfast, Salem?” Edward asked. He was sitting with Enzior at a circular wooden table, stirring a steaming bowl of porridge with his spoon.

“Nope, I’m alright!” Salem answered, pulling the door open. She’d been searching the island for days ever since she got back with Edward, and she had a burning feeling that she’d finally find some answers today. 

“Salem–” Edward started, getting up from his seat.

“I’m going to the far end of the Frozen Peaks,” she grinned, itching to continue her search. “Bye!”

She was about a foot out the door when Edward yanked her back inside by the wrist. 

“Gloves,” he said simply, tossing her the pair she’d bought at the tailors.

She caught them in mid-air, flashing him a quick smile and running out the door. She just barely saw him roll his eyes from the periphery of her vision and couldn’t help but chuckle.

Salem didn’t think she’d ever get used to Frostmill’s weather. She shivered against its relentless chill as she scaled a steep cliff on her way to the Peaks. Her muscles quivered with each strained effort, threatening to give way, but she pressed on. Gritting her chattering teeth, she pulled herself up over the edge with a grunt.

She’d been trying to track Iris for days, with no luck. Truth be told, she was starting to get frustrated. How could someone vanish so completely on an island made of ice and snow?

In the distance, the remnants of an old manor came into view. All but its foundation had been worn away by the constant freezing winds, leaving behind only a framework of withered wooden beams. In the wreckage, Salem caught sight of a faint glow – the remains of a recent fire. 

She grinned. 

Finally found you. 

Her heart skipped a beat as a burst of flames erupted from the wreckage, arcing towards the summit of Frostmill’s towering mountain. As it hit its target, the searing heat radiating from the blaze melted all of the snow in its wake. Salem couldn’t tear her eyes away.

Vibrant flames danced around a girl with fiery red hair, curling around her arms and illuminating her features. Iris had her arms outstretched in a display of raw power, blindingly bright beams of flare magic melting the snow around her. She had a fierce determination in her eyes that reminded Salem of own, but the sheer power of Iris’s magic made her heart pound in her chest. 

This was the moment she’d been waiting for, but Salem couldn’t help but feel a sense of apprehension building up inside of her. 

Lost magic can be deadly in the hands of the right user. 

She could practically hear Enzior’s words ringing in the back of her skull. Her determination clashed with a nagging instinct to retreat, to slip away unnoticed. With trembling breaths, she mustered her resolve, slowly edging backwards and trying to keep her movements steady and silent. Iris was still focused on the display of her magic, and Salem prayed to the Gods that she didn’t notice her. 

With more distance between them, Salem quickened her pace, her footsteps muffled by Iris’ crackling flames and the howling wind as she headed back to the alchemist’s tower in the biting cold. The frozen landscape seemed to mock her audacity, challenging her mere presence, but the promises she’d made to the townspeople weighed heavy on her shoulders. 

I am in way over my fucking head.

“And you’re sure it was her?” 

“Of course it was her!” Salem groaned, exasperated. “Edward, what kind of question is that? She had bright red hair and was melting the mountain!”

“Alright, alright. I’m just kidding. Gods, it’s so easy to annoy you,” he chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Very funny, Edward. Anyway,” Salem continued, rolling her eyes and failing to conceal the ghost of a smile on her face. “She was using this crazy fire magic. It was like fire, but way, way brighter. And way hotter.”

“That was flare magic,” Enzior said thoughtfully, coming to join them at the table.

“Well, whatever kind of magic it is, we don’t have much time before that mountain melts completely and floods the village. I have to put an end to this,” she declared resolutely.

Enzior nodded with a quiet smile. “Follow me.”

He led her up a winding staircase to the tower’s top floor, a space filled with brightly-colored potion vials and racks of weapons, shimmering in their enchanted state. “I’ve been meaning to give you something,” the old alchemist said, pulling a black leather jacket out of one of the closets. “Those ingredients you gathered were not, in fact, for a fruit basket, young one,” he winked. “They were for this.”

In awe, Salem took the jacket from his hands, shrugging it over her shoulders. Immediately, she felt something shift inside her, a warmth spreading through her veins. She closed her eyes, letting her power run through her. She held it for a few seconds, letting it blow her hair back before looking up at Enzior with a grin.

“Enzior, this is incredible!” Salem exclaimed. “I feel… so much stronger.”

“I enchanted it to make your magic just slightly more powerful. It also has some protective properties, to help you withstand that heat,” Enzior said proudly.

Overwhelmed by gratitude, she pulled the old alchemist into a tight hug. He gave her a hearty laugh, affectionately patting her on the back. “I can’t thank you enough, Enzior,” she whispered sincerely.

“Good luck out there,” he said. His eyes gleamed with the wisdom of his age as he continued. “But I have a feeling you’ll be just fine.”

“You finally found me, huh?” Iris laughed, her voice laced with mocking amusement. The flames in her palms blazed brighter with the cadence of her laughter.

Salem’s eyes widened, her brows furrowing in confusion. “Wait, how did you know–”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Ravenna scum!” Iris spat. She narrowed her eyes, marching towards Salem. Iris closed the distance between them, shredding Salem’s patience with every step.

The accusation hit Salem like a blow, igniting a spark of anger within her. “Ravenna scum?! I’m not even–” Her voice quivered with a mix of confusion and mounting frustration. “I just want to talk to you!”

Iris sneered, coiling flames intensifying in her grasp. “You’re not gonna trick me. I’ll send you back to Ravenna as a pile of ashes!”

A surge of anger coursed through Salem’s veins, fueling the tempest within her. Confusion twisted into frustration, and frustration gave birth to unbridled rage.

Fine, you want a fight?

Salem took a deep breath in, letting her power course through her, a storm ready to be unleashed. Ashes began to swirl around her, dark and smoky, as she channeled the essence of her abilities. She squared her shoulders, meeting Iris’s fiery gaze head-on.

Let’s fucking fight. 

Iris sent a ball of fire hurtling straight towards her head. Salem dove out of the way, finding her bearings and countering with a beam of scalding ash. Iris dispelled it with ease, engulfing Salem’s strike with a blinding display of flares. The two elements collided with a deafening roar, creating a screen of smoke and steam that obscured their view.

Through the haze, Salem caught sight of Iris sneering, her eyes burning with fiery determination. Iris extended her hands, and a wall of flames erupted from the ground, enclosing Salem in a ring of fire. The flames singed the side of her hand, and Salem cried out, using the pain to strengthen her resolve. She conjured a shield made of ash, crackling and hissing as the flames licked at its edges as she prayed that it held through the worst of the inferno.

Iris’s laughter echoed through the air as she continued her assault, sending an onslaught of bright balls of flare magic at Salem. The projectiles whizzed through the air, Salem feeling the searing heat as she dodged and waved, the sound of her heart drumming in her ears with each near-miss.

Iris grew more relentless with each passing second, and Salem’s defensive maneuvers became more and more strained. Iris sent a beam of scalding flames towards her, and Salem extended her hand in an attempt to diffuse it with a blast of her own magic.

Nothing came out.

Salem’s eyes widened, diving out of the way just in time. The tree next to her was obliterated, pine needles and splinters of wood flying up into the air. Sprinting towards the mountain, she rounded the corner, searching for a place to recover her magic reserves. 

Suddenly, she felt a sharp yank on the bank of her head, freeing her hair from its confines of braids and buns and sending her sprawling to the ground. Salem scrambled to her feet, brushing her hair out of her face. With a surge of adrenaline, she retaliated with a hook aimed at Iris’s jaw. Her fist found purchase with a loud crack and she resisted the urge to wince at the radiating pain in her hand. The impact caused Iris to stagger back, momentarily stunned.

Ouch. Stick to magic, Salem.

Iris lunged at her with a shriek, sending them both tumbling down a hill, snow kicking up in their wake. Their descent was abruptly cut short when Salem’s back slammed against a boulder at the bottom. The impact sent a shockwave of pain reverberating through her skull, her vision blurring and a deafening ringing on her ears. She felt a metallic taste in her mouth, spitting it out and coloring the snow crimson. Iris rose to her feet, jaw set in a firm line as flames coiled around her arms.

Breathing heavily, Salem held up her hands. “Wait,“ she panted, “listen to me.”

“Why should I?” Iris’s eyes still glinted with anger and defiance and Salem felt the frustration building inside herself surge to its climax.

“For Gods’ sakes, just fucking hear me out, won’t you?!” she shrieked, rising to meet Iris.

Iris froze. She crossed her arms, regarding Salem with angry reluctance. She raised a defiant eyebrow at Salem, as if to tell her to go on at her own risk.

“If you keep melting that mountain, you’re going to flood the village,” Salem seethed. She narrowed her eyes, anger still very much palpable in her tone. “People here are struggling already as it is, so why are you doing this?”

Iris furrowed her brow, studying Salem with scrutiny. “You’re not a bounty hunter, are you?”

“A bounty hunter? Gods, no,” Salem scoffed with disbelief, her hands resting defiantly on her hips. “I’m just–”

“Yeah, you don’t really look like one, anyway.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? And you didn’t answer my question.”

Iris eyed her warily, a rift of silence separating them. The tension between them was still taut enough to cut with a knife, the air still charged with suspicion.

“I’m not out to capture you or anything. Swear it,” Salem pressed on, trying to dispel her reservations. “I just want to help the people here.”

“Noble of you.” Iris sniffed, uncrossing her arms. She glanced at Salem once more before her expression softened, a flicker of vulnerability breaking through her façade. “Well, if you really want to know, I used to live in Ravenna with my father up until a month ago, when soldiers took him away.”

Salem didn’t say anything. What could she even say? 

“I don’t know why they did it,” Iris continued with a tinge of sadness. “I mean, he was just a blacksmith. Since then, I’ve been trying to get back at Ravenna any way I can.”

Salem met Iris’s gaze with a newfound sympathy, her anger subsiding as understanding took its place. “This isn’t the way to do that. These people haven’t done anything.”

Iris sighed, her gaze drifting off into the distance. “You’re right. I was just… angry. I didn’t know what else to do.”

A lull of silence settled between them. Salem glanced over Iris again, noting the fresh bruises, cuts, and scratches from the fight that ensued just minutes prior. She’d just met Iris, but had a feeling there was something more to her story.

“Do you want to come get dinner with me?” she asked, her voice holding a note of tentative hope.

“What?” Iris’s eyes went wide, her eyebrows raised in surprise. 

“I’m sure you’re tired of eating grilled cod all the time,” Salem said knowingly, trying to lighten the mood. “That’s all there is in these waters.”

Hours of fishing with Edward had proven that. Salem groaned inwardly at the thought of eating that Gods-forsaken fish for the seventh night in a row.

Iris laughed, both in disbelief and amusement. “You’re serious?” 

“Yeah.”

“Well, not on this island. They’ll probably skin me alive.”

The two of them shared a laugh, and Salem felt a pull towards Iris that she couldn’t explain. Maybe they were more alike than met the eye.

“Palo Town’s not too far from here, I heard,” Salem offered, taking a step closer. “If we leave now, we’ll make it there before sundown.”

Iris hesitated, a playful smile on her face as she asked Salem with amusement, “Do I really have a choice?”

Salem grinned. “Not really.”

Iris had insisted that they travel separately to Palo Town. Something about needing to fix something on her sailboat first, but Salem figured it was to avoid a half-hour’s voyage worth of awkward conversation. She was thankful for it; it gave her time to think.

What do you talk about with someone you just exchanged fists, violently aggressive displays of magic, and multiple swear words with? The invitation to dinner had been impulsive on her part, but she didn’t regret it. She had a feeling deep inside of her that something good would come from it.

Salem arrived first. She was tying her boat down when she heard the pounding of boots come towards her from the far end of the docks.

“Tavern’s just through the plaza there!” Iris shouted, fiery red locks billowing behind her as she ran up to Salem. “I’m starving. Hurry up, and let’s go.”

“Alright, alright. Just give me a second,” Salem responded, quickly finishing her knot.

They walked through the plaza in relative quiet, observing the harbor town’s gentle bustle as the sun started to sink lower in the sky.

Iris broke the silence, turning to Salem with a playful smile. “How’d you get here so fast? I swear we left at exactly the same time. If you wanted to race, all you had to do was say so.”

Salem laughed, feeling lighter than usual. “Oh, please. If we were racing, I’d have made it here ages ago.”

“You didn’t seem that fast when you were running earlier,” Iris jested. It took Salem a second to react, and Iris’s intention was drawn away momentarily as her head turned to the side.

“Hey! I was multitasking!” Salem protested, giving Iris a playful shove with another laugh. Iris’s gaze snapped back to her, a puzzled expression on her face.

“What’s wrong?” Salem asked, pausing.

Iris pulled open the tavern door, shaking her head. “Nothing. Let’s eat, I’m starving.”

Salem stepped inside, sitting down at the nearest open table. The warm yellow glow from the lanterns inside served as a stark contrast to the quickly greying skies, the beginnings of a storm starting to roll in. From the window, she caught a glimpse of a familiar figure heading to the docks. Tall, messy black hair, walking with purpose. Her breath hitched, her heart hammered in her ears. She felt something in her chest at the sight of him, something raw that she couldn’t quite place.

It has to be him. It has to be.

Iris sat down in the seat in front of her, obscuring her view. The red-haired girl scrunched her eyebrows, turning to the window to see what Salem was looking at.

She waved a hand in front of Salem’s face, amused. “Hey, what about you? Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Salem said, trying to shake off the slight feeling of unease. “Just… thought I saw someone familiar.” She craned her neck, peering around Iris to try and get another glimpse, but he was gone.

Iris’s gaze flicked back to the window a moment before she shrugged. “If you say so.”

The waiter placed the night’s special onto their table, and Iris burst into hysterical laughter as soon as the waiter left.

Grilled cod. The Gods were cruel, indeed.

Iris’s laughter was contagious, and Salem couldn’t help but join in, eliciting some stares from the other tavern-goers. 

“After all we’ve been through to get here,” Iris sputtered out between giggles, “I can’t believe this.”

Salem worked hard to stifle her laughter, swearing her abs would be more defined with every cackle she held back. 

After they’d pulled themselves together somewhat, Iris leaned in. “It’s my turn to ask questions now. What’s your story, Salem Adventos?”

Salem hesitated. She didn’t know Iris well, yet like Edward, there was an unexplainable pull, an inexplicable trustworthiness that emanated from within her. Fate’s hand had a funny way of intertwining things, and something inside of Salem urged her to be truthful. Trusting her instincts had served her well thus far, and she figured that she wouldn’t stop now.

She recounted that fateful day on the island, every detail down to the rain. Iris’s curiosity softened, her green eyes regarding Salem with an unspoken understanding

“Is that what that was all about earlier?” Iris asked quietly. “The ‘someone familiar’?”

“Yeah. I thought I saw him walking towards the docks, but…” Salem trailed off, her gaze falling back to the window behind Iris.

“I mean, do you want to see him again? I sure wouldn’t, but if that’s what you want, I’ll help you find him.”

“See, I don’t really know. Yes, I’m angry and I’m confused and I hate to admit it, but I’m a little bit sad, but at the same time,” Salem sighed, “I feel like a part of me is still drawn to him despite everything that’s happened.”

Iris leaned back in her chair, a mischievous smirk playing on her lips. She crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow at Salem. “Oh, that’s messy.”

Salem rolled her eyes playfully. “Well, I’m sorry! There are, like, millions of extenuating circumstances. This isn’t easy, you know.”

Iris let out a small laugh and continued. “Here’s what I think – you’re feeling something, however complicated it is. So, if Fate wants to throw you back together, why fight it? See where it takes you. Just promise me one thing. Kick his ass if he ever hurts you again.” Iris held out her pinky, a serious look on her face.

“Promise,” Salem replied with a laugh, hooking her own pinky around Iris’s. Warmth bloomed in her chest as she met Iris’s fiery gaze, thankful to have finally met her match. She hoped that Iris felt the same way, despite the circumstances of their first impression. “So, where are you headed next?”

“Probably Cirrus Island. I’ll have to climb those Gods-forsaken Stepstones, but I’ve heard that they had interactions with Ravenna many years ago, so maybe they know something that the rest of the Bronze Sea doesn’t.”

Salem hummed. She looked at Iris with a grin. “Looking to recruit some extra help?”

Iris smiled back. “I thought you’d never ask.”

“I’ll meet you there in a few days,” Salem said resolutely. “I have to say some goodbyes first.”

A powerful storm had fallen over Palo Town that night, as Salem had suspected. She was itching to begin the next chapter of her journey, but she and Iris decided to stay the night at the inn. Despite the setback, the alternative was the two of them and their ships decomposing at the bottom of the sea. Iris set sail for the Stepstones first thing in the morning, and Salem headed back to Frostmill, one last time.

She stood in front of Enzior, feeling a mixture of both gratitude and sadness. 

“You’ve come a long way, young one, and you still have a great length to go. The moment I found you on my doorstep, I sensed an immense power in you. I haven’t felt that in quite some time.”

“You really think so? Sometimes I feel like I’m just stumbling through all of this.” Salem shifted uncomfortably, crossing her arms. “And Iris did almost beat me to a pulp yesterday,” Salem recounted with a chuckle.

Enzior laughed, regarding her with fondness. “I know so. This old man is seldom wrong, but don’t let it get to your head.” He tapped her temple knowingly. She chuckled, a bittersweet feeling bubbling up inside of her. She’d miss this. A lot. 

He reached into a hidden pocket, revealing three small vials, each glowing a shimmering pink. “The road ahead will be hard, I’m sure of it, but I have something that may help you along the way. These are very potent healing potions. They are immensely powerful, so use them only in dire situations.”

Salem accepted them, examining them in the light that filtered through the tower’s window. The glistening liquid caught the sun’s rays, reflecting them back and glowing even brighter. She couldn’t help but feel a surge of gratitude for Enzior’s unwavering faith in her.

“I can’t thank you enough, Enzior,” she said, voice laden with emotion. “I won’t forget you, I promise.”

He clasped her hands in his, smiling. “Before you go, remember this. You are stronger than you know.”

Her breath caught in her throat, a strange sense of familiarity washing over her.

Her eyes were closed, feigning sleep as she listened to their hushed whispers. 

“She’s tough, Mord. Stronger than she knows. Hell, probably stronger than we both know. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

The unwavering confidence in his voice made her heart swell with pride. 

“Plus, we’ll keep each other safe, won’t we?”

“Yeah. Yeah, we will.”

She tried to conceal the smile growing on her face, pulling her blanket up over her shoulders and drifting back to sleep.

The memory faded as quickly as it came, leaving her slightly shaken. Salem squeezed her eyes shut, hoping it would force the haze to clear.

“Are you alright, young one?” Enzior asked, a hint of concern coloring his tone. He placed a hand on her shoulder, as if to steady her.

She opened her eyes.

“Yes.”

It came out barely audible.

“Yes,” she said again, like she was trying to convince herself, too. “I’m okay. Just… remembered something that happened a long time ago. I think.”

He gave her an understanding look. “Well, the past has a way of resurfacing when we need it most. Let it guide you.”

Salem took a deep breath, fingers grazing the ring on her necklace. She prayed that everything she was doing, she was doing right by the person that gave it to her. The sense of longing burned away, giving way to determination.

“I will.”

Chapter Text

Do not, under any circumstances, fuck this up again.

Morden slammed his back against the cold, stone wall of the abandoned arena, shards of glass whizzing past his face. One just barely nicked his temple, a searing pain spreading through his flesh as a rivulet of blood trickled down the side of his face. Gritting his teeth, he chased after his assailant, tendrils of shadow shooting out from his palm and licking at her heels.

Tonight, he had another shot at Anaïs Ren in Munera Garden, and he was determined not to let it slip away. 

The moonlight bathed the walls of the arena in a peaceful glow, a stark contrast to the clash occurring down below. Ren’s blade, imbued with glass magic, shimmered brightly with each of her swift and precise strikes. Morden dodged and parried with his shadows, grimacing as his aching shoulder protested against every movement. 

He met her blow for blow, until his muscles ached and his breath was coming in ragged gasps. Ren was starting to fade, and he searched for an opening to exploit, analyzing her every move.  Finally, she raised her sword over her head to deliver a downward strike, and a smirk spread across his face.

There it is.

Morden swiftly unleashed a blast of magic square in the middle of her chest, sending her sprawling to the ground, her glass-infused blade clattering beside her. He closed the distance between them with a lunge, pinning her down as her silver hair spilled around her face. He held her down with a vice-like grip, pressing her own sword against her throat. 

“Move and it’s over, Ren,” he warned, reaching into his pocket for his coin to notify the Grand Navy. His injured shoulder protested the strain, but he pressed on as she struggled underneath him.

“No, wait, please!” Ren cried out, her voice laced with desperation.

Morden’s gaze snapped back to her, his thumb hovering over the shield of his coin.

“My brother…” she pleaded, “They’re keeping him in the Silent Tower but he’s… he’s innocent. Tonight is my only chance to free him. They’re executing him at sunrise. Please.”

The flickering torchlights on the arena’s walls illuminated the shadows on her face, making it difficult for him to discern the truth.

“They’ll find you again, you know that, right?” he cautioned. “If I don’t do this, someone else will eventually.”

“You don’t really want to do this,” she said, her ice-blue eyes frantically searching his face. “I can’t see your face under that bandana, but your eyes give it away. Last time, too.”

He tightened his grip on her, narrowing his eyes. “Mull over your words a bit more, won’t you? You have no idea what I want. Last I checked, the Grand Navy’s a coin toss away, and they won’t be as lenient with you as I am right now.”

She met his eyes with her own, glassy with desperate tears. “I need to see him again,” she begged, voice barely above a whisper.

Morden hesitated, his jaw setting into a firm line. The desperation in her eyes chipped at his resolve as he looked for signs of deceit, finding none. 

“Please.”

Morden leaned in close to her ear, his weight still pressed on top of her. “Don’t make me regret this,” he hissed through gritted teeth. Reluctantly, he released his hold on her, throwing her sword to her side and rising to his feet.

Ren scrambled to her feet, grabbing her weapon and dusting herself off. “Thank you. I promise you, I won’t forget this.” She locked eyes with him one more time before disappearing into the shadows.

He wiped the blood from his temple.

Fuck.

It was rare that it wasn’t raining on Tucker’s island. He made camp there after his showdown at Munera Garden, not wanting to return to Palo Town’s familiarity just yet. Morden hiked his familiar path up the island’s sole hill as the sun continued to rise, appreciating the fact that the heavens didn’t decide to open up and cast an onslaught on him today, like it usually did.

To his surprise, Tucker’s sorry excuse for a headstone had managed to stay intact since the last time he’d visited. It was falling apart, but it was still there. 

“Sorry, man,” he apologized with a slight smile, sitting next to the headstone. He’d meant to replace it a while ago. “No stonecutters in Palo Town. I promise I’ll get you something cool when I get to one of the sea’s port cities.”

His expression turned forlorn as he looked out at the ocean’s crashing waves, the last night’s events suddenly flooding back again. He put his hand to the earth, sighing.

“I don’t know, Tucker,” he said, laying down on his back. He looked up at the sky, where two birds were flying up ahead, filling the air with their calls as they circled around each other.

So much had happened since the last time he was here. So much.

Killing Vale, losing track of Ren, fucking up his shoulder in the pursuit of that mysterious ship, avoiding Paige because he knew she was going to try and get him to talk about his emotions and he didn’t want to even though he knew it would probably help, finding Ren again but letting her go… And he was standing in the middle of it all, completely at a loss for what to do next.

He let out a groan of frustration, rubbing his face with his hands. 

“I feel like I’m losing myself,” he whispered, the sound muffled.

Morden looked back up at the sky, grazing his bottom lip with his teeth before continuing. “I’ve done something that I’m not proud of.”

He grimaced, the image of Vale’s face still burned into his memory. 

“You’d tell me that I had to, and I know it too. Otherwise I’d probably be lying in the ground next to you right now.”

The island was silent, save for the gentle rustling of trees by the wind, urging him to press on.

“Doesn’t change the fact that I hate myself for it. I’m working on coming to terms with it, though. In my own way.”

Even beyond the grave, he still felt the need to reassure his best friend that he was doing alright. Even if it was a little bit of a stretch.

“The more I keep going with this bounty hunting shit, the more it wears me down. I’m…”

He paused, the words bitter on his tongue.

“I’m so tired.”

And I’m so fucking lonely.

“I just… I don’t know what to do. I thought I was doing the right thing, but now I’m not sure anymore.”

Morden glanced to his side. If he closed his eyes, maybe he’d see Tucker instead of a plot of grass.

“What am I supposed to do, Tucker?” he asked. “If you were here, you’d tell me. Or at least help me figure it out.”

He tried to picture Tucker’s reaction, what he’d look like trying to give Morden his oh-so-sage advice, but his image was coming back all blurry. He felt a hollow ache in his chest at the realization.

“Before, I said that sometimes it feels like you’re still around. But even that’s starting to go away,” Morden murmured reluctantly. The admission felt like a betrayal, and he felt his eyes sting as his words hung in the air. “And if you were here, you’d definitely never let me hear the end of it for saying this, but… I miss seeing your face.”

He laughed bitterly, sort of expecting to hear Tucker laugh with him but finding that silence rose up to meet him instead. The ache in his chest hollowed him out just a little bit more.

“It’s getting hazy, Tucker,” he confessed through gritted teeth. “And I’m so fucking sorry.”

Morden sat up with a wince, his shoulder throbbing as he shifted his weight to pull his journal and a piece of charcoal out of his bag.

I don’t want to forget you.

His hand trembled at first, but as he recalled Tucker’s features, a sense of comfort washed over him, steadying him just enough for him to continue. As an image began to form on the page, a small smile tugged on Morden’s lips as he recalled the last time he drew Tucker.

“Keep it down, Tucker,” Morden hissed, shooting a glance at Salem’s sleeping form. “You’re gonna wake her up.”

Tucker chuckled softly. “Nah, she’s out like a light. Never thought I’d see the day that ball of energy would conk out before the two of us.”

“Well, she’s been pushing her limits, that’s for sure.” Morden’s brows furrowed with concern. “It worries me sometimes, you know. That one day it’ll get her killed.”

They’d just narrowly avoided capture a few days ago, and ever since then, Salem had been pushing herself in training, honing her powers, in case it happened again. While he admired her dedication, Morden was worried for her. It always left her drained, and he couldn’t shake off the fear that she was pushing herself too hard and burning herself out. 

A flicker of determination danced in Tucker’s eyes as he spoke. “She’s tough, Mord. Stronger than she knows,” he said, his voice filled with unwavering confidence. “Hell, probably stronger than we both know. I wouldn’t worry about it. Plus, we’ll keep each other safe, won’t we?”

Salem stirred, and they both paused, glancing at her before Morden nodded, reassured by Tucker’s conviction. “Yeah. Yeah, we will.”

A comfortable silence fell over the two of them as the night stretched on. They shifted restlessly, sleep evading the both of them.

Finally, Morden broke the silence, unable to bear the quiet as his gaze was fixed on the moonlit sky. “I don’t think I’m going to sleep anytime soon.”

“Yeah, me neither,” Tucker sighed. He sat up and nudged Morden’s arm. “Give me a page of your sketchbook. Let’s draw each other.”

“Tucker, come on,” Morden groaned.

This is definitely going to be a waste of parchment, he thought to himself.

Undeterred as always, Tucker persisted, shaking Morden’s shoulders. “It’ll be fun!” 

“But you suck–”

“Hey. Don’t be mean, Mord,” Tucker scolded jokingly, waving a teasing finger at him. “Everyone starts somewhere.”

Morden rolled his eyes, reluctantly tearing out a page of his sketchbook. He made sure to hand Tucker the shortest piece of charcoal he had, a subtle gesture to tease his friend. “Fine. Here.”

Morden took up his own charcoal and began sketching Tucker’s features with a steady stroke. He captured the ever-present mischievous glimmer in his best friend’s eyes, his signature lopsided grin, and the freckles scattered across his cheeks. After the portrait came to life, he held it up for Tucker to see. 

Tucker’s eyes widened in awe as he glanced at his portrait, unable to contain his joy at the sight of his likeness staring back at him. “Wow, you’ve really outdone yourself, Mord. That is… beautiful.”

“Well, it’s not every day that I get to draw such a beautiful subject,” he replied sarcastically, giving his friend a shove. He couldn’t help the smile that was starting to spread across his face as Tucker laughed, starting to sketch Morden on his own sheet of paper.

What the fuck is he doing?

Morden watched Tucker’s hand move in haphazard jerks, knitting his brows together in both annoyance and fondness.

That thing doesn’t even look like me. It doesn’t even look like a person. 

As Tucker finished his drawing, he held it up, his grin widening. The portrait was comically disproportionate, looking more like an anglerfish than it did like Morden.

Morden’s reaction as he took in the drawing was a mix of surprise and mild disturbance. The more he looked at it, the harder it was to contain his mirth. “Tucker… that’s…” he trailed off, barely managing to stifle a laugh.

All of a sudden, Tucker burst out into hysterical laughter and Morden couldn’t help but do the same. After they’d regained some semblance of composure, Tucker turned to Morden, his grin wide. “You know what, though?” he managed to say between chuckles, “Salem’s going to feel left out if we don’t draw her too. Hold on, I’ll make it quick.”

Tucker quickly sketched Salem’s portrait on the back of his sheet, his tongue peeking out in mock artistic concentration. The end result looked more like a misshapen troll than it did its intended subject. He handed the drawing to Morden, and they both erupted into another bout of uncontrollable laughter.

Their laughter rippled through the night, until the sound reached Salem and she stirred from her slumber. Groggy and slightly irritated, she sat up, rubbing her eyes.

“What the hell is going on?” she grumbled.

Morden and Tucker struggled to catch their breath, barely able to speak through their fits of laughter, and Salem’s bewildered expression only added to their amusement as they laughed harder.

Still chuckling, Tucker managed to stammer out an explanation. “We, uh… we drew portraits of each other… and you.”

Salem blinked, still disoriented and thoroughly confused. “You drew what? I don’t get it.”

Morden and Tucker exchanged amused glances, still struggling to contain their laughter. Finally, Tucker managed to speak through his fits of giggles. “It’s… it’s just… you have to see it, Salem. Trust us, it’s hilarious.”

She rolled her eyes, unable to comprehend their antics, but she gave the portraits a quick glance and couldn’t help but crack a smile. “You two are absolute idiots,” she muttered, pulling her blanket back over her shoulders. “But show me in the morning, okay? Now let me sleep.”

Morden and Tucker finally settled down, their laughter subsiding into contented sighs. Morden felt a sense of warmth enveloping him as he pulled his blanket over himself. He drifted off to sleep with a faint smile on his face, the weight on his shoulders just the slightest bit lighter.

I won’t forget you

The drawing wasn’t perfect, but it was him. Morden gazed at Tucker’s likeness, a sense of nostalgia flooding him – he’d drawn him laughing, eyes crinkled at the corners and mouth turned up in his signature lopsided grin. Gods, he’d give up every galleon he’d earned since they washed up on this island just to hear the sound of Tucker’s laughter one more time.

“I’ll figure something out, Tucker,” he said, the hint of a wistful smile still on his lips. “Don’t worry about me.”

Morden put his hand to the earth one last time, bidding farewell to his best friend before tucking his journal back into his bag and setting back off to Palo Town.

Morden met Paige at Aimee’s again for dinner. Her eyes had just about popped out of her head when he was the one to ask to meet her, and he suppressed a grin at her reaction. As they walked through the plaza’s liveliness, he braced himself for the conversation ahead, knowing it was going to be uncomfortable.

A promise is a promise, he reminded himself, pushing open the restaurant’s door. And this will help. It will.

Idle conversation flowed between them as the waiter placed their meals in front of them. Amidst the eatery’s lively atmosphere, the air filled with the smell of a hearty stew and the sounds of clinking mugs and glasses, a lull of silence emerged. Morden stared down at his bowl, stirring its contents around with his spoon.

“You’ve been distant, Morden,” Paige spoke up quietly. “Well, more than usual. You’ve been distant ever since I met you, but – Sorry, I’m rambling. But what’s going on? Are you okay? And don’t try to lie.”

Morden looked up at her and gave her a bitter smile. “Paige, it seems like you already know the answer.”

She looked at him sympathetically, placing a hand on his arm. “You know, whatever you’re going through, you don’t have to do it alone.”

He tensed, his gaze shifting away from her. “I mean, there’s a lot and I don’t know if I–”

His eyes fell back on her again, a torrent of conflicting emotions burning inside of him. He could see the genuine concern etched on her features, the sincerity in her intentions, and he knew, in some dark corner, deep down inside of him, that sharing even just a fragment of his turmoil with her would bring some solace. 

Morden sighed, shaking his head. “Gods, there’s so much.”

“Maybe start with one thing?” Paige offered. “Something you feel okay talking about with me.”

“One thing…” He took a deep breath, running a hand through his dark hair.

He sat back in his chair, his voice quivering the slightest bit as he tried to search for the right words.

“Before I got here, I, um… I hurt someone. I made this decision, and in the moment there was a lot going through my head, and I wasn’t thinking clearly, but it was meant to protect her.”

Paige listened intently, her eyes never leaving his.

“There are people out there… that want to hurt us. I couldn’t stand the thought of them getting to her, using her against me, so I separated from her.”

He tore his gaze away from Paige. It was like he was back on that island again, unable to tell his tears from the rain.

“It tore me up inside to do that to her,” he continued, “and now I’m not really sure if I made the right choice. She didn’t take it too well, and I couldn’t tell her why for… reasons that I won’t get into.”

Morden paused, his thoughts drifting to Salem. A bittersweet smile tugged at his lips as he remembered just how determined she could be. “I didn’t really give her much of a choice, either. She is… stubborn as hell. Knowing her, even if I had explained, she wouldn’t have given me the time of day. She would have fought tooth and nail against it. That’s just how she is.”

“Hey,” Paige reassured him, giving his arm a squeeze, “it sounds like you did what you thought was best at the time. I can see how much she means to you. You put her safety over your own happiness.”

Morden sighed, his shoulders sagging. “I… I do care about her. A lot.”

“Do you… know where she is now?” 

His gaze dropped, heavy with guilt. “I don’t know. But I hope she’s safe, wherever she is. I think about it every day, if she’s okay.  I just… I hope someday she’ll understand why I did what I did.”

“I’m sure she will, Morden. If not now, then eventually. And if your connection is as strong as it seems, maybe one day your paths will cross again, and you can explain it all.”

Morden nodded, his eyes glassy with longing. “I can only hope for that.”

She gave him a hopeful smile. “Fate has a funny way of bringing people back together when the time is right. But until then, remember that you’re not alone, okay?”

He managed a weak smile in return. “Thank you, Paige. I… I really mean it. 

As he stepped out of the restaurant, Morden felt a faint sense of relief, like the heaviness that had settled on him loosening its grip just the slightest bit. He was grateful for the moment of solace, a momentary release from the suffocating solitude he’d grown more accustomed to than he thought.

The cool evening breeze brushed against his face, and he stole a glance up at the star-studded sky. The bustling sounds of the town, once overwhelming, now felt oddly comforting as he continued on his path to the inn.

His footsteps faltered as he was abruptly stopped in his tracks by the hooded man standing by the bounty board. The man’s hand landed square in the middle of Morden’s chest, blocking his way.

“You’re not taking as many contracts as you used to, lad,” the man sneered, his voice laced with thinly veiled contempt. “Not giving you the high you were looking for anymore?”

Morden’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing as he met the man’s gaze. “That’s not the issue,” he replied tersely, attempting to step to the side and end the conversation.

But the man mirrored him, blocking his path once more. “So it’s the money, then. If that’s the case, I have something that might interest you.”

Morden’s curiosity mingled with caution as he watched the man reach into his bag and produce a worn leather sleeve.

“Assassination contracts. If you’ve found you’ve graduated from meager bounties, this is the next step. You’ll have more money than you’ll know what to do with.”

“I’m not interest–”

The man shoved a contract into his hands, paper rustling. “Have a look at the rewards, and maybe you’ll change your mind.”

Morden looked down at the contract thrust into his grasp. His gaze fell upon the name scrawled on the paper, and time stood sickeningly still, the world turning into a blur.

Salem Adventos, last seen in Redwake.

Chapter Text

“And then,” Salem began, her voice tinged with excitement, “he gave me these three potions.” She pulled the three small vials out of her jacket pocket, the soft pink concoctions glimmering in the rays of the sun. “They’re cool, right?”

Edward raised an eyebrow at her, giving her a knowing look. “You’re not planning to just run around with those in your pocket, are you?”

“No, I don’t trust myself to not crush them by accident, and that’s why you’re gonna hold onto them for me,” she replied with a grin.

He sighed, looking out at the ocean and extending a reluctant hand. “I had a feeling you were going to say that,” he said. “Keep the other one, just in case.”

She placed two of the vials into Edward’s outstretched hand, patting it with mock affection and pocketing the third vial. “Thank you, my lovely quartermaster.”

A comfortable silence fell over them as Salem steered the ship. The waters were oddly calm today, quiet waves lapping against the hull and gently rocking the boat back and forth. 

Edward spoke up, his back against the railing as his gaze moved from the ocean to his captain. “So now that you’ve saved Frostmill, what are your plans, Captain?”

“I told you already, Quartermaster Edward Kenton,” Salem replied, matching Edward’s playful tone. “We’re going to the Stepstones to help Iris–”

“Your plans, Salem.”

“Gods, Edward,” she laughed, shaking her head. “Why are we getting so existential? I don’t even know the answer to that. I wouldn’t even know where to start looking for the answer to that.”

“Then what’s one thing that you want to do?” he prodded. “For yourself.”

Salem hesitated, shifting back and forth on her feet as she contemplated her answer, her focus fixed on the ocean. “Hm… Maybe have my own caravel? With a crew and everything.”

“And cannons?” Edward asked, regarding her with amusement.

She grinned. “Especially cannons.”

The salty air filled with the sounds of their laughter before Salem continued. “After we find Iris’s father, I think that’s what I want to do. Maybe run cargo to make some money so that I can explore every inch of this sea.”

A quiet smile spread on Edward’s face as he took her words in. “I think we have the same goal,” he said.

The fog before them cleared and revealed a towering stone mountain, reaching high above the clouds. Salem docked her boat near the edge of its base, dropping an anchor into the depths with a resounding splash.

“You go ahead, Salem,” Edward said. “I’ll take care of the ship for a little and I’ll meet you up there.”

“Aw, really?” she asked with a frown as she lowered the gangplank and disembarked from the ship. “I was hoping you’d keep me company on the way up.”

“Gotta check your lines, Captain,” he teased.

Salem scoffed, turning back to him. “You sure you’ll be okay on the climb up, old man?” she jested, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

Edward closed the distance between them with a few quick strides, and Salem let out a surprised yelp as he wrapped his arm around her and mussed the hair on the top of her head with his knuckles.

“Edward!” she protested, trying to mask her laughter with annoyance. “Do you know how long it took me to braid that this morning?”

He chucked, climbing back up the plank and turning to the ropes securing the sails. “Now you have something to remember me by on your climb,” he said with a satisfied grin. 

Salem’s lips curled into a smile as she tried her best to smooth down her disheveled hair. She’d get him back in due time.

I hate the Stepstones.

Salem hoisted herself up to what felt like the thousandth ledge.

Deeply.

She found her footing, pulling herself up over the edge and collapsing onto her back.

With a burning, fiery passion.

She wiped the sweat off her brow with a huff, a sense of relief flooding her as she realized that she made it to the top. She felt the weight of someone’s eyes on her and turned to see a bearded man sitting by a camp under a tree, raising an eyebrow at her.

“Who are you?” he asked, his voice gruff. The gentle wind at the mountain’s peak ruffled his dark hair, and he regarded her with a mix of caution and interest.

Salem sighed, sitting up and irritated that she had barely gotten the chance to catch her breath. “You first,” she replied, meeting his scrutinizing gaze.

Surprise flashed across the man’s face for a fleeting second before he relented. “Very well,” he conceded. “You can call me Ren.”

She scooted closer to him, suddenly very aware of her spot at the cliff’s edge. “Salem,” she said simply. There was a mysterious air to the man that she couldn’t help but be curious about. “What are you doing up here?” she asked with a slight tilt of her head. A cool breeze rustled his hood, and her gaze was drawn to the pauldrons on his shoulders, the shiny steel catching the sunlight.

Ren looked away from her, something distant in his eyes that she couldn’t quite place. “Looking for someone… important to me,” he answered. “He was last seen here, on Cirrus Island.”

She leaned forward, her interest piqued. “I’m looking for someone, too. A girl about my age, with red hair. Very… fiery.” Salem couldn’t help the small smile on her face as she described Iris. “Very loud. You couldn’t miss her.”

Ren nodded. “I saw her, not too long ago. Headed into town.” He motioned vaguely towards a nearby wooden bridge, leading into a quaint-looking village nestled in a blanket of clouds.A stilted silence fell between them, another breeze rustling the trees around them.

“Maybe I can help you find your person?” Salem offered after a moment, meeting Ren’s eyes.

Ren didn’t say anything, just looked at her, his expression guarded.

“You said he’s important to you, right?” she pressed, a tinge of hope in her voice. “Who is he?”

“I am unsure if I can trust you.”

Salem paused.

“Fair,” she stated simply.

Ren didn’t say anything further. After another excruciating moment, Salem stood up, dusting herself off. She turned to him.

“Well, um. I’ll be on my way, then…?”

Ren suddenly rose to his feet, his large frame towering over hers. “If you’re headed to town,” he began quietly, “might I inquire you to ask if any outsiders have visited the island besides the red-haired woman?”

However fleeting, Salem sensed a lapse in his composure, a vulnerability in his eyes that was gone as soon as it came.

This person must be really important to him, she thought, furrowing her brows. Her expression softened, an undercurrent of sympathy in her eyes as she regarded him.

“I’ll do everything I can,” she promised.

Ren’s eyes held a hint of gratitude, the faintest glimmer of hope in his voice as he said, “I’ll be waiting here.”

As Salem walked closer to the village, she caught sight of a head of long red hair. Her strides quickened into a full-on sprint, her heart pounding with anticipation, until she practically tackled Iris into a tight hug. Iris let out a squeak of surprise followed by delighted laughter, returning the hug with equal enthusiasm.

“Hey, you!” Iris laughed, slinging a friendly arm around Salem’s shoulders. “It’s only been a couple days!”

“That climb made it feel like years,” Salem groaned, pressing her palm against her forehead in feigned exhaustion. 

Iris placed her hands on her hips with an exaggerated sigh. “Tell me about it. If I had a galleon for every time I almost got hit in the head with a boulder, I’d be able to buy myself a ketch.”

Their shared laughter eased Salem’s tension, but the question on her mind couldn’t be contained. She spoke up again, regarding Iris with a spark of determination in her eyes. “So, have you found anything yet?” she asked, hoping for a breakthrough. 

Iris’s joyful expression dimmed, a hint of melancholy flickering across her face. “Nope. Nobody here seems to know anything about Ravenna.” Salem watched with a hint of concern as Iris brushed the feeling off, a smile back on her face as she added, “but I did find a good spot to practice.”

Salem raised her eyebrows. “Practice?”

“Magic, duh. And judging by your moves when we were in Frostmill, you need all the practice you can get. Race you!” Salem barely had a second to react before Iris took off toward a nearby clearing, surrounded by a colorful canopy of autumn trees.

“Hey!” Salem protested. She wasted no time, racing after Iris as the crisp scent of fallen leaves filled the air around her.

Salem trained with Iris until the sun was on the verge of dipping below the horizon, her muscles aching and lungs burning. She slumped against a partially-charred log, watching Iris incinerate yet another tree. 

“Come on, Salem. Get up!” Iris called out with a grin.

“I’m done for the day,” Salem huffed, crossing her arms. “Can we please go get dinner before the mayor of this town kicks us off the island for destroying the environment?”

Iris regarded her with amusement, extending an arm to Salem to help pull her up. “Fine. But we start again first thing tomorrow. Inn’s this way,” she said, motioning back towards the center of town.

As Salem pushed open the inn’s wooden door, she caught sight of Edward sitting alone at a table by one of the windows, the setting sun casting an orange glow through its panes.

“Edward! You finally made it!” Salem exclaimed happily, pulling out a chair for Iris before sitting down next to him. “This is Iris. I’ve been dying to introduce the two of you for days now.”

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” Edward extended his hand towards her with a polite smile. 

Iris ignored his hand, pulling him into an excited hug. “You too! Salem’s told me so much about you!” Edward’s eyes widened slightly at the gesture, caught off guard by her fiery enthusiasm, but he soon chuckled and patted her on the back.

“Salem has told me a lot about you,” he said, taking a sip of ale from his tankard.

Iris raised an eyebrow, a sly grin on her lips as she eyed him. “Oh really? And what exactly did she say?”

Salem’s eyes went wide, anticipating Edward’s reply. She saw a flicker of mischief in his eyes and braced herself for the worst. “You should’ve heard her when we first got back to Frostmill,” he replied with a laugh. “I think I remember ‘I’m gonna turn her into a pile of ashes, Edward. Just you wait!’ ”

“Edward!” Salem exclaimed, giving him a shove.

“And now look at you two.” He motioned to the two of them with a grin. “How did this end up happening?”

Iris eagerly explained the whole ordeal, from every blow during their standoff at the Frozen Peaks to the grilled cod incident in Palo Town. 

“Well, it seems Salem has finally met her match. I can see why she enjoys your company,” he remarked. “I was worried I wouldn’t be able to keep up with her, but now I’ve got two of you to worry about.”

Salem couldn’t deny the truth in his words, a small smile on her face. As the three of them delved into stories and laughter, she felt a sense of warmth blooming within her, thankful for the way their paths had intertwined.

As the night wound down, they made their way up the creaking stairs into their rooms. In an effort to save galleons for the rest of their journey, Salem and Iris decided to share. Iris pushed open the door, revealing an unkempt bed, her things scattered on the wooden vanity against the wall. 

The pair settled into bed, a sense of exhaustion mingling with the comfort of each other’s presence. Salem stretched her legs out in front of her, sighing softly. “I don’t know about you, but I feel like I could sleep for a week,” she said, a quiet smile on her lips.

Iris chuckled, leaning back into her pillow. “Tell me about it. My muscles ache in places I didn’t even know existed. I forgot that you climbed that stupid mountain today, too. I can’t even imagine how your legs are feeling right now.”

“Well, someone wanted to train until nightfall,” Salem replied, poking Iris’s shoulder playfully. “That didn’t make things any better.”

“Hey, you’re better off for it! Now you can actually aim.”

They shared a brief laugh, conversation flowing as they talked about everything and nothing all at once. In the stillness of the moment, Salem felt a sense of gratitude welling up inside of her.

She turned her gaze towards Iris, warmth in her eyes. “You know, I never got a chance to tell you this. But I’m glad we met.”

Iris turned to her, a gentle smile tugging on her lips. “Me too. It’s been hard, you know. For the longest time, it was just my father and I. And now that he’s… I was all alone without him.”

“We’ll find him,” Salem said, her voice resolute. “Together we will.”

“Yeah.” Iris reached out, gently squeezing Salem’s hand. “Thank you,” she said, “For being here. For helping me. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you’re my best friend right now.”

Salem laughed, returning the squeeze. “Well, it’s not hard to be the best when you’re the only one.”

“Hey!” Iris protested, swatting Salem’s arm with a scowl. “Edward is my friend now, too.”

Salem raised an eyebrow at her, regarding her with amusement. “It’s barely been an hour since the two of you first met.”

“Well, he will be. Soon enough.”

“Okay, okay. I believe you.” Salem held her hands up in mock surrender. “But we should probably go to sleep soon. Don’t you want to train tomorrow morning?”

Iris nodded, reaching over to blow out the candle on their nightstand, casting the room into a soft, dim glow.

“Goodnight, friend,” she said with a grin, settling into her pillows.

Salem smiled, pulling her own blanket over her shoulders. “Goodnight, friend.”

“Look at me.”

She reluctantly met his eyes with her own, biting down hard on her lip to try and hold back her tears. She could feel herself on the edge of shattering at any moment, but his grip on her hands kept her grounded, kept her steady.

“I will always come back for you,” he vowed, his voice unwavering.

Despite their circumstances, the darkness, the torture, the pain of it all – she’d never felt more safe.

Morden.

Salem’s eyes fluttered open, her breaths quick and shallow as she tried to gain her bearings. Iris was still sound asleep beside her, but the image of Morden’s face still lingered in her mind, his voice still echoing inside her head. A mixture of emotions swirled within her – anger, confusion, and now, a flicker of something else.

Realization.

She sat up abruptly, her heart pounding in her chest. The room felt suffocating, the air thick with something unknown. Memories of their last encounter flooded her mind.

“You’re not coming with me?” she’d asked him, silently pleading for him to give her something, anything.

“No.” 

The recollection fueled the anger that still simmered below the surface, no matter how much she tried to force it down.

But the dream, the memory… It brought forth a new layer of understanding. The intensity of his grip on her hands, the unwavering determination in his voice – it spoke of a connection she couldn’t ignore. A bond that ran bone-deep, even if she couldn’t remember its origin. 

Salem swung her legs over the side of the bed, her bare feet sinking into the cool floor. She ran her fingers through her disheveled hair, conflicting emotions clashing inside of her. With a steady exhale, she walked towards the mirror, her own reflection staring back at her.

In her eyes, she saw strength. She saw resilience. And in that moment, bathed in the dim glow of the moonlight, she made herself a promise.

After all of this was over, she’d find him again.

Learn the truth. Confront her anger. And maybe, along the way, find the pieces of herself that she had lost.

Chapter Text

Morden and Paige were sitting on the docks, their feet dangling over the edge as Morden looked out at the ocean, listening to the tides slosh against the pilings. They’d just had breakfast at Aimee’s and Morden had been mulling over how best to break the news to her for the past hour. 

Come on, Morden, get on with it. She’ll understand.

He broke the comfortable silence that had settled between them, turning to face her. “Hey, Paige, um. I just wanted to say… Thank you. For everything. Things haven’t been easy for me, especially recently, but you’ve made things better. By a long shot.”

The soft smile on Paige’s face faded as she met his eyes. “Morden, are you leaving?” she asked. “Is that why you asked me to meet up today?”

Morden nodded, his gaze fixed on the ground. He’d been planning for a day now, stocking up for the journey and waiting for his sailboat to be repaired if he wanted to make it to Redwake in one piece. He didn’t have any more time to waste.

“Will you be back?”

He took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know.”

Another silence fell between them, something wistful in the air. He felt her eyes on him, and he spoke up again. “Remember the person I told you about the other day?” he asked her. “I need to make things right.”

Paige’s expression softened, a small smile on her face. “I understand, Morden. I’ll miss you, you know. Once you leave, I’ll have no one to pester or worry about,” she said, a bittersweet warmth in her voice. “Well, besides my brother,” she added with a quiet chuckle.

A small sigh escaped him. “Like I told you before,” he said, leaning back on his palms. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself, so you don’t have to worry about me. But thank you, Paige. I mean it.”

He hesitated a moment, uncertainty etched in his features as he furrowed his brow for a split second. Then, with a small, awkward smile, he reached forward and enveloped her into a hesitant embrace. His arms hovered uncertainly for a moment before they settled around her while she giggled softly, her own arms wrapping around him in response. 

“I’ll… I’ll miss you too,” he said, gingerly patting her on the back. 

Paige laughed again, pulling away. She squeezed his arm, her eyes full of sincerity. “Promise me you’ll take care of yourself?”

“Promise,” he murmured. “I’ll do my best.” He didn’t know how much he meant it, but he’d try. A promise is a promise, after all.

With one last glance, he stood up, untying his lines from the cleats and stepping onto his sailboat.

“Fair winds, Morden!” Paige called out from the docks as he unfurled his sails. “Until we meet again!”

He gave her a small smile and a mock salute, his sails catching the wind. “Until then.”

Morden set his course to Redwake, his grip tight on the wheel as his vessel drifted out into the ocean. Funny that after everything, after all he’d done to make sure he and Salem were never found together, he was off looking for her, chasing after her. He suppressed a bitter laugh. Fate couldn’t pry them apart if She tried. It all reminded him of another promise he made, carried away by dim slivers of moonlight peeking through iron bars, held in the grasp of two people that didn’t know what else to do but hold on tight.

Days had melted into an arduous blur since they had been captured, feeling like an eternity and an instant all at the same time. Salem hadn’t spoken a word since she’d been thrown back into her cell, this time with Morden and Tucker in the cells around her. He and Tucker had been trying for days to get something, anything out of her, but she didn’t budge, tears flowing from her eyes in quiet anguish every time she looked at them.

The moon was brighter than usual that night, its rays filtering through the hall’s sole window. Morden could hear the sound of her trying to stifle her sobs and he clenched his fists, unsure of what to do.

She felt him move from the cell next to her and finally broke the suffocating silence. “Why did you come for me?” she asked, her voice strained. He stiffened at the trace of anger in her tone. “Why didn’t you leave when I begged you to go?”

She turned to him and he met the tumultuous storm of emotions in her eyes. Morden leaned closer to the metal bars that separated them, his jaw tightening without him knowing it.

“You know why,” he replied, resolute.

“But you were so close,” she whispered, closing her eyes as silent tears streamed down her face. “That ship was the only reason I kept track of the days in here, so I’d know that the two of you made it out. Another night and you would have been free. Why would you give that up, Morden?”

“We chose you,” he said, “Leaving you behind was never an option for us. Never.”

Her defenses crumbled, and with a shuddering breath, she let go, unable to hold back any longer.

“I never wanted this for you,” she sobbed, unable to meet his gaze.

She reached out a trembling hand towards him, yearning for reassurance. He reached his hand through the bars and held on tight, a fierce promise burning like an inferno inside of him.

“Listen to me, Salem. We made a promise, remember? No matter the cost, no matter the danger.” 

He tightened his grip, anchoring her, keeping her steady.

“Look at me. I will always come back for you.”

I will always come back for you. 

Morden intended to make good on that for the rest of his life. 

Night had fallen when he docked at Redwake, the wood that lined the town’s makeshift streets groaning under his boots as he found his way to the inn.

“Weird question,” he spoke up at the bar to the woman working there. “But have you come across someone named Salem in the past month? About this height…” He gestured with a subtle raise of his hand. “Dark hair, green eyes?"

The innkeeper lit up at his mention of Salem’s name, and Morden narrowed his eyes for a fleeting second, intrigued at her reaction. 

“Oh, Salem! She’s done a lot for this place,” the innkeeper said with a wistful smile, wiping the rim of a glass with a cloth. “But she left quite a bit ago… I don’t know where to.”

She must have picked up on the slight twitch of his eyebrow, Morden noticed, because she rushed to reassure him.

“But…” the innkeeper continued, her gaze holding a glimmer of understanding, “I do know someone who might. You look like you’ve had a long journey, so go get some rest. I’ll send for her in the morning.”

His sleep had been fitful that night. Restless. He pulled out his journal in an effort to quell his racing mind, sketching anything and everything he could see in the room. The moonlight filtering in through the tattered curtains. Done. The candle on the nightstand, wax trailing down in messy rivers down its sides. Done.

Suppressing a yawn, he moved on to the vanity sitting in front of the bed, trying to capture its every detail down to the crack that ran down the center of the mirror. His movements grew slower with each line he sketched out, and he found himself succumbing to sleep as a gentle breeze snuck in through the half-open window.

Morden woke up face-down on the bed, his feet at the headboard. His sketchbook was still open, his charcoal still in his hand, staining his fingers black. He grimaced at the harsh line through his sketch of the vanity, probably from when he dozed off. 

Early morning light filtered in through the room’s only window. He suspected that he’d gotten at least a few hours of sleep in, feeling more well-rested than he had in a while. 

As Morden walked down the inn’s creaky stairs, he caught sight of a tall, blonde woman sitting by the corner. Her dagger spun idly on the table by its tip, catching the dim rays of morning sun coming in from the window. She was the only other person downstairs besides him and the innkeeper, who gave him an encouraging nod as he moved closer. 

“You know, that’s gonna dull your blade,” he remarked casually, pulling a chair up to the table.

The woman didn’t bother to look up as he spoke, swiftly grabbing the dagger by its handle and putting it back into the sheath strapped to her hip. 

“Your name Morden, by any chance?” she asked flatly, her voice betraying no emotion.

Caught off guard by the unexpected question, Morden hesitated with a slight raise of his eyebrow. 

“I’ll take your silence as a yes,” the woman continued with an amused huff. She looked back up at him again and he noticed that her eyes were a piercing blue, scrutinizing his every feature. “So you’re the guy who let Salem wander off alone, huh?”

Morden tightened his jaw at the accusation, sitting up a little straighter. “I had my reasons, believe me,” he said firmly. “I thought it was the only way I could protect her. How do you know her?”

“Some protector you turned out to be,” the woman scoffed. “The name’s Ragna. Chief recognized Salem’s talent with the… magic stuff and she trained with us hunters for a while. But she left almost two weeks ago. What made you decide to chase after her now ?”

He reached into his bag, pulling out a tattered piece of parchment and spreading it on the table. Salem’s contract. He’d taken it from the hooded man at the bounty board under the guise of accepting the job, in the hopes that it’d buy him some time to figure out what to do. “I need to find her,” he explained, his voice tight. “She’s in danger – there’s a contract out for her life.”

Ragna paused, and Morden could feel the weight of her gaze as it settled over the thin piece of parchment.

Confirm kill, it said. In big, bold letters. Seeing it again made Morden’s chest burn.

“Look, there’s something you need to know,” Ragna said quietly, after a moment. Morden leaned in closer, resting his elbows on the table.

“We pissed off a bunch of pirates while she was here. They were infesting Redwake, destroying business, jumping old ladies… so we blew up their hideout, caused quite a bit of chaos, they lost a bunch of assets, yada yada.”

His expression never changed as he took all of it in, mind racing as he started to make a plan.

“They can’t touch me because I’m one of the Chief’s hunters, but they’re probably going after her because they think she’s an easier target,” she continued, her tone getting more urgent. “Unless she’s managed to get into some sort of trouble elsewhere, which is, unfortunately, a very real possibility, I figure they’re the ones behind that contract of yours. They’re dangerous people, Morden.”

Morden took a sharp breath, folding the contract back up and tucking it back in his bag. “Dangerous or not,” he vowed, “I’m putting an end to this.”

Ragna sat back in her chair, her gaze softened with reluctant respect. “Well, shit, kid,” she muttered, a slow grin starting to spread across her face. “You really care about her, don’t you?”

He met her eyes, determination blazing. “More than I can put into words. She’s all I have left.”

Ragna regarded him with a thoughtful look on her face. “You know, she mentioned trusting you, deep down, despite the memory loss. If you’re as genuine as you seem, then maybe you deserve a chance to fix things. She told me she was headed out to Frostmill to send back one of our scouts. After that, I don’t know. But what’s your plan to take care of all of this?”

Morden ran a hand through his hair. All of this thinking, and he was coming up short. “To be honest, I’m not really sure,” he admitted, his tone staying even despite how lost he felt. “I’ll probably head to Frostmill and chase her trail there.”

Ragna shook her head, her expression serious. “And then what? You plan on being her bodyguard forever?” she challenged. “Someone’s gonna try to make good on that contract eventually, and whoever does is probably gonna be really good at their job. They’ll wait till she’s alone, then kill her when you’re not looking.”

“Then what do you suggest?” Morden asked, an edge of frustration in his voice.

“You’ve gotta put an end to the person who issued it,” she replied with finality. “I’d help you out, but I’m a lieutenant here now, and I can’t just up and leave my post like that, so I’ll do the next best thing and tell you what I know. They’re called the Jaw Pirates. We were only able to collect their flags when we infiltrated their hideout. Any documents, letters pointing to whoever’s leading them were destroyed. Whole place reduced to ashes.” There was an air of pride to her words as she spoke. “Your girl made sure they’d never bother Redwake again.”

Of course she did. 

“Listen,” Ragna continued with a heavy sigh. “I’ve dealt with a lot of shady people, working so closely with the Chief. You ever heard of Whitesummit?”

Morden scoffed, leaning back with his arms across his chest. “That mountain behind the Stepstones? It’s abandoned.”

“That’s what everyone says. But word on the street is that the Assassin Syndicate headquarters is inside that mountain. Your best bet on finding who’s leading the Jaw Pirates is there. I see that you’re thinking, but you’ll need some help. Breaking in there alone is basically a suicide mission.”

Morden looked away, his gaze fixed somewhere in the distance as he mulled over her words. She was right, but he had no other choice. There was no one else he could trust.

“I’ll figure something out,” he replied after a moment. “Thank you, Ragna. Seriously.”

Ragna shook her head, a mirthless smile on her face. “You better make things right with her, Morden. She deserves nothing less.”

“I will. I swear.”

Chapter Text

“Again ? You’re kidding, right?” Salem huffed, slumping back against the trunk of a nearby tree. It was surprising that there were any trees left at all in the clearing they were in. She and Iris had been training since they’d finished lunch, and judging by the way her stomach was growling and the orange tinge of the sky around them signaling the sun’s gradual descent, it was about time for dinner.

Iris shook her head, amusement written all over the grin on her face. “No, not kidding,” she replied, crossing her arms over her chest. “Put some more… y’know… oomph into it.”

Salem brushed a strand of sweat-soaked hair from her face, the slightest hint of irritation as her gaze flicked from the tree she’d just burned a hole through to her over-enthusiastic friend. “My magic reserves are on their last legs, Iris. I need to–”

“Shut up and just do it!”

“Fine!” 

With a resigned sigh, Salem focused her energy into the boulder in front of her, her palms glowing a deep crimson as she tried to channel what was left of her magic into a concentrated beam. The boulder crumbled into a pile of smoking ash, and Salem waved the cloud of its remnants away from her face with a small cough.

“There you go!” Iris exclaimed, rushing over and clapping her on the back.

The entire morning, they’d been asking around the entire island looking for leads, but nothing came up about Ravenna, or any other visitors besides themselves. But Salem could feel that they were on the verge of a breakthrough. They had to be. She tried not to think of the alternative, that all of this sailing and searching and training would fizzle out into nothing.

As the two mages sat on the grass to catch their breath, Salem caught sight of a frazzled-looking old man hobbling up the hill to approach them. “You two look like capable young ladies,” he remarked by way of greeting. “Do you have a few minutes to spare to help me with my farm?”

Salem exchanged a quick glance with Iris who, despite her earlier insistence on training until the sun dipped below the islands they were standing on, was looking just as done with blowing the trees around them to Mount Olympus as Salem was. They both shrugged.

Why the hell not.

Salem watched as Iris pushed herself up back to standing, then took her friend's outstretched hand to pull herself up as well. After dusting her hands off on her pants, she turned her gaze back to the old man. “Where’s this farm of yours?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

“And what’s in it for us?” Iris added with a grin. 

The man, who’d later introduced himself as Louis Nebula, had rambled on about some dock at the north edge of town, on a smaller island connected to the main plaza with a bridge. As Salem and Iris walked through the quiet streets, Salem found herself too hungry to appreciate the beauty of Cirrus Island. If she’d been in a better mood, she might have even taken a second to stop and watch the leaves float to the ground as the gentle, fall breeze rustled the tops of the trees around them. 

But there was no time for that – she was a woman on a mission… to figure out how to work a damn skyship.

Iris had immediately held her hands up and took a step away from the helm when she saw the contraptions needed to steer it. “I can barely use my dad’s beat-up sailboat,” she’d said, placing her hands on her hips. “You’re the sailing expert, for whatever reason. Don’t look at me .”

“Sailing on the sea,” Salem immediately corrected, her brows furrowed as she fiddled with the levers by the wheel. “So if things go to shit, don’t blame me, okay?” She was surprised the man at the docks was so willing to rent an entire ship to two girls who had no idea what they were doing and for free, at that, but she supposed she’d take the victories as they came, seeing as they were so few and far between as of recently.

Her face lit up as the ship lurched to a start, slowly propelled forward by a gentle gust of wind. Salem hummed in thought, jiggling a lever back and forth in an effort to discern its function. She let out a breath as the ship kept moving through the sky – she’d have to figure out the controls as they went, lest they fall thousands of feet into the waters of the Bronze Sea. 

Without the rolling of the waves beneath the ship to guide her movements, she felt oddly out of place at the helm. Her grip around the wheel was tight and white-knuckled, and she tried to let that be the only outward manifestation of her nerves. 

“Not bad, Salem,” Iris remarked amusedly. Salem watched as she closed her eyes and leaned back against the ship’s railing, letting her long hair be tousled by the breeze. She noticed that Iris’s hair was the same color as the fiery red of the leaves on the trees, and she smiled to herself as she turned her gaze back to the path ahead of them.

That smile quickly faded as she realized that their destination was coming faster into view than she’d anticipated. With a quiet mutter of 'oh shit,' she pulled on random levers and flicked switches up and down to try and get their vessel to slow down. Noticing her struggle, Iris came running, fumbling with the other controls.

“I take it back, Captain Adventos,” Iris muttered, “This isn’t ‘not bad.’ This is awful.”

Salem huffed, her temper starting to flare as the both of them struggled to get a handle on the ship. “I didn’t see you doing anything to steer this stupid ship,” she retorted sharply. “If you’re just gonna keep flicking random switches then-”

“Then what is it that you’re doing?!” Iris interrupted, her brows drawn together in an angry line as she pointed to Salem’s hand on a lever.

Salem immediately took her hand off the lever, clenching her fists at her side as she felt her face start to grow hot. “I’m trying not to kill us both!”

Iris launched into an angry tirade at her remark, but the noise faded into the background as Salem tried to figure a way to get them out of this. 

This isn’t the sky, this is the sea.

This isn’t the sky, this is the sea.

What would you do if this was the sea?

Just before a repeat of their brawl at Frostmill Island was about to happen, her expression suddenly shifted into one of realization. “The sails!” she exclaimed, completely at a loss as to how the most obvious solution had slipped her mind. “Lower the sails!”

“Oh my gods, you genius, ” Iris replied, releasing the halyards and letting the sails come down. The ship slowly came to a stop, the hull just barely touching the edge of the island. If they’d been just a second later, they’d be helping Louis Nebula with more than just his farm. 

They both let out a breath of relief when they realized that no damage had been done.

Followed by a bout of uncontrollable laughter when they met each other’s eyes.

“I think all that talk earlier was just us being hungry,” Iris remarked, the ghost of a smile still lingering on her face. “Let’s just get this work over with, and then we’ll get dinner. Deal?”

Salem took her friend’s outstretched hand and shook it firmly. “Deal,” she replied with a grin.

The work passed them by relatively fast, and before Salem and Iris knew it, they’d planted an entire crop of sky-pumpkins. Salem’s body ached all over, and there was a soreness in her hands from where she gripped the gardening tools, but she felt a sense of pride in herself for a job well done and another person helped.

The sky was tinged purple as the sunset gave way to dusk, and Salem took a second to admire it before heading to Louis Nebula’s quaint little cabin. “Even though this is the same sky we see from the Bronze Sea, isn’t there something about seeing it from all the way up here that makes it look… prettier?” Salem asked.

She’d finally found some peace and quiet on Cirrus Island – the first time since she’d washed up on that unfamiliar shore all those weeks ago with no memories to recall. With that peace and quiet came the opportunity to appreciate the beauty of the places she was getting the opportunity to explore, and for that she was thankful.

Iris shrugged, her eyes on the ground as their boots crunched against the gravel path up to the cabin. “Looks the same to me. All I think is that I need some dinner soon, or I might actually explode.”

Salem just laughed at that, her eyes still up at the sky. Her gaze softened further as she watched two birds flit through the air in the distance before disappearing down into the clouds. The sight brought forth an odd sense of yearning, but she tried her best to ignore it as they continued on the path. They were greeted at their destination by the smell of something warm and sweet wafting from the cabin. Salem turned to Iris with a barely suppressed grin, and they quickened their pace to the front door.

“Just in time, ladies,” Louis greeted as he opened the door for them. “Pie’s fresh out the oven.”As they sat down at the table, the older man regarded Salem and Iris with a gentle sort of curiosity. “It’s nice to finally see some new faces around. It’s not often we get visitors around here,” he remarked, small crinkles forming at the corners of his eyes as he smiled.

A fresh slice of sky pumpkin pie was placed onto the plate in front of Salem, and it looked just as delicious as it smelled, its striking cerulean hue promising a fulfilling dinner. She felt a strange sense of invigoration running through her body after taking a bite, and she exchanged a wide-eyed glance with Iris, wondering if she felt the same.

At this, Louis just chuckled. “I take it it’s your first time eating sky pumpkins?” he asked amusedly.

When they nodded, he went on to happily explain their properties – how they and other fruits on Cirrus Island could enhance one’s energy, how certain herbs and seasonings could make those effects last even longer. It was all very interesting, Salem was sure, but she let the sounds of Louis’s merry explanation and Iris’s enthusiastic questions fade into the background as she continued to shovel down her dinner.

Suddenly, from the corner of her eye, Salem caught sight of something dark slicing through the tranquil night sky. She glanced up from her plate and out at the window, squinting to discern the distant shape.

Her fork fell to the table with a dull clatter when she realized it was a ship. The sight of the hooded figures on it sent a sense of dread rushing through her veins, a ghostly feeling of recognition that felt unsettling and intriguing at the same time. Before she knew it, the sound of her pulse thrumming in her ears was louder than anything else in the room. 

Iris, who’d been chatting merrily a moment ago, noticed her sudden change in demeanor, and her brows furrowed with concern at the blankness of her expression. “Salem?” Iris asked hesitantly. “Are you… alright?” 

“Mhm, just fine,” Salem replied hastily, shrugging on her jacket from where it was draped across the back of her chair. She tried to swallow down the sense of unease as best she could, and she turned to their host and gave him as gracious a smile as she could muster. “Mr. Nebula, thank you so much for dinner, but Iris and I have somewhere to be. We’ll be sticking around the island a while, so seek us out if you need any more help,” she said as she stood up, her voice tight with barely concealed apprehension. 

Before either of her companions at the table could respond, Salem was out the door, climbing aboard the skyship and getting it ready to fly.

“Salem!” Iris’s voice trailed after her. She followed after Salem, scrambling after her and hoisting herself up to the deck. “Hey. Hey , slow down,” she urged, grabbing Salem by the shoulders and turning her to face her. “What the hell was that about? Are you okay?”

“Yes,” Salem replied immediately, meeting Iris’s eyes with a look of exasperation. Iris just continued to stare at her, and the heat of her gaze was so searing that it forced Salem to hesitate before answering again. “No.” Another pause. “ I don’t know .”

Iris let out a slow, heavy breath. “Then talk to me,” she insisted.

Salem sighed, turning her attention back to the sails to get them ready for flight. “I can’t lose that ship,” she murmured vaguely, setting their course and trying to discreetly chase its trail.

Iris said nothing at first, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning back against the ship’s railing and leaving Salem to her own devices. But after appearing to mull over her words a bit, she spoke up again, breaking the tense silence that had settled over the two of them. “Salem, why, dear Gods above, did we leave that delicious sky pumpkin pie behind to follow after this sketchy-looking ship?”

“I didn’t take you for the religious type,” Salem replied, a last-ditch effort to try and delay the conversation she knew was inevitable.

“Salem,” Iris said through gritted teeth.

Salem let her gaze land everywhere but on Iris, her grip tight on the wheel as they followed the ship into the night. “I just… I got this feeling when I saw it.”

“Feeling?” Iris asked, now intrigued more than annoyed. “What kind of feeling?”

“I don’t know that words can describe it,” Salem murmured in response. “I felt… this sense of dread. Like something bad was going to happen. But at the same time, I couldn’t look away. It’s like the ship was begging to be followed, so…”

“...so that’s what we’re gonna do,” Iris finished for her, unsheathing the dagger strapped to her thigh and holding it up to the light of the moon. “Great.”

“This has to be our lead,” Salem said resolutely, her eyes still fixed on the ship a distance before them. “It has to be.”

The tension in the air was so tightly wound that it felt like a delicate thread, ready to snap with the slightest movement. Salem held her breath as the ship came to a stop at a secluded island. She quietly made her way to the gangplank, pausing to give Iris a determined nod before they disembarked onto the small, wooded island.

Each crunch of earth under her and Iris’s boots and the darkness of the night sent the electrifying combination of adrenaline and anticipation through her body, amplifying the sound of her pulse pounding in her ears. As they navigated through the silence of the woods, Salem couldn’t shake the feeling of anxiety that had settled on her shoulders. She glanced at Iris, whose eyes mirrored her own unease.

Her breath caught at the distant sound of hushed voices and the crackle of a fire, and she pulled Iris behind a nearby tree, their backs pressed against its sturdy trunk. Salem raised a finger to her lips, her jaw clenched as she strained to listen.

“...haven’t found him yet. But he’s been sighted here. It’s only a matter of time before…”

She was barely able to make out the words. But this was their lead – there was no doubt about it now. She exchanged a look with Iris.

We have to get closer, she tried to convey with a subtle gesture, her eyes fixed on a withered stone wall some feet away. It looked like the ruins of an old house, a perfect vantage point for them to keep eavesdropping.

Salem had gotten halfway there when the snap of a branch under her boots caused her to stop in her tracks.

The voices stopped. “Did you hear that?” one of them asked.

Fuck.

Without thinking, she sent a burst of hot ash towards the sound of the voices. Shards of ice came sailing towards her face, and Salem sent herself sprawling to the ground, her hands clasped behind her head. Before the ice could reach her, the shards were melted by the searing heat of Iris’s flare magic.

Iris roughly pulled her up to her feet, and they stood with their backs to each other as they surveyed their surroundings. Three hooded figures surrounded them from all sides, palms aglow with the energy of their magic. Time came to a halt as they sized each other up.

“You take left, I take right,” Salem murmured over her shoulder. “And we just hope we don’t get hit by the third one.”

They charged into action, a natural synergy humming between them as they fought. After a brutal exchange, the trio vanished into the shadows.

But in the midst of their escape, a hooded figure’s cloak billowed wildly with the roaring wind. A misplaced step, a flicker of distraction, and the fabric caught on a gnarled branch. The sudden yank halted their movement, revealing a glimpse of a panicked face beneath the food before they disappeared into the night.

Salem jogged up to the cloak where it hung from the tree, still breathless from the altercation. The black fabric was thick and rough against her skin, and she turned it over to inspect its lining. Etched into the fabric with shimmering thread was a purple, candle-like symbol – one that sent an overwhelming feeling of dread through Salem’s body. 

With a shaky hand, she ran her fingers over the symbol, her mind running rampant as she tried to recall its origin. Despite her instincts screaming at her to run, there was a desire for understanding that kept her rooted in place.

She couldn’t tear her eyes away.

Chapter Text

Morden cursed himself for ever thinking that Whitesummit was abandoned. It most definitely was not. The ache in his ribs and the smattering of bruises all over his body told him that much. With his back pressed against the cool stone at the corner of a dark alleyway, he struggled to catch his breath. 

It had taken him a painstakingly long while to find the entrance to the place – a small doorway carved into the side of the weathered mountain – only to be recognized immediately by the black bandana he used to hide the lower half of his face. In hindsight, wearing the same thing he always did when bounty hunting to Whitesummit, the center of all things criminal in the Bronze Sea, was a bit of an oversight on his part. 

He’d taken all the time he could afford to collect himself, judging by the pounding of boots on stone and the sound of crazed laughter drawing nearer and nearer. With a steadying breath, he stepped back out onto the black market’s empty street, his hand on the dagger strapped to his thigh. 

“Listen…” he started, his free hand raised under the pretense of peace. His three pursuers merely narrowed their eyes at him, their menacing grins widening just before they closed in.

Morden ducked just in time, narrowly avoiding a swinging sword that was most definitely meant to slice his head off. Maybe Ragna was right about this being a suicide mission , he thought before shrouding the area around him in shadows and dodging another blow. Despite how much his combat skill had grown in the months he’d spent honing it, he was still outnumbered and knew he had to be smart about how he handled this if he wanted to make it out of this Gods-forsaken mountain in one piece. 

As he tried to fend off one of his assailants, exchanging fists and trying to dodge the blade swiping at his flesh, Morden took note of the slight limp in the man’s gait. The observation cost him a hook to the jaw that sent a crack of pain down to his bone, and he kicked at the man’s knee with as much strength as he could muster. He fell to the ground with a pained grunt, looking up at Morden with an expression that screamed ‘you win.’ 

In the short lull between action, Morden suddenly became aware of the familiar tang of blood in his mouth, spitting it out onto the ground and heading back into the fray. The other two men were circling him like vultures, eyeing him like he was carrion. It only served to fuel him further as he sent one flying backward with a burst of his shadow magic and lunged at the other with his dagger in hand.

Suddenly, the man grabbed him by the collar, backing him up against the wall with his arm at his throat. Morden’s fingers twitched around the handle of his dagger, still in his hand. As his vision started to darken around the edges, his first instinct was to drive the blade forward, straight into his assailant’s chest – but his mind flashed back to that one rainy day in Goso Jungle, when he’d plunged his dagger into his target’s throat, watching in horror as the life drained out of him in pools of crimson. 

He slashed at the man’s arm instead, gasping for air as he loosened his grip.

As his assailant backed away to tend to his injury, Morden took a step towards him with a smug look of defiance. At the sight of the slow grin spreading across the man’s face, his expression melted away into one of slight confusion, then quickly turned to one of realization.

Morden quickly spun around to block the incoming strike, but it was too late. Time seemed to slow then, the dagger flashing closer and closer to his body, inch by inch, as he stayed rooted in place. He closed his eyes and awaited the blow, but it never came.

He opened his eyes as a glass-infused throwing knife whizzed through the air, the air turning metallic with the smell of pierced flesh. The man’s blade fell to the ground with a satisfying clatter, and he clutched his impaled hand as he retreated into the darkness. Morden’s eyes widened as he looked up, locking eyes with the silver-haired girl who had just saved his life.

Anaïs Ren stood on the rooftop, her ice-blue eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “Told you I wouldn’t forget,” she smirked.

Morden’s surprise quickly transformed into a flicker of respect, but he still snorted at her comment. As the rest of his assailants fled into the shadows, he turned his full attention back to her. 

“You certainly have a way of making an entrance, Ren,” he called out, a wry smile on his face.

"Anaïs,” she corrected, eyeing him with a smirk. She leapt gracefully from her perch on the rooftop, barely making a sound as she landed as a man, just a few years older than her, followed her down. His silver hair was cropped close to his skull, and his eyes were just as crystal blue as Anaïs’s. The two of them approached Morden slowly.

Anaïs eyed him with a sort of confident curiosity, looking him up and down. “It’s not fair that you know my name and I don’t know yours, bounty hunter.”

“Morden,” he supplied simply.

“Don’t get too comfortable around here, Morden,” she cooed. She motioned towards the black market’s exit with her head, swishing her silver hair over her shoulder. “Let’s get out of here before more people recognize those dark, brooding eyes of yours.”

Anaïs led him out of the labyrinth of stalls and booths, taking him through a winding maze of back alleys and narrow roads in an effort to keep hidden. They came to a small complex of makeshift apartments, dilapidated and haphazardly built. Morden took a quick scan of the area, noting his surroundings before hesitating at the front of the doorway Anaïs was leading him into.

For all he knew, this could be a trap. Retaliation for coming after her bounty. Twice , at that. He’d be an idiot to-

Before he could finish his thought, she rolled her eyes. “Don’t be scared, Morden. I don’t bite…” she said in a sweet voice, “... hard.”  He’d opened his mouth to reply, but she harshly yanked him inside by the wrist before slamming the door behind him. Her brother locked it with a click, and Morden exhaled sharply as his gaze flickered between the two of them.

“Before you say anything, let’s address the most important question,” Anaïs said, delicately twirling one of her throwing knives between her fingers. “What brings you here , of all places? Don’t you have more criminals to turn into the Grand Navy?”

Morden thought there’d be more bitterness, more bite, to her words considering the pretenses under which they’d met, but instead, there was only an airy sort of impassivity to them that only served to confuse him more.

He shook his head. “I’m done doing that. Yours was the last.”

She continued to look at him expectantly, and he weighed the merits of telling her why he’d found himself in Whitesummit in the first place. He regarded Anaïs carefully, watching the corner of her lip turn up into a smirk as she continued to fiddle with her knife.

“This is a different side of you,” he remarked evasively, keeping his tone flat.

Anaïs looked up at him with narrowed eyes, and a new sort of edge found its way into her voice, cleverly disguised with a sweet smile. “Answer the question, Morden.”

With his jaw clenched tight, he squarely met her gaze, hearing Ragna’s words echoing in his head. Over and over and over again. Breaking in there alone is basically a suicide mission.

He couldn’t help Salem if he was dead, could he?

He let out a resigned breath, knowing he had no other choice. “I’m looking for whoever issued this.” Reaching into his bag, he pulled out Salem’s assassination contract and handed it to Anaïs. Even now, the feeling of that parchment against his skin seemed to burn, that last look Salem gave him those months ago when they washed up on that Gods-forsaken island forever etched into his memory. If teaming up with one of his former bounty-hunting targets was what it took to make it up to her, then so be it.

“You’re in the right place,” Anaïs’s brother chimed in from behind, extending a hand to him. “I’m Ace, by the way,” he said as he gave Morden’s hand a firm shake. “I owe you my life. Thank you.”

Anaïs huffed. “I’m the one who broke you out, you ungrateful -”

Ace quickly interrupted her. “We can help you. Tell us what you know.”

With a nod, Morden found himself sitting at a cramped kitchen table between the two outlaws, hunched over a hand-drawn map of Whitesummit. He was careful to spare them from too many specific details, leaving his reasoning at the simple explanation of, “She’s my friend and I need to help her.”

The two seemed to accept it, but he caught Anaïs shooting narrow-eyed glances at him every now and then as they spoke. It was impossible to read her, with the cool aloofness of her voice and the graceful yet expressionless way she held herself. But for some reason, he trusted her, recalling the genuine desperation in her eyes for a chance to save her brother the last time they’d met. His instincts had yet to fail him on this chase after Salem, and he trusted they’d carry him through whatever came next.

Their conversation shifted from Morden’s past and his connection to Salem to the present plan. According to the Rens, Whitesummit, while a hotbed for the Bronze Sea’s lower-tier criminals – robbers, scammers, thieves, and the like – was also the place for the more elaborate of schemes. Ones that involved people of influence, up in high places. 

“I don’t know if you bounty hunters have an equivalent, but here in Whitesummit, the Assassin Syndicate, where those contracts come from… they hold these galas every month on the night of the new moon, so that the big shots of the Bronze Sea can make their moves."

“You came here at the right time. The next gala will be held here tomorrow night,” Ace continued, his finger on the worn piece of parchment, “at their headquarters. Anyone who’s anyone around here will be there. Which means whoever had the power to issue a contract like that … They’ll be there, too.”

“So the question is, how do we get in?” Morden asked, his brow furrowed in thought. His mind was racing through every possibility, weighing every outcome of every decision he could make from this point forward.

He was drawn out of his mind by the silvery sound of Anaïs’s laughter, flinching at the feather-light touch of her fingers on the back of his hand. “That won’t be a problem,” she said with a slight grin, removing her hand from his and leaning back in her chair. “Lucky for you, Morden, Ace and I are well connected. All you have to do is agree to be my date for the night.”

Morden’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. That was the last thing he’d expected to hear, but he quickly recovered from his lapse in composure, clearing his throat and leaning forward, his hands on the table in front of him. “Sure,” he said impassively, “but I, uh… don’t exactly have the clothes to dress the part.”

“I have a suit you can borrow,” Ace said, eyeing him up. “It should fit well enough.”

Morden gave him a curt nod of thanks, and Ace’s mouth turned up into a lopsided grin. “Don’t worry, we’ll make sure you fit right in.”

Morden didn’t recognize the person looking in the mirror at him. He straightened the collar of his borrowed suit jacket, feeling remarkably uncomfortable. His gaze lingered on his reflection's tired eyes for just a moment, feeling something tight in his chest. The last time he’d had a good night’s sleep was that first day they’d washed up on that island, when he’d thought that everything was finally right in the world. That was before Tucker had succumbed to his injuries and before he’d found out that Salem had no recollection of the life they had before the Bronze Sea. He sighed, running a hand through his hair.

There was a sharp little knock at the door, and he regained his composure just as it swung open with a loud creak. 

“You clean up nice, Morden,” Anaïs remarked, leaning against the door’s frame. She twirled a long lock of silver hair between her fingers, examining its ends before looking him up and down with a smirk on her face. “Why the long face?”

He shot her a sideways glance, noticing that she was dressed in a slinky floor-length gown that caught the dregs of street light filtering in through the room’s small window. “This isn’t my usual attire,” he replied, his answer just as stiff as he felt.

She sauntered up to him, her eyes never leaving his face as she tucked a silver handkerchief in his pocket to match her dress. “Well, confidence is key in places like the one we’re going to. If you want any chance of saving that friend of yours, you’ll have to act like you belong here. Think you can do that?”

His gaze flickered back to the mirror, and he reminded himself of what he came here to do and of the reason for all those sleepless nights.

A quiet laugh escaped him at her question, the sound dry and bitter. “What other choice do I have?”

Morden had never seen wealth quite like the display the Assassin Syndicate was putting on. Despite the fact that the interior of Whitesummit was shrouded in darkness, the glittering chandeliers and the opulence of the venue’s decor was almost blindingly bright, even from a distance. The crowd looked equally as extravagant, and despite betraying none of his emotion outwardly, Morden could feel the uncomfortable thrum of his pulse on the side of his neck. 

Ace nodded at the Morden and Anaïs with a look of approval, subtly motioning to the arched doorway just to their side. “You two head in. I’ll make sure everything’s okay from the sidelines, and Anaïs…”  He grabbed his sister’s forearm and pulled her towards him. “... for Gods’ sakes, don’t do anything stupid. Be safe. Please.”

A slight look of amusement flashed across Morden’s face, and his gaze fell on Anaïs, who threw her long hair over her shoulder and merely shrugged at her brother’s pleas. After Ace released his hold on her with an exasperated shake of his head, she looped her arm through Morden’s, leading him into the gala. She looked at home, perfectly in place among the people here, but the way her eyes drifted from guest to guest made Morden wonder if she was masking her own apprehension, just as he was.

Waiters with trays of hors d'oeuvres wove through the crowd, offering delicacies that Morden had never seen before, from exotic-sounding fruit to fish caught several seas away. He and Anaïs were presented with rows upon rows of bubbling champagne glasses, and he took one, just to be polite. That was what people did at these sorts of events, right? For a moment, he considered downing it, just to slow the hammering of his heart.

But as soon as the waiter’s back was turned, his date, ever so charismatic, promptly took the flute from between his fingers and dumped it into a nearby trash can. “You can never be too careful at these things, Morden,” Anaïs remarked, seeming to enjoy having to look after him. “It is the Assassin Syndicate’s gala, after all. You should have told me you wanted something to take the edge off.”

Of course, nothing here would be safe to eat or drink. Morden couldn’t believe how careless he was starting to get, and he hoped it was just a symptom of his lack of sleep. He shook his head at her offer. “No need. Let’s just keep going.”

This was a different sort of fray than he was used to, with words as weapons and secrets spilled instead of blood. There wasn’t a single person in the room that looked like they were here simply for a dance and a few drinks. Everywhere he looked, it seemed as though deals were being made, conditions were being negotiated upon, and power plays were being put in motion. 

Suddenly, he became acutely aware of all the eyes on them. He was never really one to pray to the Gods considering his disdain for them, but he made a rare exception this time. He prayed that he wouldn’t get recognized, that he not pull something to blow their cover, and for once, that something finally go right in his life.

Anaïs turned to him, amusement gleaming in her eyes as her heels clicked against the marble flooring. She leaned in, barely suppressing a smirk. “Dance with me.”

Morden raised an eyebrow, wondering if he heard her correctly. “What?”

She grinned. “Trust me. Just follow my lead.”

The lilt of the waltz playing seemed to sour with each unsteady step Morden took. He huffed slightly, unable to stop himself from doing so, and as he expected, his dance partner couldn’t help but chuckle.

“You don’t dance much, do you, Morden?” Anaïs teased, her fingers light against his as she gracefully spun away and then back again. 

He frowned, looking away from her as she put her hands back on his shoulders. There wasn’t ever much time to dance while on the run. “I don’t really see how this is helping with our objective, Anaïs,” he murmured, eager to change the subject. “How…?”

His voice trailed off as he realized that here, they had the best view of all the gala’s attendees without looking too suspicious. Anaïs looked up at him with a satisfied smile when she caught him narrowing his eyes at a conversation taking place at the edges of the dancefloor, letting him take the lead. 

Under the guise of whispering sweet nothings to his date, Morden leaned down by Anaïs’s ear, his eyes on a nearby group of well-dressed partygoers. “Notice how everyone’s whispering to that man in the corner?” he asked. “The one in the red suit?”

She met his gaze with a slight smirk. “Good eye… we’ll make a spy out of you, yet. I’ll see what I can find out.”

He furrowed his brows at the way she caught the man’s eyes, the mischievous expression on her face melting away into something more demure. It was falsely sweet, but purposeful, and it seemed to do its job. The target of her artificial charm approached the edge of a dance floor, watching Anaïs with a grin. It wasn’t the man with the red suit, like he’d expected, but rather one of the men that was looking to gain his favor, it seemed.

Well played, he thought. It was the safer choice.

Despite that fact, there were many ways in which this could end, and by his calculations, the vast majority of them weren’t favorable. Morden looked from Anaïs to the man watching her from the sidelines, and despite already knowing the answer, out tumbled, “How do you plan on-”

“ Hush,” Anaïs scolded, but the graceful smile stayed on her face. “Like I said before, follow my lead. And try not to trip on my dress, I beg you.”

He sighed, but obliged. 

After an excruciating eternity of stepped-on toes, quiet huffs, and stifled laughter, the strings ceased their playing.  The payoff of Anaïs’s scheme revealed itself as the sound of expensive dress shoes against tile drew nearer. Morden’s jaw tightened, realizing he was about triple her age and looking her up and down with a barely-contained leer. 

“Mind if I steal her for the next dance?” the man asked, his voice low.

Morden gave the man a curt nod. “All yours,” he replied, keeping his tone casual.

He watched for a moment as the two disappeared back onto the dance floor, Anaïs's silver dress trailing behind her. As much as she’d roused a sort of irritation from him in the short time they’d been reunited, another person hurt on his behalf would surely kill him.

“Try not to look so concerned,” Ace spoke up amusedly from next to him. “As much as I worry about her, my sister can handle herself. This isn’t anything new to her.” He tilted his head towards the cocktail tables stationed around the room’s perimeter, where other important-looking conversations were taking place. “We’ll never hear the end of it if she finds out something important and we don’t,” he continued with an exaggerated sigh. “Stay sharp.”

How could one possibly look inconspicuous while trying to eavesdrop? Morden figured the best course of action was to pretend to be an art connoisseur. Should anyone come up to him and strike up a conversation about it, though… Well, he was sure he could figure something out. When he spotted a flash of gold – a glimpse of a gold bangle under the sleeve of a suit jacket – he trailed the man wearing it to a knot of his crew.  

“It’s not often you find a gathering like this with such… colorful guests,” Morden remarked coolly, sliding just a bit closer. He hoped the thrum of his pulse in his neck wasn’t as visible as it felt. “This isn’t the crowd I expected.”

The man raised an eyebrow at him, seeming to weigh the merits of continuing the conversation. “Aye, well, the Syndicate knows how to throw a party.” He paused for a moment, and Morden tried to hide the way he tensed under his sharp gaze. “Say, what’s your game, stranger? Doesn’t look like you fit in all that well either.”

With feigned innocence, Morden shrugged. “Just a traveler looking to enjoy the finer things in life. Heard there’d be some interesting folks here, and I always appreciate a good tale.”

Another one of the men snickered, stepping forward. “You look like you’ve hardly dipped a toe into the seas, young lad. What makes you think we have tales worth telling?”

There it was, his in. Morden leaned against a nearby pillar, letting his gaze drift as though he were only half interested. “Well, I’ve heard whispers about a crew that calls themselves the Jaw Pirates. If even half of what they say is true, I’d imagine you’d have some stories to tell.”

At the mention of the name, the entire group seemed to have a new glow about them, and Morden knew immediately that he’d struck gold. 

“Jaw Pirates, eh? Aye, that’d be us. Made quite a name up north, we have,” the man said. Morden could practically feel the pride oozing from his skin, along with the smell of champagne on his breath. All he had to do was keep tickling that ego, and he’d know all he needed to before the hour was up. “Our last haul was off the coast of Frostmill. Made quite the fortune from that one, we did.” He drained his glass to the bottom, roughly placing it down onto a passing waiter’s tray. “Enough loot to sink a ship if you don’t know what you’re doing.”

“Impressive,” Morden noted with a nod. “But that’s a ways from here, isn’t it? How do you keep away from the patrols?”

“Friends in high places and a little spot we’ve got tucked away,” one of them spoke up, voice thick with alcohol.

Interesting, but not enough. He took a split second to figure out how to press further without pushing to the point of suspicion.

“Must be nice to have a place to crash without a care in the world,” Morden remarked, hoping for more.

“Oh, you wouldn’t believe it,” said another. “It’s genius, hidden beneath the cliffs. There’s even a part of an old fortress there.”

Already, his mind was working to fill the gaps. In the little he’d seen of the Bronze Sea so far, he thought of every little island he’d sailed by on his hunts, but came up short. Before he could say anything else, one of the pirates squinted at him, frowning. “Say, you look familiar, boy. Have we crossed paths before?”

Just then, the sound of shattering glass pulled the conversation to an abrupt end, the sound echoing across the room. Just a few feet away, a woman was clutching at her throat, her eyes wide with terror before she fell to the ground, convulsing. In an instant, the elegant flow of the gala shattered, and tension hung thick in the air like a heavy fog in the midst of the silence. 

Poison.

The room erupted into chaos, chairs scraping against the floor and glasses toppling off trays as people hurried out and into the cover of night. It was only a matter of time before swords were drawn and blood was shed, but Morden found himself frozen in the flurry of feathers, silk, and jewels.

“Told you,” Anaïs whispered from behind him, snapping him out of his daze. She looped her arm through his as she swiftly guided them towards the exit. From across the ballroom, he could see that Ace was making his escape as well. “When there’s a bunch of assassins gathered together, someone’s gonna die. Good thing you didn’t drink that champagne.”

Somehow, Morden found it in himself to crack a small smile. “Yeah, good thing.”

At this time of night, even in a place like Whitesummit, the streets were deserted. It was almost enough for Morden to let his guard down and give in to fully dissecting his racing thoughts. He had barely noticed that they’d returned to their lodgings until the click of the lock sounded from behind him. Already, things were starting to piece themselves together.

“I learned a lot from the creeps I danced with,” Anaïs began, pulling a pin out of her hair. She twirled it between her fingers before setting it down on the kitchen table. “I hope you two can fill in the blanks, or else you’ll owe me big time.”

Morden watched as she sat down with a small huff, smoothing her dress out and resting her chin on her hand. “Best way to spot a Jaw Pirate is those gold bangles they wear,” she continued, looking exasperated. “And believe me, I know that for a fact. It’s all that guy I danced with would talk about, how one of those little bracelets could buy me a ship, a crew, cannons, you name it.”

Ace frowned, looking unimpressed. “That’s all you got?” Even though his expression stayed neutral, Morden wondered the exact same thing.

“Gods on Olympus , Ace, let me finish!” she insisted, her hands coming down to the table. “He went on to say that their leader… what was his name again? It started with a J… Oh, Jorund. Yeah, that’s it. Jorund wears four, two on each arm. But he wasn’t at the gala, along with a few others. They’re out looking for someone.” Her eyes fell on Morden, and he could almost sense a bit of sympathy in her expression. “My guess is it’s the girl on that poster of yours.”

So they hadn’t found her yet. That crumpled piece of parchment was still burning a hole into his satchel, but he felt the slightest sense of relief. As reckless as Salem was, he knew she was more than capable of taking care of herself. The sooner he found her, though, the better. Together, they’d figure out a way to put an end to this – he was sure of it. 

“There was another group of them over by that wall with the paintings,” Morden said, feeling a little more confident about this whole thing. “They told me about their hideout, this place below some cliffs, near some old fortress.” 

Ace looked slightly impressed. “How’d you get that out of them? I can’t imagine you used the same strategy my sister did. Your hair isn’t long enough to twirl.”

Suddenly self-conscious, Morden averted his gaze and shrugged, but the corner of his mouth twitched up into a slight smile. “The champagne did a lot of the work for me. Believe me, I’m just as surprised as you are.”

Ace leaned in with a grin, giving him a hearty clap on the shoulder. “Well, no matter your methods, well done, because I think we’ve got your place.” He turned to a nearby shelf, pulling out a map of the Bronze Sea and spreading it across the table. As miffed as Anaïs was at her brother’s constant teasing, Morden noticed she still held the map down at its edges when it curled. 

“Here,” Ace murmured, tracing his finger along a faint, hand-drawn mark on the map. He seemed to have noticed Morden’s curious look, and he smiled slightly. “The Whispering Caverns. Anaïs and I used to use it as a hideout of sorts, along with some others in our line of work, I imagine.”

“It’s not usually drawn on maps. Apparently, the Assassin Syndicate has some connections to higher up places, so the cartographers in Ravenna have been paid for years to keep the place hush-hush,” Anais spoke up, drawing absentminded circles onto the table with her finger. She stilled her movements, looking up at Morden thoughtfully. “Ace and I haven’t been there in a long time, but I think I would’ve remembered seeing pirates running around there. It was almost always deserted, and if there were people there, it’d just be a small camp or two.”

“I heard the staff whispering about this little cove on the island that faces the south, one that you can only enter at low-tide,” Ace said tentatively. “But for all I know, it could just be a rumor. I never saw it when I was there.”

Morden let out a soft sigh. “It’s the best we have,” he murmured, trying to piece together some semblance of a plan but coming up short. From outside, morning gulls called softly above the crash of the ocean against the mountainside. With any luck, the dawn might bring some clarity.

After a few days of preparation, Morden found himself back at the edge of the mountainside, staring out over the endless sea. He still didn’t have a solid plan, and his time in Whitesummit was starting to wear thin. Staying any longer felt like tempting fate, not to mention testing the Rens’ hospitality.

“We’d come with you if we could, you know,” Anais said softly, handing him his satchel.

Morden slung his bag over his shoulder, giving her a sympathetic shrug. Her quiet earnestness took him by surprise, but he appreciated it nonetheless. “I wouldn’t ask you to,” he responded. “You two have done enough already.” Allies or not now, their names were still circulating around the bounty boards. If someone else got hurt on his behalf, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to handle it.

“Consider your favor repaid,” Ace quipped, reaching out for a handshake. A faint smile tugged at the corners of Morden’s mouth as he met Ace’s hand with a firm grip. 

“I must say, Morden, I like you better without that bandana,” Anais remarked just as he was about to board his sailboat, nudging his shoulder with her own. “Lucky girl, that Salem Adventos.”

Morden coughed, looking away. “It’s not like that,” he admitted, a tinge of both uncertainty and nostalgia in his voice before turning his attention to his vessel. Suddenly, he couldn’t untie his lines any faster. 

She narrowed her eyes at him, letting out a quiet laugh. “You really are funny,” she murmured. “And a bad liar. But the two of you really are quite easy on the eyes. If fate ever brings us back together, maybe the three of us could get to know each other better.”

Morden’s brow furrowed slightly at the suggestion, and he kept his gaze fixed on the knot, the flush in his cheeks betraying his otherwise stoic facade. “I wouldn’t count on that,” he replied as evenly as he could manage.

Ace looked like he was going to be sick. “Anaïs, I am right here.”

She ignored her brother, waving as his sails caught the wind and his boat drifted farther from the mountainside. “Fair winds and following seas, Morden!” she called. “If you get to her before those pirates do, please do shoot me a letter!”

As the hours stretched by, the lingering smile on his face started to fade the further he cut into the sea. The wind picked up, whipping through his air, the salty sprays of ocean mist leaving a slick layer over the deck. With the adrenaline of what they’d found at the gala starting to wane into memory, he found himself once again anchored to the weight of the uncertainty that lay ahead.

At a loss for what to do, Morden set his course for Sailor’s Lodge.