Wow, I really suck at keeping up the pace of posting every week. Anyone want to tackle my never-ending to-do list for me? I'm drowning in deadlines seriously. I'm so sorry for the wait, again, but in my defense this is the longest chapter so far and it took me forever to edit. The next chapter is also quite long so I'm considering breaking it in two parts...

Anyway, here you go! Enjoy! I hope it's worth the wait! :)

Oh and thanks again so much for the reviews! :D

xox

Chapter 2 – Counting the Days

He didn't even know how the brawl had started but his two opponents were angry, so angry it was almost comical to watch their red faces contort in frustration, and Sinbad took a guilty pleasure in provoking that rage in every possible way.

Swords collided in the air, in that chorus of distinctive chimes, and it was music to his ears. A strike here, a punch there; Sinbad knew the steps of the dance by heart, and on any normal day he would have been bored by the quarrel, but not today. Today, it felt good.

As he waltzed with his clumsy rivals on the white rooftops overlooking the market square below, Sinbad didn't miss any opportunity to toy with the men, offering cheeky insults and smug advice on where to strike and whistling as if the duel was a piece of cake. Everything he said and did kindled the fury of his opponents who renewed their attacks with more ferocity but Sinbad easily deflected all of their assaults one by one, each time adding a little bit more strength than was needed to bring the men down.

The fight was energizing and liberating, like a long-awaited release.

Ever since Maeve had fallen overboard, he had been restless to punch something, to get into a good bar brawl to unleash the suffocating frustration inside him. It was two weeks now, sixteen days to be exact, since she had left, but it felt like so much longer, as if years had passed since he had last seen her that night in her cabin before the storm had hit. It was no wonder that when the Nomad had made port in this little town he had been so far down on the edge of madness that he had jumped into trouble the minute it presented itself.

To think that when he had held her in his arms two weeks ago, right after she had openly admitted to being scared about all the strange shifts occurring in magic, he had told her that everything would be alright.

He couldn't have told her a bigger lie. Everything was far from being alright.

As one of his opponents charged again, Sinbad countered the strike and punched the man hard in the jaw, releasing a surge of anger in the blow. He hit the man so hard it painfully echoed in his knuckles but he quickly numbed the feeling by delivering a well-aimed kick.

When the gruff ruffian leered at him, Sinbad shook the pain out of his hand and with a snappy reply of his own before their swords met again, he side-stepped and elbowed the thug in the back, right on time to block the swing of his other opponent, grip his wrist and flip him over.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that Rongar was watching him from down below while savoring a fruit, and he wondered if he and the others had noticed their captain's growing edginess in the last few days. If they had, they hadn't addressed it and Sinbad was glad. He didn't think he would ever be able to openly speak about Maeve anytime soon.

The only other person who seemed to be indulging in the fight was Doubar, and Sinbad wondered if his brother was using the quarrel as a therapeutic activity like him or if he was only trying to show some sort of solidarity. Either way, Sinbad was thankful. It made him feel not quite so alone in his unbearable grief.

Feeling a satisfactory smile stretch his lips as he watched his brother shove a man towards Rongar who then sent him splashing in a trough, Sinbad gladly returned to his own fight.

"Up here!" he tapped his cheek and jumped back as his opponent tried to slash him across the middle. "No, up here!" Sinbad indicated again while the other man repeated the same pointless strike. "Come on, you can do better than that!"

Sinbad deflected the man's sword again and kicked him, one to send him down a narrow staircase between the buildings, two to drive him back towards the edge of the landing that opened up to the market place below, and three to send him flying down into a pile of hay.

Before his adversary could crawl out of the straw though, Sinbad jumped out of the opening as well and gripped the swinging load of provisions hanging in a net above the street. He let go and landed swiftly on his feet, ready to meet the fury of his fuming rival.

"I'll carve you in two!" the man growled, his colorless shirt covered in straws of hay.

"So you keep saying," Sinbad baited him once more, enjoying the rush of blood in his body.

The man charged again but Sinbad ducked out of the way, allowing the sword to carve a melon in two for Firouz and Bryn to enjoy, while Doubar shoved his own opponent face-first into the same pile of hay.

It felt good.

It felt normal, as if nothing had changed at all.

But Maeve wasn't there. Everything had changed.

Her fiery head of hair was nowhere in sight. She wasn't by the jewelry stand admiring the fine work of artists as they displayed their beautiful necklaces and earrings and pendants and rings. She never bought such things but she loved looking at them anyway.

She wasn't by the clothing stalls either, running her fingers on scarves and cloaks and dresses, feeling their soft textures and studying their pretty floral patterns.

She wasn't crouched down with a group of children with a loving smile on her face, letting them pet Dermott tentatively with their tiny hands.

She was gone.

Sixteen days and Sinbad was already losing his mind.

Reaching his wits' end, he swung his sword at his opponent, throwing him off balance, then grabbed a fistful of the man's shirt on his back and angrily pushed him against the stone ledge besides Rongar, pressing his head down on a sack of grain.

Sixteen days and he feared how many more days he would have to count before he could see her again.

And then his bracelet glowed.

Sinbad stared down at the rainbow pattern and felt his heart skip a beat. The only moments his bracelet glowed was when danger was lurking close by or when someone was in trouble, or to conjure up magic he didn't control nor understand.

"Enough fun, I've got to go," he muttered as he released the man's head.

Hundreds of questions began colliding in his head, but his opponent wasn't done with their confrontation yet.

"I'll kill you," he threatened with a growl.

Sinbad ducked as the man flung his arm around, and promptly kneed him in the stomach to drive the wind from his lungs. Then he grabbed the man by his tuff of blond hair, wheeled him around and looked him straight in the eye as the man winced in pain.

"Happy landing," Sinbad warned before he rammed the hilt of his sword in the man's face, sending him crashing into a table behind which split in half with a clatter of broken glass as the bowls displayed on its surface shattered on the ground.

"Everyone, grab your things! We're setting sail!" Sinbad called out to the crew, his pulse already racing along with his thoughts as he tried to figure out what the call of his bracelet meant. In the back of his mind he was hoping beyond hope that it was Master Dim-Dim, but he knew better than let himself be fooled by such a little spark of colorful light.

His mentor had snatched Maeve away from him, he wouldn't just give her back to him after merely sixteen days.

"Sinbad," Doubar warned carefully as Sinbad strolled towards him.

Noticing his brother glancing at something behind him over his shoulder, Sinbad turned around and saw his angry rival standing up from the debris of the smashed table and charging him with both arms raised above his head to cleave him in two with his blade.

But Sinbad had had enough. He had released enough of the pent-up frustrations inside him and this fight was over, so he side-stepped at the last second and sliced through the net holding the load of the provisions he had previously swung down from. The content crashed down on the raging man, burying and pinning him on the ground for good where he wouldn't get up again anytime soon.

Doubar's thunderous laugh rang in the market square as Sinbad sheathed his sword.

"Where are we headed?" Firouz asked as he trotted after him along with the others.

Sinbad felt a twinge in his heart. "Wherever fate takes us." He tapped his bracelet and strolled past the scientist, heading out of the market square and back to the docks.

"I don't understand. Why are we leaving?" Bryn inquired with a puzzled frown as she caught up with him.

Sinbad raised his wrist again as an answer. "It glowed. It usually means someone is in trouble."

"That's strange." She looked down at her own bracelet. "Mine didn't do anything."

"I stopped asking questions about that bracelet of his a long time ago," Doubar commented from the rear.

"Maybe it's a call from Master Dim-Dim?" Firouz proposed hopefully, obliviously twisting the knife deeper into the wound.

Sinbad looked in the distance as the main mast of the Nomad slowly rose in the sky as they neared the docks, his heartrate accelerating in anticipation as he quietly wrestled with himself not to hope in vain for the impossible. "We're about to find out."

Right now, there was nothing else to do but follow the magical call back to where it was beckoning him, and in the meantime, as much as he tried to block the memory while his hand absently reached for the golden pin in his pocket, his mind took him back to the last time his bracelet had glowed…

"I was beginning to wonder where you had gone off to," Sinbad said quietly as he approached her on the beach, the sunset casting a soft golden glow on her tormented face.

She was sitting with her legs stretched out before her in the sand, her back resting against a rock covered in green moss, her broadsword planted in the sand off to the side, and her fingers were curled around the neck of a bottle of ale.

She looked up at him when she heard him, her lips curving in a small smile that didn't reach her eyes. "I didn't really have a festive mood to begin with," she said sadly, not even trying to put up a mask to pretend she was fine.

Sinbad winced inwardly at her words, feeling a pang of sorrow for her.

Back onboard the Nomad earlier that day she had confided in him about Rumina's survival despite the explosion. She had been crushed that their attempt to defeat her had once again failed, and her painful disappointment had crushed him twice over. He had held her in his arms, softly rocking her as Skull Mountain crumbled down in the distance and the others cheered victoriously. And somehow, she had found the strength to see the glass half full, cheering herself up to celebrate their victory even if he knew she probably wanted nothing more than to excuse herself to mourn her loss quietly, away from an oblivious crowd indulging in pointless festivities.

He had done his best to keep her company during the evening, to offer her every small gesture of compassion he could think of to give her the support he knew she needed but would never admit, like touching her shoulder when he would get up to fetch more food, or press his hand at the small of her back as they wandered through the joyful streets, or smile at her when their eyes locked during a conversation with random villagers.

But despite his vigilance, somewhere half-way during the party she had managed to slip away from him, and he knew that at that point her gloomy reality had caught up with her to drag her down, pushing her somewhere he couldn't catch her.

He had given her an hour before he started looking for her, an hour to brood things over in the comforting solitude he knew she needed, but an hour had been the longest he could bear, his worry for her slowly driving him over the edge until he could stand it no longer.

He had excused himself to Aptor and told the crew he was going for a walk to stretch his legs, and when his boots had hit the beach's sand, Dermott's gentle flap of wings in the sky had guided him straight to her.

Sinbad unsheathed his sword and planted it in the sand next to hers, then he lowered himself down to sit beside her against the large moss-covered rock. "That won't help you, you know," he said, pointing at the bottle she was balancing on her thigh.

"I know," she replied blankly, avoiding his eyes. "But it numbs the pain for a while."

He felt his heart break a little bit again as she lifted the bottle and took a sip, and he wished he could erase the crushing sadness in her distant gaze. He hesitated a moment before speaking, watching the rolling waves gently crashing on shore a couple of yards in front of them. Then after a few moments of heavy silence, he softly found his voice. "You don't have to carry that pain alone, Maeve. I'm here."

She didn't look at him, her eyes instead riveted to the ocean as if to steel herself, and the ongoing quiet debate in her head once again ended with her shaking her head sadly. "It's my burden to bear. Not yours."

Sinbad opened his mouth to gently protest but she quickly turned to face him and cut him off.

"Not yet." She looked at him then, a mixture of guilt and sorrow in her deep brown eyes, silently apologizing for not being able to tell him the secret he wished she could trust him with, and silently pleading him to simply drop the subject for tonight.

Sinbad held her gaze, suppressing the urge to voice his latest theories on that painful secret she was guarding while the feeling of helplessness once again washed over him. Having no other choice with her looking at him so sadly, he nodded and obliged to her request. "Well, in that case," he declared, his hand stretching out to steal the bottle from her grasp and bringing it to his lips so he could at least share the pain with her, no matter if she wanted him to or not.

He could tell she was glad though when a little genuine smile stretched her lips and he handed her back the bottle. She drank again, sealing their silent agreement, and then they both gazed at the swaying waves before them, letting the silence engulf them in a comforting bubble while the sunset offered them a stunning view with a myriad of soothing colors.

Sinbad felt like he could stay right here in this very spot forever, with her by his side. The moment was far from being perfect considering the sad circumstances of the situation, but all those crushing moments he collected with her were tragically beautiful and he wouldn't trade them for anything in the world. For better or for worse, his place was right here with her.

"I'll tell the others about Rumina when we're back at sea," she said quietly, yanking him out of his thoughts. "At least they'll be able to enjoy the feeling of victory a little bit longer."

Saddened by her words, Sinbad coated his voice with reassurance. "They'll be just as motivated as I am to keep on trying to defeat her once and for all."

She smiled, and he could see she was battling to erase the sorrow in her eyes so he wouldn't see it. "You should be celebrating with them. You deserve it."

"So do you," he pointed out. "If it hadn't been for your fire power, those harpies would have mauled us back there."

She smiled again, accepting the credit he was giving her but quickly sharing it as well. "Perhaps, but I do recall Firouz saving the day with those Colossus…"

"True," Sinbad conceded. "But remind me to tell him he's got lousy timing."

Her eyes locked with his at his words, in one of those arresting moment when the world seemed to vanish and it was just the two of them.

They both knew what he was referring to; that split of second when they had almost kissed, inches apart, right before the scientist had called them back to reality before it was too late.

Sinbad's heart ached to rewind time and go back to that moment, his eyes drifting down to her lips at the memory, her own eyes drifting to his.

But then she caught herself and quickly averted her gaze. "You don't have to stay here to keep me company," she said, clearing her throat. "I'm sure there's a line-up of girls waiting to dance with you at the party."

Sinbad watched as she retreated back into her shell, wondering why she always needed him to remind her that all the other girls didn't matter to him. "I don't feel like dancing. Not when the person I want to dance with is spending the evening with a bottle of cheap ale."

"Cheap but strong," she replied, still not looking at him. "You should be at the party. They'll expect you to be there."

At her second insistence that he should leave her alone, he took a breath and decided to opt for another method. "If you really want me to go, I'll go."

She looked at him this time, caught off guard by the fact that the decision was now hers to make and not his, and she quickly tried to retreat behind her mask of strength and independence to dodge the choice and hand it back to him. "I'm a big girl, Sinbad. I'll be fine."

But Sinbad wouldn't let her. "I know." And he tilted his head to catch her eye before she could look away again. "I'm asking you whether you want me to leave or not," he said carefully, hoping he wouldn't lose her behind those walls she was so good at erecting around herself to keep him out. "Because there's no place I'd rather be."

He wouldn't retreat this time. In the past year whenever she pushed him away with her stubborn pride, he suspected that half the time what she really wanted was for him to stay, and too often he had not, simply walking away to give her the space he thought she needed instead.

But this time he wouldn't. Not unless she clearly told him she wanted him to go, and not just because she was pretending to be tough.

She held his gaze for a long moment, losing herself in his eyes as if she wanted nothing more than to lean into him so he could hold her, and he could almost see her defenses crumbling down, one by one as she let them go, until she finally whispered an answer. "I'll take a rain check on that dance…"

It wasn't the answer he had been hoping for. His heart sank. But he had wanted her to make a choice and she had; she really wanted to be left alone after all, and he couldn't refuse it to her now.

"Alright then," he yielded, smiling sadly while he quietly began to harden himself up to return to the festivities which he no longer had any desire to join.

But when he pushed himself away from the moss-colored rock to stand up, her hand slipped in his to hold him back.

"…but I don't want you to go."

He looked back at her, searching her eyes, and he saw it instantly, clear as water.

She wanted him to stay. With her. And he felt his heart swell and break at the same time, because while it meant she was trusting him with her vulnerability, it also meant that the quiet sorrow she was battling was actually way more painful than he originally thought it was.

He settled back against the rock by her side, and instinctively opened his arm out for her, circling it around her shoulders protectively. She molded against him right away, nestling in his embrace and lowering her head in the crook of his neck, and he held her without a word, his thumb gently massaging her shoulder.

Neither of them needed to speak now. There was just the ocean and the waves, and the sinking sun in the distance disappearing below the horizon in an explosion of golden fiery colors, while the rest of the sky slowly faded in different shades of pale and dark blues. An eternity could have passed and he wouldn't have noticed.

"Do you really believe everything happens for a reason?" she asked him softly.

"Depends on what happens I guess," he replied, pondering on Master Dim-Dim's favorite maxim. "We've seen our fair share of suffering in our travels; evil oppression, poverty, sickness, war…There shouldn't be a purpose for all that."

"I wish Rumina's path had never crossed mine," she spoke again tiredly, the crushing sadness returning in her voice. "But then none of this would have happened. I never would have met Dim-Dim and embarked on the Nomad…" She paused, her hand absently reaching for his in his lap, warm and light. "I never would have met you."

The unexpected gesture touched him to the core, his heart swelling, and he instantly gave her hand a gentle squeeze in return. It was the second time today she was reaching for his hand like that. The first time had been earlier on the Nomad after the explosion of Skull Mountain, right after their embrace when she had momentarily held his hand, lingering in the intimacy of the moment as if seeking comfort from his touch a little bit longer. But she had quickly caught herself before the awkwardness could settle in, suggesting that they joined the others to celebrate their small victory, even if she had no desire to.

But she didn't catch herself this time. This time she simply held his hand, softly running her thumb over his knuckles without any embarrassment, and he suspected she was simply too exhausted to care.

"I don't know what to wish for anymore," she spoke again defeatedly, her voice drifting off over the rolling waves.

Heartbroken, Sinbad laced his fingers through hers. "You can wish for the future," he replied softly, leaning his head down to speak against her forehead. "I'm sure it has a lot of wonderful things left in store for us."

He felt her smile against him. "I hope so."

Then slowly, her fingers began to dance with his, lacing and unlacing, caressing, feeling, as if she was trying to engrave every little detail of his touch in her mind. His own hand responded with the same tenderness, feeling, brushing, grazing, losing himself in the silk of her skin and its warmth, and he realized that this right now was one of the most intimate moments they had ever shared since their single kiss a few months ago, which had been a relieved impulse out of the blue whereas their current bubble of intimacy was something deliberate.

It had never occurred to him before, but as he watched their fingers entwined together tenderly, he realized that hands were pretty much one of the most intimate body parts. Lips were definitely intimate, but hands…hands were something entirely different, something much more special.

Hands were literally a person's main tools for everything, feeling, sensing, working. He used his hands everyday to sail the Nomad, to steer the tiller and tie knots, he used them to fight when he needed to, to clutch his sword and ball them into fists to punch his opponents, he used them to eat, to write, to share, to protect...

He did everything with his hands, but it was only seldom that he touched somebody else's hands, except when it was to welcome an amiable shake or bid a safe farewell. And yet here he was, touching Maeve's hand for neither of those reasons, a hand she used to pet Dermott, to conjure up magic, to brush her hair, a hand that was now protectively snuggled up in his, their fingers toying and feeling each other, and he felt incredibly lucky to have that privilege, his heart painfully swelling.

As they silently watched the purple sunset with its myriad of colors ripping the distant sky, he wished he could somehow freeze the moment in time so it could last forever, but then he felt Maeve's hand slowly slip from his grasp and travel up to his wrist, the tip of her fingers grazing his bracelet as she studied the subtle hues of colors.

"I really wish I could crack the mystery behind this thing," she said absently, her mind leaving its gloomy confines to latch on to something else distractingly.

"That makes two of us," he replied, glancing down at the curious piece of jewelry that had appeared on his wrist about three years ago, when he'd woken up on a deserted island after a nasty storm had sunk he and Doubar's previous ship. He still couldn't explain what had happened that night, but he was glad the mystery of his bracelet was diverting Maeve's thoughts from today's hardships.

"I can't believe Dim-Dim never told you anything about it," she mused out loud. "Surely, he must have known something…"

"Perhaps," he shrugged, silently aching to hold her hand again. "When I asked him about it on the Isle of Dawn he simply said that everything happens for a reason."

She snarled at the typical wizard-like response. "Of course." Then she paused, her head tilting to the side in puzzlement as she took a closer look at his wrist. "Does it always do that?"

"What?" He lifted his wrist to take a better look at where she was pointing, noticing for the first time the tiny ripples of white light moving through the usual set of colors. "I've never seen those before," he observed curiously, the frown on his face deepening when the strange ripples vanished right after Maeve removed her fingers. "I think you're doing that."

"What?" Sitting up straighter, she took his wrist again to take a second look at his bracelet, the soft ripples of light returning instantly to surf amidst the colors. She looked completely clueless and fascinated at the same time. "How curious…"

"Any idea?" Sinbad lifted an eyebrow.

Maeve shook her head in thought. "Maybe my magic is triggering some sort of response…" She studied his bracelet more closely, testing the correlation between the withdrawal of her touch and the disappearance of the ripples, and their return when her fingers grazed the colorful surface again.

Silently pondering on the same possibility, Sinbad could unfortunately offer no further enlightenment on the matter. As far as he could remember, Maeve had already often racked her brain on the significance of his bracelet back in the first few days when she had become a part of his crew, asking questions and searching for answers in her books, but he was pretty sure she had never actually touched his bracelet directly like she did just now, which was probably why they had never witnessed the curious white ripples before.

He had absolutely no idea what they could possibly mean, and while this new mystery prodded many questions in his head, right now he was just glad it was keeping her mind busy.

"Why would it do that?" He asked, fueling her interrogations to occupy her. "When I showed it to Master Dim-Dim a year ago, nothing happened. Why would it react only to you?"

"That's a good question," she replied, lost in thoughts of her own, still intently focused on the colorful canvas of his bracelet until she decidedly sat back a little and stared hard at it.

The concentration on her face almost comical, Sinbad nearly chuckled amusingly. "What are you doing?"

"Testing if I can somehow activate it without touch," she explained, slightly straining her eyes in the effort, although she clearly looked like she had no clue what she was supposed to do. After a few seconds when nothing happened despite her efforts, she simply threw him a look. "Maybe you're doing it."

Sinbad chuckled for real this time, with a tint of sarcasm in his voice. "Right, because I'm so competent in the art of magic."

"Who knows?" Maeve insisted optimistically. "You did magic before. Those rune stones you used in the City of Mist, or when you turned Goz back into his human form..."

"The bracelet did magic," he corrected. "I did nothing."

She grew silent then, her attention subtly shifting, and Sinbad watched as her eyes darted back to the beach where a familiar flap of wings fluttered from one rock to another by the waves. Before he could do anything though, he saw her fall back into the gloom of her thoughts and he cursed himself for not being fast enough to catch her on time.

Following her gaze to Dermott's small form in the distance, he knew exactly where her thoughts had retreated to, and as he looked down at his bracelet regretfully, he once again wished he could sweep her sorrow and her grief away.

"I'm sorry I can't turn him back," he said softly, earning himself a startled look as both surprise and shock stamped themselves on her features.

Sinbad knew his words were bold and that he was threading on a dangerous edge, but the thing was that he had been suspecting the truth about Dermott ever since the beginning, ever since the day he had defeated Turok. Back then, everyone had been convinced that Rumina had perished as well during the stony collapse of the Isle of Tears, but Maeve had sadly assured him of her survival by vaguely indicating that Dermott was still his own self.

Right then he hadn't known what she meant, and he had twisted her words in his head over and over again, trying to decipher the hidden meaning behind them, and the only conclusion he had come up with was that Dermott was more than he appeared to be, and that given the chance when Rumina was finally defeated, his appearance would somehow magically change. Change into what he didn't know, but a human being sounded like a pretty good guess considering how Maeve treated the loyal hawk.

His theory had then later been reinforced when the crew rescued him from Rumina's lair and he told them the tale of how his bracelet had miraculously freed Goz from the curse Rumina had cast upon him. Maeve's reaction had been quite revealing that night, even if she had worked hard not to let her composure slip. She had showered him with precise questions, asking how exactly he had managed to break the spell and the part his bracelet had played in the process, and the look in her eyes when he then petted Dermott, the silent, eager expectation to see whether he could somehow repeat the prowess by casually touching him, followed by the crushing disappointment on her face when nothing happened…The others hadn't seen it that day, but all the subtleties of her behaviour had been confirmation that his theory was a good one; that Dermott was indeed a human being.

He had long speculated on his real identity, wondering if he was a friend of Maeve's, her cousin, her brother, even a lover perhaps, but that was information only she could provide and he had no intention to pry for an answer at the moment. She had made it clear she had no desire to open up on the matter tonight and he wanted to respect that. He simply wanted her to know that his bracelet somehow refused to work on him, no matter how much he wished it. He knew she was already aware of that sad reality, but the spirits only knew how many more times he had attempted to make his bracelet work, on all those late-night shifts he had shared at the tiller with the hawk. But each time nothing had happened. It just seemed that no matter how much he wanted it, restoring Dermott to his true form was a gift he couldn't offer her.

Eyes darting between the stunned look on her face, the bracelet on his wrist and Dermott's figure down the shoreline, he chose his next words carefully.

"I don't know what happened, Maeve, and I don't know who he is, but I know Dermott is more than he appears to be." Feeling like he was trespassing on the secret she so protectively guarded, he avoided her gaze and instead regretfully lifted his wrist, glancing down at the mix of colors on his bracelet. "I've tried to use it on him," he admitted sadly. "multiple times, but it never worked. I'm sorry."

For a moment, the only sound that hung between them was the rolling of the waves as they crashed on the beach, gradually sucking the sand into the depth of the ocean with each new pull.

Maeve simply stared at him, quietly registering his words and grasping everything they implied, and after shifting past her initial shock, somehow quietly acknowledging everything he had correctly figured out, she shook her head regretfully.

"It's not your fault," she said desolately, dismissing his responsibility. "Some curses are more difficult to break, like this one it would seem, after all those years…"

Sinbad let out a small breath he didn't know he had been holding. She wasn't mad at him. He had just opened a door into the secrets of her life and she wasn't shutting it in his face. He knew it was a small victory to celebrate, but before he could even rejoice over his little accomplishment he saw her eyes seeking Dermott's figure down the shore line again, the sadness threatening to swallow her once more and he knew perfectly well that its heavy burden could result in her shooing him away from the threshold he had worked so hard to reach.

But Sinbad would not yield this time. He had made it as far as the threshold and the door was finally open, even if just for a tiny crack, but it was enough for him to jam a foot in it, preventing her from closing it down.

And so before the ghosts in her head could drag her down into haunting memories, he reached out to gently cup the side of her face and locked eyes with her resolutely, his thumb caressing her cheek. "We'll figure it out. Together."

Her eyes locked with his, latching on to his own resolve. "I know." And a little smile, a sweet, emotional, stubborn smile curved the corner of her lips, one that betrayed how truly glad she was to have him by her side at this very moment.

Sinbad mirrored it instantly, and when she nestled in his embrace again and molded against his side, her head finding its place on his shoulder, her hand reaching for his in his lap and her fingers lacing through his unabashedly, he just knew that the door he had just opened wouldn't close anytime soon. He would make sure of it.

Protectively, he wrapped his arm back around her shoulders to resume their previous intimate position and then settled back comfortably against the moss-colored rock behind him.

The sun had finally set, disappearing below the horizon line to leave nothing but a faint halo of pink behind in its wake, while stars were beginning to twinkle high up in the darkening night sky above their heads.

"In the meantime, we still have this puzzle to solve," Maeve said absent-mindedly as her fingers grazed his bracelet, eliciting the little ripples of sparkling white light against the colorful background.

"Tomorrow," he replied, closing his eyes as he rested his head back on the rock and gave her hand a small squeeze.

"Aye, aye, Captain."

His grip on the tiller tightened as he tried to chase away the memory in his head, poorly succeeding at the task while the little twinge in his heart throbbed like an incessant dull pain.

That precious moment he had shared with her that evening would be carved in his memories forever, like writing etched in stones and which no amount of time or wind or rain could ever erase.

That night, after an entire year of building trust with her, he had finally managed to open the well-guarded door to her past, only to have the wicked storm cruelly rob him of its access a couple of days later. To have their relationship severed like that was unbearably unfair, and it filled him with a mix of rage and grief that dangerously threatened to tear him apart.

Hands and fingers softly entwined, they had been so emotionally close…

His thoughts were diverted from their tormenting course when he saw Bryn stepping up to the quarterdeck.

"Interesting way of picking a destination," she commented as she joined his side, her chin tilting to point at his bracelet that was still intermittently pulsing with bright colors every few minutes.

"There's no better guide than the wind of destiny," he replied, attempting a smile.

"Does is happen often?" she asked inquiringly, her interest in their shared piece of jewelry clearly obvious in her voice. "Your bracelet glowing like that?"

"Not really," Sinbad shrugged. "It's rather unpredictable. Sometimes it's a warning for trouble or a sign that someone needs help, and sometimes it just goes off to perform magic I don't understand."

Bryn frowned thoughtfully, gently touching the band of colors on her own wrist. "Maybe someone is calling for you. It would explain why mine didn't glow," she mused, a subtle veil of sorrow falling on her features. "It's never glowed actually; I don't know anyone…"

Sinbad's features softened as he glanced her way, at the emptiness behind her eyes as she tried to remember the pieces of her life, the people she might have known, the places she might have been, a black void of stolen memories.

Feeling helpless, he pointed at her bracelet in an attempt to steer her mood in another direction. "May I?"

Yanked out of her thoughts, she stepped closer with a nod and extended her wrist for him to inspect the mysterious piece of jewelry.

Sinbad adjusted his hold on the tiller and reached out to touch the colorful surface, exposing his own bracelet to her in the process, comparing their design. "They're pretty identical, don't you think?"

"Aye, pretty much," she agreed, her fingertips grazing the band on his wrist to confirm his words.

Sinbad held his breath; she was touching his bracelet, which was exactly what he had hoped she would do when he beckoned her closer to compare them.

With conflicting emotions dwelling inside him, he watched the colors attentively, anxiously waiting for what would happened next. A part of him was hoping the curious white ripples of light would sparkle to life, if only to prompt another brainstorm of hypothesis of what could possibly cause their appearance under the touch of magical practitioners, so that then perhaps together he and Bryn could figure out their significance. But on the other hand, an even bigger part of him, a part that was highly possessive and protective, was fervently hoping that nothing would happen.

He knew it was stupid, but so far Maeve's touch had been the only thing that could generate the glittering ripples and even if he had no clue what it all meant, he wanted it to stay that way. He couldn't quite place his finger on what was bothering him so much about other people also being capable of activating his bracelet, but he guessed it was because in his mind, the sparkling white lights had become deeply connected with the intimate evening he and Maeve had spent at the beach, and it seemed unimaginable to think that someone else might possess the ability to replicate that moment.

It belonged to her. To her and her only.

As his thoughts threatened to drift back to that bittersweet evening again, his hand silently ached on the tiller, his fingers longing for the feel of her skin, for the hand he had securely held, his fingers linked with hers.

Seconds wasted away while he fought the urge to shake the feeling out of his arm, his jaw clenching quietly, and then he realized that nothing was happening. Bryn's oblivious touch was having no success at eliciting the appearance of the mysterious white ripples, his bracelet remaining the same. Her touch had not even triggered the uniform glowing of colors that had begun to pulsate intermittently a few hours ago.

Sinbad quietly let out the breath he had been holding, relieved by the white lights' absence.

"Do you know what they are?" Bryn asked in puzzlement as she removed her hand from his wrist. "Where they come from and why we wear them?"

Sinbad shook his head regretfully. "I'm afraid not."

"But your friend, Dim-Dim, he never told you anything?" she pressed on.

"Nothing of consequence," he replied while the frustration he felt towards his mentor simmered inside him once again.

"That's unfortunate." Bryn looked down in disappointment.

"Sinbad!" Doubar suddenly appeared on deck, a roll of map clasped in his meaty hand as he climbed the three steps to the quarterdeck to join them. "Firouz believes he found our destination! It's-"

"Land ho!" With perfect timing, the sailor perched in the crow's nest called down.

"Let me guess," Sinbad began as his gaze followed the lad's arm who was pointing straight ahead at the outline of approaching land, while the colors on his bracelet glowed once more. "That island?"

Doubar turned around to take a look himself. "Aye, that would be Jakku Island."

"Perfect," Sinbad declared. "Prepare the longboat. I believe we have an appointment with destiny."

His bracelet glowed again almost in confirmation, and the twinge in his heart was back.

If someone really was calling for him, then there was only one person he desperately wanted to rescue.

But he already knew she wouldn't be there.