Wings of Anemos

by HyrulianJedi

Generations ago, the Kings of Anemos took their people and fled the world, becoming little more than a myth. When myths come alive, however, Weyard's most recent heroes find themselves struggling to balance their own issues in this new world against the future of Weyard itself, learning the price some must pay to be heroes.

18. The Heart Never Lies

Golden Sun: Wings of Anemos

Chapter 18 – The Heart Never Lies

- \/\/ -

His hands curled into fists.

Laughter filled the air around Ivan. Usually it became background noise after a moment, like the cicadas of summer, a constant drone that he could only hear if he focused on it. It made the sound bearable, allowed him to ignore it and its origin more easily.

He grit his teeth behind closed lips, trying to force that sound into the back of his mind, but it had already crossed the threshold of anger, refusing to leave. His focus on the sound, willing it to fade, only kindled his irritation and frustration further. Each rise in pitch sent another sharp, red spike through his mind as his eyes drifted out of focus, unwilling to see the faces of his tormentors any longer.

One of them noticed his balled hands, idly wondering if the boy would swing. The question provoked another round of laughter from the others as they closed the circle around him.

Ivan could feel the anger welling in his mind, the heavy storm threatening to overflow the emotion and spill it everywhere. It would not be the first fight he had. He doubted it would be the last. Layana would be disappointed if she found out, but even her stern tone warbled and vanished beneath the rising tide.

With the cry of a young boy wanting to be a wild animal, Ivan lunged forward. The air went still. He did not swing, as the other boy had surmised; punching things hurt. He shoved both arms against the other boy's chest, taking a vicious pleasure in his surprised expression. When he touched the other boy, the wind howled around him briefly, whipping at his hair and clothes.

All of the other children stumbled back, buffeted by the gust, but the one Ivan touched launched back as if struck by a horse, rather than a young child. He tumbled across the cobblestones a few times before stopping, though he picked himself up quickly. His eyes had gone wide and he ignored the small cut along his forearm. The blood pooled and dripped from the wound in silence, though Ivan heard the splatter it made on the stone all too well.

The other boy spat a single word before leaving with the others.

Ivan stood rooted to the spot until they had vanished down some side street a distance away, and then he stood there still for some time after. His eyes shifted from the mouth of the street they disappeared into to the small red stain in the street before him.

His hands uncurled and fell limp.

- \/\/ -

Garet crossed his arms. "No. Hell no. Absolutely not."

Kraden rolled his eyes. "Garet, please. I wouldn't-"

"Not a chance in hell. No way. Nuh-uh." He kept his eyes fixed firmly on the old man. "I can say 'no' in a thousand different ways. Want me to keep going?"

"Garet-"

"Nope. Not happening. Not if your life depended on it. Never gonna happen."

Kraden turned towards Isaac, pleading with the young man silently. Isaac nodded, then reached out and gently touched Garet on the shoulder.

The Martian stopped his stream, glancing over at his friend. "You're not gonna make me continue this, are you? 'Cause you know where it'll end up."

Isaac shook his head. "Think about this for a minute. Do you think I'd be any more comfortable with this than you?"

Garet stared at him for a moment, then turned away. "No. Which doesn't explain why you look so much more comfortable with it."

"We don't have much of a choice," Ivan said quietly, tilting his head to try and get Garet to look him in the eye, but the man steadfastly kept his gaze locked on the wall, refusing to look at him. "The thought of being alone with her terrifies me far more than it does you, trust me." He took a deep breath, closing his eyes. "But you have to go. We can't stop gathering our assets just because one of the kings moved unexpectedly. We need to react, adapt, and keep focused on our end goal."

"This isn't chess, Ivan," Garet snapped. "You aren't a pawn that we throw away so we can land a checkmate."

"No," he agreed. "I'm the knight, the one who can outmaneuver the invading queen until other pieces can get into position. We need Deadbeard, Garet, and he...doesn't seem like the type who usually helps others. Or wants help. Just servitude."

Garet snorted, crossing his arms. "All the more reason to not bother with him, then. Too much of a risk."

"Everything we do now is a risk," Kraden said quietly.

"It'll take both of us if he fights," Isaac said from behind him. "I'd gladly do it alone if I thought it could happen peacefully, but... I need you there, Garet. I need you to watch my back, because if it comes to a fight, it'll take both of us to take him down."

He shook his head. "I can't-"

A knock on the door interrupted his words. Everyone in the study turned as one of Kraden's alchemists entered the room. "I apologize, but there's contact coming from Anemos."

Garet shared a quick glance with the others in the room, none of them surprised. Sheba had told them her friend would let them know if one of the kings left Anemos, and despite Atropos' arrival the previous night, no contact had been made yet. "I'll check it out," he said, crossing the room to the door, then pausing. "Feel free to find some other solution, in the meantime."

He followed the woman in silence, mulling over the conversation. One of Iodem's contacts had managed to find a captain willing to set out in search of Deadbeard, and arranged a departure for the following morning. The captain wanted to meet with them first, apparently to size them up and set a price for the voyage. With none of the others showing back up yet, though...

Garet felt the fierce frustration flare back up in his chest. He wanted Deadbeard on their side against the Anemoi as much as anyone, but the timing... The goddamned timing... Were the gods laughing at them right now? Had they irritated them so much that they simply wanted to watch the puny mortals flail about in confusion?

He would not allow that. They might be in a bad situation, but he would never let them resort to panic-led decisions. He had already brought up the idea of rescheduling their departure, but Kraden seemed doubtful of that plan. The captain they had found would evidently take the breaking of an agreement like that personally, and be unlikely to work with them again.

They would have to take their chances with that, however. Ivan was too exposed by himself, especially if they had no idea if Atropos was telling the truth, and if she was lying, what her real motives were. If they lost the opportunity to recruit Deadbeard's help, then so be it.

As they reached the lab, Garet followed the woman into it, finding several of the scholars standing nearby a table. He recognized one of the younger ones as Brennan, one of Kraden's most skilled alchemists. He glanced up, said something quietly to the others, then stepped towards Garet. "It's been resonating for several minutes now," Brennan said as he turned back around, leading Garet over to the table. "She keeps asking for Sheba."

Garet stopped at the table, picking up the small tuning fork. He twisted his hand, looking at it from all sides, as if it had instructions written on it. "Uh...hello?" he said, holding the tool up to his mouth. He pulled it back and watched it for a second, but when no response came, he glanced back at the young alchemist for help.

"It's a kind of alchemy tool," Brennan said. "Use it the same way, then talk into it."

Nodding, the Valean pushed a small portion of his will into the tuning fork. Immediately he felt it thrum in his hand, as if struck by a piece of metal. "Hello?" he said again.

"Who is this?" a woman's voice answered back immediately.

"If I said Sheba, would you believe me?" Silence answered him and he found himself unable to contain his grin. "Guess not. This is a friend of Sheba's."

"What? Where is Sheba?" the woman asked, her voice turning urgent.

Garet glanced around him and suddenly felt a bit foolish for talking to a piece of metal. Evidently no one other than the holder could hear the voice at the other end. He turned around and faced the wall, putting the curious glances of the scholars and alchemists on his back. "She went to take care of some things," he said vaguely, not wanting to announce where she had gone. "She's fine. Who is this?"

"Aisa," the woman said, then quickly continued. "She might not be fine. Or maybe she's safer now, I don't know."

"That's helpful," Garet said, rolling his eyes before he remembered she would be unable to see it. "What are you talking about?"

Aisa hesitated for a moment, then said, "My mother is missing. King Atropos. She vanished. No one knows where she is or went."

"Oh, that. She's here, actually," the man said, frowning. They didn't realize this the night before?

"What?!"

Garet winced at how loud the woman's voice echoed in his head. He felt a sharp pain settle behind his left temple. "Ow, please don't do that. But yeah, she showed up here last night."

She kept her silence as Garet outlined the king's arrival, and the reasoning she had given Ivan. "Is she... Is she alright?" Aisa asked after a long pause.

Garet nodded, then rolled his eyes at himself. "Yeah. At least, she'll live. None of it's life-threatening, and a doctor already saw to everything. Her wounds make me cringe, though."

"Where are you? I want to see her."

The Valean hesitated. Giving out their location seemed like a terrible idea. If Atropos was telling the truth, then it could bring Lachesis down onto their heads in an attempt to finish what he started. If the sounds of Clotho's battle had been any indication, the collision of those two forces would devastate an already wounded Tolbi. And after he finished with her, he, Isaac, and Ivan would be around for dessert.

If she was lying, though, then Lachesis would already know where they were, of course. In that case, why had they not simply wiped them out yet?

Sheba.

They would be waiting for Sheba.

Lurk in wait until the prize they were after showed itself, then grab her while blasting everyone else. That seemed to fit pretty well, actually, and went with Atropos' story about wanting Sheba for the purposes of peace.

The injuries failed to match the theory, though, Garet realized. Why would Atropos deliberately place herself in such pain simply to get the girl back? From his understanding, the kings wanted Sheba back because she belonged to them, more or less. It was a possessive thing. He doubted they would brutalize themselves like that simply for a trophy, or a point of pride.

So. Either Atropos had come for something else, or Sheba held some other meaning to the kings, something the girl remained in the dark about.

As for Aisa... Sheba trusted her completely, and after what she had told them of her family there, Garet doubted she would trust anyone lightly. If Aisa had no ill intentions, then she simply wanted to see her injured mother out of a daughter's concern. Lachesis would not be involved. And if Atropos was lying, then having her daughter here might foil whatever the woman had planned.

And in that case... Garet frowned in thought for a few moments more, then nodded at last, growing annoyed at his habit of forgetting that Aisa could not see him. "Alright. But aren't you supposed to be our contact there?"

"I'll pass that to Morta. She's already been part of it."

"Okay." Garet took a deep breath, praying he was not about to kill them all. "We're in Tolbi. The palace. Tell them Garet sent you."

"Thank you," she said, relief evident in her voice, and the tiny vibrations of the tuning fork ceased.

Garet stared at it for a moment, then placed it back on the desk, frowning. He glanced up at Brennan and nodded. "Thanks. If anyone else comes over it, let us know."

Brennan shook his head, then picked up the tool and handed it back. "Take it. We should have everything we need from it, and we're trying to make a pair right now, anyway."

The tuning fork slid into one of Garet's pockets. "What about that staff thing. Had any luck with that?"

"Yes, actually, quite a bit." he said. "The concepts proved to be fairly simple, but limited in range. Not unexpected, given the size of Anemos. We've been working on ways to increase it, and accurately."

Garet nodded, giving the alchemists his farewell, then climbing the stairs back out of the lab. He paused at the intersecting hallways, glancing back towards Kraden's study, then stepped over to a pair of guards making their rounds. "Can you guys do me a favor and deliver a pair of messages? Let Kraden know that I'm taking some alone time in my room to think about it, and let the guards at the front know I'm expecting someone, and to bring them up."

They nodded to him and he thanked them, turning around. If he walked back in there now, he would probably just start shouting, even if he thought he found a solution. Hell, they might start shouting at him, he realized. The thought made him grin.

When he reached his room, he kicked off his boots and dropped on his stomach onto his bed, burying his face into his pillow, relishing the comfortable smothering.

A knock on the door forced his head back up. He started to grumble to himself about never getting a moment to himself when he noticed his slightly blurred vision and the dried drool on the corner of his mouth. Sleep had not surprised him like that in some time.

He pushed himself from the bed, stepped into his boots, and opened the door, finding a young woman standing in front of him, not much older than he. His eyes flickered over her blond hair and light eyes, finding them very familiar. "You're Aisa."

She nodded. "I am. You must be Garet."

"Yep." He stepped outside and shut the door behind him. "I'm guessing you want to see your mother." Without waiting for an answer, he stepped past the woman and motioned for her to follow.

Aisa followed him in silence, earning herself little more than a quick glance from anyone they passed. Garet supposed people would never really recognize an Anemian, not without the green hair. Even then, though, how many people knew it to be a trademark of Anemos?

He nodded to the guard outside Atropos' door and stepped in after Aisa. The king had sat up a bit farther in her bed, propped up with another pillow, though the curtains remained open, flooding the room with the late afternoon light.

Atropos turned her head as the door shut, her eyes settling on her daughter immediately. For a moment she simply stared at Aisa, her face as blank as the remainder of the room, but before she could say anything, the young woman threw herself to the bed. She collapsed partially on it, her arms flying around her mother's neck.

"I was so worried about you, mother," she said.

Garet did not miss the slight stutter in her words, caught in the raw emotion pouring from her voice. He looked away from the reunion, glancing around the rest of the room, scanning for anything that might have been left in it. They had thoroughly cleaned it of everything bar the furniture already, but he found the urge to inspect it again undeniable.

Despite how infrequently he read, and how much he argued with Ivan about what a waste of space such large bookshelves were, he still found the empty shelves that towered over him eerie. They were not meant to look so barren. The desk gave the same impression, void of anything that one might use at a desk. Only the chair remained, slid beneath it snugly.

He pulled that out and seated himself in the corner, keeping both mother and daughter in his sight. He had no particular desire to listen in on their conversation, but the limited distance made such a desire irrelevant.

Their conversation covered most of the same points that Ivan's had earlier that morning. He kept his ears open during that, but everything Atropos said matched what she had told them. Once Aisa satisfied herself with the details, the room fell quiet as she simply sat, holding her mother's hand within her own.

After giving them a respectful time together, Garet stood up and cleared his throat. Aisa looked up at him and nodded, then turned back to her mother. "I'm here for you, mother. Just send for me."

When Garet opened the door again, he found Isaac standing in the hallway, a confused expression on his face. As Aisa emerged behind him, the expression grew deeper, then collapsed into anger. "Garet... You..."

He gestured sharply for Isaac to be quiet, then shut the door. "Study. Go."

Isaac frowned, grit his teeth, and practically stomped off towards Kraden's study. Ivan, who had been only a short distance down the hall, cast a questioning glance at Garet. When the Valean returned the look with a steady stare, Ivan nodded slightly, following behind Isaac.

Garet watched them go, then turned back to Aisa. "We need to have a talk together. All of us. I, uh...didn't really ask anyone before telling you where we were."

Understanding dawned on Aisa's face immediately. "They don't trust me."

"They don't know what the hell's going on," Garet said with a shrug, then began to walk down the hall as well. "But I'm letting you know ahead of time, so you aren't surprised: I didn't do this entirely for you."

The woman nodded and said nothing, following him to the study. Garet paused at the door to let her in first, then ensured it was firmly shut behind him.

Three pairs of eyes met him when he turned around, all holding varying degrees of accusation. "Okay, look," he began, holding his hands up. "I can explain."

"For starters, I think we could use some introductions," Kraden said, his voice stern. "Miss Urania, I presume. To which prince do we have the honor of speaking to?"

"I am Aisa," she said, bowing deeply to the scholar. As she stood back up, she pushed her braid back over her shoulder from where it had fallen. "I am assuming you are more of Sheba's friends?"

Isaac opened his mouth to say something, but Garet recognized the fire in his expression all too well and cut him off. "Okay, screw introductions, I'm not gonna sit here and dance around this all day. Look," he said, glancing at the other three, "Sheba trusts her. Since she's hardly a stranger to being held prisoner, I think I'll take her judgment on who's trustworthy. Aisa wanted to see her mother, so I told her to come here. At least I can repay the favor she did for Sheba."

He turned back to the Anemian prince. "Hard truth: I trust you, but not your mother. I don't know what's going on here. She claims your other king attacked her, and while it looks that way, I'm not in the business of trusting people without a good reason. Personally, I think she's waiting here for Sheba to get back, so she can whisk her away again. I'm not about to let that happen."

Garet spun to Ivan, pointing a finger threateningly at the young man. "You need to be alert. If Sheba shows back up here, you need to be the first to know, and you need to keep it from everyone else. Everyone. Atropos cannot know where she is. You," he turned to Aisa again. "You're here partially as a safeguard against your mother. If she's telling the truth, fine, no harm done. If she's not, she'll reconsider whatever she's got planned now that she knows you're here."

Aisa frowned. "Are you telling me I'm your prisoner?"

"No," Garet said, shaking his head. "I'm not stopping you from leaving. I know you probably believe your mother's story, because honestly, I'd be more surprised if you came all the way here and didn't. I'm not asking you to do anything against her. I'm just asking you to stick around for a bit, to make us feel better about everything."

The woman stared at him for a moment, but before she could reply, Kraden said, "Then...have you reconsidered our plan?"

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. "Despite my gut saying you're stupid... Yeah. If Aisa's here with Ivan, I'll do it."

"Garet..." Ivan shifted slightly in his chair. "Are you sure?"

"If I wasn't sure, I wouldn't have said it." He opened his eyes and turned to Aisa. "Look, long story short, me and Isaac over there have to leave on some whole 'saving the world' business, and at the moment, Ivan and Kraden are the only ones left here with your mother. Imagine how much I like this deal. I'm not asking you to do anything that would harm your mother. I just need you to hang around and play along for a bit. She can't know we're gone. Ivan's been the only one to talk to her, anyway, so if no one tells her, she won't even notice. Please."

Aisa stared at him again, and this time, no one interrupted. She flicked her eyes over to Ivan, then to Isaac, who Garet was relieved to see had cooled down significantly. When they returned to Garet, she sighed slightly. "Alright. I'll stay. But if I feel like my mother's life is in danger, I will take her and leave without a second thought. Understand?"

Garet nodded. "If that happens, then I'd rather you did. If she's on our side, then I want her alive to help us take down this other king. I think we're gonna need all the help we can get."

- \/\/ -

The ringing of hammers upon steel echoed endlessly throughout the chamber, one after the other. The stones of the lighthouse's walls channeled sound as well as they did heat, reflecting the sounds as easily as the hammers reflected the flickering firelight. The chamber reminded Piers very strongly of an amphitheater, though he suspected any of the rooms in the lighthouse would have acted similarly.

The Lemurian glanced back at the three Proxians, then swept his gaze across the room as he stepped down the stairs. He originally had concerns about helping with the sword's construction; he knew nothing about forging a blade, save a very basic idea of the process. The last thing he wanted was to slow Einion down, but the smith had no intention of using him for that. Not wanting to chance another explosion in the chamber, he placed Piers on guard duty, freeing them to focus entirely on the sword.

He believed the stairs at the end of the hall to be the only entrance to the chamber, but he knew how quickly complacency could turn to disaster. His route, though a static one after the first hour, never ceased, carrying him in a doubled perimeter around the smiths.

As he reached the bottom of the stairs, the hammers fell silent, casting an eerie calm over the room. Piers glanced back to find Einion speaking to his apprentices, but he could only hear the low rumble of his voice, not the words. The two boys nodded, laying their hammers down as Einion walked away from the forge. He moved down the steps towards Piers, answering the man's questioning expression. "They need a short a break. Striking's hard, even with two."

Piers nodded, then stepped up the stairs slightly, seating himself near the top, where he could see the majority of the chamber with a turn of his head. "There is far more to making a sword that I imagined," he admitted, shaking his head. "Though I supposed I never thought about it much."

"Most don't," Einion said, seating himself next to the Lemurian. "A lot of it will be skipped, though. It'll just be reforged again, no need to waste time making it sharp and pretty."

Piers nodded. He had spoken to the blacksmith about the blade's ultimate purpose once they had reached the lighthouse while his apprentices moved about, setting up their makeshift forge. The man seemed slightly disappointed that his sword was destined only to create another sword, but it quickly vanished.

His apprentices seemed less keen on the idea, when he then spoke to them, but after a sharp word from the smith, their displeasure disappeared as well. Vocally, at least; Piers could still see a slight annoyance in their expressions.

"Why did we come all the way down here?" Piers asked after a short while of silence. Solid as Einion appeared, he knew the man needed a pause as well, and had no desire to rob him of his ability to catch his breath. "The energy of the lighthouse is strongest at the beacon."

Einion raised an eyebrow. "Forges don't work too well outside."

Piers paused. "Well... No, I suppose not. We moved opposite, though. Would not have simply a higher level of the lighthouse served better than the very- the almost bottom?" he amended.

No answer came for a long time. Einion sat still for a minute, then reached into his pack and pulled out some jerky, tearing off pieces and splitting it with Piers. The man accepted it gratefully, but did not press the Proxian for an answer. If Einion had not wanted to answer it, he would have said so.

A short distance away, Piers heard Liam and Terandi marveling at the dragon statues in the chamber in hushed tones, like children speaking to each other instead of sleeping. He could not make out their exact words, but their tones conveyed everything necessary for understanding. They had never visited the lighthouse, after all, and even Piers had found the structure spectacular on his first visit, despite all the architectural marvels he had seen.

He could only imagine how it must seem to a pair of young Proxians, however. To have grown up with it being nothing more than a distant landmark, visible only on the rare occasions that gifted them with clear skies, only to see it light up and become the literal beacon of their lives once more? That light meant life to Prox, in a manner that Lemuria had never needed to worry about.

The closest he could come to a comparison was their spring, that which provided them with their extensive lifespans. He tried to imagine what it would be like to have lived during the time of its construction, but found the sensation foreign, still. Mia would understand it, he knew. After all, she had experienced a near identical situation with her own lighthouse, by way of the fountain at its base.

"The energy of the lighthouse is enough. Location doesn't matter. What matters is honoring those left in this hall."

Piers turned back to Einion, suppressing a shiver. He had little trouble recalling that night, leaving the two bodies at the end of the chamber. They had wanted to take them, to ensure a proper burial, but by the time they could return from Prox, the lighthouse's scavengers had made away with them, leaving nothing but a pair of dried bloodstains on the floor.

No one in Prox had blamed them for that choice, of course. They knew well that the lives of the living should always come before the honor of the dead. And really, to have been killed by one of Tiamat's dragons? No honor they could show would match that bestowed by the goddess herself.

Piers could not suppress the shiver this time, even with the warmth of the chamber pressing in around him.

It did not go unnoticed. "You alright?" Einion asked.

The Lemurian opened his mouth momentarily, then closed it again, debating himself for a long moment. "I'll be alright," he said at last. "I...am not very comfortable with death. I never have been."

Einion grunted in a low tone, noticeably different than the one he used for humor. "Forgot others don't see it as much as us."

Piers nodded slowly. "My people live to be over a thousand years old. We almost never see a death. They're... They're very shocking and disturbing to us."

"Nothing new up here," Einion said. "Charon lives in our houses. He delivers our children, feeds them, teaches them, and if they're lucky, he waits a bit before taking them." The man glanced over at the Lemurian. "You lose someone close?"

"My mother, most recently," he said quietly, looking down at his hands. "My father went some time before that, and my only remaining family will follow shortly."

"No siblings?" Einion asked. When Piers shook his head, he grunted again. "Only my sister and me survived. Lost two brothers, one during birth, and one on a hunting trip. Was only a few years old when that happened. Don't remember him at all. Lost my parents some time ago. Even lost a nephew last year," he added, scratching one of his blue cheeks. "He was a good man. Best fighter we've had in a while."

Piers stared at the man in disbelief. "You've...lost that many?"

"Most families bury more than they feed," Einion said impassively. Piers could not help but admire the man's solidarity, even given their different views on the subject. To have lost so many family members, even if he never knew some of them...

The more he thought about it, the more he realized that few Proxian families had single children, from what he had seen. In fact, many seemed to not only have two, but three. Though he had known about Prox's high death rate, he never made the connection between it and family size. Obviously, they would need a higher birth rate to compensate.

Some part of him had known it, he realized, but raw information and statistics never impacted the same as personal information. Knowing that Einion, himself, had lost so many members of his family... For a moment he felt a bit foolish, trying to compare his losses to those Einion had suffered, but the rational part of his mind quickly chastised him for the thought. They treated death differently, like many other things, and he knew the losses had struck both of them hard. Whereas the Proxian had expected it, however, the news continued to blindside Piers at every turn.

Lemurians had little in the way of honoring their dead, which Felix had found odd when they discussed it one night, around their campfire. He understood how abhorrent an idea death was to them, at the idea of so much wasted life, but he expected their people to have elaborate ceremonies to accompany the passing.

Just the opposite, in fact, Piers had explained. They disliked and feared death, feared what it might do to them. It made them incomparably uncomfortable. Funerals were a quick affair, generally nothing more than a burial and short word from family and close friends, lest Charon turn his eye upon them next.

Prox, evidently, likewise moved in an unexpected direction. "I don't mean any offense by the question," he asked slowly, "but if you lose so many people, and so frequently, why do you spend so much effort to honor them?"

Einion glanced over at him, a confused expression on his face, but it smoothed out in a few seconds. "Honor the life they should've had. Honor what they did with the time they did have." He frowned in silence for a moment. "And maybe to make us feel better about it."

"How so?" Piers asked.

"We all die," Einion said. "Some sooner. Comforts people to know others will have a big gathering in remembrance. Makes them feel that their lives weren't wasted. We even do the same for enemies, where we can."

Piers looked away, his eyes dropping to the bottom of the stairs. "Truly? Most cultures only make the barest of concessions towards their enemy's dead."

Einion nodded. "No enemies on the Styx. They get full funerals, for those that don't get returned home. If they were strong, the one who killed them often held a feast in their honor. Sometimes wrote a song or something. We've got as many stories about our foes as our heroes."

"You're...comfortable with the idea of killing others?" Piers asked, glancing up again.

Shrugging, Einion said, "Comfort doesn't matter. Living involves killing. Most of the time it's not people, but only the lucky and the unlucky keep that forever. It bother you?"

"I have killed many creatures since leaving Lemuria, either for food or for defense. I feel regret in doing so, but recognize it as necessary. When it comes to another person, however..." Piers shook his head. "I find the very idea repulsive. It's ingrained into me. It makes me nauseous, even if in defense. Even if justified."

"Not supposed to be easy," Einion murmured.

"No, but...even worse is to lie about it, especially to yourself." The man looked down at his palms, expecting to see the blood stained on them. "I left a man I had defeated trapped in a hopeless situation, telling myself that since I did not deal the killing blow, his death was not on my hands."

Einion looked at him carefully. "Still telling yourself that?"

The Lemurian shook his head again. "It eats at me, when I lie down at night. I tried to ignore it, but the conscience has a powerful voice, and for good reason. Ignoring it places one's sanity and humanity at risk."

"Did he deserve it?" Einion asked after a moment.

Piers thought about the question for several minutes, Einion waiting as patiently for an answer as Piers had before. Virote had been a good sailor in the months prior. He worked hard, helped his shipmates where he could, and seemed eager to help Piers find work for them.

The betrayal had not been uncharacteristic, though, looking back. Virote held a strong sense of justifying the means with the end, trying to convince Piers of several...less scrupulous means of establishing trade routes. He frequently spoke lovingly of the ship he someday hoped to own, and of the crew that he would manage when the time came, both speaking highly of the man's ambition. Disagreements with Piers had grown more common in the months before the mutiny.

And at the end of it all, when he had been cornered, the only thing that held him to his ways was fear - fear of death.

"Some might say yes," Piers said at last, looking up at one of the dragon statues. "I am not one of those people. I don't know if I could ever say that someone deserved death. It would have been justified, perhaps, given that he had fought to kill me. But deserved? I cannot say."

Piers looked down again, then stood up and turned to stand in front of Einion. "I was not honoring his death by lying about the circumstances. I don't think the dead can truly be honored with such a lie. He...is not the only person that I have failed to honor properly."

Einion stared at him impassively, reminding him eerily of Felix. He would need to apologize to him later, Piers supposed. In the meantime, however, he fell to one knee, bowing his head before Einion. "Agatio and Karst were not slain by a dragon. Not wholly. The dragon made from the Valeans was not the only transformation that day. The gods warped those two as well, drawing their draconian blood out and giving it form. When we encountered them..." Piers paused. "Neither of our groups recognized the other. Not until the battle was over."

Silence settled into the chamber once more. Even Terandi and Liam were silent, though Piers knew the two boys were not within hearing distance. He closed his eyes and the sound of a roar sliding into a scream of pain filled his ears once more. Few of their group expressed more than a momentary concern for the pair, as their transformation wore off. He could hardly blame them; Karst had nearly succeeded in killing Isaac's group, and then she and Agatio had tried to kill both Felix and himself.

And yet, even with the memory of Agatio's fire scorching his skin, Piers remembered the horror that sank in his stomach like a rock as he realized they would not live to see the beacon's fire. Jenna and Sheba kept their lack of concern well-hidden, a testament of their devotion to Felix, the only one who cared about the people behind the death, the people he had known in Prox.

"I understood why they did what they did on Jupiter," he later told Piers quietly. "They thought I would place their home in danger, and they zealously fought to protect it. I can't say I would have done things differently had our roles been reversed."

He had not been the one to suggest the idea of lying, of course. Felix had resolved himself to a lot of hatred from several groups of people by that point; he would have told the Proxians the truth, quietly accepted their rage and despair, then vanished from their city forever.

No one had suggested it, actually. None of them spoke of that tragic meeting until they reached Prox, met by the tearful cheers of its people. Before anyone could answer honestly when asked about the two missing Proxians, before a hesitant pause could even suggest a lie, Jenna told them all about the dragon. She described it breathlessly, awe and horror flitting across her face at the appropriate moments. She told how they had arrived in time to prevent it from devouring its prey, allowing Felix to slay the beast.

Dragonslayer. The Proxians whispered the word to each other quietly, no one having seen, let alone killed, a dragon in generations. They once honored such warriors above all else. To meet a dragon in combat was to be blessed by Tiamat; to defeat one was to be chosen by her. A vassal of the Queen of Dragons, the Mother of the North.

None of them contradicted her. Piers could see the fury erupt in Felix's eyes as she spoke, but by the time they managed to be alone, it had faded. He understood. That was what he did, after all.

"Do you want the others to know?"

Piers opened his eyes again, looking up at Einion. "I...don't know. If you asked me before we returned, I would say they deserved the truth. But now..." He sighed softly. "They've been hailed as even greater heroes now. The lie has lingered for so long that to destroy it might cause a terrible backlash."

Einion waited patiently, and finally Piers shook his head. "I cannot say. You know your people better than I do. I leave that decision up to your judgment."

The smith nodded, then stood up. "I'll think on it. Terry! Liam! Back to work!"

The metallic rings filled the chamber once more a few moments later, methodically steady.

- \/\/ -

The last remnants of the sun dipped behind the mountains to the west. Felix watched it go silently, thankful to no longer have that burning eye glaring at him, making him sweat uncomfortably beneath its unflinching gaze. Summer had always been his least favorite of the seasons as a child, though Laliveran winters proved a capable match for Valean summers.

Remnants of the sun's light stretched across the sky along the clouds. Pink and orange rippled out from where it had vanished, painting a colorful halo around the mountains.

He tried to think of the last time he had been able to simply sit like this and watch a sunset. Months? Must have been. He could not remember doing so in Kalay, where he had spent the past several. Hammet kept him plenty busy while he worked there, caravans always arriving and leaving. Tolbi, then? Likely. From his patience in acting, despite how thrilled he was to make use of Alchemy's benefits, Felix wondered if Kraden had found a secret reservoir of Babi's draught, forgotten by the former Lord of Tolbi. Work for Kraden always moved slowly, the man never trying to rush things.

As if to confirm his thoughts, the image of the city, still unblemished at the time, crept into the forefront of his mind. He could see the white stone structures sprawled endlessly towards the horizon, a testament of the city's status as the world's largest. The fading light shone off the buildings like newly fallen snow, making them glow with an ethereal radiance.

Lalivero could not be more different, he realized. The buildings matched the colors of the sand and rock, courtesy of the clay they were wrought from. When he glanced around, he could easily see the borders of the small town, though the farmlands scattered off in every direction, reaching even farther than Tolbi's walls.

"What's the matter?"

Felix's eyes shifted to the boy sitting beside him on the roof, legs dangling over the side. "Hmm?"

"You were looking all around like you were looking for something," Javen said. "What was it?"

"Nothing in particular," Felix said, smiling warmly at the boy. "I was just thinking about how there's a lot more to your town than I first thought. You have the walls here, but all those farms are part of Lalivero too, aren't they?"

Javen nodded, looking past Felix towards the distant yellow star. "Yep. They go all the way to the lighthouse. Both of them, actually."

Felix glanced over the boy, the partially constructed tower easily visible. What would Lalivero do with it, he wondered? He knew they held nothing but contempt and disdain for the structure, and he could not blame them. Even with Kraden in charge of Tolbi and with Sheba vouching for his benevolence, they still refused any kind of trade with the city.

Which, given that mountains and desert had effectively turned Lalivero into an island, seemed more like a matter of principle to Felix. The cliffs surrounding the area would make travel by sea near impossible, as well, but Lalivero was accustomed to such isolation.

Still, though. If Kraden succeeded in eventually opening the Karagol to the Great Eastern Sea, a lighthouse on the coast could prevent a lot of unnecessary shipwrecks in bad weather. What would it take to convince the people of Lalivero of the idea's merits, though?

A thought for later, he supposed, once he could sit down with Piers and Kraden. For a man who had lived his entire life on an island, Piers had an uncanny talent for knowing exactly how to nudge people in order to get them to do what he wanted. Jenna frequently professed her apprenticeship to him in the art of manipulation, hoping he would teach her all his secret tricks. She often claimed him to rival Alex, though in a considerably nicer fashion.

"How do you know Alex wasn't simply a pawn Hydros and I used to facilitate the breaking of Alchemy's seal?" Piers asked, solemnly staring at Jenna long enough for the grin to drop from her face, replaced by a thoughtful frown.

The scent of fish wafted out from the window beneath him, remnants of the dinner Zahara had made. It again triggered that common conflict between his mouth and his stomach, as the two argued heatedly over whether or not he wanted more. In the end, however, his stomach always won, usually with the assistance of his mind. Overeating left him groggy and unresponsive, a dangerous state to be in.

He tried to ignore the smell, looking out over Lalivero again. He could see lanterns being lit around the town as the evening grew darker. A gentle breeze rustled the trees and sparse grass, and beyond the walls he could see the sand swirl about across the road, threatening to bury it if left untended.

One thing about the town still confused him, though. "Why is the water purple, Javen?" he asked. "I've never seen purple water before."

The boy wrinkled up his nose. "Ew, that would be gross! Our water's not purple, that's just the stone."

"I haven't seen many purple stones, either," Felix said. Psynergy Stones were purple, of course, but he felt none of the energy contained in them from the ground here.

"They're from the lighthouse," Javen said, then gestured south. "That one, I mean. They don't really let water get between them, so we can make little rivers and pools out of them."

Interesting, Felix thought to himself. If they were from the area around the lighthouse, it was entirely possible they had absorbed some latent Venus Psynergy. It sounded like they bonded well with whatever mortar was used, perhaps one made from the same material, to create solid seals. Did they use their pools for drinking water? If so, how did they ensure such stagnant water did not become dangerous?

The sound of feet scraping on a ladder scattered Felix's thoughts as he glanced over his shoulder across the roof, finding Faran stepping out onto it. Javen leaned back, waving at his father upside-down.

"Sheba was wondering where you were," Faran said with a smile.

Javen's arms windmilled slightly as he rolled over, pushing himself to his feet and scampering for the ladder. He vanished down into the house in one smooth motion, landing on the floor with a solid thump. Zahara's voice echoed up out of the hole as she chastised him to not slide down like that.

Faran watched the boy go, then moved to the edge of the house, beside Felix. He did not sit down. For a long time, he did not say anything, either.

Felix did not press him. The man had lingered once dinner had finished, so that he and his wife could speak to Sheba, Felix assumed. They would not have wanted to talk about the future the night before, he knew, lest it spoil her return, but eventually, the talk had to happen.

Sheba's father was intelligent, though, Felix had seen that well enough. He knew Sheba would leave, regardless of what he said. But he truly loved her, which Felix could also see well. He raised her as if she had been born to him and Zahara, and if he had to watch her leave, then he would ensure she had his full support.

He suspected that the biggest obstacle to Faran was needing to rationalize it to himself, to put aside his emotion and think with his mind, rather than his heart. Felix knew how difficult such a task could prove. One could only do it himself, though. No amount of convincing from others could force that choice on someone; more often than not, attempts to sway another would backfire, pushing them in the opposite direction.

So he waited for Faran to speak, which the man eventually did.

"Sheba told us about...about what happened in Anemos," he said.

Felix said nothing, continuing to stare out at the mountains as shadows crept down their faces.

"Before I say anything else, I first want to thank you," Faran said quietly. "Without you, I would probably have never seen my daughter again. And...because of that, I owe you an apology.

Felix turned around at that. He had not expected an apology from the man, nor had he really needed one. He understood his actions and their reasons. Faran had not made them irrationally, nor had he projected an unnecessary hatred towards Felix while making them. They were calculated carefully to maximize his daughter's safety, and Felix respected that.

"I knew that if you showed up, Sheba would follow you. When I said she would follow you over the Falls, you told me you would do the same." Faran paused. "I didn't disbelieve you, but it wasn't until now that I knew. It...changed a few things for me, having that sure knowledge, instead of faith."

"Faith is powerful," Felix said. "Faith tempered by experience is near indomitable."

Faran nodded. "I love my little girl. Sincerity isn't enough for me to gamble with her life. Nothing is." He paused again, then moved to the edge of the house, seating himself beside Felix. "But she's not a little girl anymore. She's starting to make her own decisions about her life, about who she wants to be, and I don't have any right to stop her from doing that. But no matter what, even if she's no longer a little girl, she will always be my little girl. Do you understand?"

Felix knew how incommunicable some feelings were, ones that could only be truly understood by someone who shared the same situation. He had no children, however. He had no way to truly grasp the full enormity of Faran's feelings, so he said, "No, not as a father. But as a brother... It's not quite the same, but I understand that."

A stream of giggles drifted up to the roof from below, though Felix could not say from who. For having no blood relation, the similarities between Sheba and Javen were uncanny.

"She means to fight, doesn't she?" Faran asked, then shook his head. "Of course she does. She was confrontational before she could even say the word."

"Her time in Anemos helped her, in some ways," Felix said. "For a while, she was concerned that her people were nothing more than violent warmongers, but the truth has settled her feelings considerably. Things aren't as bad as she feared, and that gives her hope."

Faran smiled, looking down towards the ground. "She always hated being alone. She thrives off of people too much. Finding support in her people, finding out she wasn't alone..." He paused, then snorted. "Her people. That still seems strange to me."

Felix nodded. "When we first learned of the Anemoi, of the legendary city in the sky, she felt so sure that explained everything. I never believed it. I never thought such a story was possible. A flying city? A baby falling all that way and landing unharmed? Imagine my surprise when all the stories I had discounted as myths and exaggerations proved true."

"Not just that," Faran said, shaking his head again. "For so long, her origin never mattered to us. She was our daughter. She was Laliveran. Thinking of her as Anemian... My mind wants to correct itself. She isn't even sure what to call herself anymore. She wants to be a part of their culture, too, now that she's met them."

"She wants to help them," Felix said. "She wants to stop the kings more than any of us, now."

"What about after?" Faran asked. "Will she rule? Do you think she'll take up her throne?"

Frowning, Felix said, "Their method of succession is odd. There's a possibility she wouldn't even be able to ascend, actually. But... Yes. I think she would. I don't think she knows it yet, but she will."

Faran leaned back onto his hands, turning his face up to the darkening sky. "Queen Sheba... It has an oddly fitting ring to it."

Felix did not tell the man that it would actually be King Sheba. He had no desire to explain the gender-neutral titles, nor did he wish to annoy Faran by correcting him. "I think she'll make a good ruler," he said instead. "She has a kind and stubborn heart, but she's earned an appreciation for serious situations. There's a lot more to ruling than intent, of course, but she's very smart. She'll learn."

The other man laughed quietly. "And I here I was thinking I was raising her to rule Lalivero. I don't know whether I'm more proud, or more afraid."

"Both in equal parts," Felix murmured. "For me, at least. The Sheba I rescued in Suhalla Desert would have leapt at the chance to rule an ancient kingdom. She's...grown a lot since then."

Would that Sheba have fought against the kings, as well? Yes, he supposed so. She would have done many things the same, but for entirely different reasons. The girl had been obsessed with proving herself when they met, eager to show the world that she wasn't just a little girl, that she was a Child of the Gods, someone they should respect. Felix still spotted pieces of it, but the desire had largely faded.

Faran was right: she was no longer a little girl.

- \/\/ -

Isaac glanced down into his mug, swirling the liquid inside and watching it spin. He never particularly cared much for the kind of drinks served in pubs, but Garet ordered him one anyway, pointing out that it would look awkward if he drank nothing. He reluctantly took the drink, working through it at the same speed he would have gone through medicine as a child, if his mother had not been watching.

The Docks were technically considered a part of the city of Tolbi, though the distance between them had grown the port into a small town of its own. They had spent the previous evening looking around, never previously having a reason to stay in the area.

Pubs and inns lined every street, of course, the most prominent business of a transit town. Kraden's man had booked them rooms at one of the older establishments, the Hand of Gold. Apparently, it was one of the few that predated Babi's reign, something that only the books remembered.

Several...less reputable establishments filled in the gaps between them, as well. As several whistles and calls drifted down to them from second story windows as they walked, Isaac found himself thankful that Ivan had not come.

He swirled the drink again, wondering why, though. He tried to imagine how he would have felt if Sheba had been there, but the moment his imagination placed her with them, her hands landed on her hips, her eyebrow cocked up, and she shot off some sarcastic comment or question up at the women.

...Weyard really could not handle a second Jenna.

He tried Mia instead. Her face twisted into one of annoyance and disappointment as she flicked her eyes up, though it drifted towards pity rather quickly. The only verbal recognition she gave was a brief sigh, however, moving on with whatever conversation was taking place.

Why, then, did it bother him so much to imagine Ivan there? He could practically see the boy look up in confusion, before quickly dropping his gaze and turning red. He clamped his mouth shut, only speaking about a completely unrelated subject, save the inevitable spluttering when Garet noticed his reaction and began prodding him about it.

Both Ivan and Mia would be uncomfortable in the situation, though for different reasons. What made Ivan's reaction something so undesirable to Isaac? Why did he feel so much worse imagining Ivan being there?

Something tickled the back of his mind, a stray thought picked up by his subconscious, related to his train of thought, but indirectly. Like trying to remember a dream upon waking, he followed it with his attention, trying to focus on that small sensation and dwell on it long enough to bring it to the forefront of his mind. As with dreams, however, looking for it only made it vanish, leaving the young man slightly annoyed.

His annoyance was interrupted by a woman leaning onto the circular table heavily, staring at him intently as her long, brown hair swung around her face. "You the ones from Lord Kraden?"

Isaac blinked at her in response, feeling a bit like a meal under her dark eyes. "Uh... Yes, that's us."

She grunted. "And you're after Deadbeard, right?" The woman shook her head and stood upright again. "I'll be right back. I'm gonna need a drink for this."

As she walked towards the bar, Garet glanced over at Isaac, grinning widely. "I like her already."

"Not surprising," Isaac said, rolling his eyes, then nodded at Garet's mug. "How many of those have you gone through, already?

Garet mimicked Isaac's position, leaning his head onto one hand, then rolled his eyes, as well. "Not enough, apparently. Nothing's spinning yet."

Isaac rolled his eyes again. "How terrible. Isn't having so many different kinds supposed to be worse, anyway?"

Much to Isaac's surprise, Garet did not follow on with another eye roll, as he expected. Instead, the man pulled his mug slightly closer to himself as he glanced away. "I'll be fine, I know my limits."

Leaning forward slightly, Isaac narrowed his eyes. "You've had a different drink each time, and they've all been fairly small. You never get small mugs. What's going on?"

"Don't worry about it," Garet said, still not looking at Isaac. "It's personal."

Isaac frowned, but dropped the subject. Whatever meaning it had to Garet, prying never made the man share information, so there was no point in pressing him. Once he got bored of clamming up, he would simply shout something embarrassing. He had not been bothered by all the glances after loudly rejecting an invitation from Mia to join her crew of male street-walkers, after all.

She had not been amused.

The thunk of another mug hitting the table banished the suspicion from Isaac's mind. He glanced over at the woman as she seated herself silently, taking a large swallow afterward. "Alright. Let's talk."

Isaac glanced sideways at Garet, who simply raised his eyebrows slightly. "Uh... Well, I'm Isaac, and this-"

"I know who you are," she snapped. "Everyone in Tolbi who isn't an idiot knows who you are." She stared at Isaac for a moment, leaving the implied question unasked.

He found himself reminded of the Proxian, Madrona. Why did he only seem to deal with incredibly aggressive women? "Well... We don't know who you are. I'm assuming you're our captain?"

She grunted once, flicking her eyes to Garet, then leaning back in her chair. "The name's Rachel. And no. I'm the first mate. The captain's out dealing with supplies."

Garet frowned. "Isn't that usually the first mate's job, though? It seems odd that the captain wouldn't want to meet us for a trip like this."

Shrugging, Rachel said, "He's a good leader. He's more interested in training people to think for themselves. But since you obviously don't trust me..." She pushed herself away from the table and stood up, grabbing her drink.

She's playing us, Isaac realized, remember the lessons Ivan had taught them about haggling. She already knows no one else will take this job, so she's trying to see just how desperate we are. He knew Kraden had blessed them with a more or less bottomless budget to do this, but Isaac had not quite yet reached the point where he wanted to make use of that. Tolbi would need the money to rebuild, as well.

If she wanted to put on some kind of tough act, fine. Isaac leaned back in his chair as Rachel turned away, picking up his drink and swirling it again. "That's probably for the best. I'm not sure I want to sail with someone who sends a woman to deal."

The woman stopped. Garet stared at Isaac, his face unable to decide between confusion and surprise. Fortunately, when Rachel turned back around, her eyes locked firmly on Isaac. She stepped back to the table slowly, her face a perfect mask of serenity. As she leaned onto it again, though far more gently than the first time, Isaac did not miss the way her fingers turned white as they pressed into the wood. "Excuse me?" she said, barely loud enough for Isaac to hear.

He resisted the urge to recoil from her deathly calm gaze, knowing to do so would ruin his own bluff. On the other hand, though, he felt disaster perilously close. So he shrugged as nonchalantly as possible. "How else am I supposed to take this? I'm hesitant enough to do so when he takes a..." Isaac paused for a fraction of a second, deciding that his original choice of word might see her fist in his face before he could finish the sentence, "...woman for a first mate, but I can look past that. Perhaps you really do know what you're doing. But to send you to us while he does mundane work that any deck hand with a list can do? He either doesn't think we deserve the time of day, or he's a complete idiot."

Before Isaac could even consider moving, the woman had shoved the table aside with one hand, the other closing around his throat. With a surprising display of strength, she picked Isaac up onto the tips of his boots, the calm mask dissolving into anger.

"Rachel! You can't choke everyone who shows you some teeth."

The hand loosened immediately, dropping Isaac back to his feet. He reflexively moved one hand up to rub at his neck as he took a step back, glancing around first for Garet. The Mars Adept was just standing to his feet from where the sudden movement of the table had knocked him and his chair over.

Isaac's eyes shifted to his other side, frowning as he located the speaker sliding out of a side booth and stepping towards them. "You... I know you."

The man ran a hand over his bald head, his lips curling into a grin. "Aye. We sailed together around last Colosso, unless I'm mistaken."

"That's interesting," Garet snapped, flicking his eyes between the other three constantly. "What the hell is going on?"

The bald man laughed. "Fair enough. Kaja, the captain in question," he said nodding his head to both of them. "But let's step outside, we're disturbing the people who just want to drink in peace."

Isaac glanced quickly at Rachel, whose furious expression had vanished once more. She met his eyes momentarily, long enough to make Isaac's throat throb slightly, then spun around and walked for the door. He turned back to Kaja, finding the man straightening the table, then dropping a few gold pieces on it with an apology.

Following him outside, Isaac quickly scanned the street to find Rachel, not entirely unsure the woman was not simply waiting to ambush him. Once he found her leaning against some storage crates, however, he relaxed and turned to Kaja, finally figuring out why the man simultaneously looked familiar and unfamiliar. "Didn't you used to have a beard?"

"Aye, I did," he said, bringing up a hand to stroke the non-existent facial hair. "I change it up every so often. You'll understand, someday. I expect you'll grow yourself a mighty beard when you're able, for no other reason than you can."

Garet snorted. "Oh man, I would love to see that. But really, while it's neat to see you again, Kaja, what the hell just happened in there?"

Shrugging, Kaja gestured at Garet. "You had the right of it, actually. Of course I wanted to be here. But I've got no use for a first mate who doesn't want to be a captain herself. So I give her some of the stuff I usually do, to see how she fares." He glanced over at Rachel, who had not so much as flicked her eyes in their direction. "...She's got a bit of a temper, as you probably noticed. Good heart, though. You pissed her off something fierce by insulting me."

"I, uh, didn't really mean it," Isaac said, feeling a bit foolish.

Kaja waved his hand. "I know. I saw your goal there. Brave, but not the best idea. Rachel's got Poseidon's wrath in her when she gets mad. You're a fine warrior, but when someone like that gets the drop on you, even if you eventually win, you won't be walking away feeling good."

"So...she didn't know you were there, either?" Garet asked.

"Not at all," the captain said, reaching back to flick at a hood lying against his back. "In a port, especially in a pub, it's a simple matter to stay unnoticed. All about blending. But," he crossed his arms across his chest, his experienced muscles bulging out casually, "none of that's why we're here."

"We're after Deadbeard," Isaac said, then glanced around the street, wondering if announcing that was wise.

"Aye, I know that much," Kaja said. "I'm more interested in the 'why'...and particularly the 'how'."

Isaac looked up and down the street again, then said, "We want to try and deal with him: we'll help him find the lost love he's supposed to be searching for, so he can pass on, and he helps us against the Anemoi."

Kaja watched him for a long moment in silence. The calls of gulls filled it for him, and endless wave of noise that normally just merged into the background ambiance of the Docks. A burst of raucous laughter emerged from the windows of a building across the street. The whistles of the women hanging out the windows had faded with dawn's light, replaced by the calls of various vendors hawking their wares.

Isaac stared at one of them, an old man holding up various pieces of armor to passerby. That strange feeling of some hidden knowledge pressed against his consciousness again, then vanished. Rather than follow it stubbornly this time, Isaac simply continued to stare at the man, trying to trigger the sensation again, but before he could, Kaja spoke, drawing his attention.

"You play a dangerous game," the man said softly.

Garet raised an eyebrow. "To be fair, so do you. I wouldn't call sailing against Deadbeard a nice stroll down the beach."

Kaja grimaced. "I know that well. Not long after Colosso last year, a ship we set sail with met him. He came out of the darkness on her port side, with us on her starboard. We fled. Neither the captain nor I wanted to, but we knew staying would be suicide. We saw him, though," Kaja added, his voice dropping. "Saw them yellow eyes in the gloom, mocking us as we pressed the rowers. No one wanted that hell he offers."

A cold and snide reflection of his own voice whispered to Isaac, This is the spirit you want to find? You think you can possibly win against him?

"We never saw the other ship again," Kaja continued. "We waited for days for her to pull in, but she never did, neither here nor at the Kalay Docks. The captain retired that week, and I bought the ship from him. Took a few months before I could work up the nerve to put her back to sea, though."

Insight flashed in Isaac's head. "That's why you took this job," he said. "You want Deadbeard, too."

Kaja looked at him for a moment, then nodded. "Aye, you've got the right of it. That demon has plagued the Karagol for longer than I've been sailing. I've only run across him the once, but that once is enough. I can't stand to spend the rest of my sailing days in fear of being the ship in the middle next time, and I've got no mind to retire just yet. I'll rid myself of that fear, by one means or another."

"Well, you don't need to worry about the 'another'," Garet said, giving the sailor a wide grin. "Worst comes to worst, we can take him. We've got a crazy list of victories between us. Krakens, dragons, Anemian kings, and spirit legions have all fallen before us."

Isaac's mind twinged strongly, making him feel light-headed momentarily. He let his eyes drift out of focus and said, "Garet, say that again."

"What, that we've killed krakens, dragons, kings, and spirits?"

Not spirits. He had not said that the first time. He had said spirit legions, the aggregate collection of spirits inhabiting the Myrtle armor.

The Myrtle armor.

Isaac swore loudly. He saw Rachel start towards them, startled, but forced both her and Kaja out of his mind and turned to Garet. "We have to get back to Tolbi, right now! Now! We have to go!"

Garet reached out and grabbed him by the shoulders. "Hey, calm down and tell me what's going on."

"The armor," Isaac said, trying to organize the thoughts that had all occurred simultaneously with his revelation. "The Myrtle armor, it's still with Sunshine."

"Yeah..." Garet said, nodding.

"Ivan said he dreamed of you fighting Atropos, and you were wearing the armor."

"Yeah."

Isaac swallowed. "When he talked to Atropos, she told him that she had the same dream. She told him it would have happened if she stayed with Clotho when we fought. She told him it would have already happened! Not that it could, or might, he said she was certain about it. She lied to him!"

Garet swore.

---

A/N: As much as I love her, Rachel is not mine, and is simply cameoing from a great piece of Golden Sun fanfiction by Dracobolt, Interlude, who has helped support me during this slog of a chapter. It's currently only hosted at the Temple of Kraden, so check it out if you are interested.