The first thing he noticed as he came back to consciousness was how uncomfortable he was. He tried to straighten himself but his whole body was sore. He coughed, and the cough turned into a choke as water spewed from his mouth. As the pain in his chest began to lessen he sat up and looked around to see where he was. There were crates and barrels surrounding him, and the wooden walls seemed to curve slightly. Strange noises filled the air, noises of water and creaking wood.

Where was he? What was he doing here?

As he tried to stand up, he toppled over, his sense of balance seemingly non-existent. Was the floor moving? He tried to get up again, and nearly fell once more.

What was going on?

There was a sudden sound of movement beside him. A hand guided him back into a sitting position. He looked and saw a young girl, perhaps about fifteen, with gray-blond hair that was put up into two low pigtails. He did not recognize her.

She said nothing more, but turned her eyes to look beyond the barrels at a large figure which stood with his back to them. Somehow, he felt dangerous.

"What's…" He began, "Where am I? Who are.. why am I…?"

The girl held a finger over her mouth in a motion to be silent. She pointed to herself and said one word. "Sylvie."

"S… Sylvie?"

She nodded and pointed back to him. He wondered what she meant. Was she asking for his name? "My name is… my name is…" He was drawing a blank. Why? Surely he knew his own name! Why wouldn't he know his own name?

He was...

"Procyon." She said, her arm still outstretched towards him.

Procyon? Yes, that was it. Or it might have been. He turned the word over in his mind. It seemed to fit the hole in his memories, and yet it was unfamiliar at the same time.

"Yeah, I guess that's me…" He shook his head, trying to clear it. "Am I supposed to know you?"

The girl didn't say anything. She only watched and waited. He looked around, trying to make sense of everything. "Are we on a boat?" He asked. She did not reply. He tried to stand again and she pulled him back down, signing again for him to be quiet.

"Listen," Procyon said at last, "I'm really confused and I don't know where I am, and you're kind of creeping me out… can you please tell me what's going on, and what I'm doing here?"

She still said nothing. There was a blankness in her expression that made him feel like she couldn't even comprehend what he was saying. His teeth clenched as he grew more and more frustrated.

"Hey, don't you understand me?"

Another sound, this one human. It was the tall man's gruff voice as he turned around to look at them. He spoke in a different tongue, but Procyon found with surprise that he could understand him.

"Silence! Nae a word out of either of ye."

Sylvie cowered, hiding her face in her hands. Procyon looked to her and then to the man, detecting a strong animosity. "Y-yessir." He said, "I'm sorry i-"

"What?" The man exclaimed angrily, "I can't make out none of yer gibberish."

Of course. They spoke another language, so they wouldn't understand his. "I'm sorry-" Procyon was replying in the stranger's tongue before he even realized it. He faltered in surprise, but finished the sentence. "Very sorry sir. We'll be quiet."

The man seemed to accept this and turned around again. Procyon looked down at the floor, wondering. He knew this man's language? What else did he know

Was that why the girl didn't respond?

"Can you understand me now?" He asked her in the new language. Her eyes widened a little and she nodded.

"Thank the crystals…" He muttered, "Can you tell me what I'm doing here? Or where we're at? I can't remember a thing."

Sylvie looked down at the floor, fiddling with a bit of splintering wood on the floor. "Y-yes…" She said slowly. "We are running away. We were kidnapped… just as we came out of the fog."

"Fog?" He repeated, "What fog?"

"People get lost in it," She continued after a pause, "You're lost in it still. So am I. I can't… say much more."

"You can't?" He repeated, confused. "This doesn't make any sense, I ought to be at home or with my family or… or something."

Sylvie said nothing, and only looked intently at the wooden floor, tracing the cracks of the wood with her fingers. Procyon sighed. He wasn't getting any answers this way. And the big guy guarding them didn't seem inclined to say anything either. So, he looked around. The crates were unmarked, but some had strange symbols carved into their surface. Symbols he couldn't read. One barrel was cracked open, and from inside came the smell of something sweet and fresh. There was also a pile of some kind of red dust in a corner of the room. Curiously, he edged closer to it and touched it. The smell stung his nose and eyes. Was it a spice of some kind?

After looking around again he spotted a window hatch high above them. It was out of view of the guard because of the barrels stacked in front of it. Procyon looked back. The guard was distracted for the moment, but how could they remain undiscovered for a longer period of time?

Sylvie moved then, bunching up the hay they lay upon, and pulling a tarp over her head. It looked as if two figures were laying side by side beneath the fabric. Procyon's eyes widened, but she just looked across at him expectantly, as if she knew exactly what he had been thinking.

Surprised but suddenly determined, Procyon nodded and began to quietly climb up the crates towards the hatch window. The motion of the boat coupled with this need to be silent might have made it very difficult, but Procyon found his balance good and his fingers strong.

He crouched upon the top of the last crate and looked down. He could see Sylvie, who was keeping still in the same position as before, and the guard, who at that moment looked back at her and turned away again, fooled by the second lump under the tarp.

"I'll be back soon…" He whispered to himself. He reached up to the hatch, finding it half open already. Carefully, he pushed it open even more. Outside was water as far as the eye could see. After carefully surveying the outside of the ship, Procyon found that there didn't seem to be a good foothold anywhere. He was below the ship's deck, which, if he could reach, he would be able to walk upon. But could he reach it?

"I'll just have to time it with the sway of the boat." He muttered.

Carefully, he squeezed through the opening, going feet first. The water and wind came up about him and the stuffy air of the cabin disappeared. He fished himself out and held onto the sill of the window with his fingers, his feet braced against the wood. The ship rocked towards him and he braced harder to keep from flying off. But then it rocked in the opposite direction, shifting gravity. His feet landed on the edge of the window and he thrust himself upward, his whole body now leaning upon the ship. He reached, and his fingers grasped a ledge. He couldn't have told how, but he pulled himself up and over onto the deck.

It was a good thing that no one saw him, for he landed in the open and several men walked about here and there, too busy with their work to mind him. Quickly, Procyon hid behind a barrel and looked around, spotting a pile of rope. Surely Sylvie would be able to climb up this, right?

Tying the rope to the railing of the deck, he lowered it down until it hung just below the hatch. Then he himself slid back down and reentered the cabin, hastily climbing down to alert Sylvie. But he found her already prepared, with a convincing looking lump in the bed where she had been before. Surprised again, but saying nothing yet, he led Sylvie up the crates, helping her as was needed. When they reached the top he motioned for her to wait, and he climbed out first, gripping the rope and feeding it in to her. "Tie this about your waist." He said in his own language. When she did not move, he realized his mistake and repeated the directive in her tongue.

With that done, he helped her climb out of the hatch. First he himself climbed, reaching up and grasping the railing and then instructing her on how to climb, one hand over the other. She made it up the rope without issue, and they both tumbled onto the deck unharmed. Hastily, they hid behind the nearby barrels and looked around.

Then first they realized that they were in a fleet, not merely a single ship. The men walking around looked rough and strong, and many spoke an entirely different language from that which the two of them knew. Procyon asked Sylvie if she could understand what they were saying. She shook her head.

But, what were they to do now? There was no land in sight. He supposed that they could try and sail away on one of their dinghies. It would just be difficult to lower the little boats and get away without being spotted, but if they were fast enough…

"We have to speak to the captain."

Procyon turned to Sylvie, his face inquiring. "The captain… he will be able to help us?" She didn't respond, and only looked at him expectantly.

"Captain, huh?" Procyon looked around, but did not find any trace of a captain-y looking person.

"He is… upon the boat leading the fleet." Sylvie said slowly, pointing ahead of them. Several ships lay between them and the lead ship: a splendid one it was, but of a different design than the others.

"How are we going to get over there?" He asked her. She pointed to the dinghies. "I can help."

Procyon breathed in through his teeth, wondering how he was to lower the dinghy and not get caught. He felt for something at his belt instinctively, though he didn't know why or what the movement meant.

"Your knife." Sylvie said, noticing the movement. "I will get one."

"What…? Hey, wait!"

Sylvie was gone before his earnest whispers could catch her attention. She crawled along the deck on all fours until she reached the stairs, and these she crept underneath. A moment later and she was returning, something wrapped in cloth in one hand. This she handed to him.

"This is… a dagger?" Procyon said, picking it up slowly. "How did you know it would be over there?"

Sylvie, again, said nothing. She only looked at him, as if he already knew the answer. Procyon looked away, uncomfortable now. "Right, and you want me to…?"

She still didn't say anything, turning instead to inspect the lines upon the barrel they hid behind. Procyon sighed and looked back at the dinghy. Studying it, he saw that if he could just disengage the locking mechanism it would lower quite easily. Perhaps a simple cut would suffice.

If he could strike the base of the rope with the dagger, it would fall. But how would he cut it if he couldn't get over there? Could he throw it? He held the dagger experimentally, feeling not necessarily confident, but more a sense that he already knew how to do this. Clutching the top of the blade, he pulled back and hurled it at the rope.

It struck true, and the boat fell. Procyon's heart jumped as he thought of the possibility of a splash and an alert. But there was no splash. He peered over the side of the boat, and a strange sight met his eyes. A pillar of water rose up from the seas surface and slowly lowered the boat down.

"What the- Sylvie, did you…?"

Sylvie had her eyes squeezed shut, and she seemed to be concentrating. When the dinghy reached the water's surface it began to drift backwards, away from the boat. Procyon realized they had to hurry. Tying the rope around the railing again, he and Sylvie descended. The boat, as if pushed by an invisible force, drifted just beneath them and they were able to jump down into it. Exhilarated at this accomplishment, Procyon quickly sought out the oars, but Sylvie stopped him.

"I can get us there safely… it's difficult, but I can do it. They would see us otherwise."

Procyon looked up, realizing that they were completely within view of the deck now. What would they do if they opened fire? The ship had cannons, and the men had arrows. Some even carried guns.

But now, the boat was moving. Procyon steadied himself as they began to go forward. Sylvie sat at the back of the boat, eyes closed, completely still. Then, the boat began to sink lower into the water. Procyon watched, beginning to get nervous. The water was splashing into the boat.

"Uh… Sylvie…?"

She didn't listen. They sunk lower. Procyon tried to push the water back but it didn't seem to do any good. "Sylvie!" He shouted, forgetting their goal of silence.

The boat sank, and one minute Procyon felt himself falling. The next he looked around and found himself completely surrounded by blue, waving images. Fish drifted lazily above him. They were underwater… and yet they were not.

"Row now." Sylvie said, her voice suddenly stern.

Procyon picked up the oars, confused. But he didn't question her. He didn't need to distract her from the spell and then the both of them end up crushed by the water.

Carefully, he stuck his oars into the blue bubble which surrounded them. It behaved just like a regular surface of water. Slowly, he began to row, and he saw from the movement of the object around that they were indeed making progress. He rowed for a while, until his arms were sore and tired. Sylvie, still, said nothing, only sitting at the back of the boat like an ancient monk in prayer. Procyon looked at her, wondering how old she was. She didn't look to be more than fourteen, perhaps even only thirteen years old. What were the two of them doing there, in that place? What was their connection? And why did he not remember anything?

He lost track of the time, but noticed when his head brushed up against the roof of water that the bubble was shrinking.

"S-Sylvie?" He prompted. She said nothing. He repeated himself. "Sylvie? We're, uh, the bubble is shrinking…!"

"I know!" She shouted, and Procyon jumped with surprise. "Row faster!"

He did, thoroughly shaken by her outburst. The bubble decreased more and he found himself crouching now, his hair damp and drooping. And just when he thought that they might not make it, the waters parted and the boat bobbed upwards into the sunlight. Procyon breathed a sigh of relief. Sylvie slumped in her seat, her face pale.

"Are you ok?" He asked nervously, lest he frustrate her again. She smiled at him and nodded, which he took to mean that she would be alright in a little bit. Procyon looked around and found that they had sailed the whole length of the way, and were now right up against the lead boat. This one was taller than the rest though. Could Sylvie lift them to the top with her water? She was so tired though, would that be too much on her?

Perhaps he could climb up. Or perhaps there would be a better way on the other side. Or perhaps…

"HELP!"

Procyon jumped again, for Sylvie was screaming at the top of her lungs. After which she looked at him expectantly, as if surprised that he hadn't done the same thing. Procyon didn't understand. Weren't they trying to keep out of sight?

"Oi, what was that?" "It sounded like a child." "Came from over here!"

"Sylvie! What are you doing?" Procyon asked her in an urgent whisper.

But it was too late. The shipmates had spotted them. But instead of opening fire or raising the alarm, they expressed concern and confusion. "Two kids?" "What's going on?" "Oi, hold there! Are you both alright?"

"Y-yes sir." Procyon called back, sensing now that the danger was past.

A rope was thrown down to them and a sailor climbed down to help tie up their little dinghy and raise it. They were lifted, and the men helped them disembark safely onto the ship's deck, after which they found blankets being thrown onto their shoulders. These were not rough types like the other ship had been full of.

"What were you doing out on the water all the way out here?" One asked as he led the two to a bench.

"Hey, this dinghy belongs to one of our vessels." "How peculiar." "What were the children doing in it?"

"Well, we-" Procyon was cut off as a loud voice resonated throughout the whole ship.

"'Hoy, me mateys! What's all the hubbub, eh?"

"Ah, captain!" The men saluted, "We found these here young'uns-"

He was cut off as down the stairs came a very large, peg legged and eye-patched man that looked as pirate-y as a body could. Procyon and Sylvie both backed away from him a little. "Young'uns?" He shouted, "What's all this about, eh?"

"That's what I'm trying to explain, captain. You see, we found them in the boat-"

"What?" The big man roared, at the sailor inn question. "What do ye say? What boat?"

"That one over there." The poor sailor pointed, "We just heard them a few moments ago and went to-"

"What? Heard what? Get to the point you lily-livered codfish!"

Another voice interrupted him this time, this one much less intimidating and holding a slight trace of what some called 'good breeding'. "Woah, Barbarossa! Let the man talk a little, eh? Surely that is enough to ask."

The big man turned and harrumphed, "Ye can talk if ye wish, Suleiman, but my methods of interrogation always work!"

"Save it for the enemy, you brute." Said a woman who sounded rather bored.

And the two came into sight in a moment. The man, dressed in a flowing silver robe with long white hair. The woman, bearing green hair and holding a feathered wand of some sort.

"Children?" She said, looking Procyon and Sylvie over, her face sympathetic. "Oh, you poor dears, what could have happened to you?"

"As I was saying sir," the sailor resumed, "We found them in a dinghy and pulled them up, we know nothing else."

"Why didn't ye say that in the first place?" Bellowed Barbarossa.

"I-I didn't think to, sir."

"Tell us then, children." The man called Suleiman said, turning to face them. "What brings you here?"

"W-well…" Procyon looked at Sylvie, but she didn't seem inclined to say anything in the presence of all these people. But could he share everything with them? He supposed he didn't have much choice. "It's kind of complicated. I woke up a few hours ago in the hold of one of the ships back there, with no memory of who I was or how I got there…"

He told them everything, and Sylvie nodded at certain points. They listened quietly. When it had all been told, Suleiman crouched and looked at Sylvie.

"You know some magic, then?"

She nodded, but didn't make eye contact. "Interesting… Is that how you knew to come to us?"

She didn't respond and the woman, who was apparently called Mephilia, patted her shoulder, "It's alright darling. The poor dear, she must be so tired.

"It is just strange… and taking everything into context it begs the question of- ah, but I will let it go for now." Sulieman straightened "You both did the right thing. Though we are technically head of this ragtag band of pirates, we cannot control them. They would have sold you off at our next port unbeknownst to us."

"There is just one thing…" Mephilia said, "You do not remember how you came to be a captive, Procyon, is that correct? But what about you, Sylvie?"

Their eyes all turned to look at her, but she recoiled, sinking into the chair a little bit more and hiding her eyes. She clearly did not wish to talk about it.

"I'll try talking to her later." Procyon said, "I think she gets shy."

"Very well." Sulieman said, unsatisfied but understanding. He motioned for them to come. They stood and began to fall into step behind him. "We won't be into port for another few days, so you have time. Barbarossa can show you to his cabin."

"What's that ye say, Suleiman?" The pirate bellowed, "Who gave ye permission to be giving away me own cabin?"

"Oh shush you big oaf." Mephilia said, "You can remove your beer and drink with the rest of the men. You do that half the time anyway. The children need rest."

"I'm not a kid…" Procyon muttered.

Barbarossa's cabin smelled of beer and was not exactly in the tidiest way. But his barrels were removed, and he left grumbling. The room felt cleaner now. And after fresh straw had been laid down and some clean white shirts brought for their clothes they were really quite comfortable. They ate a meal with their newfound hosts, and the crew seemed happy to have them. Barbarossa himself, although he initially showed a very rough and rude side, did not show any aggression towards the visitors. Rather, he told them tales of battles and his adventures on the high seas. And while the stories credibility was questionable, with the other two often correcting him about his embellishments, both Procyon and Sylvie couldn't help but smile.

"We are actually on something of an adventure right now ye know." Barbarossa said near the end of their meal, "Or at least me friend Suleiman is. Seeks out the ultimate summoning magic or some blarney, despite me voicing my misgivings."

"Oh don't start that again." Suleiman laughed, "Of course, you have no use for the great spirits, warrior as you are. But I consider myself a wizard of sorts, and these otherworldly beings fascinated me. Though, it is all for my dear Mephilia of course."

"Oh, my Suleiman..." Mephilia laughed, "But it's true, I must track down the ultimate summoning magics and master the art of summoning! But, the creatures elude us... All but the most powerful of them all."

Suleiman leaned forward as if sharing a secret, "Amaterasu has been rumored to exist atop a mountain in the land of Wa. But we have yet to arrive there. We had been searching the archipelago for answers, but the Islanders had none for us. Still," and here he paused and strokes his beard, "It will be difficult. We are not exactly on friendly terms with Northwest Wa. Or Southeast Wa for that matter."

"We will have to remove from the pirates I fear." Mephilia said with a sigh, "Borish brutes, I will be glad that they are no longer following our tail. Though I suppose they have been a good deterrent against rival pirate bands."

"An excellent deterrent." Suleiman said, "But it is getting late. You children must be tired, and our talk will not have helped that."

"Aye, you were just about putting me to sleep Suleiman." Barbarossa grumbled.

After finishing up their meal Procyon and Sylvie wrote led back to their cabin. "Don't wander about the ship at night when it is hard to see the railings." Suleiman told them before he left, "I've had accidents happen with guests before." They took his advice, and headed in to bed with many bows and thank-yous. Once there, Sylvie said the first thing she had said since before they got on the ship.

"Sorry."

Procyon closed the door and looked at her. "Sorry?" He repeated. "Sorry for what?"

She looked down and sat on the straw, replying without looking up. "Your memories. And me, for not talking."

"Well, I don't know why you're sorry about my memories. That's not your fault. And it's alright. I understand you're shy."

"Itis my fault."

Procyon patted her head. "It isn't. It's ok."

"No." She brushed his hand away and looked up, revealing that her eyes were wet with tears. "It really IS."

Procyon, recognizing that this was a very delicate moment, carefully sat down in front of her and looked her in the face for the first time. "I don't know If that's true or not. But if there's a way you can talk about it, I'll listen, and I won't judge you."

Sylvie took a breath as if she were going to, but then she looked away and crouched down onto the bed. She shook her head and whispered ever so softly, "I can't."

Procyon waited, and then pulled the sheet over her head. "It's alright. I can't help but feel that you must have a good reason and… and after what you did today, I trust you."

He crawled into his corner to rest and think, wrapping himself in his blanket. Sylvie didn't move, and so he assumed that she would be sleeping. Getting as comfortable as possible, he lay back on the wall, finding this position more natural than laying down. His hand moved to his belt and he looked at their feet, as if he expected to find something bright and burning that he would have to tend to as the night wore on.

Memory was gone, but muscle memory was not. He realized that his body was preparing as if he needed to stay up and stand guard. He didn't have a reason to do that here. They were safe. Right?

Had they been unsafe before?

He looked at the still form of Sylvie and wondered what they had been through together. Perhaps she would tell him someday.

Perhaps it was better that he didn't know.