The night was still young, but Slum City pulsed with a restless, chaotic energy beneath the fog. The glow of streetlights cast fractured halos that danced and shifted with the tide's mist, creating a surreal atmosphere that wrapped around the Duskvein.
Erin sat cross-legged on the deck near the ship's stern, his father's journal cradled in his hands like a fragile artifact. For the hundredth time, he traced the worn leather cover with his thumb. It smelled faintly of salt and old ink, its pages yellowed by years spent chasing horizons Erin could only dream of. He closed his eyes and let the sounds of distant laughter and the faint clink of bells drift to his ears.
Tonight, the journal wasn't comforting. Tonight, it was a weight—a reminder of what he couldn't yet achieve, of how he was being benched for the upcoming mission. He knew Thalor's logic, Rahl's reasoning. He even knew, deep down, that they were right. Still, the sting of being underestimated settled in his chest like a dull ache.
He opened the journal, fingers brushing over familiar entries. The sprawling script felt alive, as though his father's voice lingered in the curves of each letter. Erin began reading, seeking some solace in the past.
The world is endless if you let it be. People see danger in the unknown and fear the fog, the depths, the skies. But I've always found beauty in the chaos. The greatest reward lies just beyond the storm.
The words struck a chord. Erin stared at the page, his brows furrowing. His father always wrote about the Void Sea—its dangers, mysteries, and treasures—with a sense of awe rather than dread. He spoke of it as though its perils were no more than barriers keeping the undeserving from what lay beyond.
"But what's the point of dreaming if you're not allowed to try?" Erin muttered bitterly. His fist clenched around the edge of the journal before he forced himself to take a calming breath. As he closed the journal, his father's words clung to him like the mist settling on the deck. "The greatest reward lies just beyond the storm." But what storm? Every word spoke of bravery and exploration, a confidence Erin wasn't sure he had. His father had faced danger like a familiar friend; Erin had been told to sit and watch. If his father could find beauty and opportunity in the storm, why couldn't he?
But the sting of Thalor's dismissal reminded him: "You're not ready." Maybe they're right. Maybe I haven't earned the storm yet.
A soft whisper of a voice caught his attention. He blinked, scanning the deck, expecting to find someone addressing him. He spotted Ariya a few paces away, leaning against the railing. For a moment, he thought she might be mumbling to herself, but as he stepped closer, the faint glow of a crystal in her hands told a different story.
"Hey, uh... you alright?"
Ariya turned, startled, but her features quickly softened into a small, welcoming smile. "Oh, it's you," "Sorry," Erin said, hesitating. "Didn't mean to interrupt... whatever this is."
She held up the glowing crystal, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "Praying to the stars—or, rather, to the souls watching from them."
Erin tilted his head. "Praying? To stars?"
"It sounds strange," she admitted, her gaze drifting skyward again. "You don't know much about the Celestial Harmonium, do you?"
"I've heard of it," Erin admitted, stepping closer. "But no, not much. Hometown thing?"
She nodded. "Where I come from, we believe the stars are our ancestors. When someone dies and their spirit transcends, they become part of the night sky, watching over the living. Guiding us. Protecting us."
"And... you believe they actually answer you?" Erin asked carefully, his voice more curious than skeptical.
"Sometimes I think they do answer—through memories, dreams, or even coincidences. Other times, it feels like I'm talking into the void." Her voice faltered for a moment before she shrugged. "But maybe that's the point. Talking, even when they're silent."
Erin's gaze drifted upward, his expression softening. "That's… kind of beautiful". He leaned against the rail beside her. "So... what are you asking them tonight?"
She sighed, her expression softening into something more vulnerable. "I'm asking them to make sure we don't all end up dead," she said with a faint, self-deprecating laugh. "This job... it's insane. I've patched up every member of this crew at least once, but this? We're risking everything. We're not just going against the Tideguard, but a Tidewarden. And Ironshadow might be lurking too. That's... a lot."
Erin frowned. "You really think they can't do it?"
"I don't know," Ariya admitted. "This crew has pulled off some insane things before, but..." She hesitated, clutching the crystal tighter. "But I'd be lying if I said I wasn't scared. They trained me to use Sanctis— my healing magic—to mend, to restore. This... it's asking me to use it in ways that feel so wrong. What if I hurt someone more than I intend to? What if that gets us all killed? Or worse—Ironclad Isle."
Erin's stomach tightened at the name. "You're not going to fail, everything's going to be okay" he said firmly, though his own fear crept beneath the conviction.
"That's easy for you to say." Ariya laughed bitterly, shaking her head. "You don't have to be part of this one."
Erin's jaw tightened at the jab, but he softened quickly. " Everyone here is strong, resourceful… fearless." he replied. "Cidrin, Fenrick, Narza, Thalor... you. Everyone here's skilled. Yeah, it's dangerous, but we've got a plan. And if it's your ancestors guiding us, we've got that going for us too, right?"
Ariya laughed softly, but there was a glimmer of hope in her gaze. "I hope they are."
They stood in comfortable silence for a while, staring at the stars. Eventually, Ariya pushed off the railing, her crystal dimming as she pocketed it. "Thanks, Erin. I needed that," she said.
"No problem," he replied with a small smile.
Ariya headed below deck, leaving Erin alone again. He lingered a moment longer, letting his thoughts drift as he stared at the visible cityscape ahead. The streets pulsed with a chaotic rhythm—faint laughter and the flicker of lanterns broke through the fog. Yet here, aboard the Duskvein, everything felt still, suspended in uncertainty.
The sound of approaching footsteps pulled him from his thoughts. Turning, Erin's brow furrowed as he recognized Rahl stepping out of the shadows. Smoke from the older man's cigarette swirled lazily in the night air, merging with the mist curling off the harbor.
"What do you want?" Erin said, his tone sharp. He was still frustrated with Rahl's earlier dismissal.
Rahl paused, arching an eyebrow before leaning lazily against the railing. "Relax, kid. Just getting some air. Not everything's about you." He took a slow drag from his cigarette and exhaled, the smoke spiraling up toward the stars.
Erin turned back toward the city but didn't walk away. After a moment of silence, Rahl spoke again.
"You seem like the restless type," he said, his tone casual. "Lot on your mind?"
Erin glanced at him, his expression skeptical. "Why do you care?"
"I don't," Rahl replied, shrugging. "Not in the way you're thinking. Just curious. Figured a kid like you has better things to be doing than working with a crew running jobs like this."
Erin's jaw tightened. "A crew like this?"
"Relax," Rahl said with a faint smirk. "Didn't mean it as an insult. Just saying, you don't strike me as... ya know."
"I don't know."
"You've got that dreamer look about you," Rahl said, gesturing vaguely toward Erin. "Eyes that don't belong in places like this. So, I'll ask again—what's someone like you doing here?"
Erin turned towards Rahl, breaking the silence. "I'm just… chasing my dream."
Rahl took a slow drag from his cigarette, raising an eyebrow. "Oh yeah? What's your dream, kid?"
Erin hesitated before answering, his earlier annoyance giving way to something softer. "I want to be an adventurer. To see the world, uncover its secrets, find out what's out there waiting to be discovered." He paused, his voice lowering slightly. "Even in the Void Sea."
Rahl's expression softened, though it carried a weight of detachment. "For dreams as big as yours, you're starting in the wrong place, kid. But the Void Sea, huh? Gotta aim big, I guess."
"I don't see why not," Erin said, his tone defensive. "There's so much out there, even in dangerous places. My father believed it too."
Rahl's smirk faded slightly, and he tapped ash from his cigarette. "Your father was probably a better man than me, then."
Erin frowned, tilting his head. "What about you? Do you... have a dream?"
Rahl didn't respond immediately. He took another drag from his cigarette, letting the smoke hang in the air between them. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost resigned.
"I did," he said simply. "Once. A long time ago."
Erin leaned forward, curiosity piqued. "What was it?"
Rahl paused, staring out over the dark water. For a moment, he looked like he might dodge the question, but instead, he let out a soft chuckle—low and hollow. "It's funny. I wanted something so small, so simple."
"Like what?"
"I wanted to leave this place," Rahl said, gesturing vaguely toward the city in the distance, its flickering lights barely visible through the haze. "Not just Slum City, but everything it stood for. The poverty, the fights, the schemes... I wanted to carve out a life that didn't revolve around survival."
"That's not small," Erin said softly.
Rahl gave a tired smile. "It felt big back then. I wanted a home—a real one. Somewhere safe. Maybe someone to share it with. But Slum City teaches you fast: those dreams cost more than most people can pay. You grow up quick here or you don't grow up at all."
"What happened?"
"Life," Rahl replied, shrugging faintly. "Dreams mean nothing without action. Every step you take toward something is a step away from something else. That's just how it works."
Erin frowned. "Do you regret it? The choices you made?"
Rahl turned to look at him, his tired eyes carrying something unreadable. "Does it matter?" he asked. "Regret's a tricky thing, kid. You can carry it like a burden, let it weigh you down. Or you can let it burn away, become something you ignore. Either way, it doesn't change the past."
Erin shifted, unsure how to respond.
Rahl turned his gaze back toward the fog-draped city. "You remind me of someone I used to know," he said softly. "Had the same light in their eyes. Same spark. This world... it has a way of snuffing that out."
"What do you mean?" Erin asked, his voice hesitant.
Rahl's expression darkened, but his tone remained calm. "You'll find out eventually. Everyone does."
For a while, they stood in silence, the distant hum of the city filling the void between them.
"Listen, kid," Rahl said finally, his voice softening just slightly. "You've got something most people don't. Call it light, spark, whatever you want. But it's rare. And this world? It'll do everything it can to tear it out of you."
Erin glanced at him, confused but intrigued. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because I've seen it happen too many times," Rahl said, flicking the last of his cigarette over the railing. "Keep your light, kid. Hold onto it with everything you've got. Don't let this world take it from you, no matter what voices you hear or what eyes are watching."
Erin opened his mouth to respond, but Rahl had already turned away, disappearing into the ship's shadows.
The fog wrapped tighter around the Duskvein, muffling the city's sounds and leaving Erin alone once more. He stared down at the journal in his hands, his father's words echoing faintly in his mind.
The greatest reward lies just beyond the storm.
He clutched the journal tighter, the ache in his chest slowly giving way to a quiet resolve.