Travin marched off without a word, barking orders at the crew as the ship slid out of the harbor. Watching him vanish into the flurry of activity, I wondered if he was embarrassed about the night we’d spent together… or if he just didn’t care. Honestly, I wasn’t sure which would sting more. Still, he was terrifying. And beautiful. Gods, if my breath wasn’t already spent from the run up[ the dock and the climb, I would have lost it again.

Then the morning light spilled across Porto Croce. From the deck, I could see everything: the harbor master's office, crooked storefronts with half-painted signs, and there, tucked between the hills like a bitter little memory, The Wayward Widow. I felt like a ghost looking back at the world before passing through the veil.

Dain stood beside me, still trying to recover from the mad dash through town.

“Talk to him?” he wheezed, glaring at me between ragged breaths.

“You’ve got enough gold to cover my fare, right?” I asked sweetly.

He looked like he wanted to strangle me and die in the same breath. “Yes,” he grunted, like it physically hurt him to say it.

Whatever was eating him and Travin, it wasn’t just gold or inconvenience. There was something else. Something they weren’t saying. Travin, Dain, even Vaeril, all suddenly acting like I was a rotten fruit that had rolled into their market basket.

“You said you work for my father,” I said, shooting Dain a glare sharp enough to skin a cat.

“We do,” he said, puffing up a bit. “This just… escalated quickly.”

And just like that, he stalked off to find Vaeril, leaving me standing alone with a bag of questions and zero answers.

Gazing over the railing, I watched my home shrink into the haze… first the rooftops, then the hill, then everything. Just… gone.

It hit me like a slap: I had never left before. Not really. Not like this.

I went to boarding school in the north when we had money, and the family had the occasional country holiday or a weeklong trip to the Highland Peninsula. But now, I was sailing into gods-knew-what with nothing but an old sword and a pouch full of gold.

For the first time, real fear clawed up my throat.

I’d run away from the only place I knew, the only place I’d ever been remotely safe. It wasn’t paradise. Hells, it barely qualified as tolerable. But at least I understood it. Porto Croce had no illusions. The sea, though… the sea was a liar.

They called it The Peaceful Sea, but not because it was gentle.

It was because people preferred to ignore the things below. But there were things it kept hidden from us. Monsters, strange and impossible, swam beneath the surface, waiting.

Vaeril returned, flanked by the usual suspects.

“We’ve settled your fare,” he said with a grin. “Second Mate here secured you a cabin.”

“Lucky,” Dain muttered. “The rest of us are spooning sacks of grain.”

Travin looked at me coldly, his eyes glancing at the bracelet he gave me. “Lock the door. Modesty and good manners don’t last long at sea.”

He spun around at that. Not another word and vanished into the chaos around us as the crew worked.

“Only a few days,” Vaeril said lightly. “Then we’re in Omara.”

“And then?” I asked, not bothering to hide the edge in my voice.

They exchanged a look. Not the good kind.

“Lykod Bay,” Vaeril said. “City of Omara. If the wind behaves, we’ll dock before the sixth sunset.”

“Then upriver,” Dain added. “And it gets rough. Your father’s compound has its own dock, but getting there’s half the war.”

“Rough?” I asked. “As in uncomfortable, or as in people-trying-to-kill-us?”

“Both,” Vaeril said. “River beasts, Kolbod raiders, goblin clans, some angry tree-hugging elves, and—”

“—the usual gang of treasure-hungry lunatics who’d sell their own mother for a cursed amulet,” Dain finished. “They’d sell you, too, but not before they take everything...” He looked me up and down. “…And I mean everything before selling you off.”

“Charming,” I said with a brittle smile. “Well, lucky for me, I’ve got you two.”

“Lucky us,” Dain muttered. Vaeril elbowed him in the ribs again.

“Apologies, Miss Elaro. Just… wasn’t what we expected. The trip’s more complicated now.”

“Story of my life,” I muttered.

Not long ago, this same crew had cheered me up the gangplank with all the enthusiasm of drunken pirates spotting a floating brothel. Now? Nothing. Not even a wink. Just work. Apparently, once the sails dropped, I was no longer amusing.

As the ship slipped into open water, they all gathered quietly along the port rail. One by one, they muttered prayers and spat over the side. The silence was unnerving.

Travin reappeared and took me gently by the elbow.

“Tribute to Grota,” he whispered. “Goddess of the Sea. Tell her your name and who it is that wants to see you after the journey, give her your water, and ask for safe passage.”

He let go without looking back.

I joined the line behind the crew. One sailor nodded at me as I approached. They weren’t mocking me now. This was something old. Sacred.

When it was my turn, I leaned over the rail.

“Lai’anor, Grota,” I whispered. “An velyar e’selth Velya’Mireth.” I spat over the side. “Nai Jolana Elaro. Anar velyan i’mar amin… sai, nai hara ten’ amin.”

I asked the Goddess quietly to see me safely across so that I could reunite with my father. I’m sure my terrible pronunciation would have assaulted his ears, but Father always insisted we use the old tongue when speaking to the gods. At this point, I’d take divine favor in any dialect.

Standing there on the deck, surrounded by men who shared my sharp features and pointed ears, something inside me stirred. Maybe it was the sea air. Maybe it was the sheer madness of what I’d just done. But for a brief, flickering moment, the half-elf in me felt a little less half.

Let him be out there.

Let this not be a lie.

Let this all mean something.

The crew scattered as quickly as they’d assembled. Orders rang out. The sails unfurled. The Siren’s Song surged forward.

I was left alone again. Or as alone as one could be on a floating plank full of horny, sweaty men.

The deck swayed beneath me like a drunk with opinions. I hugged my knapsack and tried to find my feet. The sword on my back didn’t help.

“Best head below, miss,” said a boyish elf who looked twelve, tops. “Before the sea tosses you over.”

I faltered. Just for a heartbeat.

Travin had a strange way of being generous. He treated me like a splinter in his backside, yet somehow, I ended up with his cabin. The thought gave me a little rush.

Gods—was he stashing me there as his own personal plaything?

I shook the thought away. He was confusing. My feelings for him, even more so. He terrified me. He’d hurt me in that room, treated me with more cruelty than I thought imaginable. And yet, I owned that experience. Especially afterward, once I’d had a bath and a healing potion.

On land, I’d been able to tuck those feelings neatly away, to convince myself I was safe.

But here? Out at sea, far from the comfort of home? With him? Gods, if he wanted me in another locked cabin… I wasn’t sure I’d survive it.

The young elf led me below deck through cramped passageways lit by dull magelamps. The smell of salt, sweat, and whatever was in the cargo wafted around us like an unwashed blanket.

We stopped at a crooked door wedged between ballista bolts and a water barrel.

“Here you are,” he said with a grin.

It was small. Like, coffin-small. A bed, a trunk, and a woodcut print of The Siren’s Song tacked to the wall next to the door. My closet back home was bigger.

“Thanks…?”

“Airdan, miss.” He bowed like a gangly broom in boots.

“What do you do around here?”

“Deckhand,” he said proudly. “When I’m not helping pretty passengers find their room.”

“I’m the only girl on the ship?”

“Not exactly, but you’re the only one that counts.”

“Go,” I said, laughing. “Before I get you into trouble.” I slipped a copper into his hand.

“You? Trouble?” He grinned and gripped the coin. “I’ll deny everything.”

When he left, I finally exhaled. I dropped onto the bunk, the sword pressing against my side, and the reality hit me: I was on a ship, heading toward a jungle filled with monsters and mystery, with only a half-plan, half-dress, and half a clue what I was doing.

I checked my knapsack.

Gods bless Clara, but she packed like a panicked raccoon. Two chemises. One slipper. Three stockings (none of which matched), one of my serving aprons, no brush, no garters, and the world’s saddest excuse for a belt. My dress was decent enough, the corset tight and sturdy. But still… this was going to be rough.

I folded everything into the trunk and dumped out my gold. Twenty-three coins. Plus Travin’s. Plus a few coppers. I needed a hiding place.

Behind the woodcut print was a small alcove. Obvious, maybe too obvious. I dropped five coins in the pouch and stuffed it in the tiny space. I resealed the tack on the corner of the print. I stashed the rest in a stocking stuffed between the bed and the wall. A thief would find the fake stash first, and hopefully not dig deeper.

Then I looked at the sword.

And for the first time, I really looked at it.

The metal was old, but sharp. But the weight of it. It had presence. The hilt was shaped like a dragon’s claw, gripping a red gem the size of an eyeball.

I pulled it free.

Lightning hit my spine.

Magic. Raw, ancient, wild.

The ruby glowed. The blade thrummed in my hands. My whole body tingled like the moment before a storm breaks.

I yelped and dropped it.

The glow died instantly.

I stared at it, heart pounding. I didn’t know what it was or what it could do. I just knew it was more than it seemed.

I shoved it under the mattress like a child hiding a broken vase.

I knew next to nothing about magical objects, and even less about weapons. I suddenly regretted not swiping Father’s old book off his desk before I left. Honestly, I regretted not grabbing a second dress, a brush, or any of a hundred other things a sane person might have brought on a trek through Mithaloné Thaeril.

The Jade Twilight. Just saying the name made me feel like I’d walked into an old tavern tale. A jungle thick with magic and danger. I had two guides, which sounded comforting until I remembered most adventurers had ten and still ended up as bones in a vine-covered pit.

The Equatorial Continent was a place where magic didn’t just exist. It soaked into the ground, clung to the air, and twisted anything it touched. Dungeons didn’t wait to be found. They erupted from the dirt like cursed boils. Monsters followed, naturally. Because when raw magic gets bored, it makes friends.

The cabin suddenly felt smaller, the walls closing in just a little tighter. The ship pitched beneath me. Between the mattress and the long, miserable night I’d just survived, exhaustion hit like a wave.

I unlaced my boots, peeled off each layer of clothing, folding each with care. I’d need them to last, and besides, it gave me something to do while my brain still tried to catch up. Panic flared for a second when I realized the cabin door was still unlatched. I slid the bolt home with a sharp click. No sense pretending my clumsy entrance hadn’t made me a hot topic among the crew.

Chemise off, blanket on, sword shoved out of sight. I left the magelamp glowing. The darkness pressing in from the rest of the ship felt a little too eager to swallow me whole.

I wasn’t ready for that. Not yet.