Chapter 7

  Erik’s voice trailed off and disappeared into the fire, thinning out until it just mixed with the smoke. For a while, I didn’t move at all. I just stared at the flames, trying to make sense of them as they twisted and snapped—like maybe if I watched long enough, they’d spell something out for me. Behind us, the ocean breathed steady and slow, waves dragging themselves up the beach and slipping away again. The island felt different now. Quieter. Like it was paying attention.

  Someone had dozed off halfway through Erik’s story. They were curled up against my side—small, warm, head tucked right against my ribs like they belonged there. I could feel their breathing through my shirt, each slow rise and fall keeping me anchored, stopping my thoughts from drifting out to sea.

  Someone… was a god. Or, well, the child of gods. Two of them.

  I glanced down. Their lashes fluttered as they slept, caught in some quiet dream. One hand twitched near mine before grabbing at my shirt, holding on without even thinking. They looked so peaceful. Soft, really. Fragile, almost. You’d never guess they were the kid of a mercy goddess and a storm god who once drowned the whole world in grief.

  I always knew they were different. I’m not stupid. The tide acts like it’s listening when they walk near the water. I’ve spent enough years at sea to notice when something’s answering back.

  A quiet sigh floated down from above.

  “They don’t know,” Erik muttered.

  I blinked and looked up a bit. “Don’t know what?”

  “That they’re a god, the reason they’re here,” he said. His voice was low, but careful. “They’re clueless. And I’m not about to tell them.”

  He shifted around in my hair, making himself comfortable like my scalp was a pillow. His fingers tangled through my hair—definitely turning it into a mess for later. His wings flicked behind him, lazy, even though his words weren’t.

  “Are you building a nest?” I mumbled.

  “Shut up,” he shot back, not missing a beat.

  Even with everything weighing on me, I let out a short huff of laughter. It didn’t stick around.

  “They deserve to know,” I said after a second, my voice rougher than I meant.

  Erik went still at that. I felt the small shift as he thought about it. “Deserve?” he repeated.

  “It’s their life,” I said, looking back at the fire. “Their history. Their… all of it.”

  The words felt weird in my mouth. I’m not one for prophecies. I swing an axe on a chain. I fight with steel and stubbornness. I don’t ask gods for strength. I survive. That’s what I do. I survive, and I protect what’s mine.

  And right now, what’s mine is sleeping against my ribs, totally clueless that this island was raised for them by a dying goddess.

  Erik leaned forward, voice softer. “You think knowing would help?”

  I didn’t answer right away. I watched the flames shift, listened to the ocean breathe in and out. If Someone knew—if they really understood what they were, where they came from—would it set them free? Or just bury them under something too heavy to carry?

  Their fingers clenched a little tighter in my shirt, like, even in sleep, they were scared to let go.

  My chest tightened.

  “If they’re meant for something bigger,” I muttered, mostly to myself, “then I don’t know where that leaves me.”

  Saying it out loud felt small and ugly, but it was true. What use is a ratty pirate in a story about gods? I don’t have divine power. I can’t call storms. I don’t even have magic!

  I looked at Someone again—God or not, they trusted me. Maybe that’s enough. At least for now.

  I swallowed hard, like I was trying to force something down past a knot in my throat. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

  My voice came out smaller than I wanted. I’ve shouted orders over cannon fire before. I’ve laughed at men who could snap me in half. None of that seemed to matter anymore.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Erik didn’t answer right away. He moved instead. I felt his tiny feet walking across my scalp—slow, steady, like he owned the place. I felt every step. Then he leaned over my forehead, upside down, firelight flickering around him. For once, he didn’t look smug, or sharp, or anything like that.

  “You do what feels right,” he said, voice so steady it made my chest tighten. “But if you care about them—and I know you do—you’ll keep this between us. Just for now.”

  Just for now.

  I stared into the fire. Sparks floated up and died before they could go anywhere. That’s exactly how this felt—delicate, like one wrong move and it’s gone.

  “I won’t say anything,” I said, quiet. It didn’t feel like I was promising Erik anything. It felt like I was making a promise to the kid curled up next to me.

  Erik didn’t thank me. Didn’t even nod. He just sank back into my tangled hair, wings wrapping around himself, like he could hide there. I could almost forget he was there if I tried.

  But I didn’t forget.

  I reached down, careful, and brushed a stray hair from Someone’s face. My hand moved slow, like I might break them if I wasn’t gentle. They didn’t wake. Just breathed in and out, steady and warm and real.

  They looked so… human. Just a kid who trusted the wrong pirate and fell asleep leaning against him.

  “But what does any of this have to do with sending me back—and those burdens you mentioned?” I kept my voice down.

  Before I could second-guess myself, I reached up and carefully untangled Erik from my hair. He was so light—way too light for someone who carried so much inside. I set him in my palm and brought him closer, making sure he looked at me.

  His wings flickered, catching the firelight and throwing off little sparks of gold and ember. Up close, I could see it, the way he tried to mask whatever he was feeling behind sarcasm and rudeness. His tiny face tightened, something gnawing at him. Worry, maybe. Or guilt that just wouldn’t leave.

  He let out a sigh, wings drooping a little. “Well… because of the spell Hypasia cast on Someone—and me, by extension—leaving this island isn’t really an option. Not for us.”

  He stopped, waiting for me to say something. I didn’t.

  “I’ve tried,” he said, softer now. “Gods, I’ve tried. I’ve flown as far as I can. Over and over. But some… force always drags me back. It’s more like…” He clenched his jaw. “Like the island itself refuses to let us go.”

  We sat in silence for a moment, before I spoke up once more.

  “But… I’m not bound like you,” I said, the words settling in my chest, heavy and cold.

  “No,” Erik said, meeting my eyes. He didn’t look away. His tiny fingers curled against my skin. “You’re not. That’s why I can send you back.”

  “How?”

  Erik shifted in my palm, trying to balance against my thumb. His wings twitched—a nervous little flick. “If I have a map,” he said, sounding more grounded now, “I can teleport a person to a specific place. It has to be exact, and I can only send one person, and only once. After that, the map burns out. But it works. I’ve done it before.”

  A map. Of course, it always comes back to lines and directions, just like the sea. I let out a slow breath and looked past him, staring at the faded walls of the hut, listening for the island’s pulse outside. This place had already taken enough from the people stuck here. I wasn’t about to become another link in that chain.

  “Alright then… I must go back,” I said, steady as I could manage.

  If I stayed, I’d chain myself to a spell that wasn’t mine and risk being another reason they’d never get free. I’ve made tough calls before, but this one didn’t come with the comfort of a clear enemy.

  Erik watched me, searching for doubt.

  When he didn’t find it, his face went solemn, something tired in his eyes. “We should do it before they wake,” he said, voice low. “It’ll be easier.”

  Easier for who, I didn’t bother asking.

  We moved quietly after that. I slipped my arms under Someone and lifted them from the floor. They were warm, limp with sleep. They stirred a little, fingers snagging in my shirt, then relaxed again. I carried them to their bed, pulled the blankets up around their shoulders. They curled into the covers, peaceful and totally unaware of what we were deciding just a few steps away.

  I stood there a beat longer than I needed, memorizing the way they looked—nothing dramatic, just a quiet image to take with me. Then I stepped back. If I didn’t, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to leave at all.

  I had so little stuff to pack that it felt insulting. A stack of shirts still in something resembling order, my pair of boots leaning against the door, and the pile of books Someone had been jamming into my hands these past few weeks with that insipid smile. I hadn‘t had the heart to confess I had probably read each and every one twice.

  I tried to pack deliberately, slower than I needed to. I could feel the lingering heat from all those nights I had worn each shirt as I folded it. The books were worst; they smelled still the fresh scent of island air. I ran my thumb along the pages of each book before placing them into my bag. It was absurd, how something innocuous could become a villain.

  When I finally buckled up my bag, the room seemed exactly as it had been, like I hadn’t just packed away some of my best memories.

  Erik hovered by the shelf as I worked, more subdued than he normally was. When I was done, he flew over to a corner in the dark and reappeared with a small pouch cinched shut with a drawstring. It was faded from countless hands, the cloth unremarkable and plain, the sort of thing you wouldn‘t even notice if you passed by.

  “Here,” he stated, his smile crooked and not reaching his eyes. “You said fairies aren‘t around much anymore. Once.”

  Taking the pouch I could hardly believe its lack of weight between my fingers. “I did,” I said tentatively.

  “If you are ever low on mena,” he said, the smile fading from his lips, “you can sell this. That will be more than enough.”

  I rotated it once on my palm, tracing the stitching. “What is it?”

  As soon as my fingers brushed against the drawstring, Erik lunged. He was faster than anything that size should be, his hands slamming down to cover the pouch before I‘d managed to open it up a single inch.

  “Don’t,” he said, and he wasn‘t smiling anymore. “Not unless there‘s literally no other way. Seriously. Not unless you‘re in a bind.”

  I froze instantly, right in front of him, staring into his eyes. I had never seen him like this before. Not with that hard glint, and never with that stupid smile. But this time, something was different. This time, there was intensity in his eyes.

  ”… fine,” I said after a moment, letting my hand loosen its hold and shoving the pouch back into my bag, making no more effort to open it. “I won‘t.”

  Erik looked back at me, a lopsided grin splitting his lips, the smile warm but somehow sad, and I felt a pang of something aching inside my chest. Grief, perhaps. Joy. Mixed with grief.

  “I’m going to miss you, Mane,” he said softly, “Honestly.”

  There was no pizzazz to his voice, no playful ribbing. Just the raw truth. And it stung worse than I thought possible.

  He drifted towards me and his little fingers traced my chest. “Remember us,” he said. “And take care of yourself.”

  I opened my mouth to reply, but the words just didn‘t come out. They stopped somewhere between my mind and my lips.

  And suddenly, I was surrounded by a bright light.

  One moment I was in our little cottage, the next, I was somewhere else.

  The field before me was vast, the golden sunlight cascading over the arching blades of grass. The grass swayed like waves in the wind and, in the distance, I heard the bright, careless chirps of birds, as if there had never been sorrow.

  It was in the distance my home town. But it was also an unfamiliar, smaller version of my home town. It felt fragile. It felt far away. And I was standing there, the quiet suffocating me.

  It took me a good minute to figure out what happened. Erik had teleported me home without saying goodbye.

  He understood that I wasn‘t able to let go, not without pain.

  I peered down into the pouch he gave me, touching the promise of its weight, and looked up at the sky.

  It wouldn‘t be today, it wouldn‘t be tomorrow, but one day I‘d get back.