The Temple was quiet, as it had been every morning. The sky was still dark, and the sun wouldn’t be rising for another thirty minutes. Soren sighed as he walked through the empty halls. He had no reason to wake this early, but old habits have a way of sticking around.
After making a few cursory checks around the temple, he stepped outside to check the docks.
The ocean lay flat, glass-like in the early morning calm. It was a rare view, one he’d never get in the city, the endless water stretching into the horizon, calm and unbroken.
He let his gaze linger, imagining taking out a small sailboat for a short spin, wind tugging on his sails, the water rolling beneath. But Lyra would be awake soon, and he didn’t want to leave her alone, not in this isolated place.
A pang of guilt tugged at his chest; he felt bad enough about dragging her here, but there was no way around it. Thankfully, they should only have to stay here for a few more days until the true harbormaster returns.
Soren stepped down the pier, checking the lines that secured the few boats they kept tied up here. The nets that hung along the rails of the pier and the lanterns they kept out to guide travellers at night.
Every rope, knot, and plank received the same careful check before he determined that everything was in order, the same as it was yesterday and the day before that. In fact, nothing about this place has changed since they arrived about two weeks ago.
But that was still no excuse for slacking on the job, so Soren still diligently checked the docks each and every morning. Soren lingered at the end of the pier, letting the warmth of the coming sun brush against his face.
The first hints of golden light streaked across the water, and the wind picked up, carrying the scent of the ocean. For just a moment, Soren closed his eyes and let the wind rattle his hair. He imagined going for just a quick sail, a short loop around the bay, letting the currents carry him.
He shook his head with a small smile, letting his daydream go. Responsibility called, with one last glance at the shimmering bay, Soren turned back to the temple, and the sound of the water brushing against the pier faded.
Back inside, Soren moved towards the small kitchen, the smell of salt still clung to his clothes, yet there was not much you could do about that when you live out in a harbor. He set the kettle on the stove and prepared the rest.
Eggs, bread, and cheese make a simple breakfast, but enough for a little girl to start her day. It wasn’t much longer until Lyra waddled in her hair, frizzed up, and rubbed the sleep from her eyes.
“Morning, little one,” Soren said, putting on a smile “Did you sleep well?”
“Mm-hm,” she nodded while yawning.
He busied himself with breakfast while keeping light conversation with his granddaughter, letting her chatter fill temples and quiet halls. For a moment, he allowed himself to enjoy the simplicity of it all. Getting to spend time with her here was surely the one saving grace of this tedious favour.
The timing wasn’t ideal, getting called out here while Lyra's parents went away, but he was determined to make the best out of it.
“You know,” Soren said, setting a plate in front of her, “when I was your age, I used to sneak out before sunrise to watch the harbor wake up. I would get up so early, convinced I could be the first on to see it wake.”
Lyra tilted her head, curious. “The first… like, before anyone else?”
“Yes,” he said, smiling at her wide eyes. “Every morning, I’d hurry down the docks, tiptoe past the warehouses, and imagine the water still and motionless. I wanted to see the harbor wake up all to myself, like a secret world only I knew.”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “But every morning, without fail… the harbor was already alive. Sailors would be shouting across the decks, ships would be coming, and the water would already be busy with movement. No matter how early I arrived, I was never first. The harbor never slept. It didn’t care about my plans, it just kept going.”
Soren sighed, eyes drifting to the bay outside, still smooth and glassy in the early light. “Here, though…” he gestured towards the window that looked over the bay. “Here, we get to see it wake up. Slowly. Gently. As if the gods personally gave us a small moment of peace. A harbor that doesn’t move until I arrive. I never thought I’d get to feel that.”
Lyra’s eyes sparkled. “It’s like magic.”
“It is,” Soren said, ruffling her hair. “ That’s why mornings like this are worth getting up early for.”
Lyra nodded, nibbling on some cheese, “I like it here, I can hear the waves,” she said happily.
Soren let the warmth of her words sink in. Even if the assignment was tedious, these small moments made the sacrifice worth it. “Alright, little one,” he said, rising from his seat to pour some tea. “Finish up your breakfast, and then we’ll have some study time, if we get through it quickly… maybe we can even go for a quick sail.”
Lyra’s eyes lit up. “Sailing! Can we go? Please!”
Soren chuckled, ruffling her hair once more. “Soon, little one. First, let's finish breakfast.” With that, he cleared a few dishes, letting Lyra finish up before moving to the study.
Soren handed her a small book of some basic arithmetic and simple riddles. “Why don’t you try these while I check out a few things? I’ll be right here if you need me.”
Lyra nodded, already absorbed in the pages, and Soren let a quiet smile touch his lips. When he was her age, they would have had to tie him down to keep him at a task for more than a few minutes. His own son was no better; in fact, he did have to tie him down to get him to focus for more than a few minutes.
Soren chuckled softly to himself, shaking his head. "Good thing she gets her patience from her mother,’ he thought as he reached for a nearby satchel and moved towards a small desk by the window.
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On it was a map and sea chart of the Shrouded Lands; the soft morning light illuminated the study and showed fading lines and symbols that marked the shifting currents, islands, and the ever-changing borders of mist.
His fingers traced the outlines carefully, noting every subtle difference he could find. Soren reached for a second map, one drawn just months prior, its edges were frayed, and the ink a little smudged.
He laid it carefully beside the first, comparing the two with a practiced eye: the islands bordering the mist have shifted slightly in relation to each other; some stretches of fog have receded, while others have thickened, spreading out even further.
Soren frowned, leaning closer. The mist wasn’t static. It was always moving, expanding, contracting. But this felt different; normally, the mist moved slowly, inevitably. But now.. It isn’t waiting, it shifted suddenly, almost impatiently, as if an unseen hand was coaxing it along.
He pulled out a third chart, older, drawn nearly a year before, and placed it by the others. The differences were undeniable; islands had drifted, channels had vanished, and the mist had thickened considerably.
The Mist has always been fickle, but never like this. These shifts carried intent.
The gods were stirring.
His eyes drifted back to Lyra, watching her work through her arithmetic and riddles, occasionally muttering to herself various numbers as she worked. She was patient, careful, and unlike her father, maybe the world won’t have to tie her down to make her learn.
A small smile touched his lips, but it faded as he returned to the maps. He traced the mist with his finger once again, noting the various patterns it tended to form. He knew what it all meant.
Hearing the sound of Soft footsteps, he looked up to see Lyra standing next to him. She had both hands on her workbook and was holding it out towards him like a trophy.
“All done!” she announced, a clear hint of pride in her voice.
“Very good, little one,” Soren said happily. “Now, why don’t you take a little break, while I check out a few more things?”
Lyra hesitated, looking up at him. "We're still going sailing, right?” she asked, the desperation clear in her voice.
Soren laughed, grabbing her workbook out of her hands and ruffling her hair. “Of course,” he said with a smile.
Lyra’s face lit up before running back upstairs, her small feet barely making a sound on the wooden floor. Returning to his maps once again, Soren took out a small notebook and continued to mark every change he could see.
Soren’s pencil paused mid-mark as a faint shift in the air caught his attention, a soft, subtle pressure, different from the usual quiet of the temple. Soren frowned, scanning the doorway, but saw nothing beyond the empty hall.
‘Probably just the wind,’ he said to himself, shaking his head, and continued to work. Yet the sensation didn’t subside; if anything, it intensified.
Then came the footsteps; they sounded light, almost faint, but only grew slightly louder as they approached the front door before stopping.
For a moment, the temple was quiet; nothing could be heard except the wind as it blew by, then came the knock. It wasn’t loud, not like a visitor banging on the door, yet it carried through the temple as if the walls themselves were listening.
Soren’s brow furrowed, and he set his pencil down. Not many people came out this far, and even fewer would have reason to approach the temple, especially by land.
He moved towards the door, each step careful and measured, his mind racing through the possibilities.
“It must be someone from the village…” he said under his breath, after all, there was no one else who lived on this island. His thoughts flickered to Blackstone, a place few have heard of and fewer spoken about.
Soren’s hand hovered over the latch for just a moment before reaching forward, and with a decisive tug, he opened the door.
On the other side stood a boy, for the looks of it not much older than Lyra, yet there was something in his posture that told otherwise.
Soren looked down and met the child's gaze, and found himself caught by a pair of deep forest-green eyes. They felt steady, too steady for someone so young, and sharp as though he could cut someone with just a glance.
For a moment, the two stared at each other, neither saying a word. The wind shifted, ruffling the boy's short brown hair, but his gaze never wavered.
“Good morning,” the child said, first interrupting the silence.
—
Phineus woke up feeling better rested than he had in his whole life, not just refreshed; he felt restored. There was no lingering fog in his thoughts, no aching in his limbs; his body felt light, balanced.
He stretched slowly, testing himself. No stiffness. No weakness. The sun was already high, its warmth spreading into the ground. He blinked against the light, taking a moment to adjust his eyes and steady his breathing.
Today mattered. The temple wasn’t far; he would be there before he even noticed, yet Phineus found himself hesitant to leave.
Ever since he left the village, he had only one goal, get off the island. But now that the temple was practically in sight, that single-minded purpose suddenly felt small, fragile. Where was he going to go? What was he going to do? Phineus took a deep breath, letting the cool air fill his lungs.
Phineus let himself stay there a moment longer, lying on the grassy floor, letting the sunlight warm his skin. The wind carried the scent of salt from a distant shore, his muscles twitched almost in protest, eager to move, but his mind still clung to the stillness, savouring the calm of it all.
Yet from only two hours away, he heard a call, a siren's song that drew him in, the promise of adventure and distant shores.
He pushed himself up and brushed the grass from his clothes; his ‘Nature Sense’ expanded as he combed over the environment. He felt birds slicing through the air, their wings cutting sharply into the sky. He sensed insects shifting beneath the soil, and a fox nearby weaving through the tall grass.
The world felt awake, and he was up with it. For a moment that steadied him, and long enough for him to set off. At first, his steps felt forced, needing to make a conscious effort to take the next one forward.
As each foot pressed into the grass, he felt the pressure of his own weight press onto the ground. His pace sped up a little before he settled into a steady rhythm that matched his heartbeat. Once his camp disappeared behind the rise of a hill, he felt a familiar presence stir.
It shifted nearby, slowly at first, then faster; it took only a blink before it was converging directly on Phineus’ location. In a single motion, he crouched and leapt, effortlessly landing on the back of his remnant panther without breaking its stride.
The wind cut past him, tugging at his clothes and hair, but Phineus laughed freely. The hills rolled on endlessly, but with each step, the distance shrank.
Time slipped by unnoticed, Phineus’ chest rose and fell steadily, moving in harmony with the creature beneath him. Every so often, he’d glance at the horizon, and the shape of the temple drew nearer.
Finally, the clearing opened up, and the building itself was coming fully into view. Its stone walls glimmered faintly in the sunlight. He saw a glimpse of the dock behind the temple, a few boats tied up, waiting.
The remnant beneath him shifted, folding in on itself, in a fluid and seamless movement, and returned to Phineus. Returning him to his feet yet not breaking his stride, the temple’s stone walls grew larger with every step. For the first time in months, the coastline was open, and he could see the ocean.
Focusing again on the temple, the walls were older than he thought, weathered yet still standing strong. As he approached the steps, the grass beneath his bare feet gave way to cool stone. He went up the short wooden staircase until he was standing in front of the door.
He paused for a second to admire the carved tridents and waves that were etched into the door, filling his chest with the cool sea air. He reached out with a careful hand and knocked on the door.
