Chapter 16: Chapter 16 - The Sins of the Father
There was not much land on that planet Edward Kinsley called home. The twelve seas housed a sparse set of islands, all a terrible distance away from each other. This world was made for sailing and not much else.
Captain Kinsley often thought how awful it must have been for people of other trades; people who were born in Aazor City and could never be anything other than fishermen.
Sure, the city had uses for people of other talents.
But they were never respectable vocations. The people who were not sailors never amounted to anything.
Edward promised himself that he would not become one of those people. He aimed so high the oceans yielded him a king. For his pleasure, for his ambition, Neptune was his. He would have made him a Nereid and Edward would never again feel inferior, he'd never go hungry, he'd never feel the strain of not belonging inside his chest.
One of his men, his Boatswain, Herald, barely stitched the Lioness together after the ordeal with the sea witch before Edward decided to thrust it back into danger.
Into their territory.
"It's only a matter of time, Captain, before the witch comes," Herald said. Bonnie remained in Aazor, hiding in one of the brothels and hoping to hear enough gossip in town to learn what the Vlachy were up to while he sailed away.
The Celestials would probably feel her presence - unless they weren't too occupied trying to steal the dragon for themselves.
The only thought that soothed this horrible reality was the fact that they had nowhere to go. They could transform into stardust and travel among the stars, but their divine father would find them and punish them.
On Valorian, they had their advantage. They had the Vlachy and their sacred territory the White Snake could never enter.
He wondered if Rhona or Soileen already told them, or if they were still abiding by their ancient oath and the deal their ancestor made with the guy.
"She will not come," Edward said. "Whatever the talks were about, whatever the Celestials promised her, she would wait before they fulfilled the promise."
"So what are we doing here?"
Grasping for straws.
Bonnie swore on her mother's grave she would never set foot on Isla Rhea again. She was a woman of practicality and witchcraft scared her.
Death scared her.
She was a rare breed indeed; a brave woman who didn't shy from admitting to fear. A true pirate queen.
If only Edward could love her. He cursed himself a million times that his heart strayed from a life of a bachelor to a monogamous love that had him tearing his hair out.
And because that love embedded itself too deep for even its bearer's comfort, he knew that Neptune wouldn't leave anything to chance.
Nereid were not Vlachy. They did not possess the power to look inside the fire and see all the paths of the past and all the possible threads of the future.
But Neppie was different. A huge part of a myriad of reasons why Edward loved him.
If the king of the twelve seas foresaw his death and put his protection on Edward, then he must have foreseen the dragon's heart would not fall easily into Edward's lap either.
And he'd have a contingency for that as well, that much Edward knew.
The cave where he found the hatchling remained unchanged. The emerald canopy of Isla Rhea whispered secrets as Captain Edward Kinsley's boots crunched over the undergrowth, a symphony of life thrumming beneath his feet. His eyes, the color of storm-tossed seas, scanned the familiar cave entrance, half-concealed by vines that seemed to pulse with an unseen heartbeat. The dragon hatchling was no longer there, but the primal energy of the island hummed through him. Through his blood.
"Cap'n," boomed Herald, his voice echoing off the ancient stone, "this place, it don't sit right with me."
Kinsley's jaw clenched at the Boatswain's unease, his own resolve hardening like the volcanic rock that formed the jagged ribs of the island. "It's not meant to, Herald. It's beyond understanding, beyond the ken of any sailor."
"Herald, whose imposing frame usually bore a gentle demeanor, frowned, a rare crease marring his weathered brow. "Aye, but maybe it's Neptune himself telling us he ain't keen on waking from his watery slumber."
The words struck Kinsley like lightning, igniting a fury that had been smoldering within him. With two swift strides, he closed the distance between them, his fingers gripping the front of Herald's shirt and slamming him against the damp cave wall. "Do not speak such treachery," Kinsley hissed, the dangerous glint in his eye reflecting the hidden fire that flowed beneath the island's crust. "I'll not have you or anyone else doubt our quest. I'd sooner call upon the bitch queen's Nereid to feast on your flesh than hear another word against our purpose!"
That was just it, wasn't it? Thought poor Herald. It was not 'our quest'. It was the Captain's quest. At the end of which lay no riches, only his personal happiness. A crew or two would argue that a crew's only purpose is their captain's personal happiness.
Herald believed it for the longest time, too. Now he wondered.
Kinsley's grip on Herald's shirt slackened, his knuckles whitening as the reminder of their past surged through him like a tide. His voice, though still laced with anger, softened as he spoke, "You were all thralls to the sea witch, bound to her will. But I severed those chains." His gaze bore into Herald's, demanding acknowledgment. "I gave you freedom, legs to walk upon the earth and a choice to live as men, not mere extensions of her whims."
Herald's breaths came in heavy gusts, his chest rising and falling against the unyielding grip of his captain. The cave's damp air seemed to grow heavier, scented with brine and old magic.
Under Kinsley's intense stare, he swallowed hard, his adamantine resolve softening.
"Yes, Captain," Herald finally said, his voice a low rumble, submission tempering the defiance that had sparked moments ago. His eyes, though shadowed by the cave's dim light, held a flicker of undying loyalty. He'd known Edward to be a man of fierce passions, a tempestuous soul whose wrath was matched only by his sense of duty to those who sailed under his command.
Kinsley's hand fell away completely, leaving Herald to straighten himself against the cool cave wall.
For it was true - Kinsley had never turned his fury upon his crew, those brave souls who traversed the unknown seas to follow him to Isla Rhea. Their allegiance was to him, as his was irrevocably tied to their well-being and freedom.
"Forgive me, Herald," Kinsley muttered, almost inaudible over the distant echo of subterranean rivers.
"Nothing to forgive, Captain," Herald replied, "We stand with you. To the very end."
Then, Herald's foot stepped into something gooey, his boots smashing together against the slimy surface. The torch in Kinsley's palm came down to shed the light on what exactly Herald stepped into.
Both men's eyes opened with wonder. They found what they came looking for.
***
The salty tang of the sea clung to the air as Captain Edward Kinsley stepped onto the worn cobblestones of Aazor's bustling port. His leather boots made a soft thud with each step, his crew's footfalls echoing behind him like a steady drumbeat. They moved with purpose, their silhouettes casting long shadows in the light of the setting sun.
The Vlachy encampment came into view, a mishmash of colorful tents and smoky fires that spoke of a life far removed from the rigid discipline of a ship's deck. There, amidst the chaos of flapping fabrics and chattering voices, he found Mila. Her hands worked deftly, pinning wet clothes onto a makeshift rack constructed from the tough blade grass that grew wild around the city's outskirts. The garments swayed gently in the breeze, as if dancing to an unheard melody.
Beside her stood Areilycus, Lord of Light and her twin in all but demeanor, his arms wrapped around her waist, his lips playfully grazing her neck. Mila's laughter tinkled through the air—a sound so carefree it seemed to mock the gravity of Edward's mission.
A gust of wind tore through the encampment, carrying with it the scents of salt and earth, and tugged fiercely at the edges of Mila's attire. She was draped in the garb of the Vlachy, her slender form lost within the folds of a long skirt that brushed against the ground. A scarf of black linen embraced her head, obscuring her hair and marking her as one with the people they had come to learn from.
"What the fuck," Edward's voice cut through the merriment, his tone roughened by the sea and the frustration gnawing at his insides. He advanced toward them, his eyes narrowing as he took in the sight of their domestic play-acting. "You two assholes are playing household while I'm out there hunting for the truth?"
Mila's gaze didn't waver as she stared at Edward, her hands halting their work among the damp fabrics. "No one told you to leave," she said, her voice tinged with a defiance that matched the spark in her eyes—a spark that Edward knew all too well could ignite a firestorm if provoked.
"Perhaps not," Edward conceded through gritted teeth. "But while I chase shadows, it seems you've found comfort in the arms of witchery." His eyes flicked towards Areilycus, whose presence still lingered close enough for his warmth to brush against Mila's back.
"Comfort? Hardly," Mila retorted, straightening up. She flicked a stray droplet from her fingers, her expression serious. "We have the witch mother spilling truths here," she continued, emphasizing 'truths' with a weight that demanded attention.
"Good luck getting anything out of that old crone," Edward scoffed, disbelief etched into the lines of his weather-beaten face. He had no patience for the cryptic words and riddles that witches were fond of weaving.
"Perhaps," Mila said with a shrug, "but listen—"
"Later," Edward cut her off, shifting the heavy rucksack in his grip to the front. He unfastened the top flap, revealing a glimpse of dark cloth within. "We have found something you should see," he said, his tone urgent, commanding the attention of both Areilycus and Mila.
Areilycus, finally stepping away from Mila, fixed his gaze on Edward. The Lord of Light was ever the beacon of calm authority, yet there was a flicker of interest in his eyes as they settled on the rucksack. "And where is Bonnie in all this?" he asked, his voice low but clear above the wind's howl.
"Stocking the ship," Edward replied tersely, his mind already racing ahead to the next steps that needed to be taken. The urgency clawed at him, an insistent pull that left no room for delay. "We have to leave. Now."
"What? Why?" Mila asked.
Before another word could be shared, a piercing scream rent the air, tearing through the semblance of tranquility. It erupted from Rhona's tent, a foreboding structure that always seemed to hold more secrets than it did space.
Edward's heart clenched; trouble was afoot. Like a tempest's sudden fury, they all sprinted toward the source of the disturbance. The flaps of the tent were thrown aside, revealing a scene of visceral horror that clawed at Edward's seasoned composure.
Rosum, Mila and Ari's brother, was hunched over Rhona's prone body, his big teeth buried deep into her neck. Blood, dark and thick, oozed from the wound, pooling beneath her, staining the earth a gruesome crimson. The old witch's face was contorted in a silent scream, her life ebbing away with each savage tear.
Beside them, Bonnie, the baby dragon, flapped her small wings frantically, opening her tiny maw in futile attempts to unleash the inferno she was too young to command. Sparks sputtered from her throat, dying before they could reach the frenzy of Rosum's feeding.
"Oh fuck," Edward muttered under his breath, his hand inching toward the cutlass at his side, though he knew steel would do little against such madness.
Areilycus's hands flared to life, a corona of radiant energy unfurling from his fingertips and cascading over his brother in waves of incandescent fury. Light, pure and searing, enveloped Rosum in an aura that mimicked the sun's own heart—Ari himself becoming less man, more celestial body, his noble features etched with the same brilliance that crowned the dawn. Yet, even as he summoned the full might of his divine lineage, the unholy scene before him remained untouched by the cleansing inferno.
"That's impossible," Ari gasped, the words rasped from a throat tight with shock. His light faltered, dimming to reveal Rosum still hunched over Rhona, whose bloodied form now lay still.
Mila's fingers wrapped around Ari's arm with a grip that bore the urgency of their dire straits. "Ari, look," she demanded, her voice tinged with fear and confusion. Together, they stared into Rosum's eyes, once vibrant with the mischief of youth, now as pale and void as the inside of an eggshell. This was no mere bloodlust—it was transformation.
Edward, ever the pragmatist even in the face of the supernatural, summed up their plight with grim conciseness. "Well, we're fucked." His eyes darted to the chaos unfolding, calculating odds that grew longer by the second.
"Run!" Mila's command sliced through the paralysis of horror, and she turned on her heel, sprinting away from the macabre tableau. Ari, with a lingering glance at what once was his brother, followed suit, his luminosity dimming to a protective glow that encased them as they fled.
Bonnie, the baby dragon, her scales shimmering with infantile iridescence, leaped onto Ari's shoulder, her tiny claws clinging to his tunic. With every beat of her wings, small embers flickered to life, desperate to mature into the blaze she yearned to wield.
Behind them, the screams rose to a cacophony, Rosum's frenzy unleashed upon the people of the encampment. Tents were torn asunder, the night air rent with panic and the sickening sounds of carnage. Edward cast one last glance back, his jaw set with a mixture of anger and helplessness, before hastening his steps to keep pace with Mila and Ari.
The world around Mila slowed to a crawl as her gaze fixed upon Soileen, her arms flailing in a desperate attempt to herd her children away from the oncoming storm that was Rosum. In that moment, it became clear that fleeing was not an option; they would only be delaying the inevitable. Mila's heart clenched at the thought of innocent blood being spilled while she still had breath to prevent it.
"Volmira may have abandoned us, but I will not forsake these people," Ari decided.
"Stay back," Mila hissed. Mila was already reaching deep within herself, calling forth the dormant powers of the Anchor. The birthright that gave her command over domineering, taming the impossible.
Her skin tingled with an electric fervor as she transformed, her physical form dissolving into an embodiment of pure negative charge.
As Rosum lunged towards Soileen, his movements now sluggish as if moving through a viscous reality, Mila intercepted him with a touch. A sizzling sound echoed as the darkness seeped into him, tracing the lines of the foul entity that had taken residence in his flesh.
Rosum's monstrous form shuddered, his ravaged features contorting in agony as the demon within was drawn out, inch by excruciating inch, by Mila's unyielding absorption. His once ferocious snarl gave way to a hollow gasp until, with a final quiver, he collapsed to the ground, an empty husk.
Mila wavered, the weight of the darkness she had taken in threatening to drag her down alongside her brother. But before she could succumb to the pull, strong arms encircled her, breaking her fall.
Ari caught her, lowering her gently to the earth as Bonnie pressed her tiny snout against Mila's pallid arm, offering what comfort she could muster. Ari's eyes were pools of sorrow, reflecting the starlight that seemed so distant now.
Edward stared at the scene, his mind racing to comprehend the incomprehensible. "Yeah, that's what I came to tell you," he said, his voice oddly calm amid the aftermath of turmoil.
"Your father wants to kill you all."
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