Chương 74: 22 Mementos

I shielded my eyes as I stepped out into the sunlight. Blessed warmth, away from the void. The further we sailed from Fel Rock, the more its grip slipped from my mind and soul. Waves of aching pain rippled through my legs, forearms, and across my back.

"There he is," Naomi said, crossing over.

"Good morning, sleepyhead."

"How long—" my throat pinched, painfully dry. I coughed.

"How long was I asleep?" I asked, noting that I was standing under the late-afternoon sun. She shrugged.

"A day." Her eyelids sagged, as if suddenly tired.

"Walk with me?"

"Huh? Yeah." We hiked up to the quarterdeck, then continued to the second-tier poopdeck. She leaned over the stern bulwark, taking in the dividing wake.

"Jorg, that sun feels good," she said wistfully.

"Tell me about it," I agreed.

"Fel Rock is hardly a tropical paradise."

"I suppose that's the problem with living in Paradise," she said.

"How does one take a vacation when any other island is a step down from home?" A chuckle escaped me. The deck fell silent again. Somewhere below, Elara oversaw fencing lessons with her marines. On the bow, Dustnose and his crew were polishing the Kisses. They'd been doing that when I went to bed. Based on how they were shining, it was entirely possible they had cleaned the guns through the night. I'd have to talk to Bebi. My Kobolds were territorial, and it seemed they'd claimed his biggest cannons for themselves.

In the sun with friends, yet my shoulders remained tight, and there was a pressure I couldn't remove from my lungs.

"We're in the wrong place," I said. She glanced at me briefly, her lips pressing tightly together.

"That's why I chose you as my number two. To question my decisions."

"I remember," I said.

"It's interesting, though. I was always the cautious one, and you were the one who would charge in recklessly." I bit my tongue.

"If we're out here chasing ghosts, it's because that's exactly where Puppetmaster wants us. I'm not losing to him. Not again."

"Yet you came with me," she said. I drummed the bulwark with my fingers, my head nodding.

"You didn't just select me as your second to challenge your calls. You really chose me to support them." My lips pressed into a line.

"You're the team leader and the captain. We might have different plans, but both would fall apart if we weren't on the same page."

"With the exception of Bianca?" Naomi asked. I licked my dry lips.

"You backed me, didn't you?" She nodded. The sound of the hull splitting water droned.

"You're worried about her," she said.

"So am I. Is your mind on the current mission?"

"Yes." I glanced back, checking to see who was on the deck. My voice lowered.

"This is a good opportunity to learn more. Both about the Undertide and what's wrong with the world. Maybe that will key us in to Puppetmaster's plans."

"Really?" she asked.

"You don't want to blindly charge in, burn it all down?" She chuckled.

"Who are you and what have you done with Tony?"

"I've come to realize there's a time for questions, and a time for action." I chewed on the thought for a moment.

"I'm not sure what the case is for this one." She hummed in acknowledgment, folding her hands into each other.

"So," I said.

"How was going home?"

"I hate Fel Rock," she said bitterly.

"You endure the nothing much better than I did."

"It's genetics." She shrugged. I yawned.

"So shouldn't it just be normal to you?" She snorted.

"You understand what Feykin are, right?"

"Sure." I glanced at her.

"They're the closest thing to a mortal to come from Faerie Rock." She nodded.

"Faerie. We did not originate on Fel."

"But you colonized it," I said.

"Right? Your people have been there long; you've adapted to the planar influence."

"Colonized?" she scoffed.

"That assumption is your human ancestry talking. No, we didn't migrate to Fel. We were exploring brighter horizons. The leading theory is that we were trapped there. Either by accident or as some form of punishment." She hugged herself despite the heat.

"Fel Rock isn't home. It's a curse." This time, I went silent for a moment of contemplation.

"You're right," I agreed at length.

"Paradise is home." Her lips twitched up.

"You know, I miss this."

"Miss what?" I asked, amused.

"Friends," she said.

"It's always Princess this, Captain that, Cousin everything. It's good to take a step back and just be Naomi." I bit my dry lower lip.

"You know, I miss it too. When we're done here, after we've saved the world, we should go to Mrs. Moonfeather's café."

"The best cider ever," she said wistfully. She shifted, taking me in. Her eyes narrowed.

"You need to eat."

"I need a health potion," I murmured, rubbing my neck gingerly.

"You still not touching Paradise potions?" she asked. Her voice dropped into a mock macho tenor.

"I'm Tony, and I want to keep my scars, so the world can see how dark and broody I am." I rolled my eyes and swatted at her lightly. She smirked, but quickly masked the mockery.

"It's not that," I said irritably, not entirely certain I was telling the truth. She didn't answer, and amusement vanished from her face. I sighed.

"Reminders of my failures are—important."

"There's no way that's healthy," she said.

"They're motivating," I argued.

"They make me productive." I motioned up to the two holes in the sky.

"Those ones are the most obvious. Then there's the countdown." My eyes drifted to my HUD. <<Time to Seal Collapse: 02: 00: 03: 18: 53: 32>>"I owe the world more than a month. A month I couldn't save."

"A month we couldn't save," Naomi corrected.

"Perhaps," I said.

"Maybe we share that failure." Then my fingers drifted to the scar on my wrist. That failure, I carried alone. Naomi watched me, understanding.

"What about your successes?" I snorted.

"Right."

"Tony, I'm serious."

"Any success I've ever had has been cleaning up one of my bigger mistakes."

"Antonio Marco Moretti, way to make everything about you." I glanced at her in confusion. Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

"You know, Ingred once told me how, when you were young, your class had gone to a play, a tragedy—what was it called again?"

"Loss of the Red Ruby," I said, lips twitching up.

"Yes," Naomi nodded.

"She said you brooded for two weeks straight, even took to wearing a cape in class. What a drama queen." She turned.

"You know what I think, truly?" I turned, bracing for the hard truth. She read my expression and reframed.

"And I'm saying this as a friend. Not a team leader. Not a captain. Not even a Cousin."

"What?" I asked, throat pinching again.

"I think you need to be at the center of tragedy. I think it makes you feel important. It gives you purpose." Ouch. I turned back towards the wake, grip tightening on the bulwark. I bit my tongue, the air suddenly feeling heavier. Naomi continued, voice softer this time.

"I think I know why. Puppetmaster's son. A child born as part of a sleeper agent's cover story. I know what the kids called you. I know how that identity shaped you." My hand drifted to my wrist, coated in a patch of mottled scales.

"You believe you're part monster because of him," she whispered.

"That's not a happy hero's story; it's a tragedy. So you latch onto regret and weaponize it. Not because it makes you stronger. Because if you're a tragic hero, then everything that happened to you makes sense." I refused to meet her eye.

"I don't think you've ever given yourself permission to be you. You're addicted to this role you've created for yourself." Her fingers closed around the back of my hand. I didn't jerk away. She rolled my palm up and lightly touched the scar on my wrist.

"Ingred saw you. You want to honor her? Stop pretending to be—this." This time, I pulled my hand free, fingers tightening into a fist. Naomi sighed and fished something from her belt. A blue sapphire caught the light. I shifted. It was a silver ring, set with a stone and a dwarven rune.

"Is that—""Scars make poor mementos," she said, turning the ring over in her fingers.

"After her funeral, Ingred's mother gave these to us. This one was supposed to be yours, but you had already disappeared." She pinched the ring tight.

"Your failures may motivate you, but your victories inspire me. You crashed the Ash Zephyr into the dam. You drowned the Anti-Astral Defense System. You saved the world. You went hunting while the rest of us mourned and uncovered Puppetmaster's next plan. You went back for Bianca, and Tony—you're the one who saved my city." She extended the ring.

"Tragic hero? Or a tex good Cousin?" I stared at the silver loop for a long moment—one of Ingred's arcane focus rings. I hadn't noticed, but a second one glinted on Naomi's thumb. My hand drifted forward. I plucked it from her palm. Naomi waited for a moment.

"The party belongs together. I'm glad to have you back." She turned and walked away. The air thickened, a pressure building in my chest and throat. My index finger rose towards the silver loop, but it stopped there. I pulled my finger away, gripping the ring tightly instead, allowing it to dig into my palm. I glanced at the scar on my wrist. Pink and deep. Tendons bulged, and my hand shook. After squeezing for a moment longer, my grip loosened. Naomi's words stayed in my mind. Scars make poor mementos.

I sighed, conjuring my potion belt. It was mostly empty; every loop that had held a Bloodwake healing potion was vacant. I drew out the clear Paradise-blue potion that Lance had given to me back at Highwater Cay. Every muscle in my body still ached horribly, and my blisters rubbed painfully in my boots. I was on a mission. This was a tactical choice, not an emotional one. I took the potion. Paradise potions were designed to go down easily. No burn, no pain.

I blinked as the hot spots on my body prickled with healing power. I held my breath for a moment, then I slid the empty vial into my potion belt. Footsteps approached from behind. I turned. A Cynd-Primord approached reluctantly. His red-purple skin and hot green hair spoke to his elemental origin. He wore sailor's cotton and trousers, though the threads lacked the wear of use. He cleared his throat.

"Um, Antonio. I hope I'm not interrupting."

"Solen," I said in surprise.

"I'm sorry, I didn't even realize you were on board. You're still the Purser, I take it?"

"Yeah." He shrugged.

"Big ship, massive crew. I spend most of my time in the logbooks."

"How's Ignis?"

"Father's settled on Terraslab. Mother too. They're good from what I can tell. They want me to join them, though I suspect that's mostly Father. Mother's just proud because she still thinks I'm working on a Scorched Fleet ship. I haven't told them about the Ash Zephyr."

"Yeah, sorry about crashing your ship. The Ash Zephyr would have been much easier to manage than the Winter Maiden." He raised defensive hands.

"Hey, Bebi and Bianca have told me all about your quest with the Slavers' Guild. You guys were right to bench me for that one. I'm no adventurer." A spark danced behind his eye. Hot and bright.

"Not yet."

"Yet?" I said, brow raising.

"You're hoping to go more operational?"

"Operational? Not necessarily. I just don't want to be useless in a scrap."

"You know," I started, "without logistics, there is no operation. You contribute just as much as any of us." He barked a laugh. My head tilted.

"Is something funny?" The Primord folded his arms.

"While you're correct from a logical standpoint, the men don't whisper about how clean my books are over their tankards." His head shook.

"No, they talk about the Mongoose."

"They—do?"

"Of course. They say you strike out alone, a one-man hit squad. They say you can fall from any distance and stick the landing, that you ride on light and the wind." My face heated.

"Hey now, mostly exaggerations, I'm sure." He folded his arms.

"Right, and I'm sure you didn't jump out of the Obsidian Tower of Obcity? Oh, wait, you did. I was practically there when it happened." I scratched at my neck, the aches already fading from my body. The potion didn't heal my scar. I must have carried it too long, though it faded to white rather than a protruding pink.

"I'll probably be dead before the week's out, Solen."

"And remembered," he said, hands raising before him as fists. My eyes widened. Did I have—a fan?

"Hey, being remembered isn't nearly as important as—""Teach me how to fence!" I blinked.

"What?"

"I've been taking lessons from Felipe and Roland. I've even crossed foils with Captain Stormsong a time or two, but you're the Mongoose—" His next words came out tight-lipped.

"And I've known you longer."

"Hey," I dismissed.

"Last time I crossed blades with Elara, she handled me soundly."

"That's not what she says." My head tilted now.

"Really? What else does she say? I'm a flake who abandoned my post?"

"What? No, not at all." Solen cleared his throat briefly.

"She says you might well be the finest swordsman she's ever met, and that you get better every day. In fact, she's the one who told me—" He cut off, clasping his hands before him.

"Told you what?" He sighed.

"She's the one who helped me realize if I ever truly want to become a great dueler, you'd be the best person to talk to." I glanced over at Elara on the main deck as she corrected a young marine's footwork.

"Is that so?"

"I understand if it's an inconvenience, but if possible, could you give me a lesson?" Solen's lips tightened.

"I'd like to, but I can barely move—" That was hardly true anymore. System-charged healing elixir knitted torn muscles, mended bruises, and sped up the healing of my blisters.

"You know what? Tex. Let's do it."

"Really?" Solen asked eagerly.

"Yeah," I said.

"I expect the best from my men; I can't fault you for expecting the same from yourself." I glanced down at my hand with my fingers still curled around the ring.

"Give me ten minutes, then meet me by the foils."

"Tree Four!" I called. Ingred's ring now rested under my shirt against my chest on a leather cord. Solen whipped out a sequence of strikes that covered all of the Windmill form high guards and attacks. The Primord's blade snapped out in jerky, erratic motions. His memory for the order was impressive. His brain struggled to translate it to his hand.

"Slow down," I said.

"Keep it clean. No one's trying to kill you on the other side—yet." He panted, grip far too tight on his sword.

"I can do it faster!" he insisted.

"Please, don't." To the side, Elara waved her men to a stop, and they discreetly shifted our way. And like that, it all went from a private lesson to a lecture.

"There's no way I could go toe to toe with a Vulcan," he said, jerking his blade through the air.

"I need to be faster—stronger." I pinched the bridge of my nose and let out a long sigh.

"You know, the first Vulcan I crossed blades with slapped me around quite soundly." Solen's blade lowered, his shoulders loosening.

"Really?" he asked.

"Yes, that was days before I met you." The marines in Elara's class leaned closer.

"You know how I beat him?" I asked.

"I didn't. Not alone. My team had my back." I angled to face the other marines as well as my pupil, arms folded over my chest.

"You know how to win when it matters? You stack the odds. You trust your team. Sportsmanship, honor—save those for the schoolhouse and your friends. If you find yourself in a fair fight, your tactics suck." Snickers rippled out from the marines.

"Duels are idiotic. Ambushes, wise." I shifted back to Solen.

"You'll never sharpen a sword by slamming it against a sharpening stone. No, you hone it. Slowly and carefully. Skill, strength, technique—they're not things you bludgeon into being. There are fundamentals you refine." I accidentally met Elara's eye. Her chin dipped once.

"I don't have time," Solen said, tensing again.

"I'm not like you. I haven't been training with the sword since I was a child. The enemy surrounds us, here and now. I need to get past the basics." A smile touched my lips. As a young man, very similar sentiments had left my lips. I recalled what Lance had told me. The Bane Thesis winked into my hand, and I immediately shifted into Windmill Tree Four. My sword was fluid, sweeping arcs that shifted from one deliberate motion into the next. A parry moulineted into a cut which flowed back into a block.

My motion was neither fast nor hard, yet my edge aligned with targets unseen outside my mind, and the silvered edge split air with a whoosh.

"Fundamentals are not a rung you step over." I shifted, spinning to meet a phantom attacker at my back. I pivoted to Needle Rain Tree One. My rapier-point darted forward like a viper.

"They are a foundation you build upon." I whipped the Bane Thesis around into a salute.

"If you're a swordsman, do your forms. If you're a swordsmaster, do your forms." The Bane Thesis winked away.

"No sword, find a stick. No stick, pretend. Captured? Do them in your mind." I nodded once, allowing the lesson to sink in. Turning to Solen, I placed a hand on his shoulder.

"No shortcuts. Only reps." He grabbed his foil by the blade and nodded.

"Okay. Reps."

"Land Ho!" the call came from the fighting deck. We spun, pressing to the edges of the deck, trying to get a look. I saw nothing, just some haze in the distance. No. My eyes refocused. Not fog—a tropical island that was both there and not there. It was semi-translucent. I swallowed. The second isle of death. Ghost Rock. <<Time to Seal Collapse: 02: 00: 03: 16: 37: 45>>