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This is how it begins: There is a boy who loves his father with all the hope and wonder of a bird just starting to fly. One day, his father sails off as a hero with glory filling his sails, and rumors of a coward return to haunt the boy in his father’s place. So the boy runs away with his mother, away from the sorrow and ghosts and dark looks from those that once loved him. But his mother, heart and spirit broken, dies along their way. The boy keeps going, locks all the grief inside of him and swallows the key that could release it. He’s taken in by a couple of aged mages who claim they see potential in him. He, along with a dozen other boys as lonely as him, is taught the art of magic, of destructive arcane fire. But, as it turns out, arcane magic is not his speciality; he thrives in the pages of books. He absorbs knowledge with all the passion of the fire he longs to conquer. He disappears among the shelves because he cannot do the magic he should. The boy makes a decision: he pays a man cloaked in shadows all he has for a magical stone glowing with secrets and potential. He swaps his right eye for this stone – and grows too powerful for his fellow mages. The boy leaves, travels the world searching for something to live for. He starves. Here, where the story really begins: This boy, nearly a man at age sixteen, steps off a ship and wanders into a small tavern just a short walk away from the port. With just enough money for a sloppy meal and a night’s rest, he sits in a corner and watches the other patrons. (The boy always watches. He has only his knowledge and magic to travel with him, and no figment of hope that he won’t be abandoned by others. He’s alone for a reason.) There is a group of five, mercenaries by their manner and clothes, bent over a table covered with a thick parchment. The boy listens as they discuss, discerns that this parchment is a map and that they are arguing how to get past a door. He will never know what prompts him, but he gets to his feet and walks over, slipping between a loud-mouthed red-haired woman and a broad blonde man bickering at each other. He examines the map, eye taking in the scale, and thinks: I could do that when a hand grabs his collar and yanks him off his feet. It’s the blonde man; the red-head scowls and stabs his too-thin chest with a sharp finger, crying, “Oy, you little sneak! What’cha think you’re doing, nosing around in our business?” The boy glances up, catches the yellow gaze of a man with bronze skin and hair like the night. “How big is that your door you’re stuck on?” he asks, trying to stay collected. He’s accustomed to hovering above the ground, although he’s usually in control of it. The yellow eyes narrow on the boy’s face and, finally, a voice grits out, “Ten feet.” The boy nods, having guessed that, and says, “I can burn it down.” The red-head shouts, the blonde holding him gives him a hard shake that makes everything in him rattle, the yellow eyes widen, and from behind the man with the bronze skin peeks out a man with hair the colour of a thrush’s wing. “Could you?” he asks, his voice friendly and hopeful. “Really?” The boy held by his collar gives a frown, annoyed by their disbelief. “Of course I could. I’m a mage, aren’t I?” “So am I, laddie,” the blonde holding him says, “but I can’t break down a foot thick door.” The boy twists his head so he can stare at the man with his single eye full of scorn. “Then you’re not much of a mage, are you?” The blonde rears back, the red-head shouts a curse in the boy’s other ear, and then the dark voice snaps, “Quiet.” Everyone’s eyes turn back to the yellow ones narrowed on the boy’s face. “Say you could. What then?” “Then I’d want to get paid for my job and left well enough alone,” the boy answers. “Counter offer,” the bronze man says. “You help us out in the fight afterwards, you get paid double.” The boy’s heart stutters in his chest, because double. Double means twice as much food, twice as much drink, twice the chance of living for another day. He swallows, composes his expression and asks, “Double of what?” There’s a twist to the dark man’s lips. “Two hundred coins.” The boy’s heart stumbles, then catches as the red-head yells, “Oy, Dagran! That’s more than we can afford!” “It’ll come out of my portion,” the dark man, Dagran, answers, casting a cool eye their way. “The job’s not happening if we don’t get through that door.” “If he helps fight,” the man with the blue eyes and thrush hair says, “I’ll pay him my part.” Dagran spins on his heel and spits in the other man’s face, “Like hell, Zael.” Zael lifts his chin and says, “You can’t tell me what to do, Dagran.” He leans in, so his face is too close to Dagran’s and says, “It was my birthday last week.” There’s silence, a tense, tension-filled silence, and then Dagran sighs and rocks back on his heels, and the blonde man holding the boy starts to laugh so hard he drops the boy. But the boy is used to landing, and his feet touch the ground silently and safely. The youngest man, Zael, is smiling to himself, and then the dark man turns back to the boy and says, “The Quillen warehouse on the eastern side. You know it?” And even though the boy doesn’t even know what town he’s currently in, he frowns and answers, “Of course I do.” Dagran nods once and says, “We’ll meet there three hours after sunset. All right?” “Fine,” the boy says, crossing his arms over his thin chest. “Good.” And then Dagran turns away, calling over his shoulder, “C’mon, Zael. We’ve got to go pick up some supplies.” “Oh! Right! Coming!” And then Zael trots after Dagran, grinning a wide, boyish grin. The two behind the boy follow after them, still bickering at each other. And then all that’s left is the boy, still eyeing the map. Suddenly, a pair of hands reaches out and starts to roll up the map. The boy starts, having not seen this person, and he finds a head of hair the colour of the sea on a moonless night. Then, the head lifts and a face, pale and round as the moon, blinks dark eyes at him. “What’s your name?” the girl asks quietly. “Yurick,” the boy answers. He can’t quite take his eye off of the girl – she reminds him of all the wonderful sailing trips he and his father once took. She angles her head to one side, smiles with thin lips and says, “Well, Yurick. The Quillen warehouse is two streets down from the blacksmith’s place. You’ll know it by its door and the red brick archway.” Yurick swallows, trying to think of something to say besides a thank you, because he should not be thanking this quiet, beautiful girl, and blurts out, “I know.” Her smile spreads, like the petals of a flower opening. “Of course you do. I just told you.” And then she slips away with the map in her hands. Later, after Yurick meets up with the group, and he burns down the door, and only helps fight in that he ends up setting the west side of the warehouse on fire, which sends everybody into a panic, he goes back to the tavern with 300 coins - 300 because the red-head had argued that he hadn’t actually done anything, and Yurick was too tired to fight about it anymore. It’s 300 more coins than he had earlier that morning. He gets a full night’s sleep, and then spends half of his earnings on food and another third on a new jacket. The rest he hides away, wondering how far he can stretch 50 coins. Except, Zael knocks on his door later that week and says they have another job that they could use his help on if he’s interested? The pay’ll be smaller, but maybe if he does well this time, they’ll use if for this other job they have lined up, and- And, and, and. When they tell the story to others, this is where they’ll start it: With Dagran marching into one of Syrenne’s favourite bars, announcing he has a new job lined up for them – a job from Count Arganan himself. With a cavern filled with Repitids and a hidden mausoleum underneath the earth. With Zael’s cries of Syrenne’s name, of blue light and a strange voice, of the power to bring the dead back to life. With the four of them finally arriving at Lazulis City a full day behind Lowell and Mirania, who have already settled in at a tavern in the centre of town. They might give some back story: how Syrenne and Lowell have argued from the first moment they met, when Lowell apparently said something about Syrenne’s fighting technique (Yurick doesn’t know the details; Zael and Dagran are quick to change the subject); how Mirania always challenges Dagran to bets that he most assuredly loses, at the cost of food he cannot afford (mostly because Mirania eats more than all of them combined when given the chance); how Dagran pulled Zael off the streets and has been looking after him ever since (which also explains the affection in Zael’s eyes every time he looks Dagran’s way); how Syrenne drinks far too much; how Lowell has been a flirt since Dagran hired him four years ago; how Mirania was never really hired, but just followed them one day and saved Syrenne’s life; how the only time Yurick is ever actually approachable is when there’s a sea-wind blowing through his white hair. They might, but likely as not. These are details that are not necessary to the story, the story of how a group bonded by money and a desire to live became a family bonded by support and compassion. A family that, nearly as soon as it comes together and polishes off, like a clay jar a potter has worked on for weeks, shatters into pieces with the betrayal of the one that was supposed to hold them all together. They will tell the story, and in doing so focus on Zael and the way he and Lady Calista’s love grew and shone like the stars they become famous for adoring. They will focus on Dagran: how they failed him, how he failed them, how much they needed him, and how much they didn’t actually need him at all. They will focus on Syrenne and Lowell discovering how much they care for one another; on Yurick facing his ghosts and learning to trust people; on Mirania’s reason for fighting. And that’s fine. That’s the way to tell a good story. But there are other aspects of the tale that could be told. Like this one - that Yurick and Mirania stand side by side far too often to be coincidence. Here is the reason why Mirania is Yurick’s favourite: she understands the beauty of quiet. Most people see their group of mercenaries in terms of types. Zael is the earnest, right-doer, Lowell is the gallant flirt, Syrenne is the passionate drunk, Dagran is the cool-headed leader, Mirania is the mysterious healer, and Yurick is the sulky outcast. While this is quite correct, it’s also very one-sided. Zael is also easily embarrassed and very thoughtful, Lowell is an amazing tactician with a flare for lighting the atmosphere, Syrenne is amazingly loyal with determination stronger than her love of alcohol, Dagran is charming and sometimes downright scary, Mirania loves food more than anything in the world, and Yurick is terrified of ghosts. They mesh, they clash, they compliment, they compromise- Perhaps that is what being a family is all about. But both Yurick and Mirania find peace away from others. While Mirania finds it in her own mind, drifting away like the aroma of the food she loves so fiercely, Yurick must physically distance himself in order to breathe. They do not like the loud clanging of Lowell and Syrenne’s every meeting, nor the too-knowing stillness of Dagran and Zael’s talks. They like a natural sort of life, where being unbothered is as much of a certainty as waking up in the morning, or feeling your heart beat. If you desire companionship, it can be searched out, but it is not a constant. This is why they find each other, meeting without words and continuing on to wherever they are supposed to meet up with the others. Mirania’s gentle spirit does not hinder the calm that Yurick needs so desperately, and Yurick’s distaste of filling a silence for the sake of making noise appeals to Mirania’s thought-wandering. They can walk along without words, gathering the energy they require to get through whatever new adventure might come their way. Mirania was raised by a Guardian of a forest; Yurick has been an orphan for nearly a decade. Alone is not a terrible thing for them. They are accustomed to it, far more than they should be. Perhaps, too, it is the magic flowing through them that draws them together. They can sense each other – Mirania’s quiet pale purple and Yurick’s red-flashed blue. They are well-matched. If it was their story (but it’s not), it would start at a bar. One day, in a town Yurick can’t recall the name of (not that it matters; every town is the same as the last, with the same prejudices, the same poverty, the same small-town troubles), Syrenne is drunk – again – and loudly complaining about the state of the world, and of men in particular. Usually Syrenne’s rants are amusing, not that Yurick would ever tell her that. But tonight’s is rather insulting and more vicious than usual, and he has had just about enough of it (and her). And then Mirania, who is sitting across the table from loud-mouth, raging Syrenne, catches Yurick’s eye, and then rolls her own dark eyes. They roll high towards the ceiling, then back to focus with her usual polite expression on Syrenne’s face. Yurick can’t quite help it: his lips start spreading into a smile before he can catch himself. He ducks his head down to hide, brushes his hair out of his eye, and presses his lips together. But, oh, it’s about time someone rolled their eyes at Syrenne; honestly! He stays, although Syrenne is getting louder and louder, and watches when Mirania stands to fill Syrenne’s mug. She steps over to the bar, smiling and polite, and then there’s a crash off to the side that pulls Yurick’s attention to Zael, who has just fallen out of his chair and is scowling at a grinning Lowell. Dagran’s eyes glint with yellowed amusement, and his smile is just this shade of smug. Yurick shakes his head in exasperation, then turns to look back at the bar when Mirania appears right in front of him. He jumps, heart racing from her sudden closeness, and swears, “Hell, Mirania!” “Sorry,” she whispers, and her voice travels like the wind, brushing through his white hair. “You’re distracted tonight.” “Tired,” he dismisses. “It’s been a long day.” It has been. They arrived late this morning, and then there had been a brawl in the centre of town that Syrenne felt the need to break up, and then of course Zael got involved because it was ‘the right thing to do,’ and overprotective Dagran ordered them all in at that point. Then, after that had been sorted out, there was the search for some lunch that had resulted in Lowell swearing to find some waitress’s kid brother – and of course everyone had to help him in that search too. “It has,” Mirania agrees. She shifts her grip on Syrenne’s mug that is a little too-full (just the way Syrenne likes it), and Yurick shifts away just enough to keep out of harm’s way in case it spills. “I noticed you smiling earlier,” she says after a moment. “I did not,” Yurick dismisses instantly, automatically. She doesn’t say anything, just continues to smile at him with her usual calm expression. Yurick scowls, like that will be able to remove the memory of his smile. They hold each other’s gazes, until Yurick’s heart thrums like a hummingbird’s. He glances away and says, “I suppose this is when you tell me I have a beautiful smile or some other sentimental crap.” “No,” she says. “This is when I tell you that you shouldn’t smile unless you feel like it. And I’m happy you felt like smiling.” And then she tilts her head to the side, locks her eyes on his lone one, and smiles closed-lipped and beautiful. He really can’t help it; he glances away even as his lips curve upwards. He gets a kick to the shin, which makes him give a small, quiet yelp and glare up at Mirania. She simply smiles again and turns away, walking over to Syrenne and passing her the mug of booze. Yurick only sticks around for another couple of minutes before slipping away to get some sleep. Casting magic takes a lot out of him; whether it’s his age or this damn blasted stone, he doesn’t know. What he does know, is that it’s one more thing keeping him separate from the others. Which is just fine with him. The next part of their story would take place in a library. If there is one redeeming part of Lazulis Castle (and there are very few), it would be the library. Filled with books from the past, about magic and history and political alliances, it is the only place Yurick could possibly consider a safe haven. They have been in the castle for too long, Zael deliberating between swearing loyalty to the Count and pleasing Calista (personally, Yurick think the solution is simple: Count Arganan is a very powerful man and could assure them a lot of safety; and as for Calista, well – Yurick doesn’t understand women anyways). Yurick spends whatever time he can in the library, when he’s not busy standing guard over the entrance to the castle. He’d like to be warned if someone particularly annoying entered. It’s one of those days when he wanders into the library. The twins, bright-eyed and too much like a younger him back when his family was whole and his world still beautiful, run up to him on their way out of the library. “I found the lighting spell, Master Yurick!” Dinis calls, his smile bright and eager to please. “The one you said could keep the monsters away?” The lad is scared of the dark, not that Yurick can really blame him. There are far too many nightmares just waiting for the perfect moment to come to life. The lighting spell is really only good for illuminating candles, but the flame will last until the mage tells it to go out, and uses very little wax. Yurick feels a smile begin to spread, and he says, “Sounds good. Perhaps we can look it over together some time. Tomorrow, perhaps?” That is, if Zael hasn’t made a decision about his future by then. Yurick isn’t hopeful. Dinis’s nod is a little too fierce, and Yurick reaches out to actually halt his head. “Careful, or you’ll give yourself a headache,” he orders. Dinis’s next nod is much more subdued. “Master Yurick?” Dinah asks; Yurick turns a bit to see her flushed cheeks and shy smile. “This... this is for you!” she announces, shoving her arms out and clenching her eyes shut tight. Yurick glances down and reaches out to pull out the parchment from the girl’s tight grip. It’s a drawing of a tall, lean boy with shocking white hair, holding onto the hand of a small girl in a pretty white dress. Of course. He hides his smile by pressing his lips together. “I thought you told me you were going to practice your weightless spell,” he says instead. Dinah’s head ducks low, and Dinis grins like Syrenne does just before she gets Yurick or Zael into trouble with Dagran. “She got distracted. Again,” he stresses, poking his twin in the side. “No, I didn’t!” she denies, poking him back. “Dinah,” Yurick says, reaching around to tuck the picture into his jacket’s inside pocket. “As lovely as your picture is-“ and Dinah’s smile could keep all the monsters away, “-drawing is not a skill a mage requires. Do you understand?” “Yes, Master Yurick,” she says, bowing her head. Dinis snickers before grabbing his sister’s hand and pulling her towards the door. “Good day, Master Yurick!” he calls over his shoulder. “Good day, Dinis, Dinah,” Yurick calls back; he shakes his head as the door clicks shut. With a soft sigh – what he did to gain such innocent affection, he’ll never know – he wanders over to the section on the history of the Gurak people. He suspects that brushing up on this sort of thing could only prove of the most use. “I hear congratulations are in order,” he hears a soft voice say from his left. He glances over with his eye. “Congratulations? For what?” he asks, frowning in his confusion. Did Zael actually agree to the Count’s despicable offer; and if so, did the Count actually follow through with his promises? Hell, what if Yurick is expected to become a dammed knight? “For your upcoming wedding,” she explains with a teasing glint to her dark eyes. The breath escapes him like wind leaving the sails of a ship; he feels flat and limp inside. “Oh. That. Yes, well, Dinah does have a crazy imagination.” “I believe she has it all planned out,” Mirania continues, stepping closer. She smells like the plants she likes to work with – floral and teasing. “It should be a lovely affair.” “Should I reserve you a seat?” he asks with a wry twist to his mouth. He turns back to the books, books that smell of dust and ink and the perfume from countless others before him. “Please,” is all she says. She takes another step, so her arm brushes his. There is a flutter of fabric brushing fabric, of skin buzzing beneath and blood coursing underneath that. “Any subject of particular interest today?” she asks after a moment. “Gurak culture,” he answers, eye already glancing through titles scrawled on the spines of the books. “If we’re headed into a war, it’ll be a good idea to understand our enemy.” “Clever,” she praises. “Dagran will be pleased.” Yurick scoffs. He doesn’t mean to let it escape, but Mirania’s presence relaxes him so that he doesn’t always stop before he should. “Dagran’s too busy making sure Zael is knighted to notice anything we might do.” There is a soft silence, and Mirania’s presence shimmers in that way that means she’s thinking very hard. When she’s daydreaming, the air lightens and fades away. “He’s doing what he thinks is best for all of us,” she answers finally, hand reaching out to brush along the edges of the books. “Knighthood isn’t suited for everybody,” is what he decides to say, still feeling annoyance thrum through him. It’s the kind of annoyance that comes when someone blatantly ignores you without a decent reason. It’s rare that Dagran ever fails so drastically as a leader; he’s usually incredibly fair. But Zael has always been the baby of the group, and Dagran has always been just a little biased in his favour. “No,” she agrees softly, her thin fingers pausing on a book a shelf higher than the one Yurick is glancing through. “Not for us.” Her fingers tap the spine of the book twice. “Perhaps this one?” But Yurick is still listening to that quiet, unassuming ‘us.’ As if they are a packaged deal, as if they are the same. As if Yurick and Mirania are as alike as Lowell and Syrenne (no matter how they deny it). He glances up to scan the title of the book she’s chosen. He frowns at its promising title, and leans up on his toes to pull it down. He opens it as he lands back on his heels, eye skimming the pages. He closes it with a decisive snap. “It’ll do for now. Thanks,” he says, turning his head to smile at her. She smiles back, and it makes his inside warm and bubble. “Of course,” she answers. And the rest is... well. The rest is a rather mixed up conglomeration of glances, soft voices, and quiet understanding. There is far too much focus on fighting Guraks, and researching the Outsider, and trying to help Zael get released from prison (again), going to war, and trying to survive. And finally, there’s the brutal cut of Dagran’s betrayal. Zael turns to Calista for comfort, which is likely for the best since Calista is the least affected by this. She can lie and say that it was never Zael’s fault, and believe it. (Yurick doesn’t know what to believe.) Lowell and Syrenne decide to help each other: with their feelings out in the open and Dagran’s cuts all over their bodies, it only makes sense for the two of them to lean on each other. (Yurick wishes he had someone to lean on.) Mirania vanishes, possibly to discern how much damage the library has undergone and helping out the restoration process; which leaves Yurick to wander the city, damaged and trashed and barely alive, and over-think many things. A month ago, he would have been wanted it to be this way. He would have been the first to wander off and heal himself. Perhaps a month ago, it wouldn’t have cut so deeply. But a month ago he had no knowledge of his father’s courage and the honour in which he died, he didn’t understand that his group of friends were actually a family, he hadn’t faced a vampire and the ghosts of its victims, he was afraid of his own power, and he hadn’t opened up his heart to the world. But now, just as he had finally began to trust people enough to let them in completely, one of the most trusted had sliced him wide open. It makes him bleed, dripping everywhere he goes. It takes a couple of days, but Mirania finds him on the outskirts of the city, where he can overlook where Lazulis Island and Gurak Fortress have crashed and interlocked. He’s listening to the wind blow through his hair, and breathing in the smell of the sea, and wondering how foolish it would be to ask his father (his dead father) for advice. He can sense her behind him; he closes his eye and imagines the way she is standing: arms folded across her stomach, head tilted downwards, the wind rustling her pinned hair. He opens his eye, feels the eye patch brush the skin beneath that dammed stone (but perhaps that stone and the power it brought saved them all in the end), and says, “This entire thing was for naught.” Perhaps dramatic, but he’s been doing nothing but think for two days, and it’s ultimately the result he reaches every time. “But what about the Outsider?” she queries, her voice still soft. “Now we can finally release it, and maybe the land will heal.” “Maybe.” There’s a rustle of fabric, and then a hand touching his shoulder. She holds it there, cups his shoulder in the palm of her hand. “It will heal. If we give it time.” He doesn’t answer. A healed land does not mean as much to him as it does to her. A healed land will not bring his family back to him. A healed land cannot promise a peaceful land. “People will not welcome the Gurak back into the Empire,” he says instead, watching as dark smoke billows into a clear blue sky. “There will be war.” “Then we will keep fighting.” The hand moves towards his neck, brushes the armour he has yet to remove. “Now that we have something worth fighting for.” “What am I fighting for?” he asks the wind and the sea and the sky, feeling lost and confused. For the first time in a long while, he feels like the eighteen year old boy that he is. “Peace. Quiet. Calm,” is what Mirania tells him. “And a world where you don’t have to search out a private place.” And maybe... Maybe she’s right. Here, this is when the end draws near: The Outsider is released into the space from whence it came, and the air suddenly feels lighter and thicker, as if life is suddenly bursting. Yurick stands at Mirania’s side and feels her happiness dance around her in sparks of purple and pink. When her body silently shakes with happiness, he keeps quiet. He shifts ever-so-slightly so his arm brushes hers, and lets her lean on him. At the tavern, he buys a hot meal and a cool mug of water, clear like the air buzzing around him. He feels lightheaded, and wonders if this is how Mirania feels all the time. He can hear others chatter around him, but for once doesn’t feel the pressing need to be alone. He feels isolated, like a barrier separates him from everybody else. The doors open, and he glances up to see Mirania enter. She notices him, sends him a quick smile, and then starts for him. He sighs, and pushes his plate over to the other side of the table where a chair waits for her. It’s not as if he was very hungry anyways. She sits, and with a slight nod of thanks, begins to eat his soup with quiet determination. He doesn’t say anything, just leans on his elbows and curls his hands around his mug of water. She’s breached his perimeters, but he finds he doesn’t mind. It’s calming, sitting here with her as if Syrenne was about to come bursting through the doors at any moment, with Lowell on her heels, and Dagran and Zael talking between themselves; as if the world hadn’t been completely altered. When she finishes the soup, she rests the spoon by the bowl, and then runs her fingers over the rim. “Have you thought about what you’re going to do now?” she asks. Yurick scoffs a breath of air. “Now that everything’s changed, you mean?” At her glance up into his face, he sighs. “No. I don’t... I don’t really have anywhere to go,” he admits quietly. There’s quiet as Mirania stares down in the bowl and Yurick into his mug of water. Finally, she says, “What if you came with me?” Silence, silence so loud Yurick can hear his blood roaring in his ears. He lifts his head slowly, stares at her with his lone gray eye and says, “What?” “I think...” she begins, “now that the Outsider is back where it belongs, I’m going to go on a journey. Around the entire Empire, perhaps; checking to see how the land is healing.” “Mirania,” he says quietly. “It’ll take years for the land to go back to normal.” “I know,” she says. “But, even if I could just spread awareness... Maybe. Maybe I could...” She frowns and sighs to herself. “I need to see it with my own eyes,” she finishes. Yurick pauses, understanding that. It’s the same as when he had to see his dad’s skeleton for himself. He’d known, but he hadn’t really known. “And... you want me to go with you?” he summarizes; still confused as to what part he could possibly play in this. She glances up, dark eyes and glinting hope. “Well, you are a sailor. You know your way around a ship. And... it’d be nice to have the company.” Something begins to sink in his stomach, a lost hope or a stone of a broken heart. It twists in him, hurts him, and he acts out the only way he knows how: in anger. “This is out of pity, isn’t it?” he snaps. “Everyone else is pairing up, and poor little Yurick will be left all alone.” She blinks and shakes her head, one hand reaching across the table. “No,” she breathes. “I wouldn’t... Yurick. I want you for you.” It’s a strange thing, being wanted. It makes hope rise up inside you and makes your heart dance and your blood warm. He swallows, leaves his hand where it is so if she wants to touch it, she... She could. “Because of my sailing techniques,” he clarifies. Which, to be fair, are rusty at best. “Because you want the same things I do,” she corrects. “And because I won’t feel alone if you’re with me.” Her hand slides over the wood of the table, and her bare pale skin covers his bare pale skin. His fingers are longer and flatter than hers, but both shine like the moonlight on the sea. “No one else would understand why this is so important. And...” she pauses again. “There’s something to be said about the quiet,” she finishes with a gentle smile. Yurick looks across at her, and seriously considers it; considers travelling around a shattered, poor Empire to discover whether or not the land is healing, perhaps captaining a ship of men whose loyalty is earned only through coins, with the only person to really talk to the girl sitting across from him. Then he thinks about what he might be available for him if he stays here. Zael and Calista are so in love it’s disgusting, and he’s compassionate enough to want to stay out of Lowell and Syrenne’s business as they sort out their little love affair. Perhaps. Perhaps this is the only choice he has. This is how the story ends: He turns his hand over, curls his long, thin fingers around her skinny wrist, feels her pulse drumming against his fingers bum, bum, bum, and raises his eye to meet hers. He smiles. He says, “Okay.”