“Boy, what in Ronin’s name are you doing?”

“What? Oh shit-“

Wilhelm plunged the fist-sized 20-sided die made of congealed flame that he had been concentrating on into the waters of the dock, sending plumes of steam upwards. He sighed in relief that he wouldn’t be adding any more burns to the surrounding deck, just as a geyser of hot water blasted him in the face from it detonating beneath the surface.

He cursed and sputtered, wiping water off his face while scowling at the portly, aging dockworker who had spoiled his concentration.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” he demanded.

“Uh,” the man responded, staring at where he had directed the fire.

Wilhelm rolled his eyes and shot a thin burst of fire into the air.

“Aspected business sir, please move along.” He said in what he hoped was an authoritative tone.

“Yes, uh, sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.” The gruff man awkwardly slid away, shooting glances in his direction as he went.

Wilhelm sighed and sat back down, legs dangling towards the water. Archibald’s Promise was to his left, the ship they would be aboard for the next couple of weeks. It wasn’t anything impressive – a thin vessel with some scratches on the wood and barnacles on the hull, but it looked serviceable enough. Dusk was soon approaching, so he’d taken to trying out the new control exercise Calypso had taught him before he’d left. It was called The Gambler’s Delight, and the idea was to turn the form your element naturally inhabits into something it does not. In his case, that meant trying to make a solid brick of a die that could be rolled, and was detailed enough to be actually used, but there were other permutations as well. For something typically solid like the Aspect of Stone, turning the stone into a liquid in the form of a martini was common as well. As long as the Aspect was being changed into something it usually wasn’t, and it made you want to rip your hair out, the exercise was working.

“This isn’t something you will use in combat, in all likelihood,” Calypso had explained.

“Making your fire a solid object could have some interesting applications, but I doubt it will be practical. Really – and while this goes for most control exercises, it applies to this one especially – this is purely for making your control better. It’s a little less straining than the Halo that you completed before, so you’ll probably need to complete another exercise or two before breaking through the next barrier, but it’s a good starting point, and easy to do on the move.”

He shook his head, looking at the traces of steam still rising from the water. That was one attempt down the drain. It wasn’t a big deal he supposed; there was plenty of time to train while waiting for the rest of his temporary crewmates to arrive.

Just as he was about to try making another one, he spotted a familiar Sedi whistling as he walked towards the ship. Oro looked to be in good spirits at least – he’d grabbed a massive backpack resembling something he’d seen diehard hikers take on long trips, though on Oro’s massive form it didn’t look particularly impressive. Still, Wilhelm wouldn’t have been surprised if he could have fit inside.

“Training?” Oro asked as he approached, nodding at some burn marks Wilhelm had futilely attempted to cover up on the dock.

He nodded, “Yeah, still trying to get a handle on this one. My first couple of attempts were…” they both eyed the scorch marks again.

“Unstable, to say the least. They’ve gotten better, though. Now they only explode in my face most of the time.” Wilhelm added with a smile.

Oro looked at him for a little bit, spotting the burn marks dotting his uniform, and the slightly singed eyebrows.

“You know, you don’t make being an Aspected look very dignified.”

“Hey, I am very-“

“Or fun.”

“How dare-“

“Or enjoyable.”

Wilhelm scowled, and Oro grinned.

“Come on, those last two were basically the same thing. Fine though, I admit I don’t make it look great. I’m new to this though, okay? Give it time and I’m sure I’ll be a power-hungry asshole like the rest of them.” He said, dead pan.

Oro’s face was stricken, like he didn’t want to react, or was afraid to.

“Alright fine, be that way.” Wilhelm rolled his eyes. “I’m allowed to badmouth other Aspected because I am one. Until the day that I meet one stronger than me who turns me into vaguely man-shaped goop for the offense, my mouth will make like an always-on refrigerator; never stop running.” He scratched the top of his head absentmindedly.

“Sure, I’ll pretend any of that was intelligible.” Oro said.

“Want to check out the ship?” He jerked a thumb in the direction of the wooden vessel. Wilhelm squinted at the sun, and nodded.

“Sure. I probably won’t get much more worthwhile training done anyway, since everyone’s going to be arriving soon. Besides, there will be plenty of time when we’re at sea.”

They ascended the gangplank and stepped onto the open deck. Wilhelm immediately groaned, feeling the recently forgotten swaying of the ground beneath him. Oro seemed to have no issues, which only made it worse. He grumbled about it as they walked.

The deck was empty other than a few barrels, some spools of rope, and a wooden board hastily nailed to the mast. A rough sheet of paper was attached, the edges frayed slightly in the salty sea air. The two of them made for it apprehensively; it would determine their hierarchy in the coming weeks, and both were nervous to see who was where.

They both read it, Wilhelm’s expression souring, while Oro’s was downright terrified.

First mate: Taylor Rothwell

Quartermaster: Georges Perreault

Chief Engineer: Olivia Rothwell

Doctor: Harrold Wertheim

Navigator: Oro Cianita

And finally, hastily scribbled at the bottom in the margins:

Aspected: Wilhelm Fisher

“Hey, weren’t they not going to add me to the list?” Wilhelm asked, while Oro continued staring forward sightlessly.

“Oro? Buddy, you in there?” He shook his arm – having to reach up to do so, which was only a little emasculating. And didn’t bother him. Because he’s above that. That would be petty.

“I…” Oro stammered.

“Take your time.” He patted the Sedi on his back while handing him a – comically small in his grip – canteen of water. Oro took a few sips and collected himself.

Well, ‘collected.’

“I can’t be the Navigator!” he eventually stammered out.

“I’ll probably crash the ship, or lead us in the wrong direction, or pick the wrong island, or…” he trailed off, his eyes darting from object to object on the ship: first the wheel, then the mast, then the sails, his pupils dilated in panic.

“Breathe,” Wilhelm said, “It will be fine. What makes you think you’ll be so bad at it?”

“How could I be good!” Oro half-yelled, half-squealed, “I’m not smart enough for that job! You need to have a comprehensive knowledge of the surrounding islands, waters, monsters, the kinds of people active in those areas, and probably other things I don’t even know of. Don’t you see how woefully unprepared I am for this?”

“Oro.” Wilhelm stepped in front of him, trying to block his continuous stare at the Paper of Doom.

He stood on his tiptoes, still couldn’t block his vision, thought about jumping, and immediately discarded the idea. But not because it would be emasculating!

“In our first conversation you outlined dozens of different political entities in a level of detail rivaled only by full-time historians. You will be fine. Do you think I know how to be an Aspected? I’ve only just learned how to not burn myself every time I train. Sometimes. Actually, most of the time I still burn myself – but isn’t that the point of all this? It’s an exam, but it’s still about learning.” He patted Oro’s arm since his shoulder was too far, finally getting his eyes away from the paper.

“What was it you said about the test? Something like if you succeed you’ll be a greater asset to your Captain than if you had passed the old one? This adds another wrench into things, but the reward is all the greater if you succeed. Maybe he already has a navigator, but having someone else well versed in it couldn’t hurt.”

Oro took a few deep breaths and nodded.

“Alright. Okay, I can do this. I can do this. It will be okay.” He muttered to himself over and over, a newfound mantra.

“Yeah,” Wilhelm muttered, eyeing the name next to ‘FIRST MATE:’ “I sure hope so.”

* * *

Shortly after, the rest of the crew filtered in. One by one, they all checked the piece of paper nailed to the mast, most sighing in relief at not being on it. A couple cursed, but they hadn’t been on the list, they just didn’t like who they’d seen on it.

“Oh, would you look at that.” Taylor said with a wide grin as he read over the paper. His sister – or relative of some kind at least, Wilhelm wasn’t sure the exact relation - Olivia stepped up beside him and nodded in agreement.

“Would you look at that indeed. Whoever put this list together had some sense at least.” Her eyes trailed to the two names at the bottom.

“Emphasis on some.” She threw her head back and cackled. Nearby sailors grimaced. It would be a long two weeks.

“Everyone, gather ‘round.” Headmaster Adrik snapped, gesturing to the front of the ship. He picked out several people from the crowd – the names on the list, Wilhelm quickly realized – and directed them to stand before everyone else, to the right of himself and Director Alarie.

“These are your superior officers for the following two weeks. You obey their orders according to hierarchy, you do not backtalk, you do not disagree. First mate is highest in the hierarchy, then Quartermaster, then Chief Engineer, and so on. You all know the drill.”

Aside from the ones Wilhelm knew, he learned that the Quartermaster was the leader of the mercenaries he’d seen earlier, a bear of a man named Georges. As for the doctor, he didn’t recognize him. An air of intensity surrounded him, he was extremely short, and he had the sharpest, most square jaw Wilhelm had ever seen. Paired with the fact that his name was Harrold, Wilhelm already loved him.

Director Alarie stepped forward, “As Headmaster Adrik said, this is your hierarchy. Memorize it and above all else, obey it. Many instructors like to use the phrase, ‘A crew without discipline is little more than a group of pirates.’ They are incorrect. Pirates can have discipline. A crew without discipline is unworthy of the word itself being awarded to them.”

“The next two weeks you will act in unison, patrolling the nearby waters and acting as navy men. But do not forget, that’s all you are doing: acting. Egos have no place on my ship.” Wilhelm could have sworn his eyes glanced at the Rothwells at the last statement.

“That is all.” The Director concluded, and the group shifted from foot to foot in uncertainty.

“What are you all waiting for?” Headmaster Adrik demanded with a hobbling walk forward, “Get to work! You all know your roles, and if you don’t, ask your superiors.”

Oro met Wilhelm’s eyes and gave him a pleading look.

Wilhelm tried to give him an encouraging smile, and shrugged slightly.

“Good luck, and see you around. Let me know if you need anything. Sir.”

Oro’s brow furrowed.

“I am not going to get used to that.”