Riggers unmoored the ships and were pulled back up in swaying winds, grim faces lightening as the ships sailed further away from the now abandoned village. The captain’s quarters of the three airships were used as medical bays for those too injured to work on the ship, the able-bodied villagers taking their places among the ships. They were the first brought up.

As it turns out, a few barrels of wine had already been opened. Unwilling to leave behind the barrels, they were brought up to the ships before everyone had gone aboard. It worked as a great motivation for those left to get aboard quickly. More cups were shared, and the mood lightened enough for the Faulk to sing small chanties together across the three ships.

Rael held their own cup close to their breast, looking at their reflection in the dulling evening light. Aside from Rael and Azmond, three people already knew of their pasts as slaves. Many more knew that they had a secret to keep. How much longer could the two of them keep it? What if there were other survivors who could identify them?

Slavery was always something Rael had heard about in their youth at Tulip’s Hold. It was always something that happened to others. Prisoners of war, the indebted, criminals. They’d been told as a child that if they were bad, the evil Bergin or Faulk would steal them away to work in their mines, on their ships, or in their beds. Only girls were threatened with the last option.

It was only a matter of time before more people would learn of their past. But Rael had allies now. Neither Feldon nor Edith seemed to hold their past against them, and even Meayetti, as insufferable as she was, hadn’t treated them differently. It was only a hint about their past to her. Was it better to let the secret fester between Rael and the rest of the crew, or would Rael allow the wall between the Faulk and themselves to crack apart? This separation that Rael kept between themselves and everyone but Azmond felt like another way to keep themselves safe. After all, if they couldn’t trust their family, who could they turn to? Rael was lost in their mulberry reflection, the singing and dancing rising up around them fading into the background of Rael’s awareness.

‘Were they ever my family?’ The thought came to Rael at that moment. They’d only seen glimpses of what other families were like. Others didn’t compete for their parent’s love because it wasn’t a prize to be given, but something freely given. Raela had walked on eggshells her whole life, keeping themselves far from their father for fear of triggering his temper. Her mother viewed her children as an annoying chore she was forced to deal with. Her father had his favorite, the firstborn Yolfis, and a twisted pride in his quantity of children, rather than who they were. Rael sipped the wine, the cool liquid sliding down their throat and quelling their inner fire.

‘Would they have fought demons by my side, as these Faulk have? Would any of them have risked their lives to help me?’ Rael’s thoughts stilled. ‘Tipple, maybe. But that’s it.’ Rael chugged the last of their wine and stood up, making their way to the front of the slowly moving boat. The cheering faded somewhat as they pushed their way to the crowd to sit in front of the skalds playing their instruments. The crew had their eyes on them, nudging their laughing fellows, hushing them to pay attention. Rael clanged their tin cup on the floor besides them, the skalds stopping their tune in surprise. All attention on the boat was on Rael, and the other two boats had their own parties quiet down in attention.

Rael almost shrunk under the attention, stomach twisting in knots. Until they saw Bleffy staring at them from her mother’s lap, waving vigorously. And Rael found their voice.

“Every story has a beginning.” Rael began slowly, focusing on Bleffy to avoid acknowledging the crowd looking directly at them. “The greatest ones have storied beginnings of legions of noble ancestors. Faulk stories most of all, for who else could claim to be aided in battle by the ghosts of those long since gone?”

There were a few cheers, crewmen slamming cups together.

“I’ve noticed two exceptions, although it may be three now. Bjorn Dragonward was found as a babe, raised by a mother bear. Ruen Dragonward was rescued from the Venellian torture pits as a young man. And now there’s me.” The only sound was sizzling meat on heated stones and wind dragging through rigging, the people enraptured by Rael. “I often got into fights because of how much people disliked my greedy smith of a father. Joke’s on them, my family disliked me more.” Rael paused, hurting as the statement left their mouth. There were some unsteady chuckles as people supped their wine, quietly chewing on spiced meats and Rael’s words. “They sold me into slavery a few months ago. It was on the slave ship that I met Az.” Quiet blanketed the ship, people looking at Rael in surprise. Rael smiled at the memory of the young boy struggling to walk around in his iron mask, guided by the gentle Wollow. And as the memories flowed from a trickle into a stream, the words spilled out of Rael mouth with greater and greater ease.

They talked about how Wollow got them all to work together on a plan to escape, how they took control of the ship through subterfuge and strength, and how they got the ship’s crew on their side. All while carefully omitting Rael’s status as a Meta. With every minor victory, Rael’s audience cheered. Every setback, they winced. When Rael revealed how Caldon had revealed the smuggler’s ship to Bergin, there was an outcry that pierced through the foggy night. But when it came time to reveal Yannis’ appearance, Rael stopped. They looked inside their empty cup, then up at the light of the moons. Azmond was snoozing on their lap, corners of his mouth stained with sauce.

“I’m not sure how to explain what happened next.” Rael avoided looking at their audience, quite a few leaning tipsily out of their seats. “I’m not sure you’d even believe me. I barely believe it myself.”

“Demons?” Someone uttered within the crowd. Rael putting a hand over Azmond’s head as he scrunched his face in his sleep, gently rubbing the base of his horns with their index finger.

“Not quite.” Rael ignored the murmuring. “We don’t know why, but the Rainbow Fire…stopped. Then something came. It was bigger than our ships. It grew from the seas like a claw trying to rip into the sky. When its eyes opened, it was different than what we saw in the eyes of the demon we slew. There was intelligence, thought. And hatred.” Rael shivered, pulling Azmond closer towards themselves. “So much hatred. It spat out balls of flesh, which tore into the ship in crew. Or contorted themselves into new creatures, twisted abominations of flesh. The thing had given birth to what must have been a hundred demons in seconds.”

The Faulk looked at one another, whites of their eyes reflecting in the moonlight as they whispered among themselves.

“Are you implying—” Pequit gulped from behind Rael.

“I don’t know.” Rael said. “We called it that. We fought the demons, but the bigger monster destroyed our ship and Bergin’s. Rael and I clung to some rigging, and as the wind took us away, we watched the Rainbow Fire come back, destroying whatever the hells it was. Or maybe it was all a fever-induced hallucination.” Rael shrugged. “But I know Az saw the same thing I did. Make of the story what you will. We’re going to bed.”

Rael carried the Child of Dragons, gently snoring in their ear, into the captain’s quarters. The crew parted to make way, their own troubled expressions following them as they disseminated into their own spots to sleep. Rael set Azmond down in his hammock, but his hand grabbed onto their tunic, refusing to let them go. Rael smiled softly, nestling his head into the crook of their neck, and letting sleep take them. Somehow, even with Az sleeping on top of them, Rael felt lighter.

<><><>

Rael was dreaming again. They’d begun to recognize it when the memories of their predecessors would visit them in their sleep. It was more real than a dream, in a way. Dreams were personal, chaotic, and relied on feelings and impressions to push a narrative. The memories were raw, visceral. They could feel sea spray hit Bjorn’s face as he held the prow of his ancient, seabound drakkar just as they could see a busy city on the horizon. ‘Napjta.’ Bjorn’s thoughts slid against Rael’s own, his excitement at what to come mixing with nervousness.

The sails were taut, the wind pulling the ship at such speed that it felt as if they were jumping over each wave. A bigger wave than most made his crew stumble, but Bjorn stood as firm as the mast.

“Father!” Someone called from behind him. Rael felt the smile stretch his mouth wide, wind whistling through his missing teeth. A young man passed the tiller and rushed to Bjorn, moving to the sway of the waves like a sailor fifty years his senior. When Bjorn’s eyes met his son’s, his smile faded. “Must we do this?”

Bjorn thought he was scared, but his steely red eyes met Bjorn’s without flinching. ‘Not even a man grown, and yet nearly my height and unafraid. Good.’ Bjorn sent a silent glare to the members of the crew scowling behind Jormun’s back.

“Aye, child.” The captain thumbed his axe, checking its sharpness. “We have nothing to gain from fighting our kin. Everything to gain from them.” Bjorn pointed backwards to the city that waited for them.

“They are innocent in this.” Jormun clenched his sharp teeth and shook his head vigorously, nearly shaking his red hair loose from its braid.

“Wrong, boy.” The captain stood straighter, looking down on his son. “They hired Faulk to kill Faulk. They used our desperation to shed the blood of our kin, deepening the cracks between our tribes.”

“They don’t deserve this.” Jormun reiterated. “Those who made those decisions are gone now.”

“But their gold, their silver, and their iron remain.” He turned around, seeing only the city. “With that, we can forge a new future. Begin uniting the Faulk.”

There was a glimmer in the eyes off all onboard. This spark of hope was what united them all beneath this disgraced captain. Too many had lost friends, family, and lovers to the constant battles between the Faulk. Too many were stuck, bond by oath and blood to different sides.

“We’ve lost too much. I cannot let Xythael’s legacy end.” Bjorn said softly, letting the wind tear away his words. The city grew closer, enough for them to see fishing boats bobbing in the docks.

“Xythael wouldn’t want this.” Jormun’s hearing was sharper than his crimson horns.

“Are there any who would challenge me for the position of captain?!” Bjorn called out, not even turning around. He knew none stood save his son. “And you, child?” Bjorn turned his head to meet Jormun’s gaze with one eye. His heart thumped in his chest. The captain could fight against ten warriors on his own. But a fae-touched, no, fae-born? It was hard enough when Jormun only reached up to his shoulder.

“No, captain.” His son averted his gaze and backed away. Bjorn was a bit disappointed; the Faulk looked down on a coward. Others might see his progeny as one such craven, but they were fools.

“Are you afraid, boy?” Bjorn asked as Jormun stood by his side.

“I just wish there was a better way.” Jormun sighed. “One where nobody got hurt.”

“You are soft, boy.” Bjorn said. “Xythael showed us that true peace can only exist under overwhelming strength. It is who wields that strength that determines right and wrong.” The city bell began ringing in alarm, the people, no bigger than ants in Bjorn’s eyes, began scrambling. “They’ve only just realized what we’re here to do.” He raised his axe in the air. “Men, at arms!”

Tomes were summoned as the Faulk warriors prepared themselves for a bloody fight. Bjorn’s and Jormun’s Tomes appeared; a large grizzly bear and a man resembling Bjorn himself. Men rushed into position with bows, positioning themselves in two rows along the ship’s starboard side. At the docks, men in armor held spears and large, rectangular shields and at the ready. Behind them were people in robes, hefty books sparkling with arcane might. Balls of lightning and fire hovered above them, growing larger with every passing second.

“Ready anchors! We work in [Harmony]!” Bjorn shouted, the spell encompassing all aboard. At once, the ship no longer became a collection of different people, but a single organism united in a shared rhythm, a shared song, a shared dream. “Archers, cast spells and draw!”

The Faulk cast spells on their arrows. Not just their own, but their neighbor’s as well. Spells layered over the arrowheads, not just increasing their penetrative power, their speed, and their sharpness, but adding a plethora of effects to whomever would be wounded. The mages flung their spells towards the ship.

“Tack! Drop anchors! FIRE!”

Three orders. A single mistake would spell their doom. But they’d practiced this maneuver a hundred times before, and they would live to practice it a hundred times more. The ship glided seamlessly through the water, turning just in time to avoid the magical explosions and the anchor dropping enough with the changing wind to slow the ship a few meters away from the docks. A hail of enchanted arrows, reaching the identical heights, in identical arcs, landed among the soldiers, tearing through shields and into their bodies. Screams of agony were quickly silenced as the arrows exploded, burst into flames, or pushed poison into their bodies. Madness spread among the ranks, the mages trying to bring back order. But it was no use. The troops were already confused and in disarray.

“[Great Leap]!” The crew chorused together as they leaped onto the docks.

Blade met flesh in a frenzy, the Faulk warriors tearing through the enemies like wild animals. At the front was Bjorn, his axe cleaving though limbs like they were dry tinder. A soldier thrust his spear towards him, but Bjorn side-stepped, pulling the weapon from the befuddled youth’s hands. The soldier looked at him for a moment in surprise, then rushed forwards to tackle the captain. Bjorn slammed the heft of the youth’s own spear into his neck, sending the man down in a choking mess. Another soldier sliced at him with a sword, Bjorn catching the blade on his axe. The man jumped back to avoid Bjorn’s strike and was run through with his friend’s spear for the trouble. A third soldier charged, spear-first, dancing around mangled bodies and his fleeing allies. Bjorn deflected the tip, letting the spear go over his shoulder and delivering a mighty swing into the man’s neck. The man gurgled, eyes losing focus as blood welled through his jerkin. Bjorn pulled out his axe, letting the man fall and looked around. He had only lost one man, whereas the bodies of his foes littered the docks.