Gabrio sat down on the chair with his mask on the side. The vitae that constricts with the mask followed it. He places it and leans down. He has not imitated the Teacher for hundreds of years. When he thinks of cruelty, then he’d think of his mentor.

A doctor should heal, not tear.

The thought of following those footsteps had given him a fight. He was not young and perhaps he was more wiser than his Teacher, but nonetheless perhaps the thought of longevity had made him carefree

I’ve tortured a creature to brain-death. It was a creature of valor, a creature, at the face of death, revealed its true colors. A creature of dignity that refuses to sell out the location of the thousand islands.

I do believe that it is unhealthy to be irrational in the face of those who have enough intelligence and dignity to not sell their people to a massive fleet that will do everything in its power to destroy what isn’t theirs. I do not wish to suffer the same fate myself. To be skinned alive, and questioned for weeks without rest, drugged until the brain collapses first.

Gabrio stops his pen. The familiar smell of his cabin. The potted plants are neatly tied to the hull to make sure that no accident would spill.

I’ve informed the fleet of what we’ve learned and the Skyvers have confirmed that there are islands, though tiny compared to the Tundrae we had discovered, that are full of creatures that are similar to creatures we’ve been cleansing off the land.

There is no doubt that we are annihilating what we deemed as evil. No, it’s best to think of them as foes that would do nothing more than tear us apart. Back in Aon, the folk barely could agree simply because of the region they were born in and the tint of their skin. And the years have not been kind to the different, and we as a people, through our own foolishness and inability to access those who are outside of our fleet. Have become close-hearted to the foreign.

Because we are afraid of what we don’t know. Hundreds of years in darkness, has warped our mind to vigilance. Perhaps, there would have been a way to avoid this dilemma, but as of now we cannot afford weakness. The hardships have made us cruel, and despite the boon we have as of late. We cannot do it. We cannot allow that. To allow weakness in endless water is asking for death… and although opinion may differ. I must agree. At least, that’s what I tell myself as I now recall the face of that creature. I didn’t ask his name, and yet those eyes that stared me down at its last moment stirs my soul.

Gabrio clenched his fist before shaking his head. A reminder that I am straying from what I promised myself the moment I got out of Fort Rava. To heal, rather than tear.

No, I must evaluate this callousness. My dedication to the safety of the fleet, and its people should never be the excuse of losing myself to the ways that my mentor had turned into. I couldn’t allow myself to continue this. Yes, it was a creature not of human or elvenkind. But I can at least understand that it had a heart. A set of beliefs that torture could not extract.

The light flickers. The Grand-Galleon never rolls as much because of the recent increase of improvements on the ship. With reinforced hulls, and stability that had long turned the Grand-Galleon to a town that sustains hundreds of people and let them thrive inside of it.

The results of the young’s training had shown itself. Efficient. Cold. I had been teaching them, most of them grew up into what one would expect. Warriors and soldiers that follow their leaders. The Inquisitor had been worried about the loyalties of those who have tasted land, but the recent skirmishes, the killings of monsters and subjugation of this island has made it clear that despite this solid ground they walk. They were willing to leave the island as long as the Commander orders.

Home.

The fleet is their home.

Perhaps, there are some temptations, but the Lighthouse Fleet is home. The Reconnoiter Company has long been faded, and the only thing left is the Arkshelled, the Lighthouse Fleet that sails the greater seas; the endless sea that has been traveled for hundreds of years.

We cannot change them now.

You cannot tell a bird to swim, and the fish to fly.

And we cannot tell our kin that the water isn’t our home.

Gabrio looks slightly to his left. A metal bird that he drafted one day. The craftsmen have recently taken interest in it and with the materials that they have now… perhaps one day they would be able to create such a thing.

Create wonders and imagine a much more peaceful life dedicated to the betterment of people than the harm of one. It might be hypocritical, perhaps it’s baffling to hear him talk about healing when he had done such an abominable thing to a sentient creature. But everyone's a hypocrite. Unknowingly and willingly they would do something that would contradict what they stood for.

He wrote now to make himself understand. To learn from his mistakes. Navigate his thoughts and steer it back to where it should be. The Soundless. The Jesters. The fleet. The world that fell and the heroes of light that fought and failed. So many thoughts are entering. Concerns that need tending and yet in loneliness he would always find solace. To jot down his spilling thoughts and rearrange his mind. He had heard sayings that adults tend to hide the child that had to live in a world of hardship. Hide it in a protective casing, so no one will be able to reach it.

The boxed child. The inner child that cries out. It must be hidden. Kept in the locks of one’s heart.

“I’m getting sentimental,” Gabrio said, the tip of his pen on the journal he had been writing. The passing of time seems so quick and many faces have been changed.

A new face is jotted down on the chamber of portraits he had created in his inner palace. A new one. Not human. Not elven. But the flayed creature that would now be a reminder of what he was becoming.

Gabrio somewhat knew that in the eyes of others he had done nothing wrong. He was simply protecting the fleet by his actions. And perhaps he could take comfort on that… but that is a trap he must avoid. Excuses can pile up and once it piles up… it can lead to a habit.

It’s for the fleet.

It’s for the good of all.

How many ‘it’s for’ will follow? Gabrio wasn’t sure that he’d be able to follow his own beliefs even as he writes in his journal. Oh, what a man he would be if he could simply just fight the demons of his head and win. Be better.

But the words of the creature spooks him. The certainty in his voice. It’s a belief that they had won the battle between the sun and the moon. If anything, Gabrio believed that the creature must have not seen humans and elven-kin and to them… they are the monsters that have been defeated when their Moonblessed Hero saved them from the scorching sun.

It’s been years since we saw them. We have sailed the seas, avoided the Baron’s gaze, and crossed oceans upon oceans of sunken islands and mountains. Perhaps Dom was wrong after all, the world did not flood or perhaps after years such barbaric tribes have come out of their lands to enjoy the blessing of both celestial bodies.

Thinking that the humans have failed and their Blinders killed. The information that I have cannot be said, but nonetheless there is hope that there are surviving humans, fighting a desperate battle against a world that had been won by the enemy. My feelings towards such information has caused me to re-evaluate some of our methods and that throughout the years the Fleet have started acknowledging my opinion, as a senior, a long-lived human who had been with the fleet ever since it sailed away from the bays of Old Carthan.

Words have weights. And his words might as well be the spell that brings the fleet to certain achievement or certain doom. The creature’s face kept on appearing and despite the words he had said and wrote. Evaluating the status of the fleet and the possibility of the enemy.

He could only point his thoughts to the violence that they must perform. There is time to show meekness and compassion. And time where guns are raised and cannons are shot.

Peace is always the answer. But they are at war and he believed the creature. His words rang true and despite himself battling against the evils that must be performed.

He would simply think back to the creature now. If such a creature has such a fanatical belief that they won and if these creatures are really of their kind… then there is only war possible. Even if his opinions differ. The Fleet, its leaders, and its pragmatic militants will not allow the existence of the foreign creatures of the interstice.

The Soundless and the Jesters must have made their reports by now. Call me a coward, but I will not participate. I have always been a healer. A tender of wounds and I have done enough tearing. Nonetheless, my vote will be counted among those who seek annihilation, genocide of these creatures. It has been our way and I have been an instrument of teaching my students. I do not proclaim to be a good fighter, but the years of combat drills, practice, and diligence has made even the Elders think of my abilities as passable. Though as of late, the reliance on gunpowder and steel have become our strength against such a dangerous sea.

Gabrio could hear some of the guns firing in the background. Ringing across the fleet like a distant thunder.

The fleet will fight, he continued. It will try to defeat the creatures. Not because of hate, but it is our duty to subdue the foes before they subdue us. It is a backwards way of thought, and these thoughts have become our protection and I am not so innocent to believe that such lofty ideals are permissible in our state of mind.

Gabrio nursed the mask on his desk. I hide behind the mask of my mentor. The mask of his ambition. I made this mask in hopes to imitate the Elven-kin. To think that such a mask would become my Vitae and achieve what my mentor couldn’t do so naturally. My mind remains troubled by the viciousness that I grew numbed to and yet my heart yearns for the simple responsibilities of being a Doctor. Age and longevity has given me responsibilities that I do not wish to. But nonetheless, I must be a fool and a hypocrite to take on these responsibilities. I must do what my beliefs are against and walk the other way.

I do not enjoy the Methods of a Butcher. But the times have forced me to become. Yes, this is an excuse, to allow myself to dirty my hands with such evils, nonetheless, I must do so. Maybe God will not forgive me for doing so, and Karma’s debt will one day, needs to be paid.

Gabrio squeezes his eyes and digs for the strength in him. He took a good look at his journal and wrote.

On the 18th day of the Fourth Cycle of the Year 1851, of the Arkshelled calendar. The Lighthouse Fleet found troubles looming in the distance. Foes that have not been heard from older generations appear in our sights and the bells of wars are ringing.