CHAPTER TWELVE
As night spread, Thalia perched at the bow, her back against the foremast, knees pulled to her chest as her eyes swept the darkness for threats.
The day's fog had retreated with the setting sun, unveiling a canopy of stars so dense and brilliant they seemed close enough to touch.
In another life—a life where she'd followed orders and returned to Frostforge with her family—Thalia might have found beauty in their cold, distant light.
But here, adrift in waters where islands vanished and settlements stood abandoned, the stars felt more like witnesses than guides.
They had dropped anchor in a sheltered cove, the water shallow enough that Thalia could make out the pale shadows of coral formations below the surface when she leaned over the railing. Small mercies. At least they wouldn't drift into unknown dangers while they slept if sleep came at all.
The lanterns had been extinguished hours ago, a precaution against any Warden patrols that might pass in the night. Darkness wrapped around the schooner like a shroud, broken only by the faint gleam of starlight on the water.
Thalia's eyes had adjusted long ago, transforming the world into shades of silver and black.
She could make out the shapes of her companions on the deck below—Ashe curled on her side, her glacenite blade unsheathed and placed within easy reach; Roran propped against a crate, his face tilted downward, shoulders hunched in concentration.
A faint scratching sound drifted up from his position. Not the rhythmic breathing of sleep, but the deliberate stroke of graphite against parchment. Charting their course by starlight, still wrestling with the impossibility they'd encountered. An island that should exist, but didn't.
"You should rest," Thalia called softly, her voice carrying in the still night air. "It's my watch."
Roran's head lifted briefly. He offered a mute grimace before returning to his work, the scratching resuming with renewed intensity.
Thalia sighed, turning her attention back to the endless expanse of water that surrounded them.
The mainland had long since disappeared below the horizon.
No distant lights marked the edge of the world they knew, no beacon beckoned them home.
Only darkness and stars, the gentle lap of waves against the hull, and the weight of questions that grew heavier with each passing hour.
What had happened to the missing island?
To the abandoned settlements they'd passed?
Where were the Warden patrols that should have challenged their presence in these waters?
The archipelago felt like a temple after the worshippers had fled—sacred, still, but empty of the purpose that had once filled it.
The scratching below ceased. Thalia glanced down to see Roran set aside his charcoal and parchment, his movements stiff after hours in the same position.
He unfurled his length, stretching arms above his head, then settled back against the crate.
Even in darkness, she could read the tension in his posture—shoulders rigid, head angled toward the water where the island should have been.
"I've sailed these waters before," he said suddenly, his voice pitched low but carrying clearly in the night air.
"That island was there, Thalia. Skathi's Rock.
I remember the cliffs, the lighthouse, the fortress, the beach.
" His hands clenched at his sides. "I feel like I’m going crazy. But it was real."
"I believe you," Thalia replied, and meant it.
Roran shifted restlessly, his gaze fixed on the horizon as though he could will the missing landmass back into existence through sheer determination. The schooner rocked gently beneath them, a subtle reminder of their vulnerability in these unfamiliar waters.
"You can't solve it tonight," Thalia said, gentling her voice. "And we'll need you sharp tomorrow."
“If you’re about to suggest I sleep, you must be out of your mind.”
Before Thalia could respond, a movement caught her attention—a darker shadow against the night, far out across the water.
She straightened, every muscle tensing as she tracked the shape's progress.
Too large for a fish, too deliberate for drifting debris.
A ship, moving with purpose through waters that had seemed empty all day.
"Roran," she called sharply, abandoning their previous conversation. "On the water. Two points off the starboard bow."
He was on his feet in an instant, crossing the deck in long strides to join her at the railing. His eyes narrowed as he sought the disturbance she'd identified, then widened as he located it.
"Warden vessel," he confirmed, his voice tight with sudden focus. "Small. Scout class, by the look of it."
The sound of their voices roused Ashe, who rose from her bedroll with the fluid grace of a predator, her blade already in hand. "How many?" she asked, all traces of sleep gone from her voice.
"Can't tell yet," Roran replied, leaning farther over the railing. "But they're heading straight for us."
Thalia's hand went to her own weapon, the glacenite blade cool against her palm. "Could they have spotted us?"
"Possibly," Roran murmured. "Or they're on a set patrol route that happens to cross our position." His fingers splayed at his sides, gathering the potential of storm magic that always surrounded him. "Either way, we need to prepare."
Ashe moved to the stern, checking the anchor line and the mooring of their small tender. Thalia hurried to secure loose items on deck, anything that might create noise or slide during maneuvers. Roran remained at the railing, his eyes never leaving the approaching vessel.
"We're outmatched in a direct confrontation," he said, his voice low and urgent. "Scout ships carry at least twenty guards, and their hulls are reinforced with black metal. If they open fire—"
“Then we don't let them fire first," Thalia cut in. "Can you divert them? Create fog, or currents to push them off course?"
Roran's lips pressed into a thin line. "Maybe. But that would alert them to our presence if they haven't spotted us already." He flexed his fingers, gathering energy until the air around him crackled with potential. "I need to see what we're dealing with."
Without waiting for a response, he thrust his hand forward.
A bolt of lightning erupted from his fingertips, arcing across the water toward the approaching vessel.
The brilliant flash illuminated the night like a second sun, searing Thalia's vision with its intensity.
In that frozen moment of light, she saw the ship clearly—smaller than she'd expected, its black sails tattered, its deck crowded not with armed guards but with huddled figures.
The lightning disappeared as quickly as it had come, plunging the world back into darkness. Spots danced before Thalia's eyes as they struggled to readjust.
The vessel had altered course slightly, now heading directly toward them—drawn, perhaps, by Roran's display of power. Thalia could make out figures moving on its deck, but no signs of weapons being readied, no cannon ports opening along its hull.
"We need to prepare the schooner," Roran said, already moving toward the anchor line. "If they're hostile—"
"And if they're not?" Thalia interrupted, the image of those huddled figures still fresh in her mind. "If they're running from the same thing that emptied those settlements?"
Ashe shook her head, her expression skeptical even in the darkness. "Isle Wardens don't run. They conquer, they raid, they occupy. Whatever's happening out here, they're part of it."
"Are you sure?" Thalia challenged, her mind racing ahead. "What if they're as confused by the disappearing islands as we are? What if they're fleeing?"
Roran paused, his hands still on the anchor line. "One way to find out," he said grimly. "But we do it on our terms." He closed his eyes briefly, and Thalia felt the air around them stir with gathering power. "If they make one wrong move—"
The approaching vessel was close enough now that Thalia could hear voices carried across the water—not the harsh commands of soldiers preparing for battle, but the murmur of conversation, punctuated by what might have been a child's cry.
"Hold position," she decided, drawing her blade. "Let them approach, but be ready."
Ashe moved to the port side, her crossbow loaded and aimed at the oncoming ship. Roran joined Thalia at the starboard railing, lightning dancing between his fingertips in a clear warning to any who might threaten them.
The Warden vessel slowed as it drew alongside, leaving perhaps twenty feet of open water between the ships. In the starlight, Thalia could now clearly see its occupants—women, children, elders, with only a handful of guards among them.
A figure separated from the group, moving to the railing opposite Thalia and Roran.
A woman, her hair pulled back in elaborate braids woven with metal beads that caught the starlight.
She wore the distinctive leather armor of Warden captains, but it was worn, marked with salt stains and what might have been scorch marks.
"Continental vessel," she called across the water, her accent thick but her words understandable. "You anchor in dangerous waters. Foolish."
Thalia exchanged glances with Roran, whose expression had shifted from wariness to something more complex. He stepped forward, placing himself slightly ahead of her at the railing.
"We seek no conflict," he replied in clear, measured tones. "And I’m sure the same could be said of your… crew.”
The captain's eyes narrowed, studying Roran more carefully. She spoke again, but this time the words were unfamiliar to Thalia—the curt, guttural language of the Isle Wardens, their true tongue rather than the broken continental speech most raiders employed.
Roran stiffened beside her. Then he responded in the same language, the sounds flowing from him with a naturalness that spoke of early learning, of knowledge bone-deep as well as studied.
"What did she say?" Thalia asked quietly, keeping her eyes on the Warden vessel.
Roran's expression was troubled. "She says we shouldn't anchor here. That two islands within fifty knots have been lost already." He shook his head slightly. "I must have misunderstood. Islands don't simply get 'lost.'"
But the captain was nodding vigorously, speaking again in that strange, flowing language. Her voice rose and fell in what sounded like emphasis, her hands gesturing to the empty water around them. Behind her, the huddled figures pressed closer, as though seeking reassurance from her presence.
"She's insisting," Roran translated, his voice growing strained. "Saying that Skathi's Rock vanished a week ago, and another island—Hrimgar's Point—was lost three days hence.”
Thalia stared at the Warden captain, then at the vessel crowded with what she now recognized as refugees. Not raiders or invaders, but people fleeing from something that terrified them enough to abandon their homes. The realization shifted something fundamental in her understanding of the world.
She had seen this before—the haunted eyes, the too-thin children, the belongings hastily gathered and bundled onto whatever transportation could be found.
She had seen it in the Southern refugees who had streamed into Frostforge, fleeing Warden attacks.
She had seen it in Verdant Port after liberation, as families gathered what little remained of their possessions and contemplated rebuilding shattered lives.
But these were Isle Wardens. The enemy. The nightmare figures who had haunted continental coastlines for generations, who had taken her father, who had occupied her home, and imprisoned her family.
She should feel satisfaction at their fear, vindication at their suffering.
Instead, she felt a reluctant empathy that unsettled her deeply.
Roran continued his conversation with the captain, the foreign words flowing more smoothly from him with each exchange. Thalia watched his face, reading the growing alarm in his expression even before he turned to translate.
"They're fleeing to safer waters," he said, his voice tight with disbelief. "Their settlements in this area are being evacuated, entire islands abandoned." He hesitated, then added, "They're heading for the mainland coast."
"The mainland?" Ashe interjected, lowering her crossbow slightly. "They're invading?"
"No," Roran replied, his gaze fixed on the Warden captain. "They're seeking refuge. Whatever is happening out here—whatever is making islands disappear—it terrifies them more than facing continental defenses."
The realization struck Thalia like a physical blow.
The increased Warden activity along the coast, the occupation of Verdant Port, the desperate search for specific bloodlines—it wasn't conquest for its own sake.
It was survival. They weren't invaders; they were refugees, fleeing something so terrible they would risk everything to escape it.
"The documents we found in Verdant Port," she said slowly, connecting pieces of a puzzle she hadn't known they were solving.
"The bloodline compatibility, the sorting of prisoners by magical heritage.
They weren't looking for weapons against us.
They were looking for something to use against whatever is happening out here. "
The Warden captain had fallen silent, watching their exchange with wary eyes.
The refugees behind her huddled closer together, their faces turned toward the continental schooner with expressions Thalia recognized all too well—the desperate hope of those who had lost everything, seeking any harbor in a storm too terrible to weather.
"Tell her we mean no harm," Thalia said to Roran, making a decision that went against every instinct bred into her by years of enmity. "Ask where they're going, and what they know about what's happening to the islands."
As Roran translated her words, Thalia met the Warden captain's gaze across the water.
Enemy, her training insisted. Threat. But what she saw was simply a woman trying to protect her people from a danger beyond imagining—a mirror of Thalia's own desperate journey to save her family from occupation and imprisonment.
The stars wheeled overhead, cold and distant, as two vessels from opposing worlds drifted side by side in waters that grew stranger by the hour.