pmonofre Long Author's Note: I’m in a weird head space. I wrote this back in October, so I’m kind of predicting how I’ll feel months from now when this gets published. However, one thing is true no matter when this is released: It’s been six months since I launched Revolutions, and I’m completely floored.
I mentioned this on the socials, but there are several reasons why I started this endeavor; mostly for fun, and as a much-desired creative outlet. A significant driving purpose is that I want to see more stuff like this out in the world. There are plenty of westernized fantasy settings—and, as I’ve come to learn, a lot of Chinese, Japanese, and Korean-influenced settings, particularly online (for better or worse; I’ve got thoughts about that, as well, but I’ll save them for an author’s note for another milestone). And boy, are there a ton of LitRPGs and portal fantasies (I mean, a ton). It made me wonder if my setting and story had somewhere to fit into all of this. However, I was determined to pay homage to the part of my heritage that doesn’t get enough representation out in the literary world, the pre-Columbian cultures and societies that have a rich, dynamic history. So I persisted nevertheless.
But, really, at the end of the day, this started because I wanted to see if I could do it. I have a terrible streak of not finishing projects. It can be argued—fairly—that I’m not finished with this one, so only time will tell. I’m great at coming up with ideas, but awful at executing them and seeing them to completion. Admittedly, it was a struggle to get the series off the ground. I’ve had the idea for a while, and made an earnest effort to start planning nearly two years ago. All throughout the process, I kept questioning if I was ready. Since life can get in the way, I had read somewhere to create a buffer of chapters in advance, in order to aid in maintaining a schedule. So, I wrote extra chapters to get ahead of the game. As I wrote, I became more and more enthusiastic about the series, and I determined that if I was this excited and motivated, then now was as good a time as ever; there was never going to be a perfect time, so why not now? Yet in my first few weeks, I had already begun eating into my surplus, and I was worried I wouldn’t be able to keep up with my ambitious, weekly schedule. Fear crept in that I was going to fail. Again. Eventually, I found a rhythm with my writing process, and regained my surplus, much to my relief. In this moment (in early October), I feel good about the procedure I’ve been able to establish.
I never expected much to come from this, yet I’m astonished at how far the land of Pachil has already reached. One of my favorite authors, John C. McCrae, had discussed how he barely saw any readers in his first year of writing, how it was discouraging to see nobody reading his work. However, he kept at it, and eventually, the readers came, turning his work of serial fiction into a tremendous and well-read success. While I don’t expect even a tenth of his viewership, I’m genuinely excited to just be writing for myself. What do I find interesting, intriguing, exciting, engaging? Whatever it is, I’m keeping at it, as long as I find the value in doing so.
So, six months later (Well, just over four at the time of this writing—I’m assuming I’ve still kept going!), here we are. I’m writing, and finding the entire experience more exciting and engaging than when I first began, which is truly fascinating to me. I feared this would become work, and I’d begin to lament undergoing this project. Yet every morning since I started writing these chapters in March, and launching in June, I’ve woken up excited about what the day’s session was going to bring, and I’ve surprised myself with each chapter. It hasn’t been easy—even now, I’m starting to slide into my surplus a bit—but I am thrilled to see this story take place, and even more so that there are others who want to join me in this journey.
All that rambling to say: thank you SO MUCH for your support and following along for these six months, and I sincerely hope we get even more time to venture in the world of Pachil together!
And now (finally), onto the story...
Dorez and Benicto’s smiles creep upon their faces, more chilling than the cold of death itself. The maddening grip of their grins makes your very soul tremble in dread, their smiles not of welcome but of predators savoring the sight of prey. Desperately, you cry out silently to the Creator, wondering what sins have led you to this cursed vessel that has slowly begun to crawl away from the dock, yet the vastness of the sea only amplifies the silence from the heavens.
“Little Oilaskoa,” Dorez says to Benicto. “This journey might not be so bad after all.”
Your eyes dart about the deck, seeking anyone who could come to your aid. However, everyone on board is engrossed in their own situations, navigating the ship's confines and striving to find their bearings. You take gradual steps backward as Dorez and Benicto advance menacingly, driving you to against the railing. With nowhere to go, you look to your right, look to your left, hoping for some way to escape.
“That’s an awful long way down to fall,” Benicto says. “Would be a terrible thing if this world lost one more rat.”
“We should find out if the sharks in these waters eat rats!” Dorez says, a bit too excitedly.
You cry out for help, but all you hear in response is the sporadic laughter and commotion from those aboard the ship. Your pleas only tickle your bullies and encourage them further as they guffaw at your desperation.
“Dangle this oilaskoa off the side of the ship, Benicto!” Dorez delights, her taunts of calling you ‘chicken’ are seasoned with extra venom. Try as you might to fight them off, the pair seize you by your arms and begin lifting you up, up, up and above the rail. Their snickering drowns out your shouts, and they begin to shove you overboard when–
“Hey!” you hear from a gruff voice, and your antagonizers freeze in mid-action. “What do you two runts think you’re doing? I have half a mind to throw you overboard!”
A stocky man with a grizzled salt-and-pepper beard approaches you, his face deeply etched from years beneath the harsh sun. Jutting out of his red shirt are arms thick like tree trunks, marked with a slew of tattoos, and the meaty hands attached to them grasp the back of your tormentors’ shirts, yanking them away from you. You catch your breath, gasping as you watch the man throw Dorez and Benicto to the deck.
“We’ve hardly left the dock and you two are already causing trouble?” he scolds. “I think you’ve decided what your jobs will be for the rest of the journey: swabbing the deck and cleaning the heads.” Dorez and Benicto look confused at the terms the man uses, but you can only imagine they couldn’t have been assigned anything good. He drags them away, allowing you to retrieve your dropped belongings and, finally, inspect your surroundings.
A few men shout, drawing your attention to those who labor diligently about the ship as it slowly pulls away from the dock. Orders ring out sharply, mingling with the calls of gulls overhead, and the men move with a remarkable rhythm, hoisting ropes and securing cargo. The briny scent of the sea blends with the aroma of tarred wood. Ropes are tightened and coiled, and the intricacy of their work fascinates you. As the dock begins to shrink, you're engrossed in the orchestrated chaos, feeling the ship surge forward into the vast sea.
You try to find your footing on the bustling deck of the ship as it begins to rock and sway, to and fro. Sailors move all around you, hauling on ropes, shouting commands, heaving barrels, and the constant roll of the waves adds an extra layer of challenge to finding your way across the planks.
Amidst the chaos, a particularly convoluted section of the deck presents itself before you. An intricate web of ropes crisscrosses the ground, connecting to various pulleys and mechanisms that you believe to be part of the ship's operation. Above, the massive sails billow loudly with the wind, casting fleeting shadows, as the timbers creak and groan. This is the heart of the ship's machinery, a place where a single misstep could spell disaster.
Distracted by the shouts and the mesmerizing dance of the sails against the blue sky, you don't notice a loop of rope around your ankle. As you take a step, your foot is ensnared, sending you toppling forward. The cold, frothy waves of the sea loom dangerously close, and for a brief, heart-stopping moment, you imagine being submerged, dragged into the dark, watery abyss.
But before that grim thought fully forms, a strong grip fastens around your wrist. You’re yanked back from the edge and quickly pulled to safety.
Your chest heaves, adrenaline courses through you, and as you look up, you meet the hazel-green eyes of a young sailor, probably close to your age, you’d assume. “Always be aware of your surroundings,” he advises with an earnest look. His hair, cropped close to the scalp and hidden under a worn cap, frames a lean, angular face weathered by the sun. Deep-set eyes, guarded yet observant, focus intently on you. “The ship can be as dangerous as the sea.”
The boy then bends down, deftly unlooping the rope from your ankle. “This,” he says, holding up the loop, “is a bight. Never step into one. It's an easy way to find yourself overboard, or worse.”
Nodding, still processing the close call, you manage a sincere, “Thank you.” The dangers of the ship become all too real in this moment, having been nearly forced off and into the waters twice already, and the importance of allies like this person becomes evident.
Having regained most of your composure, you extend a hand and introduce yourself. The wiry muscles on his thin arm are the only defining feature you can see, as the rest of his body is well concealed by worn, baggy clothes. His fleeting but genuine smile, though seemingly a bit guarded, lends a brief touch of warmth to his face.
“Lander,” he says. “Lander Saavedra. I take it you’ve never been on a ship before. Let me show you around!”
His face, though young, carries a look of someone who's experienced more than their years would suggest. Walking alongside him, there's a confidence in the way he moves, every step and gesture revealing an intimate knowledge of the ship and its workings. Occasionally, he looks up, scanning the crew, always aware and always on guard, pointing and calling out different parts of the vessel. And every so often, he attempts to push a phantom stray lock of hair behind his ear, a habit perhaps from a time when his hair was longer.
You’re curious as to how someone this young knows so much about ships, appearing more of a seasoned sailor than many of the crew working on it. When you ask, Lander chuckles, flashing his infectious smile as he lowers his eyes slightly in shy acknowledgment.
“My father is a shipbuilder in Luzigar,” he says, “one of the best in all of Legido, if I do say so myself. Frequently contracted by the wealthy nobility. I was always hanging around the shipyard when he was hard at work, so I got to see everything. The sea is in our veins!”
You reflect on this, how Luzigar is significantly far down south along the coast from Auruma Xosta, and wonder how Lander arrived here, on this ship, and on this expedition. You’ve only heard tales of the seafaring town, its golden coasts with waters that shimmer in brilliant shades of azure and turquoise, and are as clear as crystals, revealing the rich marine life within. It makes you curious as to who would ever want to leave such a place. However, you’ve only just met Lander, and you’re not in any hurry to scare away the only friend you’ve made on this vessel.
After surveying the ship and being taught the ins and outs of how each part functions, a shout disrupts the otherwise calm atmosphere. Nearby, you see someone tussling with one of the pulleys, yanking and tugging helplessly at the rope. It refuses to run smoothly, and the sailor begins to look panicked, yanking and tugging, yanking and tugging, doing everything he can to untangle the rope, to no avail.
“Shift!” the man near the wheel hollers to the sailors below. “The wind is shifting! Hurry!”
You’re not sure what that means and can’t figure out how you can help. The sail begins flapping uselessly, the crack of the canvas sounds like sharp thunder. A few more men join the struggling sailor to help, but their endeavor is fruitless. The ship begins to lurch to the side, causing those on board to be thrown off balance. The passengers on board start to shout and shriek in panic, urging for someone, anyone, to do something.
Before you have a chance to ask what to do, Lander hollers back, “Climbing the mast, sir!” He races up the large, wooden column, scaling the mast with incredible agility. While the men fight the rope below, Lander scurries up until he reaches the pulley. Your heart races, fearing he may plummet to the deck below, as he hangs onto the mast with one arm and his legs. Then, with immeasurable confidence, he reaches out for the mechanism, swiping his hand once, twice, three times, before finally grabbing ahold of it. After bringing it in, he untangles the mess of rope, then shouts something unintelligible before the sail swings about, the contraption cleared up and free. The sailors are able to carrying the sail around to the other side and adjust it in time.
Lander carefully slides down the mast into the awaiting swarm of men and women, who all cheer and pat him on the pack, giving him well-deserved praise. You may not be as well versed in how ships operate, but you can certainly notice that it moves smoother and faster. Where you once had difficulty standing straight, now the horizon has steadied itself and no longer rocks from side to side. Seeing that he’s visibly exhausted from exerting himself, he sits to the side to take a break, and you decide to move on and let him rest.
As you wander the ship, looking out to the horizon and taking in the vast blue emptiness where it becomes difficult to find where the water ends and the sky begins, you have flashes of Lander’s heroics. It makes you wonder if you’d ever be capable of such a thing, to have the unflinching confidence to do what needs to be done in a moment of emergency. To have an understanding of something so well that a task that the average person would deem impossible could be done with such simplicity and ease.
But then you reflect on your decision to come aboard this ship. Your determination to fight through the resisting forces and make your way onto the vessel. Making the hard choice of leaving your family behind in Legido for the hopes of a better future for them and all of your people. This requires a different kind of bravery than the one displayed by Lander, but it’s still bravery nonetheless. To travel into the unknown, venturing to far away lands without any net to catch you if you fall or fail. It wasn’t an easy choice, but deep down, you know it was the only choice you could make.
You reach the back of the ship—the “stern”, you think you remember Lander calling it—and are greeted by the scowling faces of Dorez and Benicto. They glance up to see you, gnashing their teeth as they hold their mops still and steady in their hands, their angered expressions never altering for a moment. That is, until the old deckhand swats Benicto upside his head and tells the two of them to get back to work, spurring them to bow their heads and sweep the mops about the deck.
“Gartzen!” someone yells, drawing the stout man’s attention. Is that his name, you wonder? The man saunters over and leaves your two antagonizers to their own devices, a situation in which you’d rather not find yourself. You hurry to follow this ‘Gartzen’ and tag along for whatever task he’s about to undertake. He hardly notices you, shouting something in response to what another sailor said, and is startled when he turns and finds you standing beside him.
Trying your best to think of something to say, you thank him for handling Benicto and Dorez, stuttering your words as you tell him how grateful you are for him to come to your aid.
“Can’t be allowing such behavior before the ship’s left the docks when we’ve got months at sea yet to go,” he grunts. “But you’re not going to last long if you allow people like that to push you around. These are rough waters, and you won’t always have someone there to watch your back. Tough conditions require tough people.”
You’re briefly taken aback by the man’s harsh assessment and blunt honesty, pausing to reflect on his words and the weight of truth in them. You feel yourself reflexively growing defensive, but after a moment, you realize internally that he may be right. You knew this was an expedition, not a pleasurable journey. You knew this was always going to be tough, but perhaps you weren’t as prepared for how quickly you’d be tested. You steel yourself, taking a deep breath, and give yourself a pep talk, saying how you need to learn faster, grow tougher. You refuse to be the weak link on this ship. You can't imagine what lies ahead, but you’re going to be ready for whatever comes.
Before you can thank the man for his direct and honest advice, he’s off to assist a group of sailors with adjusting the sails. As soon as he arrives, the group attentively focus on his every word, watching his meticulous method for tying a particularly complex knot. You don’t believe he’s the captain, judging by his relatively disheveled attire, but the men show him a high amount of respect as though he were, listening to his instructions with rapt attention.
You linger near the group of gathered sailors, attempting to grab any gem of knowledge that the man imparts upon them. It’s as though he’s speaking a different language, tossing about terms and phrases that don’t initially make sense to you, but once you see examples of his explanations, they begin to become clearer to you. As the others separate to execute their given tasks, the man turns and sees you standing beside him once again.
He chuckles and says, “I see I’ve developed a shadow.” You apologize for pestering him and are about to scuttle away when he calls you over. He smirks and looks up at the darkening sky.
“You want to learn something useful?” he asks. You nod as you are overcome with curiosity. The two of you walk toward the front of the ship—the bow, you remember Lander calling it—and stand close to the rail. The burly man looks off into the distance, then toward the setting sun.
He points up, drawing your attention to the twilight sky as night approaches, “See that constellation?” You search the sky, your eyes following a trail from his finger off to the right of the ship—the starboard side, which is awfully coincidental at this current moment, you think—until you see a bright star amidst a sea of twilight blue. “That’s the North Star. Sailors have used it to find their way since the time the Legido settled on the western shores of the continent. It ensures that, no matter what happens when out to sea, they stay on course.”
You look at the multitude of specs in the sky among a span of colors, and remember the times you would view such a spectacle from the porch of your family’s farm. All the stars littering the sky would make you feel breathless as you gazed upon the vivid display, wondering how such a beautiful sight was possible. And yet, out on the endless sea, you feel this vista surpasses every sunset you've ever witnessed.
“During the night watch,” he continues, “you'll often find yourself looking up. It's quiet, the world feels vast, but those stars? They're your anchor.”
You study each of the stars, trying to memorize their exact location, which causes the stout man to chuckle softly.
“Gartzen!” the figure of a man yells over to you both, and from his commanding presence on deck, you immediately recognize the importance of this person. Atop his head rests a simple, broad-brimmed felt hat, its crown rising distinctively and the brim curling upwards. Even in the low light of the evening, you see a rugged, clean-shaven and sun-kissed face, framed by a high-collared linen shirt. Layered over the shirt is a close-fitted doublet, dyed in deep oceanic hues, crafted from fine fabric and adorned with decorative buttons. He wears billowing breeches that taper and tie just below the knee, and encircling his waist is a wide belt, from which a rapier dangles.
He approaches both you and the man, Gartzen, peering down his nose at you with an air of reserved authority. "I require a night watch," he states. “The person I’d typically place in charge has already gotten ill, and the only individuals proficient in sailing this vessel must rest. However, these peasants can't distinguish the aft from their own backsides."
“I’ve actually got a volunteer for you, Captain Lema,” Gartzen says. “A spry, young thing. Should have the endurance and hawk’s eyes for a night watch, sir.” He follows this with a pat to your back, and when you glance up at him, he gives you a wink.
The captain gives you a once-over, and with a slight snarl that creases the corner of his mouth, as if looking upon something wretched, asks, “They have the experience for this task?”
Gartzen, with a steadiness in his voice, responds, “Experience isn't just what you've done, Captain. It's also about what you're capable of doing. And I've seen enough to know that they have a keen eye and a level head—essential for a night watch.”
He pauses, considering his next words carefully. “Sometimes, Captain, it's about the potential you see in someone. The drive to prove themselves can be as valuable as years spent on the deck. We were all green once, weren't we? Maybe it's intuition, but I've learned to trust that over the years.”
Captain Lema regards Gartzen for a long moment, the silence hanging heavy in the air. You believe you’re being turned down for the job, until finally, with a slight nod, he concedes, “Very well, Gartzen. It’s a clear night, and it doesn’t appear I have much choice. I’ve always trusted your judgement, so why stop now? But keep a close eye. The shift will change at the eighth bell.”
Panic overwhelms you at the thought of this task—what’s an ‘eighth bell’?—yet Gartzen offers a reassuring smile. “Every sailor starts somewhere,” he says. “Tonight, it's the stars for you. Tomorrow? Who knows. But always remember to look up when you feel lost.”
You start to ask him what a night watch is supposed to do, but Gartzen anticipates the question. “Stay alert, and make sure you call out at the slightest—and I mean slightest—sign of trouble, so we can get the crew into position.”
He pats your shoulder and holds his gaze on you a beat longer than you expect, as though truly seeing you. He walks away and heads below deck, leaving you on your own for seemingly the first time since arriving on board. The silence from your post is initially unsettling, then exceedingly welcomed. You can finally hear yourself think and take a moment for yourself. You can experience the ship in a different light—almost literally. The creaking of the ship, the cool wind, the stars above, and the vast sea can offer a pause for reflection, introspection, and acknowledgment of the journey ahead.
The rhythm of the sea is a heartbeat against the ship's wooden hull. You take a deep breath, the salt-laden air filling your lungs, each intake heavy with the weight of the day's events. The deck beneath your feet, once unfamiliar and treacherous, now feels like an old acquaintance after everything you've experienced. With every step, you're becoming a part of this ship.
You feel the sting of embarrassment and the burn of anger as you recollect the confrontation with Dorez and Benicto, and then the flush of relief when you were saved, not once, but twice today. First, by the seasoned sailor, Gartzen, and then by Lander, the young ship savant. You hadn't expected allies on this journey, especially after leaving behind Iker, yet here they are, appearing from the most unexpected corners.
Gartzen's words echo in your mind, repeating over and over like a persistent drumbeat, “Tough conditions require tough people.” Do you have the mettle to withstand the challenges of the sea? Can you grow to be the kind of person who doesn't need saving, who stands firm, confident in the face of adversity?
And Lander... there’s a mystery there, a depth that belies his young age. By the way he moves, and the knowledge he holds, it's evident that he's not just any ordinary boy. You find yourself curious, wondering what life experiences beyond his father's shipbuilding have shaped him into the skilled sailor he is today.
As you stand on the bow, the expanse of the ocean stretches before you, an infinite inky blackness punctuated only by the silvery glint of starlight. From this vantage point, the distant horizon reveals an imposing sight—a looming wall of storm clouds, illuminated intermittently by ghostly fingers of lightning.
The thunder is but a distant murmur, easily drowned by the sound of the waves crashing against the ship.
A twinge of unease grips you at the sight of the far off tempest—is this what Gartzen was referring to? Yet its distance offers reassurance. You've been in tight spots before, moments when your life seemed overshadowed by the dark clouds of uncertainty or danger. Each time, whether through sheer luck, quick thinking, or the unexpected kindness of others, you've found your way through. Maybe this storm, like the others, would turn out to be less threatening than it appeared, or perhaps, like before, you'd navigate it with an unforeseen ally or an untapped inner strength.
You reason that it's far enough away; maybe it'll pass, or the ship will simply steer clear. Your palms moisten on the wooden rail, the salty air grows cooler. While a part of you remains wary of the distant storm, another part, tempered by past experiences, feels a measure of invincibility in the vastness of the open sea. These waters are unpredictable, yet somehow you've always found calm after the storm, a way to persevere when the skies cleared. And so, with cautious optimism, you fix your gaze on the horizon, ready for whatever comes.
As the sky darkens, the stars emerge, twinkling reminders of the large world and your tiny place within it. You find it humbling and exhilarating all at once. Here, on the cusp of the unknown, you make a silent promise to yourself: You'll grow, learn, and rise to the challenges that the expedition throws your way. The journey has only just begun.
pmonofre Long Author's Note: I’m in a weird head space. I wrote this back in October, so I’m kind of predicting how I’ll feel months from now when this gets published. However, one thing is true no matter when this is released: It’s been six months since I launched Revolutions, and I’m completely floored.
I mentioned this on the socials, but there are several reasons why I started this endeavor; mostly for fun, and as a much-desired creative outlet. A significant driving purpose is that I want to see more stuff like this out in the world. There are plenty of westernized fantasy settings—and, as I’ve come to learn, a lot of Chinese, Japanese, and Korean-influenced settings, particularly online (for better or worse; I’ve got thoughts about that, as well, but I’ll save them for an author’s note for another milestone). And boy, are there a ton of LitRPGs and portal fantasies (I mean, a ton). It made me wonder if my setting and story had somewhere to fit into all of this. However, I was determined to pay homage to the part of my heritage that doesn’t get enough representation out in the literary world, the pre-Columbian cultures and societies that have a rich, dynamic history. So I persisted nevertheless.
But, really, at the end of the day, this started because I wanted to see if I could do it. I have a terrible streak of not finishing projects. It can be argued—fairly—that I’m not finished with this one, so only time will tell. I’m great at coming up with ideas, but awful at executing them and seeing them to completion. Admittedly, it was a struggle to get the series off the ground. I’ve had the idea for a while, and made an earnest effort to start planning nearly two years ago. All throughout the process, I kept questioning if I was ready. Since life can get in the way, I had read somewhere to create a buffer of chapters in advance, in order to aid in maintaining a schedule. So, I wrote extra chapters to get ahead of the game. As I wrote, I became more and more enthusiastic about the series, and I determined that if I was this excited and motivated, then now was as good a time as ever; there was never going to be a perfect time, so why not now? Yet in my first few weeks, I had already begun eating into my surplus, and I was worried I wouldn’t be able to keep up with my ambitious, weekly schedule. Fear crept in that I was going to fail. Again. Eventually, I found a rhythm with my writing process, and regained my surplus, much to my relief. In this moment (in early October), I feel good about the procedure I’ve been able to establish.
I never expected much to come from this, yet I’m astonished at how far the land of Pachil has already reached. One of my favorite authors, John C. McCrae, had discussed how he barely saw any readers in his first year of writing, how it was discouraging to see nobody reading his work. However, he kept at it, and eventually, the readers came, turning his work of serial fiction into a tremendous and well-read success. While I don’t expect even a tenth of his viewership, I’m genuinely excited to just be writing for myself. What do I find interesting, intriguing, exciting, engaging? Whatever it is, I’m keeping at it, as long as I find the value in doing so.
So, six months later (Well, just over four at the time of this writing—I’m assuming I’ve still kept going!), here we are. I’m writing, and finding the entire experience more exciting and engaging than when I first began, which is truly fascinating to me. I feared this would become work, and I’d begin to lament undergoing this project. Yet every morning since I started writing these chapters in March, and launching in June, I’ve woken up excited about what the day’s session was going to bring, and I’ve surprised myself with each chapter. It hasn’t been easy—even now, I’m starting to slide into my surplus a bit—but I am thrilled to see this story take place, and even more so that there are others who want to join me in this journey.
All that rambling to say: thank you SO MUCH for your support and following along for these six months, and I sincerely hope we get even more time to venture in the world of Pachil together!
And now (finally), onto the story...
Dorez and Benicto’s smiles creep upon their faces, more chilling than the cold of death itself. The maddening grip of their grins makes your very soul tremble in dread, their smiles not of welcome but of predators savoring the sight of prey. Desperately, you cry out silently to the Creator, wondering what sins have led you to this cursed vessel that has slowly begun to crawl away from the dock, yet the vastness of the sea only amplifies the silence from the heavens.
“Little Oilaskoa,” Dorez says to Benicto. “This journey might not be so bad after all.”
Your eyes dart about the deck, seeking anyone who could come to your aid. However, everyone on board is engrossed in their own situations, navigating the ship's confines and striving to find their bearings. You take gradual steps backward as Dorez and Benicto advance menacingly, driving you to against the railing. With nowhere to go, you look to your right, look to your left, hoping for some way to escape.
“That’s an awful long way down to fall,” Benicto says. “Would be a terrible thing if this world lost one more rat.”
“We should find out if the sharks in these waters eat rats!” Dorez says, a bit too excitedly.
You cry out for help, but all you hear in response is the sporadic laughter and commotion from those aboard the ship. Your pleas only tickle your bullies and encourage them further as they guffaw at your desperation.
“Dangle this oilaskoa off the side of the ship, Benicto!” Dorez delights, her taunts of calling you ‘chicken’ are seasoned with extra venom. Try as you might to fight them off, the pair seize you by your arms and begin lifting you up, up, up and above the rail. Their snickering drowns out your shouts, and they begin to shove you overboard when–
“Hey!” you hear from a gruff voice, and your antagonizers freeze in mid-action. “What do you two runts think you’re doing? I have half a mind to throw you overboard!”
A stocky man with a grizzled salt-and-pepper beard approaches you, his face deeply etched from years beneath the harsh sun. Jutting out of his red shirt are arms thick like tree trunks, marked with a slew of tattoos, and the meaty hands attached to them grasp the back of your tormentors’ shirts, yanking them away from you. You catch your breath, gasping as you watch the man throw Dorez and Benicto to the deck.
“We’ve hardly left the dock and you two are already causing trouble?” he scolds. “I think you’ve decided what your jobs will be for the rest of the journey: swabbing the deck and cleaning the heads.” Dorez and Benicto look confused at the terms the man uses, but you can only imagine they couldn’t have been assigned anything good. He drags them away, allowing you to retrieve your dropped belongings and, finally, inspect your surroundings.
A few men shout, drawing your attention to those who labor diligently about the ship as it slowly pulls away from the dock. Orders ring out sharply, mingling with the calls of gulls overhead, and the men move with a remarkable rhythm, hoisting ropes and securing cargo. The briny scent of the sea blends with the aroma of tarred wood. Ropes are tightened and coiled, and the intricacy of their work fascinates you. As the dock begins to shrink, you're engrossed in the orchestrated chaos, feeling the ship surge forward into the vast sea.
You try to find your footing on the bustling deck of the ship as it begins to rock and sway, to and fro. Sailors move all around you, hauling on ropes, shouting commands, heaving barrels, and the constant roll of the waves adds an extra layer of challenge to finding your way across the planks.
Amidst the chaos, a particularly convoluted section of the deck presents itself before you. An intricate web of ropes crisscrosses the ground, connecting to various pulleys and mechanisms that you believe to be part of the ship's operation. Above, the massive sails billow loudly with the wind, casting fleeting shadows, as the timbers creak and groan. This is the heart of the ship's machinery, a place where a single misstep could spell disaster.
Distracted by the shouts and the mesmerizing dance of the sails against the blue sky, you don't notice a loop of rope around your ankle. As you take a step, your foot is ensnared, sending you toppling forward. The cold, frothy waves of the sea loom dangerously close, and for a brief, heart-stopping moment, you imagine being submerged, dragged into the dark, watery abyss.
But before that grim thought fully forms, a strong grip fastens around your wrist. You’re yanked back from the edge and quickly pulled to safety.
Your chest heaves, adrenaline courses through you, and as you look up, you meet the hazel-green eyes of a young sailor, probably close to your age, you’d assume. “Always be aware of your surroundings,” he advises with an earnest look. His hair, cropped close to the scalp and hidden under a worn cap, frames a lean, angular face weathered by the sun. Deep-set eyes, guarded yet observant, focus intently on you. “The ship can be as dangerous as the sea.”
The boy then bends down, deftly unlooping the rope from your ankle. “This,” he says, holding up the loop, “is a bight. Never step into one. It's an easy way to find yourself overboard, or worse.”
Nodding, still processing the close call, you manage a sincere, “Thank you.” The dangers of the ship become all too real in this moment, having been nearly forced off and into the waters twice already, and the importance of allies like this person becomes evident.
Having regained most of your composure, you extend a hand and introduce yourself. The wiry muscles on his thin arm are the only defining feature you can see, as the rest of his body is well concealed by worn, baggy clothes. His fleeting but genuine smile, though seemingly a bit guarded, lends a brief touch of warmth to his face.
“Lander,” he says. “Lander Saavedra. I take it you’ve never been on a ship before. Let me show you around!”
His face, though young, carries a look of someone who's experienced more than their years would suggest. Walking alongside him, there's a confidence in the way he moves, every step and gesture revealing an intimate knowledge of the ship and its workings. Occasionally, he looks up, scanning the crew, always aware and always on guard, pointing and calling out different parts of the vessel. And every so often, he attempts to push a phantom stray lock of hair behind his ear, a habit perhaps from a time when his hair was longer.
You’re curious as to how someone this young knows so much about ships, appearing more of a seasoned sailor than many of the crew working on it. When you ask, Lander chuckles, flashing his infectious smile as he lowers his eyes slightly in shy acknowledgment.
“My father is a shipbuilder in Luzigar,” he says, “one of the best in all of Legido, if I do say so myself. Frequently contracted by the wealthy nobility. I was always hanging around the shipyard when he was hard at work, so I got to see everything. The sea is in our veins!”
You reflect on this, how Luzigar is significantly far down south along the coast from Auruma Xosta, and wonder how Lander arrived here, on this ship, and on this expedition. You’ve only heard tales of the seafaring town, its golden coasts with waters that shimmer in brilliant shades of azure and turquoise, and are as clear as crystals, revealing the rich marine life within. It makes you curious as to who would ever want to leave such a place. However, you’ve only just met Lander, and you’re not in any hurry to scare away the only friend you’ve made on this vessel.
After surveying the ship and being taught the ins and outs of how each part functions, a shout disrupts the otherwise calm atmosphere. Nearby, you see someone tussling with one of the pulleys, yanking and tugging helplessly at the rope. It refuses to run smoothly, and the sailor begins to look panicked, yanking and tugging, yanking and tugging, doing everything he can to untangle the rope, to no avail.
“Shift!” the man near the wheel hollers to the sailors below. “The wind is shifting! Hurry!”
You’re not sure what that means and can’t figure out how you can help. The sail begins flapping uselessly, the crack of the canvas sounds like sharp thunder. A few more men join the struggling sailor to help, but their endeavor is fruitless. The ship begins to lurch to the side, causing those on board to be thrown off balance. The passengers on board start to shout and shriek in panic, urging for someone, anyone, to do something.
Before you have a chance to ask what to do, Lander hollers back, “Climbing the mast, sir!” He races up the large, wooden column, scaling the mast with incredible agility. While the men fight the rope below, Lander scurries up until he reaches the pulley. Your heart races, fearing he may plummet to the deck below, as he hangs onto the mast with one arm and his legs. Then, with immeasurable confidence, he reaches out for the mechanism, swiping his hand once, twice, three times, before finally grabbing ahold of it. After bringing it in, he untangles the mess of rope, then shouts something unintelligible before the sail swings about, the contraption cleared up and free. The sailors are able to carrying the sail around to the other side and adjust it in time.
Lander carefully slides down the mast into the awaiting swarm of men and women, who all cheer and pat him on the pack, giving him well-deserved praise. You may not be as well versed in how ships operate, but you can certainly notice that it moves smoother and faster. Where you once had difficulty standing straight, now the horizon has steadied itself and no longer rocks from side to side. Seeing that he’s visibly exhausted from exerting himself, he sits to the side to take a break, and you decide to move on and let him rest.
As you wander the ship, looking out to the horizon and taking in the vast blue emptiness where it becomes difficult to find where the water ends and the sky begins, you have flashes of Lander’s heroics. It makes you wonder if you’d ever be capable of such a thing, to have the unflinching confidence to do what needs to be done in a moment of emergency. To have an understanding of something so well that a task that the average person would deem impossible could be done with such simplicity and ease.
But then you reflect on your decision to come aboard this ship. Your determination to fight through the resisting forces and make your way onto the vessel. Making the hard choice of leaving your family behind in Legido for the hopes of a better future for them and all of your people. This requires a different kind of bravery than the one displayed by Lander, but it’s still bravery nonetheless. To travel into the unknown, venturing to far away lands without any net to catch you if you fall or fail. It wasn’t an easy choice, but deep down, you know it was the only choice you could make.
You reach the back of the ship—the “stern”, you think you remember Lander calling it—and are greeted by the scowling faces of Dorez and Benicto. They glance up to see you, gnashing their teeth as they hold their mops still and steady in their hands, their angered expressions never altering for a moment. That is, until the old deckhand swats Benicto upside his head and tells the two of them to get back to work, spurring them to bow their heads and sweep the mops about the deck.
“Gartzen!” someone yells, drawing the stout man’s attention. Is that his name, you wonder? The man saunters over and leaves your two antagonizers to their own devices, a situation in which you’d rather not find yourself. You hurry to follow this ‘Gartzen’ and tag along for whatever task he’s about to undertake. He hardly notices you, shouting something in response to what another sailor said, and is startled when he turns and finds you standing beside him.
Trying your best to think of something to say, you thank him for handling Benicto and Dorez, stuttering your words as you tell him how grateful you are for him to come to your aid.
“Can’t be allowing such behavior before the ship’s left the docks when we’ve got months at sea yet to go,” he grunts. “But you’re not going to last long if you allow people like that to push you around. These are rough waters, and you won’t always have someone there to watch your back. Tough conditions require tough people.”
You’re briefly taken aback by the man’s harsh assessment and blunt honesty, pausing to reflect on his words and the weight of truth in them. You feel yourself reflexively growing defensive, but after a moment, you realize internally that he may be right. You knew this was an expedition, not a pleasurable journey. You knew this was always going to be tough, but perhaps you weren’t as prepared for how quickly you’d be tested. You steel yourself, taking a deep breath, and give yourself a pep talk, saying how you need to learn faster, grow tougher. You refuse to be the weak link on this ship. You can't imagine what lies ahead, but you’re going to be ready for whatever comes.
Before you can thank the man for his direct and honest advice, he’s off to assist a group of sailors with adjusting the sails. As soon as he arrives, the group attentively focus on his every word, watching his meticulous method for tying a particularly complex knot. You don’t believe he’s the captain, judging by his relatively disheveled attire, but the men show him a high amount of respect as though he were, listening to his instructions with rapt attention.
You linger near the group of gathered sailors, attempting to grab any gem of knowledge that the man imparts upon them. It’s as though he’s speaking a different language, tossing about terms and phrases that don’t initially make sense to you, but once you see examples of his explanations, they begin to become clearer to you. As the others separate to execute their given tasks, the man turns and sees you standing beside him once again.
He chuckles and says, “I see I’ve developed a shadow.” You apologize for pestering him and are about to scuttle away when he calls you over. He smirks and looks up at the darkening sky.
“You want to learn something useful?” he asks. You nod as you are overcome with curiosity. The two of you walk toward the front of the ship—the bow, you remember Lander calling it—and stand close to the rail. The burly man looks off into the distance, then toward the setting sun.
He points up, drawing your attention to the twilight sky as night approaches, “See that constellation?” You search the sky, your eyes following a trail from his finger off to the right of the ship—the starboard side, which is awfully coincidental at this current moment, you think—until you see a bright star amidst a sea of twilight blue. “That’s the North Star. Sailors have used it to find their way since the time the Legido settled on the western shores of the continent. It ensures that, no matter what happens when out to sea, they stay on course.”
You look at the multitude of specs in the sky among a span of colors, and remember the times you would view such a spectacle from the porch of your family’s farm. All the stars littering the sky would make you feel breathless as you gazed upon the vivid display, wondering how such a beautiful sight was possible. And yet, out on the endless sea, you feel this vista surpasses every sunset you've ever witnessed.
“During the night watch,” he continues, “you'll often find yourself looking up. It's quiet, the world feels vast, but those stars? They're your anchor.”
You study each of the stars, trying to memorize their exact location, which causes the stout man to chuckle softly.
“Gartzen!” the figure of a man yells over to you both, and from his commanding presence on deck, you immediately recognize the importance of this person. Atop his head rests a simple, broad-brimmed felt hat, its crown rising distinctively and the brim curling upwards. Even in the low light of the evening, you see a rugged, clean-shaven and sun-kissed face, framed by a high-collared linen shirt. Layered over the shirt is a close-fitted doublet, dyed in deep oceanic hues, crafted from fine fabric and adorned with decorative buttons. He wears billowing breeches that taper and tie just below the knee, and encircling his waist is a wide belt, from which a rapier dangles.
He approaches both you and the man, Gartzen, peering down his nose at you with an air of reserved authority. "I require a night watch," he states. “The person I’d typically place in charge has already gotten ill, and the only individuals proficient in sailing this vessel must rest. However, these peasants can't distinguish the aft from their own backsides."
“I’ve actually got a volunteer for you, Captain Lema,” Gartzen says. “A spry, young thing. Should have the endurance and hawk’s eyes for a night watch, sir.” He follows this with a pat to your back, and when you glance up at him, he gives you a wink.
The captain gives you a once-over, and with a slight snarl that creases the corner of his mouth, as if looking upon something wretched, asks, “They have the experience for this task?”
Gartzen, with a steadiness in his voice, responds, “Experience isn't just what you've done, Captain. It's also about what you're capable of doing. And I've seen enough to know that they have a keen eye and a level head—essential for a night watch.”
He pauses, considering his next words carefully. “Sometimes, Captain, it's about the potential you see in someone. The drive to prove themselves can be as valuable as years spent on the deck. We were all green once, weren't we? Maybe it's intuition, but I've learned to trust that over the years.”
Captain Lema regards Gartzen for a long moment, the silence hanging heavy in the air. You believe you’re being turned down for the job, until finally, with a slight nod, he concedes, “Very well, Gartzen. It’s a clear night, and it doesn’t appear I have much choice. I’ve always trusted your judgement, so why stop now? But keep a close eye. The shift will change at the eighth bell.”
Panic overwhelms you at the thought of this task—what’s an ‘eighth bell’?—yet Gartzen offers a reassuring smile. “Every sailor starts somewhere,” he says. “Tonight, it's the stars for you. Tomorrow? Who knows. But always remember to look up when you feel lost.”
You start to ask him what a night watch is supposed to do, but Gartzen anticipates the question. “Stay alert, and make sure you call out at the slightest—and I mean slightest—sign of trouble, so we can get the crew into position.”
He pats your shoulder and holds his gaze on you a beat longer than you expect, as though truly seeing you. He walks away and heads below deck, leaving you on your own for seemingly the first time since arriving on board. The silence from your post is initially unsettling, then exceedingly welcomed. You can finally hear yourself think and take a moment for yourself. You can experience the ship in a different light—almost literally. The creaking of the ship, the cool wind, the stars above, and the vast sea can offer a pause for reflection, introspection, and acknowledgment of the journey ahead.
The rhythm of the sea is a heartbeat against the ship's wooden hull. You take a deep breath, the salt-laden air filling your lungs, each intake heavy with the weight of the day's events. The deck beneath your feet, once unfamiliar and treacherous, now feels like an old acquaintance after everything you've experienced. With every step, you're becoming a part of this ship.
You feel the sting of embarrassment and the burn of anger as you recollect the confrontation with Dorez and Benicto, and then the flush of relief when you were saved, not once, but twice today. First, by the seasoned sailor, Gartzen, and then by Lander, the young ship savant. You hadn't expected allies on this journey, especially after leaving behind Iker, yet here they are, appearing from the most unexpected corners.
Gartzen's words echo in your mind, repeating over and over like a persistent drumbeat, “Tough conditions require tough people.” Do you have the mettle to withstand the challenges of the sea? Can you grow to be the kind of person who doesn't need saving, who stands firm, confident in the face of adversity?
And Lander... there’s a mystery there, a depth that belies his young age. By the way he moves, and the knowledge he holds, it's evident that he's not just any ordinary boy. You find yourself curious, wondering what life experiences beyond his father's shipbuilding have shaped him into the skilled sailor he is today.
As you stand on the bow, the expanse of the ocean stretches before you, an infinite inky blackness punctuated only by the silvery glint of starlight. From this vantage point, the distant horizon reveals an imposing sight—a looming wall of storm clouds, illuminated intermittently by ghostly fingers of lightning.
The thunder is but a distant murmur, easily drowned by the sound of the waves crashing against the ship.
A twinge of unease grips you at the sight of the far off tempest—is this what Gartzen was referring to? Yet its distance offers reassurance. You've been in tight spots before, moments when your life seemed overshadowed by the dark clouds of uncertainty or danger. Each time, whether through sheer luck, quick thinking, or the unexpected kindness of others, you've found your way through. Maybe this storm, like the others, would turn out to be less threatening than it appeared, or perhaps, like before, you'd navigate it with an unforeseen ally or an untapped inner strength.
You reason that it's far enough away; maybe it'll pass, or the ship will simply steer clear. Your palms moisten on the wooden rail, the salty air grows cooler. While a part of you remains wary of the distant storm, another part, tempered by past experiences, feels a measure of invincibility in the vastness of the open sea. These waters are unpredictable, yet somehow you've always found calm after the storm, a way to persevere when the skies cleared. And so, with cautious optimism, you fix your gaze on the horizon, ready for whatever comes.
As the sky darkens, the stars emerge, twinkling reminders of the large world and your tiny place within it. You find it humbling and exhilarating all at once. Here, on the cusp of the unknown, you make a silent promise to yourself: You'll grow, learn, and rise to the challenges that the expedition throws your way. The journey has only just begun.
