Chapter 2: Chapter 2: Escape on the Edge

“When I was young, Bergin wasn’t even an empire.” Wollow said as he used his magic to make a fine break in another prisoner’s chains. “Yet another country with grand aspirations, a warmongering little state with a tenuous claim to a long-dead empire. Sure, they had their Immortal King, but he was a fascinating little statesman with little threat behind his grand title.”

         Rael knew from the moments they had stolen over the past few days to free the others that the old man would continue talking whether he was prompted or not. Concentrating nonetheless on a sheepish Thierrson’s chains, Rael humored the former Spellmaster.

         “What changed?” Rael cast Synthesis how Wollow had taught them, combining the air and the water around them with the iron chains in a critical spot, turning anti-magic manacles into a set of normal, fragile manacles, eroded away by rust far more quickly than Rael’s previous methods.

         “When I was a strapping young mage, Bergin developed the first airships.” Wollow punctuated his statement with a slap to the side of the hull, causing everyone else to flinch. “No longer would it take decades of study for dedicated mages to learn to fly, when one can train an entire army to take to the skies in less than a year. The countries they often squabbled with for mere acres of land were overtaken quickly, as Bergin dominated in both air superiority and the speed to move troops.”

         “And by the time the other countries had discovered how to make airships, the Empire had enough land and momentum for it to not matter.” Rael finished.

         Wollow nodded as his own Synthesis spell stopped, freeing the last of the slaves. There was a moment of awkward silence as everyone looked to Wollow, Rael, and little Azmond, who was pouting because he still had to wear his mask.

“W-what now?” Mila asked.

“They still outnumber us two to one.” Rael said, biting their thumb. “Not to mention they have weapons, are more well-fed, and likely know how to better fight on a ship.”

“We don’t need to fight them all.” Wollow shook his head. “Just enough for us to take over the ship.”

Rael raised an eyebrow. “Meaning?”

“We sleep in and lock them in their cabin while they sleep. Preferably after they’re quite exhausted.”

“While we’re close to the Edge of the World.” People turned to look at Thierrson. After having been roused from unconsciousness and witnessing Azmond without his mask, the man had made a full about-face. The former loyalist meekly continued. “No matter their experience, sailing close to the Edge is bound to exhaust them. They're really strong winds, and it’ll be harder for them to sleep the first night since it is as bright as noon whenever you’re close to the Edge. So, the second night on the Edge would be best. They’d be in a deep sleep from almost two days of constant work and little rest. But when exactly we should take action is the question.”

“Cally Deram!” Azmond exclaimed.

“What do you mean, Child of Dragons?” Thierrson asked.

“There’s supposed to be a field of Calidaerum nearby.” Rael smirked. “If we’re lucky, they’ll resupply on the second day near the edge. It’ll make them more tired, and it’ll prevent them from slinging too many spells, for fear of killing everyone. We can lock them in their cabin, incapacitate everyone else on deck, and hold everyone on the ship hostage in one fell swoop. We’d need to re-enchant these manacles to keep them in line, though. One cuff per person. Could you do that, Wollow?”

“Of course. All we need to do now is to make sure nobody is suspicious. That means, as infuriating as it is, we keep these bonds on, and we keep talking. There’s nothing more suspicious than silence, after all.”

As the deck swayed in the ever more tumultuous winds, people that had resigned themselves to slavery began to speak with hope in their voices, despite wrapping their chains closer to themselves. Some spoke of families they had left behind, others of the sights and smells of their homes, but most talked about hearty meals they couldn’t wait to eat again.

Breaded meats, succulent fruits, boiled roots, and a few seasoned legumes…all made Rael’s stomach grumble in anticipation, just as someone made their way down into the cargo hold. Caldon came down uneasily, face pale and arm covered in blood stained bandages. As usual, he sat on the barrel closest to the stern, far from most of the slaves. It was the first time they’d seen him since he went up two days ago. He was followed by the first mate, frowning all the while. Everyone in the cargo quickly fell silent at the sight.

“Idjit!” The first mate glared at Caldon. “Halute warned us about the incoming gale, yet ya didn’t secure yersself proper-like!”

“To be fair, I couldn’t hear him over the wind.” Caldon said as he chuckled weakly.

The first mate snorted and rolled his eyes. He pulled some jerky out of his pocket and handed it to Caldon.

“Consider yersself lucky ya only tore yer arm a bit. A broken arm is a death sentence here. ‘Less ya wouldn’t mind an amputation.” His glare trailed over the slaves, who all hesitated a moment before turning away from his gaze. “Still ‘dun understand why ya wanted to be down here. The crew quarters are comfier.”

“I like to talk with company,” he said as he shoved some jerky in his mouth and grimaced at the toughness. The first mate winced.

“Aye, I’ll give you that.” He paused for a moment before continuing. “Do ya have some sort of speech spell?”

“Of course!” Caldon sat up taller. “My father taught me how to get it even before I got my Tome. It’s called Orator’s Grace, which allows me to be better heard while also making me require less air for—”

“Aye, aye, I got it…just make sure you get some food in ya.” With that, the first mate rushed back up the stairs, already too aware of Caldon’s tendency to ramble. Caldon leaned back and smiled.

“Friends, you would not believe what it looks like outside. The winds rush from the eastern horizon, and just this evening, as the sun set, it seemed as if there was another sunrise on the east. We are flying above seas of eternal twilight, where demons from a bygone age swim. I swear on the Emperor, one of the crewmates and I saw something that was very much not a fish erupt from the waves beneath us.”

Rael tuned him out as he spoke once more about how enlightening his entire journey has been, concentrating on what they knew. We’re close to the Edge. Our plan will be enacted two, maybe three days from now. Hopefully the Calidaerum fields are close. As for my own improvements, Create Water and Shape Water are still tier nine from freeing Azmond. Minor Chill actually rose recently to tier five, since it’s been getting hotter. Sense Life, being used constantly is at tier eight. As for my newest spell, Synthesis, rose to tier three considering how I used it to free everyone else, but still lacks the speed the Wollow uses it with. Rael, biting their lip in thought, didn’t notice a bubble approach their ear until it popped.

“What are you thinking about Rael?” Rael jumped at hearing Caldon so close.

“Did you see that?” The youth from his spot on the barrel laughed before turning in Wollow’s direction. “Quite an interesting spell, right?”

Wollow nodded with a calm smile.

“I’ll admit, although I’ve heard of the spell, I’ve never seen it in action. And you said it was ‘Common Message Bubble’ correct? I thought it needed to become its third circle variant, ‘Major Message Bubble’ to carry understandable speech rather than a written message?”

“Maybe for most,” Caldon smirked. “But by pairing it with my Orator’s Grace spell, I can carry speech just as well as the third circle spell would. It cost me some money to have someone teach it to me, but I think it was worth it.”

Rael kept the sour taste of bitterness down their throat. How Caldon used his spell slots had nothing to do with Rael.

“It’s a clever spell,” Wollow said, rubbing his chin. “But I’ve heard that while it is durable bubble, it is slow enough and fragile enough to be easily intercepted. Furthermore, it only becomes reliable over long distances in the third circle, as before that it can be a bit vague in who it delivers messages to. I’ve seen message spells at the second circle that are both faster to deliver and more reliable than Major Message Bubble. I’ve even heard of some Doub aristocrats using birds to deliver messages, without using spells.”

“So? A vague destination could be good.”

“How?” Hollow’s question was only answered with Caldon’s silent smile. “If I’ve learned anything from my experience as a Spellmaster, it’s that if a task can be achieved cheaper, more efficiently, or generally easier than with a particular spell, that spell is not a good one. I fear you’ve been duped, Caldon.”

The light in Caldon’s eyes dimmed somewhat, he said something under his breath before quickly changing the subject.

“Rael, you were surprised, weren’t you? What were you thinking about?”

Put on the spot, Rael couldn’t come up with a good excuse fast enough, so they said the one thing they didn’t want to think about, let alone talk about.

“Home.”

An awkward silence claimed the hold, one of such depth that they could all hear the howling winds outside and the nervous creaking of the ship. Even Caldon had some trouble working through that statement. Some.

“Aah, yes.” Caldon rubbed his unshaven chin. “No doubt one who sacrificed so much for her family would think of them.”

Rael pursed their lips. They wanted to yell out how Rael never had a home if they were sold so easily. They wanted to scream loud enough for the Dragons above and below to hear how they were always out of place, an outsider in their own home, how their kindness was repaid with scorn and disgust. How every question was met with dismissal, how Rael was simply called ‘the blacksmith’s troublesome one.’

But worst of all, Rael couldn’t help but remember their home with fondness. How they played with other children in the shallow creek by the village. How the nice old baker winked every time she passed Rael an extra pastry when they went to pick up her goods. The joy and excitement every Equinox feast, the gifts exchanged every Solstice. The sun rising on a pasture sparkling with dew as the northerly winds brought in the smell of citrus. Their youngest brother’s smile as Rael comforted him, after Rael had beat down his bullies.

Rael could guess what Caldon’s next words would be.

“I promise you,” Caldon smiled gently, “you will make yourself a new home.”

The words pieced Rael’s heart like their own Tome-dagger. How could they make a new home, when their first and all Rael had loved about it had become so profaned? Worst of all, how could Rael expect to build a new home as a slave?

The gall of this man. Rael’s temper flared, but they knew better than to act. Years as the ‘troublesome child’ had at least taught Rael something. Shut up, keep your head down, and wait for the perfect moment.

“Could you tell me about it? Your home, I mean.”

Rael’s knuckles clenched hard enough to become white. This jackass.

“How about we talk about magic principles, young master Caldon?” Wollow called out, bushy eyebrows furrowed.

“I’ve already had the best tutors my father could afford, though?” Caldon turned around his voice lilt.

“Perhaps,” Wollow grinned, “but have any of them been Spellmasters?”

Caldon stood up straighter and beamed. “You’re right!” He got off the drum and bowed slightly in Wollow’s direction. “Please share your wisdom, Spellmaster!”

“A good mage has a strong foundation…” His eyes flitted to all the others imprisoned in the hold, spending the most time on Rael. “Thus, it is best that we discuss the basics.”

Rael would have tried to doze off, had not Wollow pointedly looked at them. Rael didn’t know why they needed to listen; they couldn’t learn any more spells, after all. Nevertheless, Rael listened as Wollow lectured until Caldon turned in for the evening.

Rael unchained themself and walked over to Azmond and Wollow, who were working on taking off Azmond’s heavy helmet. Rael leaned down and helped jiggle the latch open, revealing Azmond’s ever-present smile.

“Thank you, Rael,” Wollow said. “These old fingers aren’t quite as nimble as they once were.”

“I can’t imagine you ever having been young and spry.”

Wollow let out a raspy chuckle. “I can scarcely imagine what my younger self would say upon seeing me. I suppose it is the sign of a fulfilling existence. Very few get the privilege.”

“You’re in chains.” Rael admonished, frowning. “This is a pretty low point.”

“Temporarily in chains with friends and equals, doing something because it is my will and not another’s.” Wollow casually unchained himself. “You may eventually learn that chains are the easiest kind of bonds to escape from.”

“You consider us equals? Friends even?”

“We’re all people. Hopes and dreams, memories and emotions, we hang onto them all because in the end, nobody can take them from you. As for Metas, remember that you are not inferior to others because of what you can or cannot do, no matter what others may tell you.”

“Wollow.” Azmond leaned forwards, tilting his head to the side in curiosity. “What are Metas?”

         “Cripples.” “My inspiration.” Rael and Wollow answered at the same time.

Rael raised their eyebrow in Wollow’s direction.

“They are not crippled.” Wollow help up a finger to stop Rael from opening their mouth further. “They are a type of person that societies have not let fulfill their immense potential…erm, in other words, they seem like they’re weak but haven’t proven themselves yet.”

Azmond nodded, pursing his lips in thought.

“That sounds like a load of bullsh—” Rael glanced at Azmond. “Malarkey. It’s malarkey.”

“Oh? Then why were you capable of using a fifth circle spell without much effort?” Wollow whispered so the others couldn’t hear with a glint in his eyes.

‘What?’

“Synthesis is a fifth circle spell. Yet you cast it almost as easily as your first circle spells, with a flexibility and speed that would have matched me at sixth tier.”

Rael’s ears were thundering as they struggled to catch their breath. Rael’s limbs felt numb, distant, and they were forced to sit down as their heart beat faster inside their cold chest. Fourth circle spells were spells only the most experienced spellcasters could use without experiencing debilitating drawback. If it would take mastering a first circle spell at tier ten to learn a second circle spell, mastering two second circle spells at tier ten to learn a third circle spell, and so on…’It would have taken mastering twenty-four compatible spells just to learn this one, discounting spell evolutions’ This spell was on the level of generals and kings, and a Meta had learned it by complete surprise. To put it in perspective, the most powerful spells in history were sixth circle spells, and only the Dragons were rumored to have of cast seventh circle spells. ‘I honestly thought that if I could learn it, it wouldn’t be worth much but to such an extent. Wait a second…’

“Did you force me to learn the spell, even knowing that I had nothing better than first circle spells? How did you know I wouldn’t mummify instantly when casting it?!” The Meta hissed.

“I had my suspicions.”

“Nuh-uh.” Rael crossed their arms and glared at the old man. “I’m not taking that as an answer. Explain. Right now.”

“It’s a long story.”

“Don’t care. Explain.”

“I said it’s a long story, so it is best if you get comfortable.” Wollow said. Rael grumbled and leaned against the wall as the people around them lent an ear to listen.

         “Once upon a time, there was a little village called Fairfell, nestled between the Beihar mountains and the Serpent Sea. The rains brought good soil from the mountaintops, the sea full of fish and clear waters, and the nearby hills rife with valuable metals and stones. A boy was born there, in this small countryside, with a loving family and a caring community. He was unaware of the dark history of his country: the land was rich, and people sought that richness for themselves. The land had been conquered and reconquered several times, the green hills and verdant crops grown fat upon the blood spilt of generations past. But war hadn’t touched the land in a century, and neighboring countries were busy squabbling amongst themselves.

“Thus, people behaved as they always had, laughing, celebrating, playing…discriminating. See, without the threat of a foe, the people remained separated, ununited. To keep order, some people were cast out for being different; not acting as they should, being born with deformities, or in one case, being a Meta. This Meta was the uncle of the young boy, who lived with his wife in a shack away from the village. He was fine with that. The Meta cut down lumber and sold it at whatever price he could get, came back to a wife who loved him dearly, and visited by a curious young nephew. He was a simple man, and all his simple desires were fulfilled. So long as he left the people of the village alone, they would only spare him a few insults and glares. He found pleasure in dancing with his wife beneath the moonlight, cutting and moving lumber that would be made into buildings for the village, and seeing the joy on his nephew’s face as he gifted him beautiful little stone statues. A bird, a soldier, a wizard, a castle…so many toys the boy treasured.

“Peaceful life would not last in this land. The neighboring country, Sima, needing resources to fuel their war, came to take what they wanted. They wanted everything. The boy watched as his father was slaughtered by these men, witnessed as the Siman soldier, no, raiders took his mother and ran to the only one he could place his hopes onto. His uncle, the Meta, was a gentle man, but he was large and strong from cutting down and carrying trees. The Meta wasn’t home, but his pregnant wife was. A raider had followed the boy. Cut down the woman. Leered at the boy. Reached for him and…an earthen spike burst through his chest.

“Unknown to the boy, his uncle had kept a spell spot open for an opportunity, any opportunity. Somehow, the Meta had chanced upon a third circle spell, Terrakinesis. And with this spell, the Meta was unstoppable. The Meta held onto his wife’s corpse and cried. The boy dared not move, the blood of the raider still warm on his face. His uncle slowly got up and urged the boy to run. Run far, far away and never look back. The boy ran. He could not help but look back as a lone man walked into the burning village, moving the very earth beneath him as if were a part of him to destroy all those who opposed him.

“The boy kept running, watching over his shoulder as greater and greater spells were flung towards his uncle, men swarming him in droves. He couldn’t bear to watch and continue running, the sound of fighting disappearing. When he could no longer run, hacking up bloody bile, he swore he could hear an anguished cry of desperation and loss. And he watched as the impossible happened. The closest mountain split, and a piece fell, much like a cut tree, upon the village. There was a tremor, a massive cloud of dust, and a burst of air sent the boy flying. When he came to, there was naught but dust in the air. No fire, or smoke, or blood, or screams. Just dust, silence and a crater where his home used to be. The boy swore from then on to avenge his family, and awed from the might of magic, he decided to become a renown spellcaster…no matter the cost.

“His vengeance would never come. Sima would be destroyed by Bergin decades later, and thoughts of vengeance faded from his heart, though the embers remained. He had driven himself ragged and accrued debts he could not pay. He had become a Spellmaster, but he found no joy. He could never touch upon the awe he first felt upon seeing the Meta act. Despite his searching, his ambitions, and his pleas, he would never meet another Meta, another who could twist magic in such a way that they rivaled the dragons themselves…until now.”

         “But…how is that possible?” Mila asked from the dumbfounded crowd.

         “I do not know,” Wollow shook his head. “I just know that Meta are rare and have great potential. I suspect that unlike others, they do need to acclimate their bodies to higher circle spells. They experience the same drawbacks as everybody else when casting too many spells, but they can cast a spell regardless of quality. In exchange, they could only ever le—have access to ten spells at once.”

         “Great.” Rael pinched the bridge of their nose. “I could have become the most powerful person in my village, but I just crippled myself with bad spells.” A frail hand flicked Rael’s face.

         “Incorrect. Remember what I taught you about strong foundations.” Wollow chastised. “I’m confident that had my uncle somehow worked his way up to the Terrakinesis spell as others would have, he could have dropped the entire mountain on the invaders and survived. Just because you have access to a shortcut does not mean you should take it. Hard work allows you to appreciate and understand the intricacies of the works you build. Trust me: I’ve sold and taught spells for a living.”

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         “That story was about you?!” Azmond leaped up. “Wooowwwww! Your uncle sounds super strong.”

         “He was.” The old man smiled gently. “And please, little dragon. Quiet will bring us to salvation.”

Azmond put his hands over his mouth and nodded worriedly. Rael was about to continue to admonish, but they felt life approaching. From outside the ship. As Rael’s mastery of the spell grew, so too did the range of their Detect Life spell. It felt around the size of a small anvil and somewhat egg-shaped, with the pointed end downwards attached to what seemed like a living rope of sorts that lead down and away from Rael’s range.

“I think we’re approaching the Calidaerum field. I’m sensing something like a ball on the end of a rope getting closer.”

Thierrson and another prisoner nodded. “Sounds about right.” Thierrson noted. “My da always mentioned that the smaller ones were further away from the larger fields. The younger ones aren’t as covered in barnacles and have a greener fuzz. Once they get older, they get longer blue fuzz, more barnacles on them, and can grow to be almost as big as this sloop, maybe bigger. The bigger ones ‘ll have scaffolding built on them so they’re easier to use to re-gas ships.”

“Do you think the crew will refuel tomorrow?” Rael asked with a wide smirk.

“Most definitely.” Thierrson responded with a smirk of his own.

“Then it is best I get to re-enchanting these chains.” Wollow sighed. “How much do the rest of you know about enchanting?”

Turns out, not nearly enough. Nonetheless, everyone worked through the night to carve specific markings on their uncompromised chains using whatever they could use, be it their own magic or nails scavenged from the floorboards. Before dawn, the slaves’ coordinated efforts were finalized when Wollow cast a strange spell, casting the etched chains in an ethereal light.

The people in the hold smiled, and few threw up their hands in celebration, the silent shuffling and whispered cheers reignited their hopes once more. Everything was in place now.

“This was quite exhausting.” Wollow yawned as Rael passed him water in a mug and the rations they’d saved.

“We shouldn’t celebrate yet, but you’re the reason we came so far.” Rael said as the old man took a few tepid sips. “Rest, Wollow. You’ll need it for tomorrow.”

Wollow leaned against the wall and slid down slowly, pulling some chains and dropping them haphazardly over his arms. He nodded and looked around him, taking a few deep breaths. The breaths of freedom. The people around him had stopped their mute celebrations and turned to listen.

“I am proud of you. All of you. I was nothing more than the guiding hand. All of you did this, by working together. Don’t forget that.” He leaned his head back and shuddered.

“What about re-enchanting the chains? And gathering us all together?” Rael crouched by his side. “We couldn’t have done that without you.”

“I am sure you could have. I have just expedited the process. Now, let this old man rest. Despite how close we are to the Edge of the World, the anticipation is clutching my body in cold vise. Don’t bother waking me until tomorrow evening.”

Everybody got into their positions, loosely coiling the chains around their wrists, just as Wollow had. It was hard for everyone to fall asleep, but the night took them nonetheless. Rael woke early, bright light leaking through the cargo hatch onto their face. They looked about and saw a few others awake and restlessly looking up towards the only exit. The prisoners could hear those above begin to move about. And while the hustle and bustle above was loud, those in the cargo kept quiet, anticipation slowly building. Soon, the ship slowed to a stop, right next a huge calidaerum. Rael watched as the sailors swarmed the deck and the calidareum, carrying things that weren’t visible in Rael’s life-sight. It took a couple hours before the sailors stopped climbing all around it, and by then the calidaerum seemed a bit smaller. Rael smiled and knew,

‘Tonight is going to be the night.’

People woke and fell back asleep, choosing to conserve their strength. Others, like Thierrson, kept themselves awake, staring intently at the cargo door. Rael faded in and out of sleep, waking every time they sensed a particularly big Calidaerum pass the ship. Until a lone visitor came down.

“Hello again!” Caldon exclaimed, waking some of them up.

“Q-quiet, please.” Mila stuttered. “Some of us are asleep. Wollow too”

“Really?” Caldon rose an eyebrow. “It’s nearly evening.”

“Hard to tell with the light.” Rael said, shrugging. “I’m guessing we’re close to the Edge now that it looks like midday through the cracks in the door?”

“Quite right!” Caldon laughed loudly. “It’s a beauty, but it makes it difficult to sleep. I wish you had a chance to see it.” He smiled and locked eyes with Rael. “Who knows, you might see it after all.”

He turned to look at the sleeping Wollow, a dozing Azmond leaning on his shoulder. A mischievous grin grew on his face as he pulled out a white feather, approaching Wollow’s sizable nose until the feather trembled with his every breath. Caldon began to tickle the sleeping Spellmaster on his nose, stifling his giggles. Rael saw Wollow’s arms twitching, moving slightly, as if he wanted to scratch his nose with every subtle swipe of the feather. Rael realized in alarm that they’d seen this before, when their younger brother harassed her oldest brother with a bit of twine as he slept. Any second now, Wollow’s hand would reach up and slip through the chains, revealing them all.

“So, uhhhh…where’d you get that feather?” Rael interjected.

Real dumb question Rael. Stupid, stupid, stupid…

“Oh, this?” Caldon focused once more on Rael. “I’m actually collecting them.”

Okay, roll with it.

“Really?”

“Yes! I’ve always been interested in birds, and I’ve begun assembling a menagerie back home. Birds of all sorts, with resplendent plumage and beautiful songs. I actually tried to expand my collection on my travels.”

“Tried? Why didn’t it work out?” Rael coaxed as Caldon approached them.

“Turns out, it is quite difficult to procure birds personally, and more so to transport them with you in cages, with all your luggage. I’ve had to satisfy myself with plucking a few feathers from them, to remember them by. I’ll be sure to spend more of my allowance on proper hunters to catch them once I return. They were oh so charming.”

“You really have enough money to spend on such things?” What a waste.

“More than enough; my family is quite well off. My father can afford to shower mother and his four concubines with gifts aplenty.” He preened. “Whomever I choose among my betrothed will be treated similarly.” Caldon sat down in front of Rael, silence in the cargo only interspersed by the creaking of the ship and a rare cough from the passengers.

“There’s something interesting about you, Rael.” Caldon leaned back against a crate. “Despite being here, in the worst place for a woman, you do not cry, or rage, or scheme. You carry a dignity beyond that of an individual of your station.”

Don’t punch him, don’t punch him, don’t punch him…

“Despite the chains you bear, I feel as though you are freer than any person I’ve met before. You are…Any household would be lucky to have you.”

“Maybe we should talk about homes and ideals later.” Rael struggled not to grit their teeth in frustration. “You mentioned that it’s getting close to evening; you should turn in soon, you’ll need to get as much sleep as you can as the light of the Edge overwhelms the night.”

“No need,” he perked up. “I volunteered for night shift, since I got more rest than the rest of the crew after my injury. Plus, there was something I wanted to see. Maybe two…” His eyes met Rael’s calm gaze. “One of these days,” he chuckled, “I’m going to get a memorable expression out of you. Perhaps one of ec—never mind.” He sat up and dusted off his immaculate shorts. “No doubt they’ll need me soon. Nobody has come to bring down water yet since it is getting quite difficult above deck, but the cook will come down and bring something soon.” He smiled and left to climb up the cargo doors before sparing one last glance in Rael’s direction.

Those who were awake stared at Rael after he left.

“Did he seem—”

“Yes.” Rael interrupted, seething. “Once we’re out, I don’t have to worry about him.”

“I had a man act like that with my sister.” Thierrson noted with a somber expression. “In my experience, there is no ‘not worrying’ about men like him.”

“Making enemies out of everybody is how I got on this ship in the first place.” Rael’s brow furrowed. “And that was only in a small village. I won’t risk his animosity.”

Thierrson opened and closed his mouth a few times before slowly shaking his head. True to Caldon’s word, an overweight man in an apron that might have once been white soon came down, squinting at all of the prisoners before dropping potato gruel in wooden bowls before the prisoners. When he approached a sleeping prisoner, he’d give them a few swift kicks to wake them up. They’d give out a cry and almost get up, but they accepted the food with little issue. He approached Azmond, but almost seemed to flinch at the sight of him. He quickly diverted his gaze to Wollow, an ugly brown smile growing on his face.

As much as Wollow annoyed Rael with his mysterious insinuations and knowing smiles, he’d helped them all; he’d believed in Rael when nobody else would. The least Rael could do would be to help him.

“Don’t do that!” Rael yelled, loud enough to wake most of those still sleeping. “He’s an old man. He needs every bit of rest he can get!” Azmond was among those woken, jerking away from Wollow’s shoulder as he tried to rub the sleep from his eyes through his helmet.

“’Scuse me?” The cook lumbered closer. “Did the little lady just tell me what to do?” He guffawed. He pulled the bucket of gruel by his side and approached Rael close enough to smell his rotten onion breath.

Rael recognized him for what he was. A bully. One that would get angry if his blows didn’t land. So when the kick came, Rael moved to take the brunt of the force to the chest, where there would be the least debilitating damage. The pain was as swift as the man’s strike, but Rael made sure to ham it up to satisfy his cruelty. Gasping for air from the blow, Rael fell face first to the floor, miming pained spasms. It was far from the worst pain Rael had felt, from fights or otherwise. Nevertheless, it would bruise and ache for hours.

His time will come.

“I’m so sorry, princess…” The cook chortled with an overdramatic curtsey. “That you expected us to treat you the same way that little namby-pamby shithead did. I don’t need to worry about damaging you. Your scars mean you won’t be used as a pretty little thing in a fancy brothel.”

“E-excuse me, sir.” A small voice called out. The cook wheeled with a scowl to face Mila. “It’s j-just that Wollow is a bit old, and he’s a sp-spellmaster. Wouldn’t it-t be bad if you crippled him, or worse?”

The cook grunted angrily. He stepped closer to Mila and rose a meaty fist in the air before grumbling and backing away. Before stomping down on her ankle. Mila’s eyes watered as she suppressed a shriek of pain, but she continued to stare at him. She let out a small sob, which caused the cook’s expression to widen in a rictus grin.

“P-plus,” Mila said, “He’s very gi-gifted in magic. Wo-would you risk him or who-whoever buys him to come for you?” The cook’s grin fell. “Or worse, fa-face the wrath of the Dr-Dragons further for hurting one so gifted?”

The cook’s eyes seemed to home in on Azmond for a moment. He snarled and backed away, leaving the bucket of slop and the bowls on the ground.

“Whatever. ‘M wasting my time here anyways. Feed yourselves.” The was a terrified silence as he climbed the stairs and closed the door behind him with a slam, plunging them back into the semi-darkness of the hold.

For a few moments, the silence was all encompassing, until Mila’s voice broke through.

“He knows.” A few questioning glances were thrown Mila’s way. “When I m-mentioned the Dragons’ wrath, he looked at Azmond. Plus, h-his hands. There were burn marks that were similar to amateur smiths. I think he was the one who forged the mask.”

“And if he was so nervous about it,” commented Thierrson, “and Azmond is still masked, it’s pretty likely that most of the crew doesn’t know. Which makes sense. Most sailors are incredibly superstitious.”

“Let’s not ass-assume anything until our original plan is over.” Mila shook her head. “Maybe once we’re in control of the ship, we can use this information to turn some of the smugglers to our s-side.”

“What I’m wondering is how the old man is still asleep.” Rael said.

Azmond was looking into Wollow’s ear before he giggled and pulled out some sort of orange ball. He giggled harder when it jumped from his hand and back into Wollow’s ear.

“Magic earplugs?” Rael palmed their face. “Seriously?”

“Hey,” Thierrson shrugged, “I think a spell slot is worth a guaranteed good sleep.” He found Rael’s withering glare and looked away. “Sorry.”

The next few hours were tense. With every passing hour, the silence pervaded through the hold, every creak of the airship becoming a scream, every gust, a howl.

“Now would be best.” Thierrson said. “Let’s do this.”

The prisoners shed their chains and got up. A few stood, stretching, while others looked around nervously. Only one was still sitting down, leaning against the wall. Azmond was poking at a motionless Wollow, tugging at his sleeve to try and wake him up. Rael approached them, heart clenching. Rael touched his neck to be sure and felt their breath leave their body as an intense cold pervaded them. Wollow was still warm, but he had no pulse.

“Is he…?” Someone asked.

“…Yes.” Rael could feel the mood plummet as despair began to take hold. “And we will respect his wishes. We’re taking this ship. I’m not going to die in chains.”

“Rael’s right.” Thierrson asserted. “The type of people who’d enslave a Child of Dragons are cursed, evil. At least if we die trying to escape, we’d be free from whatever they have planned from us.”

“How could you say that?!” Someone else nearly yelled. “Spellmaster Wollow was the strongest of us, and our best chance out of here. Maybe if we behave—”

“I-if we behave, we-we’d be obediently giving ourselves into a fate worse than death.” Mila interrupted. “W-wollow believed our strength wasn’t in him, bu-but in our unity and the element of sur-surprise.”

As people began raising their voices to argue, Azmond grabbed Rael’s hand.

“Rael? What’s wrong with Grandpa Wollow?”

Rael met his purple eyes glinting through his helmet. They couldn’t break his heart like this…but the truth was important. For the first time in their life, Rael didn’t know what to do. Even as a young girl, Raela knew what she wanted, no matter the consequences. And now, as Rael…they were stuck. Rael took off the helmet so they could see each other’s faces. His upper lip was trembling, and his eyes were watering. That expression was familiar to Rael, an echo of their past. At the sight of Azmond’s face, the freed slaves stopped their squabbling.

“I’m sorry, kiddo. Grandpa Wollow is…gone.” The tears began to flow from his eyes. He sniffed and wiped the tears from his eyes.

“H-he said…” Azmond sobbed. “That he was going to have to leave. He…promised me that he’d save me. Months ago. When we first met.”

Rael kneeled to get closer to him, and slowly, almost awkwardly, enclosed him in a hug. “I’m sorry. But…you aren’t alone now. We’re going to get you out of here. Right?” Rael threw a glare to everyone else in the hold. There were a lot of shameful nods as everyone stood up straighter. Rael stood tall once more, talking to Azmond. “Stay here, we’re going to go kick some a—smuggler butt.”

Azmond let out a small giggle, as he wiped more tears from his eyes.

A few of the larger men started wrapping chains around their forearms and knuckles, while others summoned their Tomes. Mila’s Tome came out as an abacus, while Thierrson took the lead with a yellowed scroll. Rael stood next to him at the top of the stairs, barely wincing as their dagger glided through their chest.

“Remember, we take out those outside, and then we seal the cabins so we can negotiate with them. If we can break their unity, we’ve won.” Rael said.

“It sh-should be a lot easier wi-with this.” Mila hefted up the helmet that had once bound Azmond. “A-and a spell I know.” She flicked at a bead on her abacus and pointed at the group with her Tome. “Muffle.”

A few of the others cast their own spells.

“Invigorate.”

“Minor Strengthen.”

“Lesser Reflex Increase.”

A subtle humming brilliance entered everyone’s bodies, and the weariness and hunger from being imprisoned for weeks seemed to wash away. Everyone knew these spells were only temporary, they would need food and adequate rest after this. They needed to succeed.

With that, they stealthily opened the door and went topside.

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