The Captain stood in the shadowed doorway of the lighthouse, his gaze fixed on the horizon where The Silver Wing rocked gently at anchor. The rest stop island was quiet, the distant sound of waves crashing against the rocky shore the only noise that filled the air. He had left the gathering of guild members in the main hall, his thoughts too tangled to remain among them.

Ayla's presence on the island gnawed at him. He had agreed to her plan, but the unease that clung to him like a second skin refused to dissipate. As he descended the steps of the lighthouse, his mind circled back to the blood agreement that had bound her to his ship. She had given him a name—Hazel Brooks—and he had accepted it without question. But now, doubts plagued him. Could the agreement have been faulty? If this was the case was there ever an example of it only partially working? Could it have been broken the moment he signed it with a false name?

Being an agreement from a mostly bygone era there weren't many experts on the arcane knowledge behind the Blood Agreement. The problem was in breaking the agreement he could immediately condemn the ship. A risk he wasn't willing to take on lightly. With no way to test what the agreement required of him he now had to simply guess what would be the agreement.

He moved with purpose along the dirt road, scanning the path ahead for any sign of her. The thought of betrayal twisted in his gut, though he had no clear evidence to support it. Still, he couldn’t ignore the possibility that the magic might have failed him, that the bond he thought was ironclad had been compromised.

His boots crunched against the gravel as he neared the spot where he expected to find her. A silhouette up the hill, just visible against the backdrop of swaying grass, caught his attention. He quickened his pace, the tension in his chest tightening with each step. The figure was crouched low, wrapped in a scarf that hid most of her hair. She was unmistakably Ayla, though she had gone to lengths to conceal herself.

As he approached, memories of their first meeting flooded his mind. She had been a mystery then, too, with secrets layered beneath her calm exterior. He had accepted her on board, trusting in the blood agreement, but perhaps blinded by her promise of medical knowledge. This was a rather immature move on his part and very uncharacteristic of him. But now, with the possibility of that agreement being compromised, he wasn’t sure if he could trust anything at all. Maybe he had always been this rash and his crew was what actually kept him in check. It was never a good feeling to when he question himself and it had been several years since he had at this level.

When he finally finished climbing the hill and stood along side the elf he crossed his arms and decided they would need to have a much longer talk than they did in the cabin. He needed her to understand that as much as he was bound to the agreement she was bound to the ship. At least until they truly understood what the agreement meant. "Ayla," he replied, his voice tight. "We need to talk."

The connection to the earth soothed the elf in a manner to surpass even her expectation. She was breathing in the fresh grassy scent in contemplative silence when she heard her given name said clearly above her.

“Ayla. We need to talk.”

She cast her gaze abruptly to the speaker, eyes looking refreshed and calm. The wear on her face from her demonstration in the captain’s cabin had been rewritten by nature’s touch and the elf resumed her young, smooth complexion.

“Of course,” she quickly agreed, collecting the box of books and cloth. She rose and stood at attention, casting her glance only briefly toward the lighthouse she had avoided. Had she been identified? She bit her lip and looked to the hills before back to the captain.

“Should we go further from the path or…” She trailed off, finding she was unsure of what this sudden proclamation meant for her and her position upon The Silver Wing.

Hearing her voice almost evaporate inside her, the Captain felt it best not to prolong the conversation. "I'm not kicking you off the ship," he said, then began to sit down on the fresh grass. "This isn't out of personal charity or with the expectation of using your abilities." He got comfortable, even removing his hat as he looked out along the coastline and ocean. He could perfectly see The Silver Wing anchored just offshore. It was a rather pleasant moment, save for the wind, but even that brought a clean sent with in the small protected natural port

"The fact is, when I put your fake name into the Blood Agreement, it was accepted." He looked over at her and continued, "This means we are in uncharted waters. If I fail to deliver you to where you claim to be going, the contract will be unfinished. If we depart or the magic that binds it believes I broke this agreement, it could result in the destruction of the ship." At this, Quinton actually smiled. "I looked back, and we put down 'resettle and build a new life.'"

"You might not realize what this means, but in agreeing to this, we have put ourselves in a somewhat concerning situation." The Captain now couldn’t look at the elf. "This means we can no longer simply wait out bad weather or, should the situation warrant it, turn around and abandon the attempt at the Horn." He let out a defeated sigh at this troubling thought. "If you get caught, the contract will likely be considered broken. After all, the only thing that happens if you get caught is likely anything but a new life. So, we get caught—lose the ship. We turn around—lose the ship. You decide to simply quit..." At this, he finally looked the woman straight in the eye. "I lose the ship and my crew."

This realization hit him with full force. Standing up and looking at the elf, his back facing the sun, he said, "You have to swear to me right here and now, Ayla the elf. Swear to me that you will never give up so long as my ship has wind in its sails. Your commitment to that freedom is no longer just your own. My entire ship and every soul on board is a crushing weight and responsibility tied to your determination."

In mirror to the captain’s gesture, Ayla paused her stand to resume sitting and folded her hands into her lap as he spoke. She released a deep exhale as he said he was not forcing her to abandoned ship and nodded, attention rapt on the man as he continued to speak.

With each reiteration of how many ways she could cause the contract to become invalidated and thereby rob this generous human of his livelihood, Ayla’s mind struggled under the weight of her folly. She had been so careless with regards to another, prioritizing her future over the life someone had already established for themselves without utilizing the backs of the less fortunate. If he’d been another of the sort who despised her for the shape of her ears, Ayla would have far less guilt over realizing just how trepidatious the situation had become.

Then he stood above her, haloed in the sun of her only hope for freedom.

“Your commitment to that freedom is no longer just your own.”

The warning resonated with gale force against her heart. Her success was not only for herself now, but for the life and soul of every unknowing individual aboard that ship. She looked to the waters at The Silver Wing bobbing in the distance and felt the pang of responsibility she had accidentally burdened herself, and the captain, with.

She shot to standing, posture perfect and chin high.

“Captain Church, I will find freedom. You shall deliver me hence. If the wind loses its nerve, I will be the breath your sails need.”

As she proclaimed her most devout intent, the vague sense of rainy forest surrounded the pair again. The breeze which had been coursing in all directions fell still at once, then surged upward from the ground. Emboldened by her communion with the earth during his venture to the lighthouse, the very winds bowed to her resolve and proffered their service to her cause. The quick up-burst fell still just as suddenly and the void of motion was blatant around them.

For a moment, nature went mute to allow for Ayla to declare her intentions and form a contract of its own with Captain Church. The powers of the greatest mother to all life sanctioned the agreement in a quiet warm embrace upon the lands where chill and tumult were known to reign.

Captain Quinton Church felt a knot of anxiety tightening in his chest as the wind began to pick up, seemingly responding to the tension in the air. The atmosphere had shifted dramatically, and his instincts told him they were treading on dangerous ground. With the sent of her magic still very much in the air he started to look around and along both ways the road led. There was noone within sight thankfully, but he knew of all things the elf wouldn't showcase her gifts publicly. . Still her abilities gave him a knot of stress and his movements mirrored his sense of urgency.

“Here, put this on,” he said, his tone firm and somehow lacking a formal sense of concern. He glanced around, his eyes scanning the horizon as if expecting something—or someone—to appear. “We need to get back to the boat.”

He turned and began leading the way down the path toward the shore, his pace brisk. The captain’s mind raced with thoughts of what might happen if anyone had seen or sensed what had just transpired. He knew the risks involved, and they were too great to ignore. Every step closer to the rowboat felt like a step back toward safety, away from the unpredictable forces that seemed to swirl around them.

As they reached the boat, Captain Church now politely helped Ayla step in before taking his position at the oars. The familiar rhythm of rowing brought a measure of calm to his thoughts, though his mind remained focused on the situation at hand. The water lapped gently against the hull as they moved away from the shore, heading back toward The Silver Wing.

After a few moments, the captain spoke, his voice low but steady. ““I need to know—do you want anyone else on the crew to know about this? Or should we keep this between only Bash and myself?”

His gaze remained fixed ahead as he awaited a response, the weight of the decision heavy in the air. The ship loomed closer, a sanctuary of sorts, but also a place where every move and word would matter more than ever.

A surprised yet thankful expression spread across Ayla’s visage as the captain ushered her into his coat. Not connecting what may have been his intent with the circumstance of what had just transpired, she blinked confusedly around and looked to the greens.

“What about herbs? I thought we were…” She trailed off as he began to lead her back to the ship.

Ayla followed with the bundle of books and unused containers snuggled in her arms while her feet flittered down the uneven slope with the grace and seeming ease of a deer down a hill. She need not observe her feet as she scampered on as the rocks seemed to adjust their patterns as each foot came down to rest upon the ground. Any dangerously wobbly pebble rolled to the flat side and embedded neatly into the dirt by the force of her minimal weight.

In the small boat, she watched the ship come closer and closer with each burst of forward motion granted by the captain’s rowing. She leaned in to hear his question upon realizing his tone had dropped to conspiratorial.

“Oh, um. I think perhaps the fewer people who know the better?” It was not a declaration, more of an uncertain question. She knew there were passengers aboard who would not be welcoming of her and might even leap at an opportunity to collect coin if they discovered her “familial ties” back in the city. She did not know the crew hardly at all. As far as she knew, there were others who had similar sentiments to the woman in her sleeping cabin.

At the same time, Ayla was uncomfortable with the amount of lies she had nearly drowned in this past week. Dishonesty was not in her nature, and it made her feel incredibly ill at ease to continue proclaiming falsehoods as fact. She also had grown close to a few other members and greatly disliked continuing a charade with people like Sabrina who had been so kind to her on the voyage thus far.

She pondered the quandary then voiced her thoughts.

“I worry that some of your crew may not like me once they know. I do not like lying, especially to those who have been so kind to me … I will trust your judgement with regards to crew that need be aware for reasons of the ship’s safe passage. I do not want to be more of a burden than I already am.”

She finished her thought with a small ripple of negativity that was uncommon even for her. As the confession tumbled out to the air, she followed the words with her gaze into the water below. A modest air of forlorn worry stood on her face as she reached a hand down to feel the kiss of the sea on her fingertips.

Quinton watched Ayla carefully as she voiced her concerns, her words laced with an earnestness that tugged at something deep within him. The weariness in her tone was undeniable, and he could see the toll that maintaining this charade was taking on her. As the small boat rocked gently with each pull of the oars, he considered her words, the weight of his responsibility to her—and to his crew—pressing down upon him.

He pushed this thought aside and focused on the water in front and the oars in his hands. The tough skin along them seemed like steel as he rowed again and again to get them to the ship. He found it helpful to have a physical activity to focus on while looking into Ayla's eyes. He then looked past her at the lighthouse and small community beyond it.

"Ayla," he began, his voice low and steady, "you're will not be a burden because you are going to work harder than you ever have to help this crew make it across the horn. You will prove to me that your deceit was for the betterment, given the circumstances." He paused, allowing his words to sink in before continuing. "As for the crew, you have nothing to fear. They're loyal to me, and that loyalty extends to those written into the blood contract. They might have their own opinions, but they know better than to cross the agreement as they need this ship to remain afloat just as much as you do."

"That said," he added, "the passengers are another matter. I can't control their thoughts or actions, and some may be... less understanding. But know this—I won't let anyone harm you. Not on my ship." They had finally reached the ship and the Captain called out to have them brought up and aboard. "Share with you who wish. Tell me when you do so I may have my own words with them."

A shaky, sighing breath floated from Ayla’s lips to the waters below her slender fingers as the captain piloted the ferry from shore to ship. She really despised all the airs she had been putting on for the past week or so and was beginning to feel like she may forget herself if the charade went on for too long. She pondered the promise of security because of the contract.

“But,” she hesitated, bit her lip, then forged onward. “Does the contract mean nothing if the name I gave you is not the name I am known by to others? I really do not understand these contracts or how they work. They are bindings beyond my comprehension. I was shackled with a name at birth but it is not who I am. The name I gave you is also …” Trailing off, the elf came to an overwhelming and haunting realization that she did not know who she was at all.

Having never felt that the identifier given to her by the Blackthorne family were true to herself, the elf realized she may as well have no name at all. Responding to “Ayla” worked for the purposes of the family to which she was born indentured. Assuming the identity of Hazel Brooks had proven useful in becoming someone other than she had been told she was. Neither, however, felt true to herself.

Her face fell into a dark reverie as the boat approached the ship side. The allure of freedom had proffered such intoxicating promises, the ensuing reality now crushed around Ayla with all the unforeseen ramifications that had never crossed her mind.

“I will trust your crew. I will let the passengers discover as they will,” she replied flatly. All emotion sucked from her core with the threat of not existing to even herself. Reclaiming residence upon the deck of The Silver Wing, the elf inflated herself once more with false confidence and a placid expression for the benefit of any observers.

Her mixture of anxiety and worry was evident as she started to ask questions surrounding the the contract. Quinton was somewhat curious as to why she seemed to be looking for a reason to break the blood contract. Had there been a way to do that the Captain likely would have done it and left the elf right there at the lighthouse community. She was very much a danger and unknown and that posed a threat to the ship. Sadly, even attempting to find loopholes or ways to break a blood agreement was a risk he wasn't willing to take.

If you can promise that the contract has not accepted your false name and that leaving you here wouldn't potentially cause ruin and death for all those on board than by all means make your promise and leave." He looked her dead in the eyes as the small boat started to be lifted up. They were still alone at this point so he was more cold in his tone. "The reality is the contract accepted the name. You were there and saw it. It agreed to something and until we know what that all is we can only assume it was that I would ferry you past the horn and to a safe haven."

"I will only share when needed. The uproar could cause a panic for the passengers. The crew will want to know and ask questions should they find out so make yourself available when needed." They then arrived at the end of the boat lift and started to get out. He put his hat back on and turned to hold his hand out for the elf to use while exiting the swaying boat on lift ropes. His voice became far warmer and even charming. "Lady" he said at the hand offering.

"I apologize we were unable to gather some materials; however, when we make port next I can promise the resources for sale will be more than adequate."

Ayla realized that her questions may have been leading the captain to think her thoughts were on finding loopholes as opposed to being purely confused by the entire situation. She blanched momentarily and rapidly interjected her concerns.

“No, no, I did not mean that. I am just confused by the process as a whole. I do not understand these types of magics and I did not wish to impose further difficulties on you due to my name having been … newly donned.”

The elf sat rigid and cold as the ferry ascended the final edge of the ship and she felt the threat of the captain’s cold tone wash over her in shards of ice. She steeled herself and accepted the hand proffered to help her aboard as she found her neutral expression, though the corners of her eyes threatened to overflow with warm, wet despair.

“Thank you, sir,” she replied formally and alighted the small ferry with her bundles. She clutched the items in her arms and began a quick step towards the lower deck.

“I presume we shall return the materials to your storage space and then I shall hinder your labors no further today.”

To the average passerby, Ayla spoke with deference to a man of rank upon his territory. To the captain, who had been in conversation with her all this morning, she was rushed to find solitude to manage her own shame. Her feet scurried rapidly down the steps and to the door of his cabin where she awaited his unlocking the apartment. She would return the books and boxes and then she would seek a dark corner to meditate and try to gather her composure again.

The Silver Wing, moved with graceful precision along the coast, its white sails billowing in the steady wind. The ship's three towering masts loomed against the sky, and the crew worked in unison to ensure every rope, sail, and knot was in order. The wind pushed the vessel steadily forward, carrying it over the deep blue waters as the hull cut through the sea, sending white foam spraying out to either side.

The rhythmic creak of the ship echoed through the air, mingling with the soft rush of the waves and the occasional bark of a command from the quartermaster overseeing the crew. Sailors scrambled up the rigging, trimming sails, tightening ropes, and keeping the ship on course. Below deck, the cargo hold was being prepared for the impending arrival at port, as men checked crates and secured goods, anticipating the busy days ahead.

On the quarterdeck, Captain Quinton Church stood with his first mate, Garrick, a well-worn map unfurled before them on the navigation table. The wind tugged at their coats, but both men stood steady, eyes fixed on the horizon. Faintly, the outline of Sevarith began to materialize, its towers and docks rising in the distance, shimmering in the sunlight. Quinton Church’s sharp blue eyes narrowed as he studied the distant skyline, the port ahead one of the busiest they would encounter on this journey.

“We’re nearing Sevarith faster than expected,” Captain Church said, his voice calm but commanding. “We’ll need to adjust our course slightly to starboard and slow our approach before we enter the harbor.”

Garrick nodded, his weathered hands resting on the edge of the map. “Aye, Captain. The winds are good today. Once we make our turn, we’ll ease her in. The port’s bound to be crowded—no sense rushing it.”

The captain looked up at the sails, then toward the crew bustling about the deck below. Each man performed his task with the fluidity of someone who knew his role well. The crew had grown used to the captain’s exacting standards and had long learned to keep The Silver Wing in perfect order, especially when nearing a major port.

“Make sure the crew’s ready for a tight docking,” Church added, his voice low. “This city’s a snake pit, and I don’t want any trouble when we arrive. Cargo’s valuable to more than the guild and the passangers, and I’d rather not attract unnecessary attention.”

“Aye, Captain,” Garrick replied, glancing toward the bow where the coastline stretched out, gradually giving way to the bustling city ahead. “We’ll be ready.”

Below deck, the quartermaster and boatswain oversaw the last preparations, barking orders to the sailors working swiftly to secure the ship’s valuable cargo. Every crate and barrel had to be properly fastened for the docking procedure. Above, the crew moved with practiced ease, adjusting the sails and preparing the ship for its final approach.

The wind continued to carry The Silver Wing closer, and soon Sevarith loomed large on the horizon—tall spires, sprawling docks, and a tangle of ships and boats that signaled the port’s busy nature. Captain Church stood tall at the helm, his hands steady on the wheel, while Garrick stayed by his side, preparing to guide the ship through the maze of vessels.

The captain’s gaze lingered on the city ahead as the wind filled the sails. He felt a mixture of excitement and wariness. This place offered opportunity, but it was also a place of danger. With a final nod to Garrick, Captain Quinton Church gave the order, his voice carrying across the deck.

“Steady the sails. Let’s bring The Silver Wing in nice and clean.”

Onward to terrain unknown and freedoms heretofore yet experienced, Ayla watched each sun’s arc with eager, wary, rapt attention. The routine of life aboard had become familiar; she did her hair in complex plaits and curls, wrapped in a scarf so as to always conceal her ears from the public. She meditated mornings and greeted every dawn with reverence. The moon received equal accolades as the globes in the sky traded shifts.

Evening meals wrapped with friendly conversation in the galley with Sabrina. Ayla’s persistence wore the professional sailor down and there was no keeping the elf from aiding with the cleanup. Her identity was known in this sacred space and it was among the few locales the runaway felt at ease enough to let her hair down, in a quite literal sense. Given that only crew were apt to enter unannounced, and with Captain Church’s vow to ensure she would be treated humanely among the ship’s staff, Ayla was fond of letting her hair hang loose with wild abandon as she dried dishes and tidied the space.

“You really must let me learn from you,” she told Sabrina one night. “Your knowledge of food and my skill with herbs; we could create some truly magnificent magics in here together.”

The elf looked forward to an opportunity to expand her skillset. Of course she had basic capabilities, mostly in the realm of stews, broths, and meat pies. None of those were particularly fashionable food choices, but she had enough skill to prep meals for her kin. While the ship would not be apt to proffer such fine delicacies as roasted foul or pork, the process of preparing fresh fish awed Ayla in a manner none could have expected.

The weeks slipped smoothly onward. Enjoying the ever-changing view of shoreline and ocean waves, Ayla spent as much time aboard the deck as she found feasible. The gulls that called out made her smile and she found herself growing accustomed to their particular, sharp, stark song.

The familiar melody was broken at the end of the two weeks of peace. Between the high squeaks of gulls orbiting the sails and shore, Ayla caught a noise that froze her blood and stopped her heart. Lower in pitch but stronger in authority, a call rang out from an ebony beak like a harbinger of doom. The corvid parted the white plumes of seabird with force and drove onward to the skylines ahead.

Ayla felt herself caught in a riptide. She stood pallid and unblinking at the bleak bird she knew to be a calling card of the Blackthorne estate. While many messages were sent by bird, few were sent by raven. It was among the family’s particular sense of identity and branding that their words be carried on wings as dark as their intentions.

When the invisible vortex about her heart and feet released Ayla from complete immobility, she dashed below deck in search of the Quartermaster who had identified her lineage on the very first day of voyage.

“Beg pardon,” she interrupted with regret. “Might it be possible for me to borrow the captain’s ear before we make land? I wish to discuss important matters with him in private.” Though she made intentional expressions to the other man who knew her secret, she added as an afterthought, for the benefit of other crew nearby, “I have been reviewing the ship’s herbal stockpiles and wish to draw attention to a few specifics I hope we can replenish at this stop.”

Though her smile was warm and deferential, her eyes were scared and glassy. She turned quickly on her heel and concluded, “I shall wait at his cabin door so we may review the books he houses within.” The further she drifted from passengers and crew, the quicker her feet danced over the boards until she found herself at the cabin door where she began a stressful attempt at meditation and focused breathing.

As the ship was sent ropes and pulled the rest of the way Bart was getting ready for a very busy evening of being the ships Quartermaster. Resupply, trade, gather, and pillage where possible was on the menu as this was both a vast city and the last stop before they made their way to The Horn. He and everyone on the crew was tense while also excited for the city and all its opportunities. He had lists of goods requested from every part of the ship including ammo for the cannons, food for the kitchen, and comforts for the captain and and passengers.

In reviewing these requests he was interrupted by the elf who asked to see the Captain. In a follow up she mentioned a smart cover as her skills had been by now, celebrated and encouraged. He gave her a gruff nod and they both parted, making their way to their needed points of interest. When he found the Captain topside he waited to inform him that their VIP guest was needing a moment. He stressed that she seemed impatient.

Making his way to the requested meeting point he looked concerned as he approached the elf. "You asked to see me?" He said in a hurried tone. "He then held his hand out so she would make her way into cabin door so they could speak in private with the door closed.

Ayla stepped quickly to the most private and sanctified room aboard The Silver Wing. Her hands expressed her unease, wringing and rubbing her fingers in agitation. The elf moved fluidly to the innermost portion of the cabin, as far from the door as she could position herself before turned to face the captain. When the door latched, she broke the silence.

“They have sent word for me. The Guild will be on alert here. I saw the raven. The Blackthornes always use ravens. I do not know how aggressive their missive will have been, how adamant it demanded for ship manifests and passengers to be scrutinized. But I know they will have put the port on alert.”

As if adrenaline had been all that kept her afloat, Ayla collapsed into one of the chairs by the captain’s desk and clapped her hands over her mouth to stifle what might have been a sob. She glanced to Captain Church apologetically with knit brows and scared eyes.

“I— I—“ she stammered the beginning of another monologue then shook her head and buried her face in her upturned palms. Utterly lost and driven into overwhelming overdrive by the closeness of the leash she had slipped some weeks earlier, she rocked in her seat like a helpless child.

“I do not know what to do.” She confessed.