A voice in the dark.
Soft. Familiar.
"Mom?"
The child's voice trembled, soaked in tears.
"Please don't go. Please… I'll be good, I promise. Just don't leave."
The air was heavy, thick with the scent of candle wax and salt. A single flame flickered beside the bed, its light bending with every shuddered breath.
The woman's skin was pale as moonlight, her hand warm but weakening as it brushed his cheek.
"Hush," she whispered. "It's all right."
But it wasn't. He could feel her warmth slipping away, the weight of her hand growing lighter with each heartbeat.
"Don't cry, my sweet boy."
"But I—"
"You have to be strong for me. Promise."
Her voice wavered, fragile as glass, but the words carried the strength of something eternal.
"Be strong… and live. No matter how dark it gets, you keep living."
She drew him close, her arms trembling but steady. The candle's flame bent, stretched—
and vanished.
The silence that followed was endless.
He tried to call her name, but his throat closed. The air turned hot, his body trembling as the sound refused to come out. His chest heaved; his breath caught in broken gasps. His eyes burned, but the tears wouldn't stop.
And then, slowly, even that broke. The sobs faded into quiet. The heat turned cold.
The child just stared into the darkness—empty, unblinking—until there was nothing left to feel.
***
"Will! Wake up already, we're going to miss the ship!"
Yun's voice breaks through my dream like a hammer through glass.
I jump off my bed, breath stuck in my throat. For a moment, I don't know where I am. The dream clings to me—salt on my lips, a phantom warmth fading from my chest.
The room tilts softly, bathed in morning light and the low hum of the sea beyond the window.
I press a hand to my face. My skin is cold, my heart still racing. The details of the dream are already slipping away, like writing on water.
"You okay, man? You look as pale as a ghost."
"Yeah," I say, forcing a breath. "Just a bad dream. I can hardly recall it."
But that isn't true. I can still feel the child's pain, but somehow it feels alien— not mine.
"Come on, we're late." Yun shouts from across the roam, while putting on his boots and coat.
As we walk down the narrow wooden stairs, the air hums with the sound of life. Distant waves crash against the docks, children's laughter echoes through the alleys, and the cries of seagulls mix with the creak of carriage wheels rolling over cobblestone.
The sun climbs lazily over the horizon, spilling gold over the rooftops.
Clairmarche is awake.
We stop by the guild one last time to meet up with Heinrich.
The hall smells of wood polish, ale, and salt — the scent of mornings in Clairmarche. Light spills through the stained windows, painting the long tables in gold and blue.
It feels just like every other day. Except today, it isn't.
The moment we step through the door, the noise hits us like a wave.
"'Bout time you brats showed up!" someone yells from across the hall.
Laughter follows, loud and familiar. Mugs slam against tables, boots thud against the floorboards.
Hyung is the first to greet us, arms crossed, a grin tugging at his face. "Did you plan to sneak out without saying goodbye?"
Will grins back. "Would've been quieter that way."
"Quiet my ass," one of the members shouts from the back. "You two have never been quiet a single day!"
The hall erupts in laughter again. Even Heinrich cracks a smile.
Hyung walks over, placing a hand on each of our shoulders. "Almost two years, huh? Hard to believe. Feels like yesterday when Hein asked me to train you two."
Yun snorts. "I can still recall every blow."
"You took those just fine," Hyung says with a shrug. Then, quieter, "You've both come a long way."
He reaches behind the counter and tosses us two small pendants — a crude piece of moonstone shaped like the guild's crest: a full moon swallowed by a rising wave. "Keep those on you. Any southerner will recognize The Drowned Moon's crest."
Will turns the pendant in his palm. It's imperfect, uneven, a little rough around the edges — just like its guild members. Just like Clairmarche.
A heavy silence settles for a moment. Not awkward, just… heavy with things left unsaid.
"Guess this is it," Will murmurs.
"For now," Hyung corrects him. "The road circles back, always does. Besides, I'll need someone to brag about when the new rookies start getting cocky."
The rest of the guild starts crowding around — clapping backs, ruffling hair, slipping words of advice or jokes that don't quite hide their emotion.
"Don't die before you get famous!"
"Teach those pompous nobles from the capital a lesson, Yun!"
"Try not to blow up the academy, Will!"
Yun laughs, but his eyes glisten faintly when Hyung pulls him into a rough hug. "Take care of him," Hyung mutters, glancing at Will. "He pretends he doesn't need it, but he does."
Yun chuckles into his shoulder. "You always say that."
"Cause it's always true."
When they finally pull apart, the guild feels different — like the noise has dulled, the air thinner somehow.
Heinrich clears his throat. "We should get going. The ship won't wait."
Hyung gives a slow nod. "Then go. Make the capital remember your names."
Yun waves without turning around.
I glance back—just once—catching Hyung's silhouette framed in the guild's open doors. The banners sway behind him, the smell of ale and sea salt drifting out into the street.
It hits him then— what this place really was.
The first place he belonged.
Outside, a carriage bearing the Chained Sun—the crest of the capital—waits by the sidewalk as its polished frame gleams under the morning light.
Yun leans closer. "Can you believe this? The academy, the capital… it's really happening."
I nod, throat tight. "Yeah. It feels unreal."
Heinrich climbs in after us, slapping the side of the carriage. "Then let's not keep destiny waiting."
As we roll through the streets, I press my hand against the window. The sea glimmers beyond the rooftops, the docks alive with motion. Merchants shout, sailors haul ropes, the waves crash like a heartbeat. Clairmarche shrinks behind us—warm, imperfect, and alive.
When the ship's horn finally sounds, a strange silence falls over me. The city that once took me in fades into the distance, and once again, I feel the weight of an unknown world waiting.
The docks are already alive by the time we arrive.
Ships of all sizes sway against the tide, sails rippling like the wings of white giants. The air smells of salt, tar, and adventure — sharp and intoxicating. Seagulls dive between the masts, their cries cutting through the chatter of sailors and merchants.
Our carriage stops by a vessel larger than the rest, its hull painted in dark red and gold. The emblem of the Chained Sun glints proudly across its bow — a reminder that this is no common ship. It's bound for the capital.
"Boarding's this way!" Heinrich calls out, hauling his pack over his shoulder. Yun follows, brimming with his usual energy, waving at anyone who so much as looks our way.
I take a moment longer before stepping off the carriage.
The sea stretches endlessly before me — vast and unknown.
Clairmarche stands behind us, the morning sun painting its rooftops in gold. The guild's banner flutters faintly in the breeze, half-hidden by the mist.
Yun whistles beside me. "You're getting sentimental already?"
"Maybe," I say, smiling faintly. "Feels like I'm leaving something behind."
He shrugs. "That's what moving forward means."
The ship's horn blares again. Heinrich waves us up the ramp. "Come on, slowpokes! The capital won't wait forever."
As we step onto the deck, the wood hums beneath our feet — alive with the rhythm of the tide. The crew moves with practiced rhythm, ropes snapping into place, sails unfurling like wings ready to take flight.
"Anchor's up!" someone shouts.
The port begins to drift away. People on the docks wave, their shapes growing smaller, swallowed by mist and light. The water churns, parting around the ship like a living thing.
I grip the railing, watching until Clairmarche becomes nothing more than a shimmer on the horizon.
A chapter closing.
A promise beginning.