Chapter 1

I have to get out of this place. Damian focused on the spot in the river where his trapbox floated, barely moving in the slow current. He shifted his weight on the weathered dock planks and adjusted the fraying rope in his hands.

The river sprawled between the dense forested banks, their trees standing tall and close, with branches reaching out over the water. Sunlight filtered through the foliage, casting shifting patterns of light on the river’s surface. In the distance, the towering Cinderblack Mountains rose from the island’s heart, their frosted peaks piercing the horizon.

They had been fishing for hours, and had little to show for it. No fish today, just like yesterday, and the day before that. This routine of coming up empty was becoming all too familiar.

As a child, Damian loved coming to the fishing docks. The noise of fishermen calling out, the boats creaking as they were loaded and unloaded, and the laughter shared among friends made this place feel alive. It was a bustling, busy spot that Damian thought would never change. He could still hear those echoes of laughter whenever he closed his eyes, making the silence now all the more deafening.

But it did change. Stillwater’s docks, once the heart of the town, felt quiet and forgotten. The title of “river fisher” didn’t mean much when there were no fish to catch. Most river fishers had left, looking for work elsewhere. Those who stayed, like Damian’s family, had become “fish cleaners,” sifting through fish guts to clean the catches brought in by the giant River Sweepers that had taken over. Many had opted to move south to try their hand at farming.

“We haven’t caught a good fish in two days,” Damian said, his voice low, as he glanced at the deep blue water.

His brother Vik, lounging beside him with his hat covering his eyes, didn’t seem as bothered. “At least we won’t go hungry. There’s always fish stew,” he replied, his tone light. Though appearing relaxed, Vik kept a watchful eye from under his hat on the soldiers moving along the dock. “And I would rather be out here fishing than working the fish cleanary.”

Across the docks, two towering figures strutted, their polished insignias gleaming in the sunlight. The taller one carried a baton that he slapped rhythmically against his palm. Damian and Vik hadn’t met these particular soldiers personally but could guess they were cut from the same cloth as previous ones stationed in their town. Jacob, their father, had stepped in more than once to pull them out of potentially serious run-ins with these types, sparing them the harsher consequences of the law.

“I can’t stomach any more of that oily fish head stew. It tastes like something scooped off the floor of the shop.” Damian replied irritated, eyes fixed on the water. His words were not far from the truth. Many times they had to use leftover scraps from their cleanings to make a decent meal.

“Not today,” Damian whispered quietly. The relentless late summer sun scorched his sun-browned skin, while the humidity wrapped around his body tighter than the froth along the river’s edge. He watched the soldiers move further down the dock, making a calculation in his mind.

“Damian, don’t do anything foolish,” Vik urged in a hushed but firm tone, catching the determined look in his younger brother’s eyes. “You know the consequences.”

Damian ignored his brother, and closed his eyes. Focusing deeply, he felt for that indefinable connection between his thoughts and the physical world—that strange awareness he could never quite explain. Fish, gather here, he thought, feeling the familiar tingling at the edges of his consciousness. As he embraced the silence, he cautiously opened his eyes, watching as the water rippled in an unnatural pattern. Where moments before the fish had been scattered, now they swam as one, drawn by an invisible current straight into the waiting trap.

Four should be enough, Damian decided, as he pulled the side rope to close the trap. Centering his thoughts again, Damian rose and grabbed the large chain anchoring the trap on the deck. He concentrated on the connection between his will and the weight of the trap, feeling that peculiar awareness expanding through his fingertips. The chain grew warm beneath his touch as reality shifted in response. With a determined pull, he lifted the trap from the water, its heaviness temporarily altered, and it settled onto the deck with a splash.

As he released his hold on the world around him, everything snapped back to its natural state with jarring force. The quiet sounds of the nearly abandoned dock returned to his awareness, and fatigue swept over him—the cost of imposing his will, even briefly. His muscles trembled with the memory of weight they should never have been able to bear. He staggered slightly, then sat down, trying to catch his breath on the sun-warmed wood.

Vik leapt to his feet, pretending to help position the heavy trap and tried to avoid looking at the soldiers’ reaction. Still catching his breath, Damian looked defiantly towards the soldiers. He was beyond caring. The soldiers paused, eyeing the brothers intently, then slowly continued their patrol, moving away toward the opposite end of the dock before finally leaving the area.

“That was too risky, Damian,” Vik said, concern edging his voice as he approached his brother.

“Doesn’t matter,” Damian shrugged off the caution, feeling his strength return. “Caught us dinner, didn’t I? I won’t be hurt though if you still want to eat your awful stew,” he said, letting a small smile break through.

Vik was clearly not amused. Their father had warned them for years about using their… skills. If anyone found out, all three of them would be locked in Ravinlock to rot away behind those black stone walls for the remainder of their short lives.

With renewed strength, Damian joined Vik to pull the fish from the trap. As he worked, he couldn’t help but think bitterly that such risks wouldn’t be necessary if the River Sweeper boats hadn’t plundered their waters, leaving them with scraps. As if that was not bad enough, they had tainted the waters with broken nets, dead fish scraps, and metal junk.

Damian observed his brother closely, waiting for any hint of a response. Yet, Vik ignored him and remained focused on his task. As knelt down to rinse his hands in the cool river water, his sweaty golden brown hair tumbled out of his hat, causing him to pause and push it back into place with the backside of his hand.

Breaking the silence, Damian ventured, “You know, Vik, I think it is still worth asking the Captain if he would let us both join the Academy of Defense together this year. I know you are against it, but it would be interesting to see if it is even an option,” His voice carried a trace of hope, though he anticipated Vik’s refusal even as he spoke. The respected academy at Garrison Point was a future with security, respect—a life beyond scraping by on the docks.

Vik paused, then stood, stretching his weary muscles. “I can’t, Damian,” he replied, his tone sharp with familiar irritation. “How many times do we need to have this conversation? Father needs one of us to represent Stillwater’s trade routes.” He shook his head, avoiding his brother’s eyes as he returned to his task.

Frustrated, Damian joined his brother in pushing the trap back into the water. He grunted at the difficulty, the muscles in his arms straining as they worked together. Life was so much easier when he bent the world to his will.

“He has never asked us directly,” Damian grumbled, giving the trap one final shove. “Not once has Father actually said he needs you to take over.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s not true,” Vik responded quietly, wiping sweat from his brow. His eyes held a resignation that Damian had grown to resent.

Realizing they were treading familiar, contentious ground, Vik attempted to shift the conversation. “Too bad you won’t become a merchant with me. Imagine the look on Captain Mandrake’s face if you said ‘no’ to his offer, especially after he came all this way.” A hint of mischief crept into his voice.

The thought made Damian pause for a moment and almost smile. He and Vik had always been a thorn in Captain Mandrake’s side, especially since his son Rotley could never come close to beating either one of them in the annual town competitions. Damian had always wanted to unleash his true potential just once to really embarrass Rotley, but knew better than to show off in front of the people that would gladly lock him up forever.

Captain Mandrake made no secret about despising the boys — he was not one to be embarrassed repeatedly. Damian knew this likely did not bode well for him at Garrison Point, but hopefully he would be able to keep his distance from both of them. The Captain might control access to a better life, but Damian wasn’t about to back down now.

A deep, distant rumble echoed through the sky, jarring Damian from his thoughts. The sound was familiar, yet it seemed much closer this time. Damian glanced at his brother, who had also raised his eyes skyward.

“Air carrier,” Damian pointed out, his voice nearly lost beneath the growing roar. The massive craft loomed above them, its metal hull gleaming dully in the sunlight, engines churning clouds as it sailed overhead. Its huge propellers slowed as it began its descent behind a line of trees.

Vik squinted at the vanishing point. “Looks like it’s touching down in the meadow,” he noted, puzzled. “What are the mechaneers doing out here?”

Damian shrugged, gathering their gear with brisk motions. “Don’t know, don’t care,” he muttered, his thoughts tinged with resentment. Probably just bringing another gadget of theirs to chip away at what little we’ve got left, he brooded. “Time to head back.”

“Hey, should we go check it out? It’s not every day an Air Carrier lands so close to us,” Vik proposed, barely containing his excitement.

“No way. Father always said to steer clear of them. They’ve caused us enough trouble already,” Damian insisted, his mind made up.

Vik, however, couldn’t tear his eyes away from the landing site. “They’re likely here to fix a river sweeper or something,” he mused aloud.

Damian scoffed at the thought, his voice dripping with irony. “Perfect, maybe they’re here to tune the sweepers to vacuum up every last fish in the river,” he joked bitterly.

Picking up his fishing gear, Damian led the way back, knowing Vik would easily catch up. While Damian might have dominated every race with Rotley, he barely won against his brother. Vik’s height and long legs always gave him the edge.

Damian let out a frustrated grunt as his foot caught on a warped board, nearly sending him tumbling. He steadied himself, taking in the sorry state of the docks—neglected for years, slips overgrown with water reeds, and many of the few remaining boats half-sunk in the murky water. It wasn’t just their livelihood that was drowning; it was the entire town.

Lost in his gloomy assessment, Damian failed to register the approaching footsteps until it was too late. Something cold and slimy struck the back of his head with a wet smack. Before he could fully comprehend what had happened, Vik dashed past him, clutching one of the freshly caught fish.

“That fish seems to like you—maybe we can ask Mandrake to let it be a soldier with you,” Vik yelled as he increased his distance.

Feeling the slick residue of fish slime on his scalp, Damian couldn’t hold back his own laughter, quickly giving chase. This time, long legs or not, Damian was going to catch his brother and put that fish in his mouth.

~~~

Returning home, the brothers began the dinner routine in their snug kitchen, designed for solo cooks but frequently hosting their family trio. Damian pulled a fish from the bucket, laying it on the cutting board. The thought of returning Vik’s earlier prank with a playful smack across his face crossed his mind, but he let the idea go with a grin. He carefully placed the rest of the fish in a metal container, sealed it tightly, and put it away in the icebox behind him. It still amazed him that food could be kept cold even in the heat. At least the mechaneers had created one useful thing for his family.

Damian focused on dicing onions, potatoes, and carrots they’d harvested from their own garden. Pulling a skillet from the rack above the counter, he tossed them in with a mix of spices and a dollop of butter. He handed the filled pan to Vik without looking, and headed to the icebox again. Retrieving a bottle of ale, Damian poured it over the sizzling vegetables, and it erupted into a fragrant steam that filled the tight kitchen.

As Vik cracked a window open, hoping to exchange the stifling air with a hint of a summer breeze, he turned to Damian. “Got any plans to see Myria before you head out?” he asked, a hint of mischief in his voice.

“Maybe,” Damian responded in a low tone, focusing on stuffing the fish fillets with herbs and butter before laying them on the grill. Though he tried to sound casual, the mention of her name sent a familiar warmth through him that had nothing to do with the kitchen heat.

He glanced at Vik with a mock-serious look. “Or, you know, you could always cook that awful stew for us,” he joked, deliberately changing the subject.

Vik rolled his eyes at the idea. “Why not bring her to the inn’s welcome dinner tomorrow?”

Damian, flipping the fish carefully, retorted, “Oh, I’m sure she’d jump at the chance to spend a night with the Duke and his merry band of goons.”

“Be careful, Damian. You’re almost one of them. Captain Mandrake won’t be happy if he hears you calling him ‘Duke’,” Vik warned, his voice serious.

Just then, the front door burst open. The brothers hurried from the kitchen to find their father stumbling in, lugging a huge bag.

Wiping their hands, they each gave their father a quick hug, then carefully helped him into a chair.

“What happened to you, Pops?” Vik asked, stepping back to get a better look at the damage.

Their father’s usually neat, thick leather cloak was torn to shreds, looking like it had been through a fish bone grinder. His right arm was wrapped in a bandage dotted with dried blood, and another around his head hid a cut on his face.

“I’m not sure what hit me,” Jacob said, wincing as he settled into the chair. “I was on my way back from seeing Councilman Hawkren when out of nowhere, this giant windstorm blew in. Luckily I knew a spot to take cover. Holding my cloak over my head, it felt like the wind was throwing daggers at me. Then, just like that, it stopped.” He sank deeper into the chair, clearly worn out from just getting the words out.

Damian moved in closer to inspect his wounds. “You know, I heard about a farmer down south hit by the same kind of storm. It left him bedridden for weeks,” he said. “What kind of rain storm can rip the skin off your body?”

“I am not sure. Either way, I will be fine,” Jacob replied, catching his breath. “Did you guys have any luck with the fish today?”

“Enough to eat, with a few to save for later,” Damian responded, still eyeing his father with worry.

“Good, you will need your energy to finish cleaning the final load of fish we are receiving tonight. It will be waiting for you in the morning,” Jacob responded, managing a smile as Vik handed him a damp towel. He patted his face gently, careful to avoid the bandage.

“Maybe we should get Agna to take a look at you,” Vik suggested, swapping the used towel for a fresh one.

“No need to bother her; she’s got her hands full already. Pity neither of you is keen on the Academy of Healers. At this rate, I might need a personal medic after another storm,” he chuckled, making his way to the family’s large dining table.

Vik pulled plates from the cabinet, arranging them on the table. “Any luck helping out Skip Cunningham?” he inquired, a note of hope in his voice.

Jacob sighed, “No, unfortunately. The laws about stealing are very clear, no matter the circumstances. But Councilman Hawkren mentioned he’d consider other solutions.”

“That’s really unfortunate,” Damian remarked, evenly distributing the grilled fish and vegetables onto their plates. “He was just trying to take care of his family.”

After setting the table, Damian went back to the kitchen to fetch the bread and butter from the pantry. He remembered Skip Cunningham well from their school days. They were about the same age and had gone to school together until tragedy struck Skip’s family with the sudden loss of his father to a heart condition. With no money left behind and four kids to raise, their mom did what she could, but it was an uphill battle. Skip had to drop out to work, disappearing from Damian’s life.

Looking to steer the conversation elsewhere, Jacob asked, “So, Damian, heard the Captain made it to town just before I got back. Have you had a chance to meet with him?”

“No,” Damian responded, still thinking about Skip. The letter notifying him of acceptance had very little information in it. “I am sure he will summon us when he is ready,” he said, passing the bread to his father and brother.

“Do you think Captain Mandrake could do anything for Skip?” asked Vik, taking a bite of the cooked fish.

“Doubt it,” Jacob replied quickly, as he poured a cup of ale.

“Figures,” Vik sighed. “The more people he locks up, the better he looks.”

“That’s not how the defense force works, Vik, and you know it. Mandrake might be a jerk, but without them, this country would be chaos. I feel for Skip, but you can’t just break laws.”

“Damian has a point,” Jacob chimed in, placing his fork on his now-empty plate and pushing it away slightly. “Defense is essential, not just for enforcing our laws but also for our protection against potential threats. Someday the Rynaran Union might decide to kick down our door.”

“Besides, at least I am not joining the pigs that screwed this town over,” Damian said, rising and picking up his empty plate.

“Like I’ve said a hundred times, there’s a good reason for my choice. For this town to thrive again, we’ve got to outsmart the merchants at their own game,” Vik replied with conviction. “It’s about reclaiming our fishing industry. That’s why I’m going to the Academy of Trade.”

“Reclaim it?” Damian continued, his frustration surging. “And how do you propose we do that? You think you can do it alone? Where’s the money going to come from to play that game? It’s not like we are sitting on some family fortune. We barely have enough money to eat every day!” he shouted.

No sooner had Damian’s words left his mouth than he wished he could take them back. He didn’t need to see his dad’s expression to feel the sting of his remarks regarding the family’s financial situation. Without waiting for any reply, he quickly moved to the kitchen, roughly setting his plate in the washstand.

Damian twisted the knob for hot water, but only a lukewarm stream flowed from the hose linked to the stove’s small water tank. Damian checked the stove, noting the fire had dwindled to a low burn. After placing more logs into the fire, Damian’s impatience quickly took over again, and he fixed his gaze on the logs. Focusing deeply, he concentrated on finding that mysterious link again, causing the familiar tingling sensation to spread through his fingertips. The fire blazed to life as if it had been burning for hours rather than moments, momentarily warming the entire room.

As he exhaled gently, the inner silence gave way to the sounds of the crackling fire. Damian rested against the counter, gathering his strength. A smile of satisfaction crossed his face, only to vanish as a faint, nagging ring in his head caused him to grimace.

“Don’t make a habit of that, son,” Jacob’s voice came from the kitchen doorway, surprising Damian. He hadn’t realized how long he’d been leaning there or when his dad had approached. “If the Captain finds out, we’ll be in deeper trouble than you can imagine.”

Damian chose to overlook his father’s warning, simply saying, “Good night,” as he brushed past him towards the stairs. The ringing in his head grew sharper for a moment, forcing Damian to stop and shut his eyes briefly. Upon reopening them, his gaze landed on a vase holding cloth flowers—Yellowtails, his mother’s favorite. How he wished she were here; she would have surely understood his choice.

~~~

I can only take so much lecturing from both of them, Damian thought as he stepped into his room. He made his way to the wash bin in the corner and removed his shirt. Quickly, he splashed the remaining water onto a towel and began to scrub his skin. The lukewarm water offered minimal cooling. Fortunately, a gentle breeze flowed in through the open window beside his bed, offering a modest sense of relief.

For a moment, Damian considered using his powers to cool down the water, but he quickly dropped the idea. The ache in his head was bad enough already, and he didn’t want to make it worse right before leaving for Garrison Point. As a new recruit at the Academy of Defense with no allies, he needed to be at his strongest, not weakened by avoidable pains.

Lying in bed, Damian worked on calming his nerves. Becoming a soldier had been his goal for as long as he could remember. This wasn’t something he just decided. It was more than personal ambition; it was about honoring his mom’s memory, acknowledging all she had done for them. She had been a soldier herself, proud in her uniform when she was stationed in Stillwater. That’s how she’d met his father. Following in her footsteps felt right, like completing something she’d started.

Vik once shared the same dream, but ever since he recovered from that strange illness three years ago, his perspective had changed completely. It was as if the fever had burned away his old ambitions, replacing them with this obsession about saving Stillwater. Didn’t he know this town was already dead? Nothing could bring back what they’d lost.

Damian reassured himself that choosing the Academy of Defense was a respectable path, despite the defense force’s imperfections. Soldiers might not always be viewed favorably, but he wondered, how could he make a difference if he didn’t fix things from the inside? His dad had always encouraged him to find the solution to hard problems. Joining the academy seemed like the obvious option to do just that, regardless of how difficult it would be.

I know I can move quickly through the ranks of the academy, Damian reassured himself while massaging his temples. The persistent ringing in his head lingered, yet the sharpness of the pain had eased. Closing his eyes, he shifted his focus towards drifting off to sleep.

~~~

Even as the summer sun dipped below the horizon, the air within the small inn’s dining room in Stillwater clung to the day’s heat. Yet, Captain Ander Mandrake remained indifferent to the warmth as he ignited the fireplace. For him, the flickering flames were more than just a source of light; they were a means to clarity. Throughout his many freezing cold nights at Garrison Point, it was beside the comforting glow of fireplaces that he found solace and solutions, a silent companion in the face of neverending challenges.

Gripping two letters that only served to heighten his frustration, Captain Mandrake felt his irritation mount with each passing moment. He stared at the first letter, struggling mightily against the impulse to feed it to the fire before him. The idea of discarding Damian Redwill’s invitation to the Academy of Defense was enticing, but he was painfully aware of the dire repercussions such an action could bring. Not even his stepfather, General Dereign, could bail him out of that trouble.

Mandrake harbored a deep-seated belief that the Redwill brothers cheated to win every competition they participated in. There was no natural way they could best his son Rotley so consistently. By doing so, they made Mandrake and his son look like fools. The thought of letting these liars into the highly respected academy made his stomach twist with fury. He hurled the invitation onto an adjacent table, trying his best to think of something else.

As beads of sweat traced paths down his forehead, Captain Mandrake traversed the confined space of the inn’s room, the second letter clutched tightly in his grasp. Eventually, he halted beside the fire, unfolding the letter to pore over its contents once more.

Bring both boys to Garrison Point. Do not let them go to any other academy.

Despite lacking a signature, the sender was clear to the Captain; the dark red ink spoke volumes about their identity. This letter had quietly made its way into his bag, hidden among his belongings while he and his men camped outside of Stillwater a few nights ago. Wondering about the identity of the one who had so discreetly delivered it sent a shiver through him, yet he felt a certain relief that they had not chosen to confront him directly.

How could he possibly bring both boys to Garrison Point with just a single invitation letter in hand? The older boy hadn’t even shown enough interest to enlist, which, frankly, suited Ander just fine.

Yet, with the mandate clear, Ander was stuck without a plan to accomplish the nonnegotiable instructions. Ander knew he couldn’t afford to fail. Swiftly, he threw the letter with the dark red ink into the flames, ensuring its contents would remain a secret.

As the last of the letter turned to ash, a soldier burst through the door, his breaths short and labored. Though he stood shorter than the Captain, the soldier appeared broader, his width more a result of his stoutness than muscle, suggesting his swift arrival was a considerable effort.

“Father… err… Captain,” he said, trying to catch his breath.

“Rotley, at your age how could you possibly not know what a closed door means?” Captain Mandrake said with an ice-cold stare.

“Apologies,” Rotley sputtered, still gasping for air. “I thought this information was critical and could not wait.”

“Spit it out then please,” Captain Mandrake urged in a low tone, lips tightly drawn.

Rotley straightened up, clearing his throat. “The air carrier that just landed is here for the next couple of days. It seems they’re not here for the usual maintenance or construction,” he reported.

Don’t say it—, Captain Mandrake thought to himself, staring deeply into his son’s eyes.

Feeling increasingly uneasy, Rotley averted his gaze for a moment before tentatively meeting his father’s stern look once more. “It looks like they’ve come to extend an academy invitation to someone here in town.”

Captain Mandrake clenched his eyes shut, attempting to contain his rising anger, to no avail. The second part of the mysterious letter suddenly burned in his mind: Do not let them go to any other academy. Someone else was making a move for one of the Redwill boys.

With a swift motion, he spun and lashed at the small table carrying the invitation, sending it crashing against the wall, its fragments scattering. Amidst the chaos, the invitation was tossed into the air, gently settling to the floor.

Rotley recoiled, casting a nervous glance towards the door, debating a quick escape. But then, he made an even more questionable decision.

“It’s not one of the Redwill boys, is it?” he ventured, his voice laced with a hint of envy.

“Rotley?”

He met his father’s gaze but remained silent.

“Get out!” Captain Mandrake bellowed.

With a squeak, Rotley hurried to the door. Just as he was about to open it fully, the Captain’s voice halted him.

“And Rotley, if you ever barge into my room and call me anything other than Captain, I’ll toss you into the fireplace, head first.” The door slammed behind Rotley as he hastily made his exit.

Ander dropped heavily into the chair and looked at the mess of the table, trying to calm down. He despised going to the Lowlands, especially with the scorching summer heat. Out of all the places, Stillwater was his least favorite, and that was mostly because of the Redwills.

The Captain had planned to leave as soon as the letter was delivered, but of course the *builders *were going to make his trip more difficult. He didn’t dare hope they were here for someone else. Hope was for fools with no plans.

Pausing briefly, he then rose and approached the door, stepping into the hallway. He signaled for one of his soldiers to enter, deliberately avoiding Rotley’s gaze. In a low tone, the Captain tasked the seasoned soldier with discreetly observing the aircraft and tailing any individuals who departed from it. “Learn their business here,” he added, “and be prepared to summon the Redwills when I give the word. I’ll want to be present for any meeting between them and these visitors-—if it happens.” The soldier nodded and departed quickly.

Mandrake made his way to the fireplace, where his mug of ale was perched on the mantelpiece. Taking a deep gulp of the beverage, now tepid, he fixed his gaze back on the flames.

“For the moment, I’ll be the messenger boy, Redwills,” he murmured to the flickering fire, “but rest assured, I’ll see to it that you receive your due.”