Chapter 2

As the morning sun gently warmed Myria’s back, she made her way down the eerily quiet docks toward the Redwill’s fish cleanary. Back when the docks buzzed with activity, Myria had been a familiar face to many of the river fishers, delivering her grandmother Agna’s herbal remedies and concoctions.

These herbs were renowned for their versatility, from luring fish into traps to healing cuts and bruises on weathered hands. Once indispensable to the fishermen’s daily lives, they now served a dwindling community. She missed those bustling times and wondered if they would ever return.

Nearing the dock’s heart, Myria spotted two soldiers heading her way from the opposite direction. Unfamiliar with their faces, she immediately tensed. She draped her cloak more closely around herself and shifted to the side, aiming to briskly bypass them.

As they were about to pass each other, one of the soldiers abruptly halted his conversation and turned his attention to Myria. “Hey dove, brought breakfast for me?” he called out with a lazy smirk that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Not today, boys. Have a good one,” she replied, voice steady despite her discomfort as she quickened her pace without a backward glance.

The second soldier muttered something in her direction, but a sudden gust of wind swallowed his words. Myria thought she caught the term “respect” amidst the noise but pressed on faster, jaw clenched.

It pained her to acknowledge her growing caution. There was a time when she would have snapped back with a cutting retort, but those days were gone. The disappearance of the fish had stripped the town of its ability to support a permanent guard and their families, leaving them at the mercy of the Captain’s ever-changing crew. These soldiers, often erratic in their behavior, posed an unpredictable threat, particularly to women who traveled alone.

After leaving the dock and starting up the trail, Myria risked a quick glance back to ensure the soldiers weren’t following. They had paused at the dock’s center, resuming their chat as though she had never crossed their path. Breathing out a sigh of relief, she let the tension ease from her shoulders. She silently wished Damian luck dealing with this merry band of jackals at the academy.

As the path snaked around the wooded area, Myria came to the last fork in the trail. Hearing someone approaching from the left, she quietly slipped her hand deep into her side pack to clutch her hidden blade. Her fingers relaxed their grip when she recognized the weathered face of Toph, one of Stillwater’s oldest and most respected river fishers.

“I never imagined you using that blade on me when I gave it to you,” Toph laughed, glancing at her hand as she pulled it out of her bag. Toph had imparted many self-defense lessons to Myria with that blade. How the world had changed, now requiring such precautions for a simple errand.

“I might have taken your words too seriously,” she joked, giving him a playful wink. “So, how’s that ointment working out for your back?” Myria asked, steering the conversation elsewhere.

“It’s doing as much as it can, my dear. At my age, a little relief feels like a miracle.” Toph studied her face with weathered eyes that missed nothing. “You seem tense, though. Is everything alright? Did you run into trouble with Mandrake’s men again?” Despite his advanced years, his stance remained protective, ready to confront any troublemaker foolish enough to cross him.

“Nothing I can’t manage,” she assured him, trying to hide her guilt at being fearful. “How did the Redwills handle your fish this time around?”

“They did alright. Damian could still stand to slow down a bit, though,” Toph remarked with a knowing wink. He shifted the package of cleaned fish to his other hand, the wrapped bundle glinting with scales in the morning light.

“That sounds about right,” Myria agreed, her laughter mingling with his.

Toph had passed on his extensive fishing knowledge to the boys, and in gratitude, they took care of cleaning his catches at no charge. It pained Myria to think how much time the Redwills sacrificed cleaning the massive catches from the River Sweepers just to scrape by. The boys were born to fish, not sort through fish guts to line the pockets of merchants who had never felt the pull of a river current. At least once they headed off to their academies, they’d finally have a chance at freedom.

“I take it you’re on your way to their shop? Just watch yourself; it seems the brothers have been at odds over something again.” Toph adjusted his cap. “As for me, I’m off to check if that AirCarrier in the meadow is still around,” he added before turning to leave.

Myria recalled the deep, rumbling sound from the day before but hadn’t realized the aircraft had landed nearby. “Why would an AirCarrier come to Stillwater?” she questioned, a mix of surprise and concern in her tone.

Toph just smiled and shrugged while continuing on his way. That was just like him—always concise with his words, yet they carried weight when he did speak.

Myria resumed her journey, eventually arriving at a modest building tucked away among the trees. As she reached for the doorknob, she braced herself for what awaited inside. The moment she crossed the threshold, the potent odor of dead fish assaulted her nostrils, nearly making her eyes water.

Both brothers halted their conversation mid-sentence, their heads turning in unison toward the newcomer. Vik’s face broke into a welcoming smile as he snatched a grimy cloth from the table to clean his hands. Damian, on the other hand, simply cast his eyes back down to the fish he was meticulously cleaning, offering no acknowledgment of her arrival.

“Perfect timing!” Vik exclaimed. “I need an extra voice to get through to this stubborn mule. He needs to be more careful about how he speaks about Captain Mandrake if he’s going to survive his first year at Garrison Point. One slip-up, and Mandrake will skin him faster than I can gut this fish.” He waved a headless fish for emphasis, sending droplets of water arcing through the air.

“The day Damian keeps quiet about Mandrake is the day I’ll eat that fish raw,” Myria quipped back, leaning in for a side hug with Vik while carefully keeping her dress clear of any fish remnants.

Damian merely huffed in response, his focus unwavering from the task at hand, though the tightening of his jaw betrayed his attention to their conversation.

“Oh, I’m only kidding, you big baby,” Myria teased, playfully tousling his sweaty dark brown hair as she passed. “Just so we’re clear, I’m not sitting through another round of you two bickering, especially about your academy commitments. You’ve both made your decisions. It’s time to back each other up,” she stated firmly, moving across the room to inspect the neatly arranged fish chilling in the iceboxes.

“Those are indeed wise words,” Jacob remarked, emerging from the back room. He removed his glasses, wiping them clean with a handkerchief before slipping them back on. The bandage on his arm stood out starkly against his tanned skin.

Diving into her satchel, Myria extracted a neatly wrapped package and handed it over to Jacob. “We included some additional herbs for your arm,” she mentioned, pausing to gauge his reaction.

Jacob, caught off guard, stuttered, “How did… you both find out so quickly?”

“Trust me, this town might be getting smaller, but Gran still knows everything that goes on here,” she replied with a knowing smile. “Some things never change.”

“Got anything for me to eat in that bag?” Damian finally spoke up, his tone lighter as he glanced her way.

“Ha, you’ll blend right in with Mandrake’s leeches,” Myria shot back playfully. “Those two new soldiers were just giving me a similar warm welcome at the docks.”

The remark seemed to hit harder than intended, as Damian’s expression shuttered and his gaze quickly fell back to his work. Myria immediately regretted her words. Even light-hearted jests were now treading on thin ice, adding to the growing strain between them.

“If only this stuff hid the smell of fish as well as it preserved it,” Jacob said with a forced chuckle, attempting to dispel the sudden tension in the room.

Just as Myria was about to mend the awkward moment, the door swung open with a bang. Toph appeared with one of the dockside soldiers looming behind him, the man’s polished insignia catching the light.

“Jacob, the Captain’s requesting your presence, along with the boys, out in the clearing,” Toph announced, his usual calm demeanor tinged with unease. “He’s there with the folks from the air carrier.”

The soldier fixed a stern gaze on the brothers, his stance making it abundantly clear that refusal wasn’t an option. His hand rested casually on his baton, a silent threat.

As they hastily cleaned up, Vik voiced the question hanging in the air. “What could the mechaneers possibly want with us?”

Jacob paused, a deep furrow of worry crossing his brow. “I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice low as he gathered what they needed for their departure. The concern in his eyes told a different story—one that suggested he might have suspicions he wasn’t sharing.

Turning to Myria, he added with unmistakable reluctance, “Myria, care to come along?”

It was painfully obvious he hoped she’d decline. “Absolutely,” she responded brightly, ignoring his transparent attempt to exclude her. Whatever was happening, she wasn’t about to be left in the dark.

~~~

“Stick close and follow my lead,” Jacob whispered, his voice barely audible over the distant humming of machinery. Myria nodded, her hand instinctively checking the blade concealed in her pack. This potential trap was a scenario they had anticipated and strategized for over many hushed conversations through the years. She couldn’t fathom why representatives from Crater Isle would seek out Damian and Vik specifically. Deep down, a familiar dread stirred—could their visit somehow be linked to the events that had driven them to seek refuge in Stillwater years ago?

As they emerged from the dense forest into the clearing, Myria halted mid-step, momentarily breathless at the sight before her.

The once serene meadow had been transformed into an impromptu airfield, dominated by an enormous airship that seemed to consume the horizon. Its gleaming hull reflected the morning sunlight in prismatic waves that danced across the crushed grass below. Myria had glimpsed such vessels only a handful of times before, always as distant silhouettes soaring high above. Now, standing in its shadow, she marveled at how something so impossibly massive could navigate the skies with such apparent effortlessness.

The airship rested majestically on the ground, its four colossal propellers at each corner still rotating lazily, generating a hypnotic hum that vibrated through her chest. The passenger section in the middle was more compact than she’d imagined—a single floor with wide windows perfect for observing the world below. Directly above, the captain’s quarters rose like a sentinel’s tower, offering what must be an unrivaled view even from its earthbound position.

As they approached, Myria counted four figures standing before the open bridge. Her eyes immediately locked onto Captain Mandrake and his son Rotley, their haughty expressions as familiar as they were unwelcome. She had witnessed them at the annual spring competitions enough times to recognize the particular tilt of Mandrake’s chin when he felt threatened. Seeing Vik and Damian outshine Rotley year after year had always brought her a guilty pleasure—a small recompense for the troubles Mandrake inflicted on their community.

The other two men stood apart, clearly not soldiers. They wore long, meticulously tailored tunics and wide-brimmed hats that cast shadows across their faces. The elder bore two vibrant blue bands on his right arm, insignia that likely denoted his rank or specialization. His expression remained impassive, almost bored, even as Captain Mandrake gestured broadly while explaining something, his movements becoming increasingly animated with each word.

Though Myria had never directly interacted with anyone from Crater Isle, she had observed them from afar during their perfunctory inspections of the River Sweepers. Their clean hands and pristine clothing stood in stark contrast to the grime and struggle of Stillwater’s residents. She maintained her distance now, sharing the town’s well-earned distrust of these men whose decisions had rippled outward–drowning their livelihoods in consequences.

As the newcomers arrived, all four men pivoted to acknowledge them. Captain Mandrake, however, continued speaking until the senior mechaneer raised a hand to interrupt him.

“Ah, here they are. Damian and Viktor Redwill, I presume?” The mechaneer’s smile, as they neared, appeared almost genuine, crinkling the weathered skin around his eyes.

“Yes,” Viktor responded tersely, his eyes flicking to his father for guidance. Damian remained silent, his attention captured by the magnificent airship towering above them. Just like him, Myria thought with a hidden laugh, always captivated by anything shiny.

“I’m Jacob Redwill,” Jacob began, his eyes methodically scanning their surroundings. Myria recognized his practiced movements—-assessing escape routes, counting heads, checking for concealed threats. Interestingly, only the soldiers carried visible weapons. She recalled rumors that people from Crater Isle avoided traditional armaments altogether–preferring their mysterious machines.

He continued, “And these young men are my sons, Vik and Damian.” He gestured toward each boy in turn. “This is Myria and Toph, both close family friends.”

“Delighted to meet you all,” the older gentleman responded warmly, his gaze lingering on the brothers longer than seemed casual. He appeared about to elaborate when Captain Mandrake abruptly stepped forward, commandeering the conversation.

“Nice to see you all again,” Captain Mandrake remarked, his tone as cold as river water in winter. “Damian, I’ve got something here you’ve probably been waiting for.” He patted his jacket pockets with exaggerated movements before retrieving a crumpled invitation letter, thrusting it toward Damian with barely concealed disdain.

Predictable, Myria thought. Formalities were never the Captain’s strong suit. Her attention drifted back to the senior engineer, who barely concealed a sigh of exasperation at the Captain’s brusque manner.

“Thank you, Captain.” The mechaneer nodded stiffly before redirecting his attention to the brothers. “And Damian, congratulations. I have a matter to address with you boys as well, but allow me to properly introduce myself first.” Myria had to suppress a smile. The Captain had managed to vex someone within moments of their meeting—a particular talent of his.

“My name is Scholar Alyxander Veridian. I’m here to present you both with an opportunity to participate in the invitation challenge for the Academy of Engineering on Crater Isle.” His eyes moved deliberately between Damian and Vik, gauging their reactions.

Damian absently fingered the military letter in his hands, while Vik seemed frozen in place, his usual composure replaced by naked surprise. “How could you possibly pick us?” Damian finally blurted out, a current of irritation running beneath his words.

“I’m not at liberty to reveal those specifics,” Scholar Veridian admitted, straightening his already impeccable tunic. “Such information is sensitive and strictly confined to the members of the selection committee. But rest assured, their selection process is thorough and considered.” Myria detected a ring of truth in his explanation, yet something about his careful phrasing kindled her suspicion.

“Should you successfully complete the challenge, you will be formally invited to join us on Crater Isle,” Scholar Veridian elaborated further.

“Still wasting time with those pointless tests?” the Captain retorted with a sneer that pulled at the scar near his jaw. “I thought your esteemed selection committee had all the insight needed?”

Alyxander replied with unfazed composure, “The invitation challenge helps confirm that each potential candidate possesses the necessary skills and dedication for our demanding curriculum.” His deliberate avoidance of engaging the Captain directly only seemed to aggravate Mandrake further.

The Captain’s scowl deepened momentarily before morphing into a calculated smirk. “Well, lads, the military prefers a straightforward path to recruitment. Actually, Vik, I have the authority right here and now to offer you a spot at the Academy of Defense. No need for any ridiculous tests.”

Mandrake then turned to Vik, placing a heavy hand on his shoulder that seemed more threat than encouragement. “I would suggest you take the obviously better opportunity in front of you and join your brother.”

“Thank you Captain and Scholar Veridian, both sound like tremendous opportunities,” Jacob interjected smoothly, positioning himself between his sons and the Captain. “Boys, before we make any decisions, let’s talk through it.”

“You are more than welcome to consider your options,” Alyxander continued with a patient nod. “However, if you choose to take the entrance challenge, be back at this meadow no later than sunrise tomorrow. Your challenge will begin shortly after.”

“I need an answer by tonight,” Mandrake cut in sharply, his voice slicing through the air. “Find me at the inn if you choose to accept,” he added tersely, his frustration with the situation radiating from him like heat. As he spun to leave, Damian finally spoke up.

“Captain, I accept the military’s offer and look forward to protecting our country,” he declared, meeting Mandrake’s gaze with unwavering determination.

“Good,” Mandrake responded curtly, his attempt at a smile more a mechanical grimace, cold and calculating. Then, facing Vik directly, he demanded, “And you, what’s your decision?”

All eyes locked on Vik, who was still gazing towards the AirCarrier, its massive hull gleaming in the sunlight. “Thank you for the offer, Captain. It means a lot, especially given I did not go through the formal application process. But I choose to accept Scholar Veridian’s challenge,” he said with a respectful nod.

Rotley and the accompanying soldier couldn’t hide their amusement, exchanging glances before bursting into laughter at Vik’s unexpected refusal. A piercing glare from Mandrake silenced them instantly. Myria observed as Damian’s expression transformed from hopeful anticipation to utter disappointment, his shoulders sagging visibly. She herself was stunned by Vik’s unexpected choice; he typically approached decisions with careful deliberation.

“Thank you, Viktor,” Scholar Veridian said, his voice carrying a gravity that hadn’t been there before. “I echo your father’s sentiment and urge you to carefully consider your decision. Embarking on this journey will irrevocably change the path of your life. We’ll prepare the challenge for tomorrow at sunrise. Ensure you’re here before the sun fully rises. Failing to show up or being late will void the offer. I wish you the best.”

Following their farewell, the scholars offered a respectful bow before ascending the ramp towards the air carrier. Their silhouettes melted into the shadows of the hull, disappearing from view as the massive metal ramp sealed shut with a resonant thud that seemed to mark the finality of their conversation.

“Join me at the inn tomorrow night and you can sign your papers,” the Captain instructed Damian, his tone slightly less hostile now that he’d secured at least one of his objectives.

He then swiveled toward Vik, his face hardening once more. “Boy, if you know what is good for you, you will join your brother at Garrison Point. Crater Isle is a worse prison than Ravinlock. nce you enter, they will never let you leave. I look forward to seeing you at the inn tomorrow as well.”

Then, the captain and his entourage made their way back along the path. “And don’t hesitate to bring your lady friend,” he jeered, giving Myria a greasy smile as he strode past her.

As she glared at their departing figures, Myria had to clench her fists to resist the urge to throw something at the balding spot on the back of his head. Once her initial fury subsided, a new realization dawned on her. The military was sorely lacking in genuine leadership. Damian, for all his stubbornness and impulsiveness, possessed an honest heart and clear moral compass. Perhaps he was exactly what they needed to turn things around—someone who wouldn’t simply fall in line with corruption and cruelty. At the very least, she knew he’d never become another Mandrake, regardless of what it cost him.

~~~

“Vik, are you out of your fat headed mind?” Damian exploded, whirling to face everyone gathered in the living room.

Well that didn’t take long, Myria thought to herself with wry amusement, though she glanced longingly at the door, wishing she had taken the separate path home.

“I don’t think the Captain has ever given a personal invitation to Garrison Point! You and I could enroll together and really make a change.” Damian’s voice held an unusual note of desperation.

Myria’s heart ached hearing him plead like this. He had often confided his dreams to her during their long walks by the river, hoping against hope that Vik would reconsider and join him in the military. Deep down, she knew Vik’s path lay elsewhere, yet she always offered her encouragement, unwilling to extinguish that fragile hope.

“Damian, that’s enough. All of you, take a seat,” Jacob commanded, his steely gaze locking with Damian’s in a way that left no room for argument. Myria noticed the conspicuous absence of “please” and understood immediately this was no gentle suggestion; a storm was brewing, and she was all too familiar with its origins.

“Pops, can we not do this again? We’re not in any danger. Nobody’s out to get us,” Damian shot back, attempting to dismiss the concern with a wave of his hand.

“Fugitives are never forgotten, Damian!” Jacob roared, his voice reverberating through the small room before he paused, inhaling deeply to regain his composure. “Remember that,” he continued, his tone a clear challenge to Damian’s defiance. Sensing the gravity of the moment, Damian reluctantly sank into his chair, turning his gaze toward the window—a silent refusal to fully concede.

A heavy silence blanketed the room until Vik finally found his voice. “We can’t bring back Mother. Or Myria’s parents,” he stated quietly, deliberately avoiding Myria’s direction. His unexpected mention caught her by surprise; she hadn’t anticipated being drawn into their family discussion. “But Damian and I also don’t want to spend our lives cleaning fish because it feels safer. Plus, who’s to say that won’t be stripped away from us too, sooner or later?”

The last part emerged with an edge that startled Myria. Vik typically maintained his composure, serving as the levelheaded counterpoint to Damian’s fire.

“What if I can go to Crater Isle and work with the academy to better understand the impact of their innovations? Maybe give them a deeper perspective of what life is like in a small, struggling village?” Vik awaited his father’s response, though Myria recognized the determination in his eyes. His decision was already made.

“Every single day, I’m haunted by the fear of us being found,” Jacob admitted, his weathered face etched with lines of worry as he studied his sons.

Myria saw Damian preparing to interject, but Jacob swiftly raised his palm for silence. “Hold on,” he interjected, his tone unexpectedly measured. “I don’t expect you to spend your entire lives here in Stillwater. It’s not what your mother would have wished for, and it’s certainly not my desire,” he clarified, pausing momentarily to clear his throat before continuing.

“My only request is that you adhere to two straightforward rules for our collective safety. The first rule: under no circumstances should you use your abilities to advance your personal goals.”

“I think that is obvious, Father—we have no interest in being imprisoned or executed,” Damian retorted, his voice low yet laced with biting sarcasm.

Jacob pressed on, striving to maintain an even tone. “It’s more than just that, Damian. Should either of you let slip about your past, it wouldn’t be long before they trace it back to all of us.”

Damian opened his mouth to reply, but Jacob wasn’t finished. “The second rule: if you begin to feel unwell, you return home at once. Don’t look for help elsewhere. Trust no one beyond this village.”

The silence that followed hung heavy with unspoken implications. Myria understood all too well the dangers of even hinting at their shared history with outsiders—a gamble with stakes too high to contemplate.

“I am going to get some rest,” Jacob finally said, moving with weary steps toward his bedroom. At the threshold, he paused, turning slightly to meet Myria’s gaze with unexpected warmth. “Thank you, Myria, for always being the voice of reason among us.”

Myria’s cheeks flushed with a blush, but she offered only a soft smile in response, the weight of his trust both comforting and burdensome. As Jacob’s bedroom door clicked shut, she squeezed Vik’s shoulder and wished him luck for the morning challenge, then moved toward the exit. Before her fingers could brush the doorknob, Damian materialized beside her.

“May I walk you home?” he asked, his voice quiet but threaded with an unmistakable note of longing.

“No need,” she replied, her smile gentle but deliberate. “You should stay and support your brother as he prepares for tomorrow.” She caught the flash of disappointment that darkened his eyes, but stood firm in her decision. Some conversations were better left for another day—when emotions weren’t running quite so high.

She wrapped her arms around him in a warm embrace, breathing in the familiar scent of river water and pine that always clung to him, then stepped back and opened the door. With the sun beginning its lazy descent behind the trees, she had ample time to reach home before dark and reflect on the day’s unexpected events.