Chapter 6

“Vik, could you run me through it again?” Jacob gently prodded, rubbing his exhausted eyes with one hand. The morning light filtering through the half-drawn curtains revealed the deep lines etched across his face. Vik could tell his father had barely slept last night, as he slumped into a chair beside Vik’s bed, the wood creaking softly under his weight.

“Which bit?” Vik muttered, shifting uncomfortably and wincing as pain flared along his injured limbs. The bandages felt stiff and constraining, a constant reminder of his near-fatal encounter. Myria was by his side, her movements precise and gentle as she attentively treated his injuries with a healing ointment provided by Scholar Veridian. The salve had an unusual scent—earthy with hints of something metallic—that reminded Vik of the forest ponds. Despite Vik’s initial hesitation, the scholar’s urgent warning about infection and the need for quick healing had finally convinced him to agree to the treatment.

“Perhaps, if it’s okay with you, Jacob, I could try asking a few detailed questions. It might help piece things together more clearly,” Veridian suggested, thoughtfully stroking his beard, which was generously streaked with gray and white. He stood near the window, his tall frame blocking part of the light, casting a long shadow across the worn floorboards. His clothes, though changed since yesterday, still carried the air of someone who had been working through the night.

“Go ahead,” Jacob conceded, his tone laced with exasperation. He leaned back in his chair, arms folded tightly across his chest in a gesture that spoke volumes. The trust he once might have had for the scholar seemed even more strained after Vik’s ordeal. Vik himself was skeptical about Veridian’s integrity, watching the scholar’s every movement with wary eyes.

“When you first noticed the lythia, was it completely covering the edges of the pond?” Veridian’s question was delivered with calculated neutrality, but his fingers drummed against his thigh, betraying an underlying tension.

“Mostly, I think. Though I might not have seen it all right away. By the time I managed to get out, it felt like it had filled the entire pond,” Vik replied, curiosity piqued about Veridian’s line of questioning. The memory of those unnaturally uniform tendrils sent an involuntary shudder through him. Yet, Veridian kept his thoughts close, his expression revealing nothing as he swiftly moved on to another query without divulging much.

“Regarding the rope my assistant found, the cut was precise. Could it have frayed against something sharp by accident?” Veridian posed the question, his attention seemingly elsewhere, gaze fixed on some point through the window as if the answer mattered less than what he was already formulating in his mind.

“No way that was by chance.” Vik’s voice strengthened with conviction despite his weakened state. “There were no lower branches for it to run against. Pops has shown me how to secure a line since I was a small boy. You don’t catch fish with faulty lines and nets, not with how scarce they’ve become,” Vik retorted, frustration evident in his tone over the scholar’s apparent evasion. The rope had been sliced through cleanly—he’d held the evidence in his own hands, felt the unnatural smoothness of the cut edge.

After a tense silence, broken only by the creak of the house settling in the morning warmth, Jacob posed the question that had been looming in Vik’s mind, hovering unspoken in the space between them.

“You’re telling us there wasn’t a hint of lythia on those walls when your assistant left the key. Why should we take your word for it? And if this mysterious growth happened after you left, how can we be sure one of your assistants didn’t tamper with the rope?” Jacob prodded, his eyes fixed on the stoic scholar, hoping to elicit even the slightest reaction. His fingers gripped the arms of his chair, knuckles whitening with tension.

The scholar’s response was measured, his demeanor composed, yet there was a flicker of intensity in his eyes that Vik couldn’t ignore—like the brief flash of metal beneath dark water. “That’s not how we operate,” he stated firmly, squaring his shoulders as he faced Jacob’s accusation. “Once the test begins, no one is allowed to interact with the candidate—not even us.” Veridian paused, his hands clasped behind his back, allowing the weight of his words to settle in the room like dust motes in the morning light. He waited for more questions, but none came.

“Now let’s address our shared history,” he said, continuing in a voice that had softened without losing its authority. “I can see our work has caused significant pain to this community, and I am truly sorry for that.” His gaze swept across the worn furnishings of the modest home, lingering briefly on a fishing net hanging on the wall, its once-sturdy fibers now fraying with disuse. “However, if you’re serious about joining the Academy of Engineering, Vik, then you need to understand our approach to how and why we create solutions.”

Vik remained silent, absorbing the conversation while trying to ignore the pains that pulsed through his body with each heartbeat. Even Jacob focused intently on the scholar’s words, the creases around his eyes deepening as he leaned forward in his chair. Vik knew that the decision to build the river sweepers was likely not one of ill intent. However, no one realized how badly it would turn out for their community. The riverside towns had watched helplessly as their livelihoods were slowly dismantled, one massive haul at a time. Vik couldn’t help but wish his brother were present to witness this moment, where one of the very architects of their struggle finally offered what might be a better explanation.

“Crater Isle may be small, but it’s our haven, our sanctuary,” the scholar explained, his voice carrying a sense of pride that transformed his entire bearing. His hands emerged from behind his back to gesture expressively as he spoke. “Everything we need to sustain ourselves is created by our relentless efforts, in a delicate balance with our surroundings. Our water collectors, our forges, our artificial growing fields—all designed with precision to take only what we need.” His eyes took on a distant look, as if gazing upon the home he clearly cherished even from this distance. “However, our most groundbreaking research often requires resources beyond our reach. To obtain them, we offer our expertise to the rest of Aloria, supporting each region in its own way.”

He paused, his gaze steady as he continued, one hand coming to rest on the windowsill. “But make no mistake, we have strict principles guiding our work. We refuse to dabble in weapons, and we steer clear of… bloodsick research,” he asserted firmly, his tone brooking no contradiction. The morning light caught the silver threads in his beard, giving him an almost ethereal appearance.

Vik’s eyes widened slightly at the mention of bloodsick research, the term sending an involuntary chill down his spine despite the warm room. His father had warned him and Damian about the bloodsick since they were children—twisted beings whose ability to bend reality had somehow corrupted them beyond recognition. The unspoken truth that hovered between the brothers and their father was that they shared this same ability to manipulate the world around them, yet somehow had been spared the horrific transformation. That the scholar would mention such a forbidden field so casually was more than unsettling—it made Vik wonder just how much Veridian might know about him and his family.

With this troubling thought lingering, Vik studied the scholar more carefully. Did the Academy truly distance itself from all weapons research as Veridian claimed? A faint throbbing behind Vik’s temples matched the rhythm of his injuries as doubt crept in. The military constantly unveiled new defense technology—gleaming mechanisms on soldiers’ uniforms, advanced tools that seemed to appear with suspicious regularity. It seemed unlikely that such innovations arose without guidance from those who understood machine-craft best. If the Academy denied involvement with weaponry yet maintained ties to the military, what other contradictions might lie beneath Veridian’s carefully chosen words?

“Every tool, every invention, has the potential for both good and harm,” the scholar continued, his keen eyes noticing Vik’s subtle reaction, addressing the unspoken doubt that hung between them. “But we are not responsible for the laws and policies that dictate their use. The river sweepers were born of necessity, a solution to a problem, but how they’re wielded ultimately depends on those in power.” His fingers traced a pattern on the wooden sill, perhaps unconsciously sketching some mechanical design.

“Sure—very clear problem. Gather every fish possible and leave nothing for the communities that depend on them,” Vik said, clearly annoyed, his words carrying the collective bitterness of Stillwater’s decline. Myria’s hand paused momentarily in its application of the healing salve, her eyes meeting Vik’s in silent understanding.

“Not exactly, though I admit it has turned out that way,” the scholar replied, closing his eyes briefly to gather his thoughts, the lines in his face deepening with what appeared to be genuine regret. When he opened them again, his gaze was direct and unwavering.

“The Goldwater merchants presented us with a significant challenge. The old methods of catching, cleaning, and packing fish took so much time that there was hardly any left for shipping to other regions.” He spoke carefully, each word selected with precision. “They needed a solution that would streamline the process, reduce spoilage, and allow for wider distribution. In essence, they wanted to bring fish to people who had never tasted it before, who lived far from any river or sea.”

“Oh great, so we developed the river sweeper to snatch all our fish and feed the Rynaran Federation!” Jacob said, half-joking but completely earnest. The words burst from him with unexpected force, his hands gripping the arms of his chair as if to anchor himself against rising anger.

Vik was taken aback by his father’s sudden outburst. The stress of the recent days was obviously taking its toll. Jacob, usually so composed, so measured in his responses, was now anxiously picking at his fingernail, so intensely that Vik feared he might rip it off.

The scholar cleared his throat, making a concerted effort to maintain his composure. A slight tightening around his eyes was the only indication that Jacob’s accusation had struck a nerve. “The merchants of Goldwater struck a deal with the leadership of every fishing town and the Alorian Council, to utilize the river sweepers for trawling,” he explained, striving to keep his tone even and patient. He moved away from the window, clasping his hands behind his back once more, as if physically retreating from the tension in the room.

Jacob, unable to hold back his frustration any longer, exclaimed, “But those ships have decimated the fish population in every Alorian river!” His voice was heavy with anger, each word punctuated by the force of years of accumulated resentment. The vein at his temple pulsed visibly, a physical manifestation of his barely contained fury.

“And yet, you consented to it,” the scholar responded, his voice calm but firm, as he turned to directly address Jacob. His gaze was unwavering, his stance solid as an oak. “The merchants strategically operated the river sweepers at times and in areas where they knew they would be most effective.” The diplomatic phrasing did little to soften the accusation that hung in the air—that the town’s leaders had prioritized short-term gain over long-term sustainability.

“I never consented to it,” Jacob stated defiantly, rising halfway from his chair before sinking back, as if his body had momentarily forgotten his exhaustion. The wooden legs scraped against the floor, a harsh sound that matched the rawness in his voice. He was right—Jacob had staunchly opposed the agreement but was overruled by the mayor and other town leaders who had been seduced by promises of prosperity and progress. Vik knew that this defeat still haunted his father, the regret weighing heavily on him like the waterlogged nets they sometimes hauled back to shore.

Myria’s hands resumed their gentle work, applying the salve to Vik’s wounds with methodical care, but her eyes remained fixed on the confrontation unfolding before them. Her silent presence like the calm at the eye of a storm, her quiet strength a reminder of what truly anchored Stillwater’s community when politics and profits failed them—the people.

The scholar’s words lingered in the air, pressing Vik to reluctantly admit their truth. The scholar wasn’t wrong—decisions had been made, agreements signed, futures bartered away by those entrusted with leadership. Many in Aloria clung to the belief that their shared history created a strong bond of unity and collective resilience against external threats like the Federation. However, as Vik looked around at his father’s weathered face, the scholar’s composed exterior, and the modest home that housed so many diminished dreams, he couldn’t escape the feeling that this unity was merely an illusion, a facade hiding the deep-seated divisions and conflicts beneath. Like the still surface of a pond concealing dangerous currents below, Aloria’s apparent harmony masked the reality of communities like Stillwater—sacrificed for the prosperity of others.

Jacob remained silent, his gaze fixed on the world outside the window, shoulders slumped with the weight of unspoken regrets. The morning light caught the gray in his hair, more prominent than it had been even a year ago. Vik felt the heavy burden of his father’s involvement in the agreements that had led to their current predicament. It infuriated Vik that once the town realized the gravity of their mistake, instead of challenging the decision, the mayor simply packed up and relocated to Goldwater Bay, likely earning a valuable position and enough money to never worry about the consequences. Another powerful figure escaping accountability while ordinary people paid the price.

“We strive to uphold a set of core values, but reality doesn’t always align with our expectations,” the scholar continued, a note of regret coloring his words. His fingers absently traced the worn leather of his satchel, a nervous gesture that betrayed his carefully composed exterior. Vik was surprised by the vulnerability in the scholar’s tone—a crack in the veneer of confident authority he’d maintained since arriving.

“Which brings us to today. Our progress depends on finding individuals who not only seek to better themselves but also contribute to the advancement of Aloria as a whole,” the scholar explained, a new earnestness entering his voice. “We need people who understand the real challenges faced by citizens across our country—people who have lived those challenges, not just studied them.” He moved closer to Vik, the floorboards creaking beneath his careful steps. With ceremonial precision, he retrieved an ornate silver box from his satchel, its surface etched with intricate mechanical patterns that seemed to shift subtly in the changing light. Then, from a separate inner pocket, he produced the key Vik had nearly died to retrieve from the blackwater’s deadly embrace. He placed both items gently on the bed beside Vik, the contrast between the polished metal and the rough linen bedding stark and deliberate. The box gleamed in the morning light, its polished surface reflecting tiny pinpricks of sunlight onto the ceiling. “Will you join us, Vik?”

The weight of the question hung in the air like mist over water. Vik’s gaze shifted to Myria, who stood silently observing the exchange, her hands still faintly smudged with the healing salve, then to his father, still lost in thought by the window. In the span of a heartbeat, Vik considered all the paths before him—becoming a merchant to rebuild Stillwater, following Damian to the military, or forging a new path entirely.

“It seems I might never discover why lythia appeared in the pool or who cut my rope,” Vik said, his voice steady as he picked up the invitation box and key. The metal felt cool against his palm, its intricate engravings pressing into his skin. “But one thing is certain: someone didn’t want me to succeed, or even survive, this challenge.”

Vik shifted, wincing slightly as the movement pulled at his bandaged wounds. The pain was a sharp reminder of how close he’d come to death in that dark pond. He took a deep breath, drawing strength from the familiar scents of home—the earthy aroma of sun-warmed timber beams overhead, the faint sweetness of late summer jasmine drifting through the open window, and the distinctive tang of cured fish that never quite left their dwelling no matter how thoroughly they cleaned. These comforting smells mingled with the peculiar scent of Veridian’s healing salve—an unusual combination of cinnamon warmth and something primal, like minerals drawn from deep within the mountains, earthy yet foreign. It carried a musky undertone that tickled the back of his throat. It was unlike anything Myria’s grandmother had ever concocted, another reminder of the strange and advanced world that awaited him.

“Even with all the unknowns, I think joining the Academy of Engineering is my best shot at helping my family and Stillwater,” he asserted, his voice tinged with determination. With eager anticipation, he inserted the key into the invitation box. The moment metal touched metal, dozens of tiny hidden gears awakened, their synchronized movements creating a mesmerizing symphony of soft clicks and whirs. Intricate mechanical components rotated and shifted beneath the surface, revealing the true complexity of what had appeared to be a simple container. The lid gracefully rose of its own accord, unveiling the contents within. He carefully examined each detail printed on the parchment inside, the elegant script a stark contrast to the simple handwritten notices that typically circulated in town.

Veridian nodded approvingly, a warm smile spreading across his face as Vik handed back the box and key. “You’ve made a wise choice, Vik,” he commended before securing the items in his bag with the careful precision of someone accustomed to handling valuable objects. Turning to Vik, he added, “You can take a day to rest, but we’ll need to leave soon after.” The scholar’s tone had shifted, already taking on the cadence of a mentor rather than a recruiter.

But Myria couldn’t hold back her concern. “Respectfully, Scholar Veridian, rushing his healing process might not be the best idea,” she interjected, her worry evident in her voice as she gestured to the still-raw wounds visible at the edges of Vik’s bandages.

Veridian merely offered her a reassuring smile as he gathered his belongings, the papers rustling softly as they disappeared into his satchel. “I will see you in the morning, Vik. Rest well,” he offered, his tone softer than before. There was an undercurrent of respect in his words, a recognition of the bravery Vik had shown in facing the challenges of the day. As he walked out, Jacob followed him, his footsteps heavy with unresolved questions and warnings left unspoken.

–

Jacob shifted uncomfortably while Myria adjusted his pillows, her face creased with worry. The late afternoon light had begun to soften, casting long shadows across the room. “This doesn’t feel right, Vik,” she confessed, breaking the tense silence that had settled over them since Veridian’s departure. Her voice was low, meant only for Vik’s ears. “The scholar isn’t telling us everything. And if it wasn’t them, could Mandrake be involved?” Her fingers nervously smoothed the same wrinkle in the bedding over and over, betraying her unease.

Vik sighed, the uncertainty weighing heavy on his mind. The bandages around his chest felt tighter suddenly, as if constricting with his growing doubts. “I wish I knew, Myria. But I can’t assume things at this point unless I am sure,” he suggested gently, offering a faint smile to reassure her. Outside, a flock of birds passed overhead, their shadows briefly darkening the room before moving on—fleeting and elusive, like the answers he sought.

Before Myria could respond, Vik shifted the conversation, suddenly unwilling to dwell on uncertainties he couldn’t resolve from his sickbed. “What are your plans, Myria?” he inquired, his tone gentle but probing. He watched her face carefully, noticing how the light caught the faint dusting of freckles across her nose—a detail he’d memorized over years of friendship.

The question caught Myria off guard. She paused in her ministrations, a strand of hair falling across her face as she looked up. “What do you mean, what are my plans? If you’re asking if I’ll look into this further for you, I’m not sure I’m equipped for that,” she replied, offering a hesitant smile as she tucked the errant strand behind her ear. The small silver pendant at her neck—her mother’s, one of the few possessions she had from her parents—caught the light as she moved.

“No, no,” Vik chuckled, wincing as each laugh sent pain shooting through his body, a sharp reminder of his recent brush with death. “I mean, what do you want to do with your life?” The question hung between them, heavier than it might have seemed to an outsider. With both him and Damian leaving, the dynamics of their small community would shift—and Myria’s place within it.

Myria hesitated, her hands falling still in her lap. She knew Vik was well aware of their previous discussions. The worn floorboards creaked beneath her as she shifted her weight, buying time. With town schooling behind them, it was expected for her to eventually take over her grandmother Agna’s store, continuing the tradition of herbalism and healing that had served Stillwater for countless years. But deep down, Myria yearned for something more—something beyond the boundaries of their shrinking town. “I do want to take over for Agna,” she admitted cautiously, her eyes drifting to the window. “But not right away.”

“I think that’s perfectly reasonable. So what then?” Vik prodded gently. The pain medication was beginning to take effect, dulling the sharp edges of his discomfort and leaving a pleasant warmth in its wake.

After a thoughtful pause, the distant sound of river craft punctuating the silence, Myria finally relented. “I am going to find out what happened to my mother and father,” she confessed, locking eyes with Vik, daring him to challenge her. The intensity in her gaze made her appear suddenly older, more resolute. “I know they’re gone, but I deserve to know what really happened after we left.” Her fingers unconsciously reached for the silver pendant, tracing its worn edges as she’d done countless times before.

Surprised by Myria’s unexpected response, Vik was momentarily speechless. The implication of her words settled heavily in the room. If she returned to Bellhallow in search of answers, she might uncover more than she bargained for. The thought unsettled him, sending a cold prickle of fear down his spine despite the warmth of the medicine in his veins. Such a journey could put them all in danger, especially given his father’s staunch opposition to revisiting the past and the secrets they had all left behind.

Sensing Vik’s hesitation, Myria seemed to regret her honesty. She stumbled over her words, scrambling to backtrack on her idea. “I-I know it’s probably a terrible idea,” she stammered, her voice tinged with uncertainty as her confidence faltered. A flush of embarrassment colored her cheeks. “I understand it could put us in danger. It’s just something I’ve been thinking a lot about. But, um, I don’t have the money to take such a long trip anyway.” She busied herself with straightening the already-neat edge of his blanket, avoiding his gaze.

Instead of replying, Vik slowly shifted, setting his jaw against the pain. The medicine Myria had applied was beginning to dull the worst of it, but moving still felt like navigating through fire. With deliberate determination that caught her completely off guard, he threw the covers aside and eased himself upright. Each movement was measured, careful, but unstoppable.

“Vik, what are you—” Myria started, alarmed by his sudden decision to rise.

He silenced her with a quick shake of his head, not trusting himself to speak through the pain. Using the bedpost for support, he pushed himself to stand, swaying slightly before finding his balance. The few steps to his bookshelf seemed to stretch endlessly, but he crossed them with grim resolve, his bare feet padding across the cool wooden floor.

The collection of worn volumes—some inherited, some salvaged, all treasured—stood in neat rows, a testament to his family’s unusual literacy for a fishing community. With fingers that trembled slightly from exertion, he retrieved a worn blue-bound book, its spine cracked and pages yellowed by time and frequent handling.

—

“Vik, get back in bed!” Myria exclaimed, rushing to his side. Her hand found his elbow, steadying him as he wavered slightly. “You can’t risk worsening your injuries!” The alarm in her voice had erased all traces of her earlier hesitation.

He winced as she guided him back to the bed, each step sending fresh waves of pain through his wounded limbs. The short journey had cost him more than he’d expected, leaving a sheen of sweat across his forehead. As Myria helped him settle against the pillows, Vik handed her the book, his fingers reluctant to release the worn cover. “Open it,” he instructed, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The pain throbbed in his head, intensifying with each passing moment, pulsing behind his eyes like a second heartbeat.

Myria hesitated, her fingers tracing the faded emblem on the cover—a fishing vessel silhouetted against a rising sun. The weight of the book felt unexpected in her hands, heavier than its size suggested. Eventually, she complied, carefully cracking open the book as if it might contain something fragile. In the center, she discovered a hidden compartment carved into the pages where a stash of coins lay nestled, gleaming softly in the fading afternoon light. Her eyes widened as she realized what she was looking at—enough money to fund a journey across Aloria. She quickly shut the book and handed it back to Vik, pushing it toward him as if it had suddenly grown hot to the touch.

“No,” she stated firmly, rising from her perch on the edge of the bed. Her movements became hurried, almost flustered, as she gathered her herbal supplies into her satchel. “I won’t accept your money. That’s not why I told you.” The drawstring of her bag tangled in her haste, a small manifestation of her inner turmoil.

“Please, Myria,” Vik pleaded as he shifted his body to try and find a position that didn’t feel like laying on needles. Each movement was a negotiation with pain. “I can’t bring it with me. Veridian made it clear—no money allowed.” The book remained between them, a physical embodiment of his offering.

The Academy of Engineering had a strict policy about what each student could bring with them, ensuring all students started on equal footing, regardless of personal wealth. The school provided everything candidates needed in their first few years—clothing, tools, materials, even spending allowances for occasional trips to Crater Isle’s small market. Personal funds were explicitly forbidden, seen as creating unfair advantages and distractions from studies.

“I don’t care,” Myria insisted, avoiding his gaze as she tucked a stray herb back into her bag. The scent of dried lavender momentarily filled the air between them.

“It’s the least I can do,” Vik insisted, his voice strained with sincerity. The afternoon light caught in his eyes, highlighting the emotion there. “Especially considering you might still have your parents if it weren’t for Damian and me.”

“We’ve been over this,” Myria replied, finally meeting his eyes. The pendant at her throat seemed to catch the light more intensely now, a silver flash against her skin. “What happened wasn’t your fault. You don’t owe me anything.” Her voice softened, the edge of refusal dulling.

“Please, Myria,” Vik’s voice was softer now, barely above a whisper, as he rolled to the other side, closing his eyes. The thick lashes rested against his too-pale cheeks. The salve she’d applied was working its magic, gradually numbing the pain coursing through his body, drawing him toward the edges of sleep. “It would mean a lot to Damian and me. Go find the answers you deserve.”

The room settled into a peaceful silence, the shadows lengthening across the walls as daylight surrendered to dusk. Vik closed his eyes, the soft murmur of the night breeze through the partially open window lulling him to sleep.

In the quiet, his thoughts drifted to the Academy of Engineering, to the unknown challenges that lay ahead, and to the promise of a future where he could make a difference. A future where innovations from Crater Isle might once again serve the people who needed them most.

The blue-bound book lay open on his chest, rising and falling with each breath. He didn’t see Myria’s silent return, didn’t feel her gentle fingers as she carefully removed the book from his grasp. With the practiced quiet of someone accustomed to tending the sick, she returned the book to the shelf—minus a portion of its hidden contents that now rested securely in her pocket, a compromise between refusal and acceptance that honored both their wishes.

As the door clicked shut behind Myria, barely audible in the stillness of the evening, Vik was already lost in a dream of fishing with Damian on a warm, sunny day. The river flowed clear and abundant, filled with silver-scaled fish that leaped eagerly into their nets. In his dream, they laughed freely, unburdened by separation or responsibility. They were just boys living a perfect life.