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L ewis groaned, slumping back in his chair as if gravity had doubled. "You're determined to let me die of starvation."

They’d spent hours poring over every book in the house, desperate to match anything to the symbols, plants, and entries in her mother’s journal. Some plants resembled the sketches, and certain symbols mirrored languages Vivienne could read, but nothing lined up exactly.

She exhaled sharply. "You’re not starving to death, Lewis."

He tapped a finger against his chin, eyes flickering with mock contemplation. "If only there were, I don’t know, a city-wide festival today featuring a huge feast, where we have an open invitation…"

Vivienne snapped her book shut. "You want to go to the Harvest Moon Festival? Lewis, we don’t have time—we leave tomorrow."

"The only food in this house," he announced, pointing accusingly at the nearly bare shelves, "is a jar of something I’m scared to identify. " His gaze flicked back to her, deadpan. "You’re telling me you’d rather play mystery jar roulette than take a break?"

She rolled her eyes, but hunger gnawed at her too. A glance around the kitchen confirmed what Lewis had already pointed out. The shelves were near-empty and collecting dust. She hadn’t shopped in weeks, not seeing the point while Briar was away.

Briar. Her stomach clenched. Their last conversation sat heavy in her chest, an unanswered question she wasn’t sure she was brave enough to face. Will I see her before we leave? Does she even want to see me?

"Fine," she relented, shoving back her chair. "We can go eat at the festival, but we’re not staying long."

Lewis scoffed. "Oh, come on, Viv. No one’s expecting us anywhere, our trunks are packed, and this," he waved at the cluttered table, "has led us exactly nowhere. What else do we have to do tonight? Relax."

Relax. Not exactly a skill she’d mastered. Even in her downtime, she felt the need to make it productive. A lifetime of being pushed to achieve, to prove herself, had made stillness feel unnatural. When your worth is tied to your accomplishments, it’s a hard habit to break. Tomorrow we leave for who knows how long. Maybe we deserve a night out.

"Alright," she said, rising from her seat. "Let’s go to a festival."

Lewis didn’t wait for her to change her mind. He sprang to his feet, practically bolting to the front door. Vivienne followed at a less enthusiastic pace.

Grinning, he swung the door open and gave a flourishing bow. "This way, Your Grace, the Honorable Lady of the Corn Cobs."

Vivienne shook her head, laughing, deciding to humor him.

"Thank you, my good sir," she said, lifting her chin with exaggerated grandeur as she sailed through the doorway, letting herself enjoy the moment.

* * *

As they neared the festival, a tide of sound and scent crashed over them. The hum of conversation wove through the Market Square, punctuated by bursts of laughter and the rhythmic clap of dancing feet. The air carried the mingled aromas of roasted venison, garlic, and rosemary, blending with the sweetness of honey-glazed vegetables and the earthy warmth of sage butter potatoes.

Linen-draped tables stretched across the square, their surfaces laden with steaming platters, interspersed with hand-carved figurines of Elandra, goddess of love, fertility, and harvest, and Rhuevenar, god of the wild, beasts, and the hunt. Ribbons in the royal blue and gold fluttered overhead, their movement mirroring the sway of flower garlands tied to lampposts and doorways. Wandering musicians filled the air with cheerful melodies, their songs telling of ripened fields and changing seasons.

Lewis and Vivienne wove through the throng, dodging merchants, children darting between legs, and revelers already deep into their cups. Spotting an opening at a table near a row of vendor stalls, they claimed their seats. Vivienne barely had time to settle before Lewis returned, plate piled high, attacking his meal with the urgency of a man who feared it might vanish before his eyes.

She held back a smirk, watching him shovel bites into his mouth. Maybe I really was starving him. Giving in to her own hunger, she savored each bite, letting the rich flavors melt on her tongue.

They had arrived too late for the grand procession through the village and had missed most of the day’s competitions. Still, they cheered wildly as contestants barreled past the finish line in foot races and dug their heels into the ground during tug-of-war. When the pie-baking contest rolled around, they graciously volunteered for the sample testing, deliberating their favorites with the solemnity of royal judges.

The festival stalls brimmed with silks in vivid hues, bottles of fragrant oils, and handcrafted jewelry that glinted in the lantern light. Vivienne traced her fingers over intricate beadwork, her mind torn. Should she take this on the ship? If she left it behind, would she ever use it?

By the time the harvest moon crested the horizon, Vivienne and Lewis found themselves wandering toward the beaches, candied apples in hand. The golden glow of festival lanterns flickered in the distance, their light stretching across the sand in long, rippling patterns.

Lewis, ever observant, caught the hint of a smile playing at Vivienne’s lips and bumped her with his elbow.

"Careful, Viv," he teased. "You look like you might actually be enjoying yourself."

She rolled her eyes but didn’t bother hiding the widening curve of her grin.

"I can't remember the last time we've had a chance to..." she let out a breath, staring out at the waves, "just be."

The sand yielded beneath their steps, grains slipping away as Vivienne and Lewis approached the central, blazing bonfire. Flames crackled and twisted, licking at the twilight sky, their glow casting flickering shadows across the revelers. The steady pounding of drums merged with the sweet, airy lilt of a fiddle, drawing dancers into a spiraling rhythm. Some had already kicked off their shoes, spinning and leaping, their flushed faces illuminated by the fire’s golden light. Vivienne was about to suggest they find a spot near the warmth when an all-too-familiar voice sliced through the music.

“Lewis!”

Bianca.

Vivienne turned just as Bianca sauntered toward them, moving with the slow, deliberate confidence of someone who knew she was being watched. The firelight caught on the deep emerald fabric of her gown, its plunging neckline emphasizing a particular duet of curves. Her chocolate-brown hair was sculpted into an elaborate updo, stray curls artfully arranged to frame her impossibly symmetrical face. Not that anyone will notice her hair or makeup in a dress like that. She has more faith in the security of that bodice than I have in all the gods combined.

"Hi!" Bianca trilled, her voice syrupy sweet. "I was worried I wouldn't find you in this crowd."

Vivienne had never seen Lewis try so hard to maintain eye contact.

"Well… ” He shrugged, shifting his weight."You found us."

Bianca's painted lips curled into a knowing smile as she stepped closer, placing a feather-light hand on his arm. "I'm ready for the dance you promised me."

Her tone left no room for discussion.

Lewis blinked hard, his gaze flickering between Bianca’s emerald stare and Vivienne’s expression. "Oh, yes…of course," he muttered, his voice unsteady as if his thoughts were scrambling to catch up.

Vivienne offered a small, dismissive nod. He handed her the last of his candied apple before Bianca tugged him away, her laughter ringing out like chimes in the wind.

"Don't dance too close to the fire!" Vivienne called after them, implying Bianca might push him into the flames.

Lewis shot her a halfhearted glare over his shoulder, the underlying message clear. He knew exactly what she meant.

The laughter and movement of the festival swayed on without her. Vivienne lingered for a moment, watching as Bianca spun Lewis into the firelight, her gown catching on the breeze. The ease of it, the way Bianca’s world bent to accommodate her presence, sparked something in Vivienne’s chest—something she wasn’t interested in examining.

You’re sailing with him tomorrow. You can handle one night on your own.

Without another glance, she took a final bite of her candied apple before drifting past the music, the dancing, and the performance. The festival continued to swell with laughter and light, but Vivienne let it blur at the edges, her mind already drifting elsewhere.

At the farthest edge of the beach, the storytelling bonfires flickered low, their flames kept small so the gathered listeners could lean in and hang on every word. Vivienne settled onto an empty log just as the next tale began, the hush of the crowd leaving only the crackling of the flames and distant crashes of waves on the shore.

The storyteller drew a slow, deliberate breath, their voice carrying the weight of countless retellings.

"Before time began, Althera, the All-Mother, was born of the stars and the endless void between them. From her essence, the cosmos unfolded, and the world took its first breath. Althera shaped twelve gods, each one a reflection of the forces of the universe. Among them stood Velorien, god of justice and balance, and Malcari, god of retribution and discord. Alongside their divine siblings, they molded the mortal and magical realms, their powers woven into the land, sea, and sky.

"Though Velorien ruled with fairness, ensuring harmony in all things, Malcari rejected balance. He saw it as a cage, a false order smothering the true nature of the universe. To him, vengeance was justice, and power the only law. The tension between the two grew until, on their divine isle, their conflict erupted into a war that shattered mountains and set the seas aflame. Velorien fought to uphold order, but Malcari unleashed ruin, tearing through creation with no regard for the devastation left in his wake.

"In the end, Velorien, with the aid of his siblings, overpowered his brother, but he could not bring himself to destroy him. Instead, he cast Malcari into the everdark, a prison beyond the reach of gods and mortals alike, where the vilest souls are bound in eternal shadow.

"But exile did not silence Malcari. From the everdark, he whispered into the hearts of men, tempting them with power, twisting their desires into chaos. Velorien, ever watchful, guided the rise and fall of kingdoms, ensuring the scales of justice remained even, but mortals tend to be forgetful and fickle, letting the truth fade into myth.

"Now," the storyteller’s voice dropped lower, the embers of the fire glowing like watchful eyes in the night, "as the winds shift and the seas churn, the balance falters once more. And from the everdark… Malcari stirs, ready to return."

A swell of applause rippled through the listeners, though Vivienne barely registered it. Beyond the firelight, her gaze drifted toward the main bonfire, where Lewis and Bianca danced.

The music had slowed to a ballad, and Lewis held Bianca close, his arms wrapped around her waist as they swayed in time with the melody. He looks… happy. With Bianca. Vivienne hesitated, fingers curling into the fabric of her skirt. Would it be selfish to interrupt? Would he even notice if I did?

Something in her chest tensed, an ache she couldn't quite name. Envy, perhaps, or the quiet loneliness of watching from the outside. Or maybe it was something deeper, something she wasn’t ready to admit.

She let out a breath, pushing the thoughts aside. Lewis deserved this. He deserved a night untouched by worry, by duty, by impending departures. She wouldn’t take that from him.

Turning back to the fire, she let the warmth of the flames and the rhythm of ancient myths wash over her, drowning out the distant echoes of music and laughter.

The air carried the scent of brine and burning driftwood as Vivienne drifted from one fire to the next, her thoughts still tangled in the first myth she heard. As she approached a familiar group, a gravelly voice called out, rich with mirth.

"My name is Bare Fang Bill, and me and the lads are here to tell you a tale," the nearly toothless sailor from The Pelican declared, his weathered hands weaving through the air as if conjuring magic. "Thing is, the lads ain’t much for words. We prefer singin’ our stories."

The 'lads'—a row of tattooed, battle-scarred men—threw their arms around each other’s shoulders, their voices rising like the tide. The deep, steady rumble of their song rolled across the sand, a harmony roughened by salt and time.

"Oh, gather ‘round, ye sailors bold, and hear the tale I tell,

Of cursed lands and treasure grand, where ancient shadows dwell.

The verdant isle, with whispered wiles, their secrets dark they keep,

But those who dare to venture there will find no peaceful sleep."

"Yo-ho, yo-ho, we sail against the tide,

To break the curse, we roam the earth, where hidden dangers hide.

With moon and star and flower fair, we'll brave the endless sea,

With another verse, we’ll lift the curse and set our people free."

A cold shiver crawled up Vivienne's spine as the sailors sang, and goosebumps prickled her arms. The song was hauntingly familiar. I've heard this before. It echoed in the depths of her memory, a song she couldn’t quite place but had somehow always known.

"On fiery heights where shadows dance, an ember’s heart is found,

Forged where the flame and darkness meet, in silence so profound.

In lands where time does twist and turn, a shard of night we seek,

To bind the past and shape the fate of those whose future is bleak."

"Yo-ho, yo-ho, we sail against the tide,

To break the curse, we roam the earth, where hidden dangers hide.

With riddles old and secrets veiled, we'll brave the endless sea,

With another verse, we’ll lift the curse and set our people free."

Vivienne’s breath hitched. Her mother’s journal. The words—“tear of light” and “ring of mist”—had been scrawled in the margins, nestled between sketches. Is this about Osimiri’s islands?

"In lands where whispers ride the wind, a ring of mist does gleam,

Hidden deep in shadowed glen, where sunlight dares not beam.

Beneath the waves where darkness rules, a tear of light does sleep,

Guarded by the ocean’s wrath in caverns cold and deep."

"Yo-ho, yo-ho, we sail against the tide,

To break the curse, we roam the earth, where hidden dangers hide.

With riddles old and secrets veiled, we'll brave the endless sea,

With another verse, we’ll lift the curse and set our people free."

Vivienne clenched her hands into fists, trying to steady herself. She had read these words before. In the journal, they had been disjointed, scattered clues in the midst of research. Here, in the sailors' voices, they came alive.

As the final verse swelled, the sailors' voices softened, their tone shifting from revelry to warning.

"The final isle, where legends lie, beneath the stormy skies,

With every sign and hidden mark, we’ll break the ancient ties.

But woe betide the faint of heart, who falter on the way,

These hidden shores will claim their toll on those who go astray."

The sailors finished with a final energetic bridge and chorus, their voices echoing across the festival grounds.

"So, raise your voice, ye sailors true, and let the shanty ring,

For though the curse may bind us still, we’ll see what fate will bring.

Through storm and strife, we’ll risk our lives to set the kingdom right,

And when the final bell does toll, we’ll sail into the night."

"Yo-ho, yo-ho, we sail against the tide,

To break the curse, we roam the earth, where hidden dangers hide.

With riddles old and secrets veiled, we'll brave the endless sea,

Yo-ho, yo-ho, we’ll lift the curse and set our people free."

The song reached its fevered crescendo before closing with a final, rousing chorus. The voices of the men faded into the night, but their words lingered, a ghost of a melody settling in Vivienne’s chest. The crowd erupted into cheers and applause. Though her hands clapped unconsciously, her mind was racing. Was this song a guide? Another piece of the puzzle?

She pushed herself to her feet and cut through the crowd, moving toward the group of sailors. Bare Fang Bill spotted her approach, his craggy face splitting into a grin.

"Lass! I thought it was ye."

"Hello again," Vivienne managed, though her fingers twisted in the fabric of her skirt.

Bare Fang Bill’s brow furrowed. "Ye alright, Lass?"

She swallowed hard, steadying her voice. "The song you sang, where did you learn it?"

His eyes gleamed with curiosity. "Ah, the old shanty? Been around longer than me bones, that one. My father’s crew sang it, and I learned it when I was just a sail hand meself. Why d'ye ask?"

Vivienne hesitated. How much should she reveal? Would he dismiss her outright if she told him what she knew?

"I..." She exhaled sharply, searching for the right words. "I’ve heard of some of the places in the song. The artifacts, the locations… are they real?"

The old sailor ran a calloused hand down the front of his tattered coat, brushing off sand, his mismatched buttons gleaming in the firelight.

"Sailors trade in legends, lass," he said, shifting his weight off his wooden leg. "Some say they've seen the Isles, others claim it's just an old yarn. Who's to say what’s real and what’s just the sea whisperin’ in our ears?"

A pang of disappointment settled in her stomach, but she forced a nod. "Thank you."

Bare Fang Bill tipped his hat, his curious gaze lingering on her before turning back to his crew.

The next storyteller stepped forward, but Vivienne barely heard them. Her legs carried her back toward the festival grounds, her mind an unrelenting storm.

I have to find Lewis. We need to compare the shanty with the journal entries, now.

She wove through the crowd, past the bonfires and performers, searching for his familiar face. When she reached the main fire, her steps faltered.

Lewis and Bianca. They stood near the flames, the music having slowed to a ballad. She rested her head against his shoulder, his arm curled around her waist.

Vivienne’s chest tightened. He looked so content. She stepped back. You're leaving tomorrow. Let him have this, Vivienne.

Squaring her shoulders, she turned toward home. There was still work to do, and if her hunch was right, she and Lewis had far more than maps to decipher.

Maybe there is a curse to break.