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A high-pitched whistle sang through the night air as the longboat neared the Zephyrus. Figures rushed to the edge of the deck, their silhouettes leaning over the railing, straining to catch sight of their returning crew. Lanterns swung from their hooks, casting shifting pools of light over the ship’s hull, illuminating the worn, rough faces below. With a clatter, the rope ladder unraveled down the ship’s side, the final bridge to safety.

At the forefront of the gathered crew stood Captain Garrett and Melodie, their expressions taut, searching for damage, for missing faces, for answers. A voice rang out from above. Laverna, the ship’s purser, peered down at them.

"How nice of you to join us," she quipped, though the relief threading through her words was unmistakable.

Vivienne pressed her lips together, working her throat to push back her rising emotions, grasping the coarse rope. Her muscles screamed in protest, exhaustion clawing at her every motion, but she climbed. Every pull, every inch closer, lightened something heavy inside her. When she finally reached the top, strong hands grasped hers, hauling her over the railing.

"It’s about time you lot showed up," Garrett said, his grizzled features easing as he steadied her.

"Miss us, captain?" Vivienne asked, breathless.

Garrett let out a low chuckle, the tension in his shoulders releasing. "More than I’d care to admit." He engulfed her in a firm, comforting embrace.

"Vivienne!" Melodie exclaimed, pulling her from Garrett’s and holding her at arm’s length to assess her for injuries. "Are you hurt?"

"A few scrapes and bruises," Vivienne admitted, brushing damp strands of hair from her face. "I’m fine." Her voice wavered, shifting into concern. "But… Gus?"

The corner of Melodie’s mouth lifted, a quiet acknowledgement of what she already knew. "Ask him yourself."

Vivienne spun, scanning the deck—then stopped short. Gus!

He stood near the mast, bandaged and bruised, his injured arm secured in a makeshift sling. Recovery dulled the luster of his imposing presence, but his eyes—rich, earth-brown and filled with unwavering belief—found hers instantly.

"I knew you’d make it back," he said, his deep voice a whisper of its usual strength, but unshaken.

Vivienne’s chest tightened, a tangled knot of relief and lingering fear. In three steps, she was there, wrapping her arms around his broad waist, careful to avoid his healing arm. The top of her head barely reached his chest.

"We made it," she whispered, her voice thick, the truth of it overwhelming. "I’m so glad you’re okay."

Gus rumbled a tired chuckle, though it came out more like a pained sigh. "You think I’d let a little cut stop me?" He pulled back just enough to look down at her. "When it’s my time to cross into the eternal glade, the goddess of life and death herself will have to drag me there herself."

Vivienne laughed through a fresh wave of tears, shaking her head.

"Oh, that reminds me." Gus reached into his vest, fishing out a tiny roll of parchment and cradling it in his broad palm.

Briar got my message? And she wrote back? Vivienne’s fingers trembled as she took it from him, unfurling it as though it might disintegrate in her hands.

Two lines, short and simple.

Glad you are safe. We are good. —B

Please get enough to eat. —J

She clutched the tiny letter against her chest, trying to contain the flood of gratitude and emotion swelling inside her. "Thank you for keeping this safe for me, Gus."

"Of course." He ruffled her hair, his voice dipping into quiet amusement. "Though I’ll admit, I read it first, and it took me a minute to figure out who it was for. I don’t know who this ‘J’ is, but I like them already."

Vivienne let out a watery laugh. "Johanna. She’s basically family. And she owns the best bakery in Fendwyr." She wiped at her damp cheeks, sniffing. "I’d love to take you and Millicent there when we’re back."

Gus’ grin warmed. "Millie and I would love to." He scooped her up in a one-armed hug. Her feet dangled off the ground as he held her in a tight, brief embrace before setting her down.

Behind them, the rest of the returning crew climbed aboard.

Melodie moved swiftly, tending to Lewis first, whose bruised and bloodied face was a roadmap of Enyo’s cruelty. She slathered a thick salve onto his swollen skin, her touch gentle despite his flinching.

"You’re meeting me in the infirmary in twenty minutes," she ordered, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Lewis, still reeling from the shock of surviving, nodded meekly.

She turned next to Owen, baffled as she unwound the bandages on his arm. "You’re lucky," the doctor muttered, inspecting the wound. "I don’t understand how something this severe resolved itself so quickly. There’s discoloration, but otherwise…" She looked at him, suspicious. "You appear to be healed."

Owen merely smiled, exhaustion dulling the usual sharp edge of his expression.

"I’ll tell you all about it later."

Melodie snorted, unconvinced, but let it go for now. “You’re meeting me in the infirmary after Lewis.”

As Dr. Mercer patched up Florence, Captain Garrett stepped forward, surveying them with a keen, knowing gaze.

"As grateful as I am to see you all aboard," his voice clearing the hushed murmurs, "we do not stand here in the same number as when we began this journey."

A weighted quiet settled over the deck. The names, the faces of those lost, floated through like ghosts.

Garrett's voice carried a quiet respect. "Let us continue to acknowledge the sacrifices made by the brave men and women who serve our crown and our lady Zephyrus."

Heads bowed. A moment of silence followed, thick with understanding—for what they had endured, for the names they could no longer call out to in the dark, for the privilege of still being here, standing side by side. Survivors.

* * *

The warmth of the Zephyrus’ galley wrapped around them with the rich scent of spiced stew and salted sea. Around a battered wooden table, the group devoured their first real meal in days. Cookie seemed almost happy to see them. Almost. He hovered nearby, ladling additional portions into their tin plates with a grunt of finality.

It wasn’t until they had washed the blood and dirt from their skin and changed into clean clothes that the gravity of everything they’d endured settled in. They found themselves gathered in the captain’s quarters, where Garrett sat behind his desk, his eyes studying them with expectation.

The captain’s mouth lifted in an affectionate grin. "What have I missed?

The group exchanged hesitant glances. Where could we even begin?

Vivienne inhaled deeply, steadied her hands, and reached into her tote. A hush fell over the cabin as she slowly withdrew a single, silver-petaled bloom. The Noctilum’s pulsing blue glow cast ethereal streaks of light across the cabin walls.

Garrett leaned forward in his chair, his sea-green eyes darkening with intrigue. "What in the name of the gods…?" he murmured.

"This is a Noctilum," Lewis began, his voice conveying his expertise. "It only blooms under the full moon's light."

"Since we didn’t have one," Florence added, "Banner here had the brilliant idea to make our own—with mirrors."

Garrett’s eyes darted to Vivienne, his expression unreadable.

Vivienne nodded, her fingers curling protectively around the flower’s fragile stem. "Its petals healed Owen from the venomous bite of a Zhalak," she continued, her voice barely above a whisper. "And it's the tribute from Verdance we need to bring to Velorien—to break the curse."

A beat of charged silence filled the room.

Garrett exhaled sharply. His roughened fingers drummed against the desk’s surface as his gaze swept across their faces, taking in every bruise, every shadow of exhaustion, every scar of their ordeal. "Tell me everything."

And so, they did.

Time blurred as they recounted every trial they had faced since their separation. The narrow escapes, the impossible odds, the horrors lurking in Verdance’s depths. They told him of the Apocrita, of the way the canyon crumbled around them, of the hallucinations brought on by the cursed flowers.

They described the monstrous Zhalak, its rows of jagged teeth, the way it had nearly taken Owen’s life. They detailed Enyo’s relentless pursuit, the Arachsylphs with their magical silk, the goddess’ cave, and the mysterious carvings whispering secrets of a forgotten past.

When they spoke of Florence’s captivity, her forced hand in detonating explosives to clear Enyo’s path to the cave, the room darkened with a collective, simmering fury.

"Every time I refused to help him," Florence said, her voice raw, "he killed another of our crew."

The air grew heavy. The cold, invisible weight of loss settled in their bones. Then, they reached the hardest truth of all.

Vivienne hesitated before speaking, but she felt Cirrus’ hand brush against hers beneath the table, encouraging her. She met the captain’s gaze, her words carefully measured.

"Fendwyr is responsible for destroying the civilization on Verdance."

The room stilled. All of the oxygen seemingly extracted.

"The murals. The carvings. The mass graves. The remains. Every piece of evidence points to the same conclusion," she continued, her voice tight. "Fendwyr slaughtered these people. Burned their elders at the ruins. Set fire to their children while they were still alive."

The captain sat motionless, his expression unreadable. He hadn’t interrupted once. Instead, he absorbed every word, every devastating truth, until at last, he leaned back in his chair and let out a slow, composing breath.

"After you’ve rested," he said finally, his voice measured, deliberate, "I want every detail captured in our field logs. I’ll place them under lock and key in my quarters—away from prying eyes."

His next words were scarcely above a whisper. "Blume, find a way to preserve the Noctilum. And for now, this information stays between the six of us."

They understood. If the wrong person got word of this, the consequences could be catastrophic. Fendwyr’s allies would crumble. Its kingdom could fall into chaos. And King Berius? He wouldn’t let a truth like this see the light of day. He would permanently silence those who knew his secrets.

The captain dismissed them one by one, insisting they rest—but just as Vivienne turned to leave, his voice stopped her. "Banner, stay a moment."

She sank back into a chair across from him.

Garrett stared at her, his usual gruffness making way for something gentler, something unspoken. "My girl," he said quietly, his sea-green eyes searching hers. "I know this journey has been hard on you. You didn’t choose this life at sea. You didn’t choose any of this."

Vivienne swallowed hard, her throat tightening.

"Your parents would be proud of you."

The words hit her like an arrow to the chest.

"They always have been." He paused. "I am proud of you."

Her fingers curled into her lap, knuckles white. Emotion welled in her chest, raw, aching. She thought of her mother’s warm hands, the face her father made while concentrating, the way they had whispered dreams of adventure into her childhood. And yet—what if they were gone? She couldn’t let herself dwell on her fears.

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice barely holding steady. "That means more than I can say."

Her gaze flickered to the Noctilum, illuminating the space between them. "Who would’ve believed someone who spent all their time in a library would be here… with this?" she murmured, shaking her head.

Garrett chuckled, a warm, knowing sound. He reached forward, giving her shoulder a firm, reassuring squeeze.

"I did."