I held my breath as Zyren boarded the Galeheart.

  I waited for the other shoe to drop. Perhaps this was all a game; some sick, twisted sport the captains played, letting someone’s hope swell before ultimately shattering them.

  But Zyren only shot me a disdainful glare and turned away. The Galeheart weighed anchor with a low groan of chains and timber, her hull creaking as the tension shifted. Sailcloth snapped overhead. The wind caught her and guided her away. In moments the ship sank beneath a bank of clouds, vanishing as cleanly, perhaps to wash away the stink of Zyren’s defeat.

  It was over.

  I had survived.

  And stranger still, the crew aboard the Skycutter clapped me on the back, offered rough congratulations, and laughed as if they’d just witnessed a particularly good brawl rather than a man almost being executed. Their hands were calloused and warm; their smiles were crooked and real. They embraced me as if I belonged.

  I hadn’t even known them. I didn’t even know their names. So why? Why did it feel like they were happy I was still breathing?

  Why?

  “Alright then,” Captain Roan said, pulling me close yet again.

  I pulled away on instinct.

  Captain Roan blinked, then chuckled through his beard. “Not much of a hugger, are ya’, lad?”

  After explaining myself in front of everyone, I didn’t feel much like talking.

  I shook my head.

  “Not much of a talker, either.” Roan sighed. It sounded almost… knowing. He looked past me for a moment, out at the rolling cloudsea, the sun turning the mist into pale gold. The Skycutter moved with a steady rhythm beneath our feet, all creaks and groans and rope-snap.

  “Look, lad,” he said quietly, “I know you’ve had it rough. I know you’ve seen some shit. I wish I could promise you those days are behind you, but they aren’t.” He leaned his elbows on the rail, pipe in one hand, eyes narrowed into the wind. The air around him smelled of pitch and smoke. “We’re all Skyrats here,” he went on. “Every man and woman. Myself included. We’re condemned. Dead men and women walking.” His voice didn’t rise, but the words hit harder for how calmly he said them. “We’re given the faintest rope and told we might return to Skyreach one day and not face the horrors of the lands below.” He flicked ash from his pipe, watching it spiral away and vanish into the clouds. “It’s a false hope; I won’t lie to you. You’ve got a tough road ahead. Nobody on this ship stays for free.” He turned to me, eyes soft and filled with regret. “I haven’t done you the favor you think I have. I’ve only postponed your fate for another day. One that many of us are likely to share.” Then he punched me on the arm. “But who’s to say you can’t have some fun while waiting for death to find ya’, eh?”

  I rubbed my sore arm, blinking at him. “Fun?” I latched onto the word. What even was fun? Skyreach hadn’t been fun. Skyreach had been scraping and begging and counting every grateful bite to eat. There had never been time for fun.

  What would fun even look like?

  I looked across the deck. Near a barrel, a dark-skinned boy around my age, with light blond hair that seemed to glow in the sun’s light, rolled dice across an upturned crate. Across from him sat a woman a few years older, fair-skinned with an ample chest and bright eyes; one blue, and the other green.

  My face burned hot at the sight of her.

  Roan followed my gaze and whistled low. “You’ll not be having that sort of fun anytime soon,” he said, amused. “Not with old Kaela, anyhow. And I’ll show you the dice game some other time. It’s called Crooked Crow. It involves—well, another time. As for now, I’ve got something else in mind.”

  “Something else?” I asked. “Like what?”

  He drew in smoke and exhaled slowly. As the smoke trailed out, it didn’t disperse like ordinary breath in the wind. It curled, thickened, and obeyed, gathering into shape. Slowly, that smoke took the form of a skull, hollow-eyed and grinning.

  The skull drifted for but a moment and then unraveled into nothing.

  “I’ve a mind for vengeance,” he said. “A little play before work. How about it?”

  ***

  My feet landed once again on lush grass; spongy underfoot, springing back against my boots. It was the same green as before, the same fresh scent.

  It took everything in my power not to jump back into the skiff.

  My stomach turned. Almost I could hear it again; that sickening rumble of earth. The way the ground had split under Gullin’s steps. My mind supplied the sound even when the forest stood quiet. I knew it was memory playing tricks.

  This time it was only me and Captain Roan. The rest of the crew stayed back in the skiff. Some had protested; called it unfair, and demanded a chance to come down with us. I still didn’t understand it. Why would anyone want to come here?

  The air on the island tasted different from cloud air; wet and rich with the smell of soil, crushed leaves, and something faintly sweet that reminded me of rot.

  Captain Roan looked completely nonchalant, as if we’d stepped off the ship into a midtown market instead of a place where creatures in golden fur hunted men for sport.

  “Nervous, aren’t ya’?” he asked, pipe already lit, smoke curling from beneath his beard.

  “I…” What did I say? Did I admit I wasn’t just nervous, but that I was scared shitless? Utterly terrified. Would he think less of me? Would the crew? Would he decide he’d made a mistake taking me? And why did I suddenly care what any of them thought of me? “…Yes,” I admitted.

  “Good,” Roan replied. “That means you’re smart.” He tapped his pipe against his pants. “I’ve got enough foolhardy idiots on this crew without adding another to the mix. Fear is smart. Fear keeps you sharp. Keeps you alive. Don’t forget that. Don’t let those other idiots talk you out of it.”

  I nodded. Nothing could have changed my mind about the fear I felt. Not after what I’d seen.

  We walked the same path Kade and Raze, and I had taken before. I could still see our old footprints pressed into the damp dirt. Leaves crunched under our boots. Small insects scattered from our steps. A bird called once overhead, then went silent.

  Eventually, we reached the clearing.

  My throat tightened.

  The ground still bore scars where Gullin had churned it. I turned and vomited as I saw that Kade’s remains were still there. Or what was left of him, anyway. He was ground into the dirt until he was less a body and more a smear of pink and brown. Something had been picking at it, and various insects fluttered about, drawn to the death.

  “Their fate is not yours,” Roan said. “Not when you’re with me. Not today.”

  My stomach twisted again, but there was nothing left to throw up. Just bitter spit and bile. I wiped my mouth with a shaking hand.

  “Let’s keep going,” Roan said.

  “To where?”

  “To find that little beast of yours,” Roan replied. “The boss.”

  “Why?”

  Roan sighed and chewed on his pipe stem, eyes narrowing as he considered what to say. “How do I explain this…” He exhaled smoke, and it drifted in a slow ribbon between us. “It’s a captain’s job to make sure his crew’s needs are met. Food, water, supplies, training. It all comes down to me. What some don’t realize, as you saw with ‘Captain’ Zyren, is the need to foster confidence. A place of safety. Shelter. How do you take the first step on your journey if you’ve got a shadow looming over your past?” He glanced at me then, and for a second his expression softened. “A captain once did for me what I’m going to do for you: vanquish your demons.” He smirked, holding up a single finger. “Or, in this case, demon.”

  He took that finger and pointed forward.

  Mist pressed in around the edges of the forest. It was thick, dark, and almost solid in appearance. It didn’t behave like ordinary fog. It looked like a wall, swallowing the light.

  Had it been that close before?

  “The island is closing,” Roan explained. “If we don’t do this now, you’ll never get the chance to face it. And I wouldn’t be much of a captain if I let you carry that fear around forever, now would I?”

  We moved away from the village, following a makeshift path between the trees. Kade and Raze had mentioned they’d cleared out all the other mobs, leaving only the boss. It seemed that had been the one truthful thing they’d said; we encountered no resistance. No ambushes. No eyes in the brush. Just silence.

  And then we saw it.

  A throne of wood sat in the shadows ahead, crude and massive. Roots and branches twisted around its base.

  And on it sat Gullin.

  The giant spiked club leaned against the throne like a monument. The creature’s golden fur caught stray light in dull glints. Its sick smile was the same one I remembered.

  My heart stopped.

  “Alright, lad,” Roan said, stepping forward. “You’ll want to hang back for this. Just watch.”

  I nodded, unconvinced I could speak without my words breaking.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  Roan stepped into the clearing.

  Smoke billowed from his pipe; too much smoke. Far too much. It didn’t drift away. It gathered, thick, sputtering, and swirling.

  Roan reached into the smoke.

  When he drew back, he held weapons in his hands: a sword in one, and a pistol in the other, as black as a cumulonimbus cloud. The weapons radiated power, and tendrils of lightning sparked throughout.

  I was speechless and stunned.

  Gullin stood, lifting its enormous club onto its shoulder.

  I expected the chat box to appear. I expected the floating frame of numbers and threat warnings, but for the first time since stepping onto the island again, I realized there were no chat boxes at all.

  No hovering names. No levels. No system at all.

  Gullin didn’t wait as it snorted, roared, and charged.

  The ground shook under its weight, each step punching the earth. It raised the club high, blocking out the sun and casting a deadly shadow over the clearing.

  The club fell.

  I closed my eyes. I didn’t want to see Roan crushed the way I’d seen Kade and Raze. So completely and utterly destroyed that nothing of who they were remained.

  Clash!

  A sharp sound: metal on metal. No, not metal… bone.

  Then a snort of pain.

  I opened my eyes.

  Roan stood beside the fallen club. Gullin’s hand still clenched the hilt… The rest of the arm was gone.

  It lay severed on the ground, blood pumping in thick bursts. The smell hit a second later: hot and metallic. The air turned heavy with it. Choking.

  Gullin roared, staggering, and Roan didn’t flinch. He stood firm and determined.

  Gullin reared up to stomp him.

  A line of smoke appeared so fast that I didn’t even see where it came from.

  Gullin’s entire right leg sheared away at the knee and crashed into the dirt.

  The boss toppled, unable to hold its own weight. Its roar turned ragged, furious, and confused.

  “Do you see?” Roan called calmly as Gullin struggled before him. “You have nothing to fear.”

  Gullin’s red eyes burned with hate. In them, I saw the reflection of Roan’s pistol. It was raised, steady, and aimed at the boss’s face.

  One moment Gullin had a head.

  The next, it did not.

  A deafening crack split the clearing, echoing through the trees. A blast of lightning so bright that I had to turn my eyes away. Birds scattered from the canopy in a frantic cloud. Where the boss’s head had been, there was only emptiness and spray. The body sagged backward, collapsing, blood pouring from wounds that no longer mattered.

  Roan let his weapons drop, and they vanished into smoke as if they’d never existed at all.

  He turned and waved me over. “Come here,” he called. “We’ve got some looting to do.”

  ***

  “We’ve got some good stuff here,” Roan said, picking through the glittering orbs scattered across the ground.

  It was strange. At first, Gullin’s corpse did what corpses were supposed to do: it sputtered blood, convulsed in ugly spasms, and filled the clearing with the thick smell of death. Flies gathered around the carcass to feast.

  Then the corpse dissolved.

  Slowly at first; the boss’ golden fur dulled, turning to gray, then to shadow. Then the corpse unraveled, breaking apart into nothing more than mist.

  And in its wake, even more glittering orbs clinked softly onto the dirt and flattened grass.

  Echo Cores.

  They were all the same size, but each glowed a different color. They pulsed with a faint inner light. Roan lifted them one by one, holding each up near his face, studying the swirling colors within. Sometimes he smirked. Others he frowned. Once, he made a thoughtful harrumph as if he’d found something rare.

  I didn’t know what else to do but watch him. My hands still shook from what I’d seen; at how easily Roan had cut the boss apart. The forest around us felt too quiet now, as if even the trees were listening and waiting.

  Eventually, Roan flicked his wrist toward the edge of the clearing. “Chest near the throne,” he said. “Loot it, will ya?”

  “Sure,” I replied, stepping carefully to avoid the Echoes. I had no clue how durable they were, and the last thing I wanted was to ruin them, seeing how carefully Roan was handling them.

  The throne sat empty without its master. It looked like a crude joke: a pile of wood and dirt. Nearby, half-hidden in tall grass and shattered branches, a chest rested as if it had always belonged there. It was large and banded in tarnished metal. The lock looked far too well-made for the rest of the island’s sloppy craftsmanship. It stuck out like a low-born among high.

  When I set my hand to it, I heard a click.

  The lock released.

  I froze. “Strange…” I muttered. “Why did it unlock without a key?”

  I pushed the lid open. It took most of my strength; the hinges groaning from the effort. The top finally gave, swinging back with a heavy thump.

  Inside were only two items.

  The first was a spiked mace that looked exactly like Gullin’s, just scaled down in size. Strangely, it still bore signs of use.

  The second was a pair of shoes.

  Not boots, nor sandals. Shoes. Something I had only ever seen high-born wear, although these were entirely different. White and clean, with a red swoop along the side, like a stylized slash. On the back was an engraving:

  N

  I

  K

  E

  S

  Nikes.

  “What in the clouds are Nikes?” I whispered.

  Roan wandered over, jovial as ever, and bumped my shoulder as he peered into the chest. “Ah, looks like we got some loot.” He gave an approving grunt. “We’ll see what special properties they’ve got back on the ship.”

  Before I could ask another question, the chest shimmered, then vanished. One heartbeat it existed; the next it was gone, leaving empty air where wood and iron had previously been. The mace and shoes dropped onto the grass with a dull thud. Roan swooped them up quickly and stuffed them into the bag tied at his waist.

  Roan grabbed my shoulder and pulled me close. I stiffened, but he held me firm. “Remember,” he warned, voice low. “No matter what they say, they aren’t real.” His eyes locked onto mine, unblinking. “They’re just…” He exhaled smoke, and it curled between us like a veil. “… memories.”

  The world snapped.

  In a blink, the island was gone, ripped away into the mist. In its place rose something indescribable: towering buildings stacked into the sky, walls of glass and stone reflecting harsh light. Metal machines honked and roared along wide, gray paths. The air was hot and thick with unfamiliar smells.

  And people.

  So many people.

  Hundreds. No; thousands! They poured past in endless streams, dressed in strange fabrics and bright colors, moving with purpose and ease. Their faces weren’t hardened with hunger. Some even laughed openly.

  Bright lights flashed everywhere; shapes that glowed with moving images.

  “What is this place?” I asked, my breath short and sharp.

  Captain Roan gently turned my head to the left and up. There, in the distance, hovering above the city like a star pinned to the sky, I saw Skycutter's anchor. Our beacon. A guiding light.

  “Let’s move,” Roan said. “But be careful. They aren’t real, but they can still harm you. They’ll still interact with you.” His voice grew forlorn. “The anchor will guide us home. Follow it. Be quick. If you’re on the island when the mist returns, you’ll be lost forever.”

  I swallowed hard.

  We moved into the foreign jungle of concrete and metal, weaving between the people. It was as if we weren't even there, but I would catch the casual glances in our direction. They saw us, but we were just more faces lost in the crowd. The buildings rose like cliffs, and the lights pulled at my soul.

  Everything seemed to beckon to me. It demanded me to look at it. To want it. To stay.

  And the people… they looked happy. So free.

  Envy gnawed at my heart.

  Something in that place tugged at my chest. It was a warm, aching feeling that whispered that I belonged here. That I could melt into the crowd and become no one and finally rest. That I could stop being Torren Skyrat and just be… Torren.

  “Don’t,” Roan warned. “Don’t fall for it. That’s the siren’s song. That feeling in your heart; that this is where you belong? It’s killed many good men and women.” His face tightened, and his normal smile slipped. “Better ones than I. Do not listen to it—it feeds you nothing but lies.”

  Then he turned and kept walking.

  I followed close, forcing my eyes to stay on the anchor’s distant glow. I let it anchor me to what I knew was real. Roan was real. I was real. This… this was a pretty lie.

  We pushed through the crowd. I nearly collided with people more than once, and I had to jump aside as strange contraptions zipped past. They had two wheels, pedals, and a handlebar. The people who rode them did so with effortless balance, weaving through the crowd.

  I couldn’t understand how they didn’t fall.

  They looked… fun.

  Everything here looked fun.

  Interesting.

  I stared up at the anchor and found myself again. I clenched my jaw and kept moving.

  Eventually the anchor loomed above us, and I spotted the skiff tucked beside a tree in a small patch of green cut out from the gray. The little patch of grass looked like a weak imitation of what the island had been.

  In my haste, I ran into someone.

  A child, just a small girl in a uniform with ribbons sewn along the sleeves. She stumbled back and stared up at me with wide green eyes.

  “Sorry, mister,” the girl said. “Do you… Do you want to buy some Girl Scout cookies?”

  “Girl Scout… cookies?” I repeated.

  What were Girl Scout cookies?

  She tilted her head as if reading my mind. “Have you never had one?”

  “I… no,” I admitted. “I haven’t.”

  She smiled warmly. She carried a box or two, and she reached inside one without hesitation. “Everyone should try it at least once.”

  She pressed the cookie into my hand.

  Roan appeared at my side. “No, thank you, little girl,” he said. “You run along now.”

  The girl stared at him for a heartbeat, eyes narrowing with innocent suspicion. “You have a funny hat,” she said as she scampered off into the crowd, just another face in a sea of people.

  Roan slowly lifted his cap off his head. He frowned. “It’s not that funny-looking,” he said, with genuine sadness in his gruff voice. “Is it?”

  “It looks fine to me,” I replied. It did; though truthfully, I had no concept of what was normal anymore.

  Roan set the hat back on top of his head. “Well,” he said, “let’s not waste time. I think you’ve seen enough for one day. And it’ll make things easier to explain now that you’ve experienced it yourself.” He made a show of dusting himself off. “Alright. To the skiff.”

  He reached up and tugged the floating skiff down, using his weight to steady it. I climbed in and sat, still holding the cookie. Roan followed, and his weight made the craft rock back and forth.

  He tugged twice on the rope.

  Slowly, the skiff ascended.

  I rolled the cookie around in my hand.

  “Go ahead and eat it,” Roan said. “And you better hurry.”

  I looked at the cookie as if it were poison.

  “If you won’t eat it—”

  I shoved the entire thing into my mouth.

  Flavor exploded across my tongue. It was both sweet and rich, and impossibly smooth. I had never had anything like it before.

  Roan nodded knowingly. “Chocolate,” he said. “I think that one had peanut butter, too.”

  “Peanut… butter,” I repeated, awestruck.

  I didn’t want to swallow. I wanted the taste to last forever.

  Higher and higher the skiff climbed, and the city below shrank more and more. We slipped past a thin layer of mist, and everything beneath us vanished in an instant.

  The sweetness in my mouth turned to ash.

  I gagged and spat, and the remnants of the cookie hit the skiff floor as black soot.

  “I told you to hurry,” Roan said. “We can take things from the island, but we can’t take anything from the memories.”

  I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. “Why do you call them that?” I asked. “Memories?”

  Roan smiled. “In due time,” he said. “We’ve still got a lot more to talk about first.”