Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The waves lap against the hull of the small ship, their steady tempo a lulling sort of melody. The near full moon hangs bright in the cloudless sky, casting a silvery light upon the still waters. It would have been a beautiful night, were it not meant to be his last.

“Hurry up,” a rough whisper sounds behind him, “Let’s get this over and done with, and get out of here. I do not like these waters.” A strange statement given how calm those waters are, with no signs of a storm coming on the horizon. Just as he thinks that, the soft sound of singing, dances towards them on a gentle breeze, an eerily beautiful melody, too soft to make out the lyrics.

“Bloody hell, it’s one of those Witches,” the speaker’s whisper has become hoarse with fear, “We should have never come here. There are plenty of other places in the ocean where we could have dropped the brat in unseen, why did we have to come here?”

“Shut up. Just get him into the water, then we can leave,” a second voice mutters, “The duke wanted to be sure that his body is never found, and this is the surest place for that. None of the shipping lanes pass through here and there are no nearby lands for the body to wash ashore on. Here, the sea keeps whatever is thrown to Her.”

“Perhaps, if you are lucky, lad, the Witches from Morris’ stories are real and one will add you to her collection,” the voice sneers into Kishiar’s ear as rough hands grab him and hoist him over the railing, “They say that the Witches like to collect pretty things, after all.”

The drop to the cold waters below is surprisingly quick, the shock knocking the breath from his lungs. The weights chained to his feet quickly drag him below the surface, into the black depths of the ocean. Despite the futility, he finds himself struggling against his bonds, against the ocean itself, lungs screaming for air. Would his death really be a reflection of his life, helplessly dragged towards a cold and inevitable end?

Where had it all gone wrong? Ever since his parents’ sudden deaths, everything had fallen into a downward spiral, as if the jackals had been waiting to pounce from the sidelines. Allies had died, disappeared or abandoned the two royal siblings in short succession, and in the end, even his brother had left him. Vanished one night, to be replaced by that thing the dukes had crowned as Emperor. He hadn’t had the chance to find out what wicked sorcery had been cast on his brother, but he had known it, the second he’d lain his eyes on the creature that now wore the crown. He still remembers the heart-sinking dread he’d felt when he realized that his last remaining family was gone, the cold eyes staring at him so different from the beloved brother he had once known. Perhaps he should have better hidden his expression, the fact that he knew, but in the end, it probably hadn’t mattered. Now that they had their puppet, the existence of the last living heir was nothing, but a threat to the dukes’ power, a threat that needed to be eliminated while he was still a powerless thirteen-year-old. The orders for his banishment had followed not long afterwards, based on trumped up charges for a crime he hadn’t even committed. And that banishment was used as an opportunity to make him disappear permanently.

His vision is darkening and his movements slow. The urge to take a breath is unbearable, but there is no air down here to breathe.

I don’t want to die…

As his vision blacks out completely, he thinks he sees a face in the darkness, violet eyes watching him. As his consciousness fades, Kishiar swears that he suddenly changes directions, his body moving upwards against the pulling weights, but that is probably just an illusion of his dying mind, for what other explanation could there be…?

He wakes with a gasp, sitting up quickly, before collapsing again in a fit of coughing. As his coughing subsides, he hears a voice that sounds half-worried, half-amused, “Aye, take it easy, lad. Don’t go undoing all the hard work we did, dredging you up from Thalassa’s embrace.”

Kishiar turns to find an old man sitting next to him, a fisherman judging by his attire and the net he’s mending. They’re in a rough, single-roomed wooden hut, traces of the setting sun seeping through the shuttered window. A small fire burns in the hearth and he can smell the remains of a fish stew in the pot sitting over it. He’s still wearing the clothes he had on when he was tossed overboard, though surprisingly, they’re bone-dry. Despite the old man’s words, a part of him wonders if drowning was only a strange nightmare, but no, his wrists are both bandaged where the skin had torn in his struggle against the ropes that had tied them.

“Where…?” Kishiar’s voice is hoarse, unrecognizable and he can’t manage more than that one word.

“Hmm? Ah, we’re on an island; it‘s small enough, I don’t think it has a name. Probably wouldn’t recognize it, if it did. You’re lucky my grandson spotted you when he did; be sure to thank him when he wakes. Poor little thing tuckered himself out, rescuing you. He did most of the work; I just carried you in from the beach and bandaged your wrists.”

The old man smiles fondly at something just beyond Kishiar, and he realizes that there’s another, younger boy in the bed beside him, curled up and sound asleep despite all of the noise they’ve been making. He’s small, maybe five at most, making his grandfather’s claim odd. The old man notices his confusion and his smile broadens.

“My little Yuder is a lot stronger than he looks,” the old man winks at him, “A lot stronger than this old man for sure. Even in my younger days, there is no way I could have retrieved you from those deep waters. Ah, and if you’re worried about those men that put you there, you needn’t be. The Witches made short work of their boat; I know because they brought their supplies to this little island in case there was anything here we could use. Witches are not fond of trespassers in general, but they’re also a good judge of character. Though it doesn’t take a Witch’s sense to judge the character of men who would send a lad your age to sleep with the fishes.”

Kishiar is silent for a moment, considering the old man’s words. While he hadn’t wished death upon those men – hadn’t mustered the energy to hate men who were merely pawns of those who had been the ones to destroy his family – it is difficult to feel sympathy towards those who had tried to kill him for money.

“My name is Melach, by the way. You can call me Mel. And what might I call you, lad?”

“… Akit. You can call me Akit.” Kishiar almost answers with his real name, but catches himself in time. It’s safer for both of them if he goes by his secret nickname; one less clue for his enemies to track him by and learn that he still lives.

The quirk in Mel’s smile tells him that the old man caught his brief hesitation, and likely the reason behind it, “Alright, ‘Akit’. I don’t know what your story is, but you can relax for now. My grandson and I are the only ones who live on this island and the only ones to visit here, are the Witches. Whoever’s hunting you, will not make it to these shores.”

The only ones? Where exactly are they? Seeing the confusion on Kishiar’s face, Mel smiles again, “You’re wondering how the two of us came to live on such a remote island, aren’t you?” When Kishiar nods, Mel continues, “You might be too young to remember, but have you heard of the Silverthorn?”

Kishiar nods again. The Silverthorn, once the pride of the Empire, was a ship that vanished over a decade ago, while on a mission to recover a legendary artefact. The ship and crew had never been found, leaving no one the wiser as to their fate. While many believed they had fallen victim to either storms or pirates, there were others who whispered that it was the artefact itself that had done them in.

“Are you saying…?”

“Aye, I was the quartermaster on that ship. My only son had recently joined the crew as a cabin boy, as well. When we set off on our journey, the captain withheld the purpose of our mission, only telling us that we would be making an important delivery. The journey there was surprisingly smooth, perfect sailing weather, without a single mishap along the way. Nor did we have any trouble locating the artefact itself and bringing it onboard. The real trouble began once we set sail back to the Empire.

“As soon as we tried to leave the island, the winds suddenly died and we were left stranded in the middle of the water. It was almost eerie how quiet the sea was, the water becoming smooth as glass, with nary a ripple. At first, we just planned to wait it out; such things happen after all, and none of us suspected anything. Then the days passed, and still, no wind. We weren’t in danger yet, but some of the supplies were beginning to run low, especially potable water. Some of us suggested heading back to the island in the rowboats to collect supplies; it was close enough that we could still see the dots of the trees on the horizon. Or that we tow the ship back with those rowboats and wait until the weather turned more favourable. But the captain refused both suggestions, quite aggressively the second time it was brought up. He was absolutely insistent that we could not set foot on that island again, and would not explain why. Instead, he locked himself in his cabin with the artefact, and refused to see reason. His odd behaviour and the dwindling supplies riled the crew, and it was not long before they were banging on his door. When he did not respond, they broke the door down, and found him with the box open, staring at the artefact.

“I cannot tell you if there was a power with the artefact that altered their minds, or if it was simply a combination of greed, anger and frustration that destroyed all reason, but a fight broke out at that point, between the captain and every member of the crew. Perhaps, I may even have joined them if I was alone, but I had my son to worry about, and the two of us hid while the rest fought it out. They tore the ship apart, even before the Witches did, angered by the bloodshed and the artefact that the captain somehow managed to activate. Of the near one hundred souls aboard, only my son and I were able to catch hold of a broken piece of the ship’s hull, which carried us back to the island. Some of the ship’s supplies also washed up alongside us, a stroke of fortune, or more likely, the Witches’ mercy. The rest sank to the bottom of the ocean.

“We built this hut together, my son and I. For a short time, we hoped to be rescued, but we quickly made peace with the fact that we’d never leave this island. No one ever came this way, either to continue the captain’s quest, or for any other reason. The island provided all of our basic needs and we had no one who would be waiting for us back home. My wife had passed three years before the start of that voyage, and we had no other family who would mourn our departure.

“My son grew into a fine young man, and when he did, he fell in love with one of the Witches who’d visit our island from time to time. Yuder was the fruit of that love, a child who inherited his mother’s powers and his father’s ability to walk on land. A few years later, when my son decided to join his wife living beneath the waves, they left Yuder here, both so that I wouldn’t be left alone and so he could choose, as an adult, whether he wanted to live on land or in the sea. You’re the first living human to make it to this island in all of that time.”

Kishiar digests this story. Under normal circumstances, he would have been fascinated by the tale, asking all sorts of questions about the artefact, the island itself, and of course, the Witches that dominated so many of the mariners’ myths. But at the moment, there is only one aspect that draws his focus, “…so there’s no way off this island?”

“Afraid not, not unless someone else miraculously finds this island and the Witches allow them to pass. Do you have family waiting for you, Akit?”

“… no,” the image of his brother’s cold gaze haunts his memory and Kishiar closes his eyes, “Not anymore.”

Mel gives him a pitying look and nods, as if not entirely surprised by his answer, “I won’t pretend to know your story, lad, but if that’s the case and there are others like those men who are after you, it might be just as well. We have plenty of food, and I certainly wouldn’t say no to the extra company. Yuder could use someone more than this old man to talk to.”

Kishiar nods in response; the old man's reasoning is sound, but a homesick feeling wells up inside him nonetheless. There's no way to return to that home, even if there was a way off this island. Even knowing that, doesn't make him feel any easier.

Chapter Text

A light sea breeze greets him as he exits the fisherman’s cabin, ruffling his hair gently as he squints towards the sun. He hasn’t fully recovered from inhaling the ocean’s waters yet, but he feels well enough to explore the small island that will now be his home. The cabin is built at the edge of a grove of trees bearing breadfruit, coconuts and papayas, overlooking a sandy beach that borders turquoise waters. The island isn’t large, but it looks like it could comfortably support well over a dozen people. With a soft sigh, Kishiar crouches down and scoops up a handful of sand, watching the grains trickle between his fingers. It still feels like a dream, surviving and now facing the prospects of such a simple life, far from the treacherous ecosystem of the palace. The thought is not unappealing, but rather, so far from his previous reality, that it’s hard to grasp.

He glances towards the beach again and this time spots the fisherman’s grandson, crouched near the water, playing with something. As he draws closer, he notices that he’s shaking a large seashell in his hands, which makes a low rattling noise with every movement.

“What are you doing?” Kishiar asks, curiously, once he’s close enough. He can see now that the shell is filled with tiny blue pebbles and a line has been drawn in the sand by the boy’s feet, with the words ‘Yes’ and ‘No’ written on either side.

“Reading the future,” Yuder replies, practically. He shakes the shell before scattering the pebbles on the sand before him. Most of them fall on the ‘Yes’ side of the line, and he scoops them all up again. “You ask a question and the side that most of the stones fall on, is the most likely answer. The more stones there are on that the side, the more likely it will be.” He glances up at Kishiar, “Do you want to play?”

Kishiar crouches down beside him and studies the crude board. “So I just ask a question? Like, will it rain tomorrow?”

Yuder frowns at him, his expression almost offended, “No, silly. I can answer that without the stones. It has to be something that isn’t obvious.”

Kishiar gives a chuckle of amusement at the boy’s answer, “Alright, then give me a moment to think.”

Yuder studies the stones in his hand and gives them a little shake, “Why don’t you ask the question that’s really bothering you?”

Kishiar’s chuckle dies, “What do you mean?”

“About your brother,” Yuder replies, softly.

His gaze is so earnest, Kishiar turns away. He doesn’t bother wondering how Yuder already knows about his brother, though he hadn’t mentioned him to either of his rescuers. Eventually, he manages, voice thick with emotion, “Can you tell me then? If there’s anything left of my brother? Is he still alive?”

Yuder shakes the shell of stones and dumps them over the board. Even though he drops them directly over the middle line, all but three of the stones fall on ‘Yes’. Kishiar’s breathe catches.

“Can I save him?”

Yuder drops the stones again and this time, they split exactly even over the line. Yuder blinks in surprise.

“Huh. They’ve never been this uncertain before.”

Kishiar balls a fist by his side. Uncertain or not, it isn’t a no, which meant there is still a chance. But for that chance to be realized…

“Is there a way to leave this island?”

“Yes,” Yuder replies, not bothering to throw the stones. Kishiar blinks in surprise. The young boy’s nonchalant response is in complete contrast to his grandfather’s.

“Really? How?” How are you so certain? And if it exists, why did your grandfather insist there is no way?

Yuder tilts his head at him, “There’s a ship two days from here. They’re looking for you, but they’ll never find the island on their own. Should I ask Mother to guide them here?”

Kishiar holds his breath. “Do you know who… do you know the ship’s name?”

Yuder’s eyes become slightly unfocused as he recalls, “The Wayfarer.”

Admiral Bodelli’s ship… The admiral was one of his parents’ supporters, one who had disappeared shortly before his brother had been turned into the dukes’ puppet. He had thought that he had either abandoned them or been made to disappear, but it seems that that isn’t the case…

“Yes, please do.”

Yuder nods and looks towards the water. He raises his fingers to his mouth as if he is going to whistle, but the sound he emits is closer to the eerie music he'd heard the night he nearly drowned. The notes fade away as he lowers his hand and he tilts his head to the side as if listening to something, though Kishiar can hear nothing, but the soft lap of waves. Finally, the younger boy stands up, leaving his shell of stones on the sand.

"Mother is coming, but it will take her awhile to reach the island, so we'll have to wait," Yuder takes Kishiar's hand and looks up at the older boy, "I want a papaya. Help me pick one."

Kishiar grins at the younger boy's bossy tone, as if issuing an order, rather than a request, though there is no trace of arrogance in his voice. Well, it is a very small price for all the assistance he's received. "Of course. I'll pick as many as you like," Kishair replies, leading the way to the trees.

Yuder frowns at him, "I only want one. We have to save the rest for later, you know."

Kishiar laughs, "So young, and already so practical."

Yuder is speaking to a figure in the water, the young boy crouched down so that his face is level with them. Although Kishiar hangs back, giving the pair privacy, he is close enough to see how beautiful the figure is… and how similar she looks to what he assumes is her son. The stories describing the Sea Witches' appearance, ranged from hideous monsters that are only vaguely humanoid, to ethereal beauties capable of luring many a sailor to the depths with a smile alone. He’d known the former couldn’t be true, given Yuder’s appearance but, it seems that conversely, the latter is not much of an exaggeration.

Perfect features in pale pearl-like skin framed by cascading waves of blue-green hair, so dark that it would be mistaken for black, were it not for the sheen that the sunlight casts upon it. Familiar dark violet eyes that unlike her son’s human shaped ones, spread beyond her irises, swallowing the sclera as well. Short, but sharp nails that look capable of disembowelling a fish in a single swipe. The Witch smiles fondly at her son, the billowing sleeve of her shirt flicking lightly in the breeze as she raises her hand to stroke his hair. It seems a rather impractical garment to wear under the water, but Kishiar supposes such things are of no issue to the Sea Witches. Especially since the fabric appears bone dry despite the fact that the Witch had obviously just surfaced from the water.

The Sea Witch says something else to her son, then dives back under the water, disappearing from sight.

Two days later, the sails of a ship appear on the horizon.

“Admiral, look!”

Admiral Gino Bodelli takes the spyglass from his subordinate and trains it on the small island towards which the man had been pointing. When he spots the distant figure waving towards them besides the signal fire, the tension drains from his shoulders. Despite his determination, he had truly expected to find only confirmation of the worst news… if they found anything at all. But it seems as though the gods had not fully abandoned them yet.

“Bring the ship as close to the shores of that island as you can,” he orders the helmsman, “And prepare a boat to go ashore. We have a most important guest to bring aboard.”

The young prince’s clothes have clearly seen better days, while his skin is marred by an assortment of small bruises, scrapes and the beginnings of sunburn, but rarely had he been a more welcome sight to the admiral’s eyes.

“Admiral, it is good to see you again.”

“As it is to see you, your Highness. Please forgive my tardiness.”

There are many questions he wants to ask, such as how the young prince managed to survive, but that can wait until later. Although... even though he doesn't see any signs of civilization, both of the prince's wrists are bandaged neatly, suggesting they had been tied by someone else.

"Is there anyone else on this island, your Highness?"

Kishiar glances back towards the grove of trees and the small hut he knows is on the other side. Despite his claim that it was only the lack of a way off the island that kept him here, Mel had shown no interest in leaving when Kishiar told him of the ship and suggested that they come with him. And Yuder wanted to stay with his grandfather. 

"No, there's no one." His fist closes around the small blue stone hidden in his pocket that Yuder had given him when he had said goodbye and thanked his saviours once more.

"This stone represents your brother's life. As long as a light still glows within its depths, then you still have a chance to save him."