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Chapter Text

“Hoist the anchors! Ready the sails!”

Sett’s voice bellows all over the deck from where he is stood by the helm. Even the toothless bastard up in the crow’s nest can hear him loud and clear.

The winds are in their favour and Sett wants to leave this poor excuse of a harbour town as fast as possible. All they needed was supplies, a fix of a pretty lady and some repairs on the ship’s hull. He never liked staying in one place for too long no matter how much his crew protested. Especially not a place as rotten as this one, where even the rats would rather starve.

Sett watches carefully as the sails are readied and untied, bucking in the wind. Shady as they are, his crew knows how to handle his ship. With both hands on the helm, he only trusts himself to steer them towards his destination.

His ship, lovingly named The Prowess, always makes for a slow start, but once she’s on her way she’s unstoppable and that’s what Sett likes about her. Within a few minutes, the smoke is all that remains visible from that nameless town.

“We should reach Targon bay within a week if we keep this course,” Ryo says from beside him, “And if the winds favour us.”

“I’m not worried,” Sett answers, “It’s too early for summer storms. As long as we keep from the Shuriman cliffs, we’ll be fine.”

Ryo mutters something that Sett chooses to ignore, no time for tales and superstitions. He holds out his palm for the compass and Ryo gives it to him wordlessly. Everyone here knows how the captain’s orders work.

“I trust you to keep course,” Sett continues, experimentally tilting the compass. He’s never been good with them. “You’re good with the maps, I do the planning, everything works out. Keep her steady, yeah? Gonna check on the crew.”

Sett strides down onto the deck. With the wind in the sails and a clear sky, not much is to be done and it shows. Most pirates are lazing about. He had the deck scrubbed when the ship got her check-up so that chore’s off the table. With what he has planned for them, he decides that they deserve a little rest and sunbathing. Sett likes to think he’s a reasonable captain.

Days on the ship follow a steady routine and with the weather this pristine, it sometimes gets a little boring, but Sett doesn’t support daydrinking. The jobs always remain the same; adjusting the sails, watching for other ships, cooking, taking care of the weaponry and sing each other songs while getting drunk.

 Sett partakes in it all, likes to keep the bond with his crew and be narrowly involved in it all. Partially because it’s fun, partially so he’s certain they’re not planning mutiny. He could have an entire fleet if he wanted to, but he’s not fond of the thought that things could happen without his supervision.

Trust issues, maybe, but you can trust a pirate to stab you in the back. It’s not like he hasn’t made a name of himself beyond the Ionian seas with only The Prowess.

His name is known from Ionia all the way to Bilgewater with Valoran not far behind, his name pronounced like one would speak of sea monsters. The half-beast captain, he enjoys the title. Likes to show his teeth.

He pats several crewmembers on their shoulders and tells them to keep up the work. Compliment ‘em, they like the acknowledgement.

After making his rounds, Sett returns to the helm and spreads out a map. Valoran and Ionia cut off, the map provides a detailed outline of the seas reaching from the Shadow Isles all the way to Mount Targon and uncharted waters further west.

Sett places his finger by mount Targon, the place so small compared to everything else on the map. Most pirates are more interested in the treasures of Shurima and Ixtal, and everyone finds home in Bilgewater.

“Hesitating?” Ryo questions as he observes Sett’s pensive frown. “We can change course.”

Sett shakes his head. “I sank my teeth into this when I first sailed. I’m not backing out now that we’re getting close.”

“We don’t even have the map yet.”

“And?” Sett counters, raising a brow. He’s one impulse short from snarling insults. The captain doesn’t like being doubted.

Ryo bows his head. “Nothing. We’ll keep course.”

Sett doesn’t relax his stance and takes over the helm. Cold winds blow past him and send chills running down his spine. He straightens his back and fixes his gaze on the vast horizon ahead of him.

As the night begins to settle and the sky remains quiet while the sea, Sett joins his crew on the deck while placing Ryo back by the helm. Lonely pirate, he never liked indulging in what made this life so fun.

He joins in on a game of gambling, wrestles a little around to entertain without letting anyone win. Takes his fair share of rum without feeling the effect.

“My dear crew,” he starts slowly, “We’ve been roaming aimlessly for a while, plundering and sailing without care about the consequences. We’ve made quite a name of ourselves, haven’t we? Ain’t no Noxian ship that dares come closer to Navori anymore.”

Noises from agreement come from the crew, a few nods, but nothing enthusiastic. They can tell there’s a but somewhere in this story. Before continuing, Sett takes a bottle of rum and takes a swig.

“For once, we have somewhat of a goal,” he continues, “How many of ya have heard of the Chyran Chalice?”

Louder voices now and Sett leans back as he lets them call bullshit, talking about children’s tales and  vastayan bullshittery.

“Those who drink from the chalice have one wish granted,” Sett explains as if he hasn’t heard any of their complaints. “Drink again, you’re dead. We all know the rhyme.”

“The Chyran tribes are extinct,” Lei’ma points out, who clearly feels she has authority as a Lhotlan vastayan. “The chalice is a myth told to please children. Bet your ma told it to you one times too many.”

Sett would argue she’s had one drink too many, but he doesn’t feel like arguing. He needs his crew to be agreeable and the sea is far too pleasant to be throwing any punches. “Guess your ma never told ya the full rhyme. Say, Zhao, you like to sing. How’d the verse go?”

“Though we find our home high up in the sky,” Zhao slurred once he’s swallowed his rum, “Our secrets are kept deep down by the Marai.”

Sett raises his bottle to Lei’ma before taking a swig.

“You’re looking for a mermaid,” Lei’ma deadpans, “Seriously? And we’re supposed to go along with your stupid fantasy?”

“Ain’t you just a ray of sunshine,” Sett countered with a roll of his eyes and a crack in his neck joints. “You work under my rules. If you wanna leave, you can place the gangplank and take a wager. We’re headed to Targon bay to catch a mermaid. If we get the chalice, everyone gets a wish.”

“And if it’s bullshit?”

“I’ll resign as captain.”

Now that had their attention. Mutiny, he swears they’re planning something. More than greed, most look surprised that Sett is so willing to bet all of his status and power on a myth. What can he say, he likes to keep people on their toes. He keeps his crew occupied and no one can guess what his next movement will be.

The corners of Sett’s curled up to expose his canines as he grinned. “So we have a deal?”

That deal did not involve the storm that chased them down all the way down to Targon. The sky looked like it was about to break open and drain the ocean on top of them, but Sett remained undeterred. “Prepare the canons!” he barks out, “Ready the nets! We’re not leaving without a marai!”

The commands elicit several exasperated groans and protests about the weather, asking whether they couldn’t just wait out the storm first. Sett isn’t having any of it. “I should have the lot of ya fed to a sea serpent and replace y’all with toddlers,” he scoffs, “Weathered sailors scared of a little rain? What a joke. Get to work or you’re bait.”

Barely started and they’re already complaining. Mutiny, he grumbles under his breath as he moves to prepare the canons, still the most muscle on the ship. The plan’s simple. Cause ruckus, scare off the marai and drive them into the bay. Block off the bay with nets and the ship and they’ll have their very own fish.

Or, well. Vastaya. Fortunately his mother isn’t here to scold him.

The rain better hold off a little or the canons and the fireworks aren’t going to be of much use. Sett tastes the fog on his tongue, feels the tremor of thunder long before it’s there. He lifts his gaze towards the looming clouds one last time before he throws an explosive over across the water, the detonation loud and shocking the surface. The ship rocks with the ripples it causes.

With the first explosion, a hail of cannonballs and fireworks beats the sky to breaking open and pouring down. Deafening noise, the ship rocking so fiercely several crewmates stumble and look for purchase. “Keep ‘em going!” Sett shouts above it all. All he focuses on is the dark shadows frantically moving down below as they searched for safety.

Targon bay held caves where they would be safe from the assault coming from above, caves Sett had sent men on dingies out to block off. The marai will be trapped in shallow waters and Sett will pick out whichever one he likes best.

Rain starts battering down onto the deck, a shower of bullets instantly drenching the crew to the bone. Howling wind picks up as if sea itself is protesting against his actions. “Ready the nets!” Sett roars over the spiel. Lightning cracks over the distant mountain and briefly tears the dark sky open with blinding light.

Sett smirks.

Storms will always pass, and this is just one of many, but he appreciates the challenge as he leaps back to the helm to settle The Prowess right by the mouth of the bay. The winds throw him off course and the sails fight the wind rather than working with it. Deafening thunder booms in his ears. Sett grits his teeth and keeps her steady, yelling out commands to the crew on deck to get on the main sail.

“Throw out the anchor!” he calls, “Make it quick, gods damn it!”

His gaze flicks wildly over the bay on his right, shadows hardly discernable with the heavy waves and unforgiving rains, but he sees them. Tails flick against the surface as the water becomes increasingly shallow.

The anchor is out and Sett doesn’t know just how fast he has to jump off the side of the ship and into the bay. He’s already drenched anyway, a little water’s not gonna hurt a sailor.

It’s freezing cold and reaches to his chest as is. The storm forces water to rock up against his face and he’s already had three mouthfuls before he’s even managed to move, but storm be damned. Sett wants a marai and he’s going to catch it himself.

He wades through the waves with all the force he can manage, cruelly reminded that the tempest is a force to be reckoned with, but Sett is nothing if not determined and motivated by a whole lot of spite.

Something unfamiliar flicks against his leg and he knows it’s not kelp. In the corner of his vision, a dark shadow just barely swimming away from him. It’s not moving further into the bay towards the mountain, but towards the beaches.

Sett can guess what this one’s doing. Creating a diversion, keep him occupied while the rest of the marai can flee. It’s a noble cause, and Sett was more than willing to take the bait if it got him what he wanted.

The water is barely reaching his thighs anymore and the shadow has a shape now as it zips closer and closer to the beach. Dark tail, slender figure slipping from his fingers every time, taking advantage of how the rain blinds him.

His legs start growing tired the longer this game of cat and mouse keeps going and Sett decides he’s done playing. He unsheathes his sword, a tool that he normally doesn’t use but now comes in handy, and cleaves through the water.

Blood seeps into the dark water as Sett pierces through the Marai’s tail and pins them to the sandbank beneath them. The flailing and writhing of the creature quickly comes to a halt as they realise they can’t fight this lest they want to die.

“Over here!” Sett yells out over the storm, asking for assistance from any crewmate that might hear. He needs a net. Even bleeding and above the surface, fish are slippery and deceivingly quick.

The marai beneath him is completely still now, not making even the slightest twitch and with the rain they’re nothing more than a dark blue shadow with fins. He would almost be worried about the wound if it wasn’t for the sword being so low it barely hurt their fluke.

As he looks around, the nearest dingy is still halfway across the bay. “Have to do everything myself,” he grumbled to himself as crouched down and reached into the water as if it wasn’t there, barely putting any effort into finding the marai’s waist before hoisting them up and out of the safety of the water.

The dark tail seemed endless and if it was possible to become even more wet, Sett definitely was now. Not much heavier than a filled barrel, Sett threw the Marai over his shoulder and discarded the sword into the water without care.

“Fucking hell,” Sett hissed as the Marai clawed into his back, clearly seeing a new chance to escape as they started to struggle and flail, fins smacking into Sett’s face.

He treaded through the waves and the storm with the fighting marai on his back, until the nearest crew reached him and he could lower the burden down into the boat. “Wrap ‘em up nice and secure,” Sett commands, “No getting away anymore.”

“Nicely done, cap’n,” Jungho says as he untangles the netting, “Didn’t think it’d work.”

The marai is hissing and clawing , and Sett hadn’t expected them to be this violent or threatening, always thinking other marine tribes were much more monstrous, but even in this weather Sett could make out the gleaming fangs. Sharper than his own, too.

“Make steady pace back to the ship,” Sett answers, “Don’t want our new guest getting away.”

Claws caught on Sett’s leg and cut deep, and Sett had a feeling it understood at least some Ionian.

The storm doesn’t die down, rocking both the ship and the dingy, making it nearly impossible to climb back up with the imprisoned marai on his back. “Fuck’s sake,” he grumbles, gripping the rope with his single free hand until his knuckles turn away. Blood seeps into his mouth from his hard he’s clenching his jaw and he only grits his teeth harder.

With a roar, he throws himself over the railing and lands with a groan, his knees taking the brunt of the impact. “Get us the hell out of here!”

“But the storm-” one member of his crew protests.

“There’s a tribe of very fucking pissed off marai down there,” Sett growled, “We don’t want them to siege us. Get her movin’. Now!”

His crew remains stunned in the rain, clearly staring at the writhing mass Sett has with him, but he gets them on their way with a loud snarl.

Sett himself makes his way far below deck, to a place on the ship no one ever comes. The brig is mostly used for storage, there’s no need for them to keep prisoners. When they attack, they don’t leave anyone alive. Hostages take extra resources, but this is different.

He already had the tub of water and restraints prepared, confident in his success. Strained, he lowers the marai into the water as gently as he can manage. “No games,” he growls, unstrapping his knife from his thigh to cut the nets.

The marai remains still throughout and Sett briefly wonders whether he’s intimidated the vastayan into submission, but that’s quickly disproven the moment all of the rope has been cut away and he lunges right for Sett’s throat.

“That won’t do,” Sett mutters as he takes the marai’s wrists in his hands, “Now I’m gonna have to chain you up. No fun, eh?”

All he can see in this darkness is the fury in the marai’s eyes that makes the storm outside seem like a light breeze. Still, Sett emerges victorious. Scratched up on both his arms, but the Marai eventually has his arms secured in thick, iron chains that allow little movement. His iridescent tail is swishing aggressively and Sett can still smell the blood. He’ll have someone look at that later.  The marai won’t be any use to him dead.

“I’ll come back for you once the storm has passed,” he explains as he rises, leaving the marai to look up at him. “Don’t look so mad. If you behave, we’ll release you again.”

The marai gives him nothing more than a glare, and Sett can’t blame him, really. His ma would kill him in more ways than this vastayan can if she were to discover what he’s currently up to.

As the ship tilts dangerously and nearly has Sett lose his footing, he decides he has to go back up deck as fast as he can, or his crew of idiots will crash the ship into the mountain. “No funny business,” he tells him sternly before turning away and sprinting up the stairs, leaving the Marai alone in the brig.

The storm doesn’t stifle its wailing.

Chapter Text

The storm lasts forever.

By the time the Prowess has reached calmer waters, half a day has passed. The jibs have blown off and the foremast is one strong gust away from splintering in half. Ryo tells him that was no normal storm, but Sett ignores him and tells him to make course for the nearest Shuriman harbour town to make recoveries.

The entire crew is exhausted. Sett is exhausted, but if they let their guard down now, they will end up at the bottom of the ocean with no one to remember their names.

He’s grateful his mother taught him a thing or two about sewing. His hands are too big and rough, but he manages to improvise new jibs from stored leftover cloth. It’s pathetic, but they’ll make do until they reach the next town.

Sett almost forgets about their guest. He doesn’t want to bring him above deck yet, far too exhausted to deadlift with dorsal fins slapping in his face and claws raking over his back.

“Haru,” he says, calling over the young man. “Come down with me to the brig. The marai’s a little injured.”

Picking up a healer imprisoned on a Noxian navy ship is perhaps the smartest thing Sett has ever done. The boy is young but his hands work magic. Magic that works incredibly well on vastaya, as Sett had discovered himself.

Sett guides the way down to the dark depths of the brig. He doesn’t think Haru’s ever come here before. “‘S not as haunted as it looks,” Sett mutters as he lights a lantern. The brig lays swallowed beneath the waves. No light reaches here.

“S’Pose I appreciate an adventure,” Haru answers, “That’s a lot of cobwebs.”

“You feel summoned to clean ‘em?”

Haru doesn’t answer that and Sett makes a mental note that he’ll keep it as a chore if anyone acts up.

The marai lies still in his small bath, head bowed with his dark hair sticking to his face like limp seaweed. His pale arms remain still, dead chained to the wall, and his tail is curled beneath himself.

He doesn’t move when Sett and Haru approach. “He’s a little feisty,” Sett explains, “I want to take him up to the deck, but his tail is injured. From when I- err, stabbed it.”

Haru looks hesitant, clearly fighting with his morals. The image must look familiar to him.

“I know it’s not right,” Sett continues, “I want to free him, but first he needs to recover.”

“Let’s see what I can do. Where is he injured?”

Sett crouches down by the tub, fixing his gaze on the merman’s face and trying to make eye contact. “Hey, don’t go sleeping on me,” he taunts, reaching out a hand to try and wake him up.

The marai turns his head away and hisses, the sudden movement making Sett jerk away his hand. “Alright, feisty.”

The marai just glares. Alright, if that’s how this is going to go. Sett sighs, cracking his knuckles. “Unfold your tail so we can tend to your injuries,” he continues, “One chance to cooperate or I’ll have to make you.”

Silence, then. The marai doesn’t move and neither does Sett. Haru’s breathing is only faint behind him. The ship continues rocking without notice.

Then, the slowest movement still has the water inside the tub sloshing around. Sett backs up, stepping away to give him space as he carefully unfolds his tail from beneath him and hangs his fluke over the edge.

It’s a small wound, but it still looks painful, dried blood dimming the sheen of his scales. “I’m sorry,” Sett mutters, but he doubts it seems genuine at all. A pirate’s word hardly has any value. “Haru’s gonna touch you, yeah? It might sting a little, but he’ll make you all better.”

In his mind, Sett has already played out five different scenarios for the ways his mother would kill him if she discovered this.

Haru steps forward and kneels beside Sett, placing one hand down onto the Marai’s tail. Sett can’t feel the magic, but he watches the way the wound seems to stitch itself back together until his skin is smooth and unharmed again. It’s slightly freaky. Sett’s had a bone healed that way once.

The marai flicks his tail experimentally before quickly folding it back into the tub, to safety.

Sett stands back up and dusts off his knees. “Thank you, Haru,” he says, “You’re dismissed. Get someone else down here and have ‘em bring some fish for our guest.”

Haru nods and scurries back up on the creaking stairs, leaving them alone together. Sett stares at the merman, curled in on himself. His arms must hurt being chained to the wall like that.

“I do feel bad, y’know,” he admits, “If you cooperate, I won’t have to hurt you. Hey, you got a name?”

The only response Sett receives is another pissed off glare. If looks could kill, he’d be fighting for his life right now.

He already knows getting the merman to actually eat will be an impossible feat and that unchaining him so he can eat by himself is not an option.

When Girin comes down with fish, Sett just tells him to place the bucket down and get back upstairs to rest and keep the ship steady. No one has to face the embarrassing waterparty he’s about to have.

One wrist freed and falling limp into the tub, followed by a second. He expects claws to go right for his throat any second now, but he doesn’t back off. Sett takes this unexpected truce to rip one of the chains right out from where it’s been hammered to the wall.

That does get the marai in action and within seconds after the sudden noise there are claws lodged in the flesh of his thigh.

“Fucking fuck, you sure know how to make a man bleed,” he swears, trying to pry them out without tearing himself open more.

He succeeds in getting one off and quickly wraps the chain around the thin wrist, holding tight so he won’t lodge the claws back in.

Having an arm chained up does enough to taunt the marai into dislodging the other to fight back. And he’s almost successful, but Sett grabs him just before the marai can pierce his neck.

As swiftly as his large hands can manage, he wraps the chains around his wrists to bind them together. Not enough to escape, but enough to have him feed himself. “Stop taking fights you won’t win,” Sett scolds as he places the bowl of fish in the water, watching it float steadily. “You should eat. Starvation is not an honourable death.”

It doesn’t surprise him when the only response he receives is a deathly glare. Sett mutters out a sorry before leaving again. He has a ship to take care of before he can convince the marai to tell him ancient vastayan secrets.

Days of endlessly wandering pass. Crew members complain of nausea, thirst, headaches that have them lose focus. They whine on about ropes slipping from their hands and spots on the deck that no amount of scrubbing to get rid of.

Sett feels it too. The dizziness, the haze. If they don’t dock soon, they’ll have to start preparing for funerals. Their supplies start running out way too quickly for comfort and the nets don’t bring in any fish. His own words about starvation ring through his head.

“Whatever it is you’re doing,” he hisses right as he makes his way down to the meddling merman in the brig, “Stop it. We’re sailing in circles and I know it’s because of your little siren songs.”

No one hears the merman sing but Sett. His voice is hidden in the whispering of the wind as it plays between the sails, muttering slurred verses to him at night when the waves are splashing up against the hull. He can’t ever make out the words, but it’s messing with his sanity.

The rest of the crew have been asking about progress on the chalice legend, have been asking to see the merman, but Sett refuses them and tells them to get to work. His irritation is enough of an answer, but he can’t help it. The marai’s singing is far from his mother’s lullabyes and keeps him awake.

The marai doesn’t answer with anything but a snarl that shows off his fangs. Sett snarls right back at him and stomps away. Fuck, they really need to dock. A tavern brawl would serve to take off the edge.

But all that remains in sight is the endless sea. Even Ryo can’t make sense of their location anymore.

At least the ocean is tame. Sett tells his crew to clock out early and rest for the night. There is nothing to be done and Sett himself is exhausted, locks the door of the captain’s cabin tightly and lays in his bed in complete, comfortable darkness.

Sleep takes him by surprise, but it can hardly be called resting. He dreams of the Marai’s hypnotising voice as it harmonises with the waves. For the first time, he can see him properly. Skin flawless, pale like moonlight and his eyes are dark and deep. The voice whispers to him, different this time, syllables he struggles to distinguish until the name Aphelios is clear to him.

Aphelios’s gentle expression contorts into pain and alarm, lips silently mouthing words. The voice is long gone, replaced by rattling chains and water splashing against a surface. Distant men’s voices and a scream.

Sett bolts awake.

His ears are ringing with the shrill noise still echoing through his skull. He doesn’t even put on a coat when he dashes out onto the deck to find everything calm and undisturbed, but Qilan isn’t on his post and Sett knows enough.

“Aphelios!” Sett bellows as he’s sprinting down the stairs to descend down into the brig. No one above deck could hear what was going on. He shouldn’t have trusted his crew.

Aphelios is backed into a corner, held up against the wall by strong arms and he’s struggling to balance on frail legs as he tries to guard himself from the pirates surrounding him. There’s a deep cut in his arm, the knife held tightly by Lei’ma as she cuts him open. Haru has a gun pointed at Aphelios’ head while Girin and Qilan hold him in place.

Sett does not freeze. He growls, grabbing Haru by his neck and tugging him off Aphelios, the gun clattering onto the floor. He takes Girin with the other hand and smashes them into each other, their bones cracking beneath the impact. Before they can respond, Sett is on the other two, taking Lei’ma by her wing and nearly tearing it out as he drags her away from Aphelios.

The marai himself falls to the floor, but Sett barely notices, diving in on the mutineers. He isn’t armed, his body exposed, but he doesn’t care, punching and kicking where he can with pure rage and adrenaline. Two of them have stopped moving already and there is blood staining the deck, mixing with spilled water.

He comes to his senses when his ears pick up on a strained whine behind him. Sett’s shoulders sag and he lowers his fists. In his anger, he had almost forgotten the reason why.

He takes the nearest rope he can find and sloppily ties the four mutineers to pillars by their wrists. It won’t do, but they’re too beat up to go anywhere for a long while. Sett would be happy to let them bleed to death.

“Aphelios,” he says as he crouches down beside him. “I’m sorry. I won’t hurt you.”

No glare, no claws. Aphelios turns towards him, eyes wide with fear.

“I’m gonna lift you up, yeah? Take you to my cabin, patch you up. You’re safe.”

Sett snakes an arm beneath Aphelios’ trembling legs and pulls him against his chest as he picks him up. No claws reach for his throat this time. Regret begins washing over him.

He leaves the mutineers to rot in their own blood as he gently carries Aphelios back up the stairs and onto the deck. It hasn’t gone past him that Aphelios has legs and is very much naked, that’s an issue for later.

All of the commotion has gone past the crew, the deck completely abandoned as if nothing happened. The wind is still, the ocean calm. Sett feels like he has to sneak around on his own ship to prevent disturbing anyone.

He makes it to his cabin, kicking the door shut with his foot. “There we go,” he mutters as he places Aphelios down onto his bed. Aphelios, who is still motionless and quiet, only following Sett’s movement with his bewildered gaze.

Sett turns his back to Aphelios and begins rummaging around for medical supplies. Some water and bandages are all he manages to scramble together, but it will have to do. “I’m sorry for what they did to you,” he says as he moves closer to him again. “May I?”

To his surprise, Aphelios nods and offers up his injured arm. Most of the blood has dried by now and Sett begins to clean it off as gently as he can manage. His hands were made for fighting.

Aphelios flinches when Sett begins cleaning the cut itself, prompting him to mutter out yet another apology. “They tried to hurt you ‘cause they wanted to get at me, probably knew it’d piss me off. It’s mutiny, and cowardly for hurting you instead of me,” he says, uncertain whether Aphelios understood well enough. “You can leave right now if you want. No clue if you’d find your way. I really need to get us to a harbour soon. We can sail you back to Targon after if you can’t just jump into the water now.”

Aphelios squeezes Sett’s wrist with little force and he figures that’s a reaction of understanding. Good enough. He wonders if Aphelios actually forgives him so easily or if he’s just waiting for the right moment. Maybe he just wants to survive.

“So, legs,” he chuckles once he has the cut all bandaged up. “Didn’t know that could happen. Let’s get something to cover you.”

Sett is very guilty of not wearing anything to cover his upper half, the perk being that he has all his tunics available to wear. He plucks one off the arm of a dining chair and tosses it towards Aphelios. “Cover yourself with that for now.”

Aphelios lifts up the tunic from the bottom up, sleeves nearly hanging on the floor. It occurs to Sett then that marai don’t wear clothing. “I’ll help, c’mere,” he chuckles, “Arms up! Yes, perfect.”

The tunic easily falls over Aphelios’s lithe frame. It’s entirely too big on him, but it does the job. Sett allows his gaze to glide over the boy in front of him, all furled up limbs and wide eyes staring right back at him. No show of claws and fangs now, he lost them when he dried out. Now, Aphelios looks like any human man. Horribly vulnerable.

“You will stay in my cabin. No more cages,” he says, “Bed’s yours. Go ahead and rest. I won’t hurt ya, promise.”

All Aphelios does is nod. He is probably in no comfortable mindset to rest, and neither is Sett. He turns his back towards the bed and takes a seat on one of his chairs, cushioned and all but by no means comfortable enough to sleep on. His ears twitch and move as he picks up on the crinkling of bedsheets behind him. 

He has nothing left to say, and Aphelios does not seem eager to talk unless it’s in his dreams. All he can give now is the promise that he’ll take him home and the knowledge that people who do not consent to being used for profit, should not be used. His crew, gamblers, other sailors, knew the risks of what they were doing.

And yet, Sett wants to follow the legend.

Chapter Text

Harsh sunlight shining directly onto his eyelids wakes Sett with ease and he wonders why he hadn’t closed the curtains last night. A horrible ache shoots through his spine with its stiff centre right at his neck, and with it, Sett remembers. He cranes his head to look behind himself despite the effort it takes and yes, there he is, sleeping soundly in a sea of blankets.

It’s early. Sett’s always been sensitive to the sunlight and he is certain his crew isn’t up yet. Perfect, that allows him to take control of the commotion before it has started. No one would ever go down onto the brig, but they will notice several people are missing.

His entire body aches and protests, but Sett still gets up, stretching his arms far above his head and cracking several bones. “Fuck, I’m old,” he grumbles to himself as he pours himself a glass of water. He gulps it down, quickly followed by a second, then proceeds to fill a bowl for washing off the dried blood on his fists.

Sett is by no means a quiet man. No matter how hard he tries, his presence will always disturb someone. His ears twitch as he picks up on the sounds of his sheets wrinkling and folding. He pretends not to notice, giving Aphelios the time to adjust and observe.

“Morning,” Sett says after several minutes of tense silence, wearing the friendliest smile he can manage. “Slept well?”

Aphelios gives him a small nod. He doesn’t look scared or shocked anymore, seemingly aware that Sett won’t hurt him. In fact, he looks comfortable swimming in the sheets, all curled up and cozy.

Sett seats himself on the chair he slept on and turns towards Aphelios. “I guess we haven’t had time to introduce ourselves. Name’s Sett, captain of the Prowess and treasure hunter. And you?”

Aphelios does not answer even though Sett knows he understands Ionian. He wonders why, thinks about the voice in his dreams, then something clicks.

“And you… don’t speak.”

Aphelios shakes his head, offering something of a smile in return.

“Well.” Sett hesitates, uncertain on what to say. “That’s fine. I know your name and you understand me. So. Here’s the plan, ya following?”

Aphelios sits up, taking the sheets with him as he props his back up against the headboard. He nods at Sett with his dark eyes expecting.

“Crew’s gonna be pissed off when they discover what’s happened. I’m gonna have to explain shit, prepare funerals,” he explains, suppressing a groan but just barely. “‘Tis all about you, though. They’re gonna want to see you even though we’re gonna take you home.”

Aphelios audibly sucks in his breath at the mention of having to expose himself to the crew. His shoulders tense and he draws the sheets up further before he seemingly nods his consent.

It feels bad.

“I’m sorry. The reason they attacked you is because they were too cowardly to attack the person they actually hated, me.” Sett sighs, lifting a hand to push his hair back and out of his face. “You shouldn’t have been here in the first place.”

Slowly, Aphelios raises a hand up to Sett’s face and Sett lets him, waiting. His hands are harmless now, human, and Aphelios must know he’s not in a position to fight.

What Sett doesn’t expect is for Aphelios to trace the tips of his fingers over the side of Sett’s ear and brush over the deep red fur. It’s his most prominent vastayan feature, and as Aphelios pulls away, the question is clear.

“You- You’re wondering why vastaya would hurt other vastaya,” Sett elaborates, “Is that it?”

A decisive nod, and eyes that are a little wider, Aphelios surprised that Sett understood what he meant from a simple touch and a gaze.

“I’m only half vastaya,” he answered, the story so normal to him it didn’t hurt to tell. “Human, vastaya, it’s all the same to me. I’ll exploit anyone for profit. Guess I’m not a good man.”

Aphelios raises an eyebrow at him, his unimpressed expression causing a chuckle to rise from Sett’s throat. “I know, I know. It’s nothing to be proud of. I don’t know what your society’s like, but up here on the surface, it’s all about money and power if you want to live.”

Aphelios gives him another bored look, then rolls his eyes at him and it leaves Sett stunned. No one dares to dismiss him, let alone insult him so blatantly without dirtying any words on him.

Sett has nothing to answer him with, words have never been his forte and Aphelios has done nothing to warrant a punch. “Alright,” he coughed, scratching the back of his neck. “Let’s get you dressed. Come on, get up.”

Aphelios stares at him, then gazes over towards the edge of the bed. Sett doesn’t pay him any mind until he hears a thump and looks back to find Aphelios crumpled between the bed and the wall.

“Oh, shit! I’m sorry!” He rushes over to help him back on his feet. Of course Aphelios doesn’t know how to walk, he’s never had legs until now. “C’mere, let me help you.”

He takes Aphelios by his shoulders and hoists him up without caution. Aphelios stumbles, barely able to place his feet down and when he manages, his legs tremble in instability like a newborn deer.

Aphelios grips Sett’s biceps and squeezes tightly as he makes eye contact, his fierce gaze enough of an indication that Sett won’t enjoy the consequences if he lets go. Very well, it’s tempting to taunt the fierce vastayan, but he will help him for now. It is the least he could do to honour his promise of Aphelios’ independence.

“Follow me,” he instructs, taking one step backwards and prompting Aphelios to walk forwards. He continues manoeuvring him around the room, Aphelios’ grip steadily loosening as he finds the balance to walk.

“I have to go clean up the mess,” he says, releasing Aphelios, who just barely catches himself by gripping the table. “Keep practicing without me, yeah?”

Aphelios glares daggers, but Sett pays him no further mind and walks out of the cabin with the door falling shut behind him. There’s hardly a soul on deck, save for someone in the crow’s nest and Ryo steering the helm.

“My turn,” Sett says, nudging him away, “We’re making course for the nearest harbour. I have a feeling it’ll go smoothly this time.”

“I heard noise last night,” Ryo comments as he steps aside. “Care to explain? West for the nearest harbour.”

“Wait til the crew’s awake and I’ll explain. And don’t go to the brig,” he warns, ever the image of subtlety. “I want you to monitor who is awake and where they are going. Rally everyone on main deck when the sun’s a bit higher.”

Ryo squints at him, waiting another moment before nodding in complacency. “You better know what you’re doing.”

“I know that you’re not doin’ what I asked,” Sett bites back, raising a lip to show his canines. An empty threat, but it gets Ryo on his feet quickly enough.

Sett has no idea how he is supposed to handle this fiasco with the mutiny and that wicked marai. It is far too diplomatic and requires delicate choices that Sett doesn’t know how to make. For as long as he can remember, he has been forced to resort to violence and now that’s all he knows how to do.

More and more members of his crew start flitting about on deck and, after a while, some start looking around themselves, noticing that several people are missing. Sett sighs, his grip on the helm firm as he starts overthinking his speech for the third time.

It takes another few minutes, but Ryo eventually successfully rallies everyone in a disorganised group muttering and swaying about on deck and there really is no stalling it any longer. Sett clears his throat, drawing attention to himself.

“Morning, everyone,” he starts with his voice raised, “I will get right to why we’re here. Last night, our marai was attacked by the very people you're currently missing”

No one looks particularly shocked, but some murmur, flit their gazes and shift on their footing left to right, left to right.

“Allow me to make something very clear,” he continues, “You have a problem with something, you come to me. Talk it out, fight it out, whatever works for ya. I’m no Noxian, I’m not forcing anyone into shit. What we’re not gonna do, is attack someone completely defenceless to get at me. That shit’s cowardly. You hate the boss, you swing at him . Anyone wanna try their luck?”

No one dares even to breathe, let alone make eye contact with Sett. It’s somewhat of a relief to know that they haven’t forgotten how Sett got where he is now. Intimidation still works best, so much for delicate diplomacy.

He nods, cracking his knuckles. “That’s what I thought. The mutineers are now dead and we will prepare a funeral later. I doubt they were alone in their… ideas. We will head to the nearest harbour. Those who want to leave, leave. No hard feelings. Those who stay, stay.”

“What of the marai?” someone pipes up, surprisingly bold. “And the chalice?”

“The marai is alive and in my cabin,” he said, “Haven’t decided what to do with ‘em. Feedback is welcome, since you lot are so eager to get involved. Any questions?”

No one dares to make a peep and Sett waves a hand dismissively. “Get to work. I’ll be on deck, open for questions and chatter,” he announces, “If not, I’ll be in my cabin to take care of our guest. Feel free to come disturb me.”

“Captain,” Ryo interrupts, “Can we see the marai?”

“Once I’ve taught him how to walk.”

With that, Sett returns to his cabin only to discover that such apparently lessons won’t be necessary. Aphelios is standing completely upright by Sett’s admittedly untouched bookshelf with a book in his hands and several others laid open on the table.

“Somewhat of a bookworm, eh?” Sett comments as he walks in. “All yours for the taking. How’s the walking going?”

Aphelios turns, nodding at Sett in greeting before his expression darkens at the mention of walking . Only then does Sett notice that he’s gripping onto one of the shelves with knuckles whitened and that that same grip is the only thing keeping him stable and upright.

“Work in progress. Gotcha.” He offers a hand, which Aphelios takes but not without a glare, and he vaguely notices just how cold Aphelios’s skin is. Trying his hardest to be gentle, he manoeuvres Aphelios to a chair and sits him down. “A drink? Some food perhaps?”

Aphelios answers him with a shake of his head followed by a rather intense gaze, head tilted just slightly in what Sett can only assume is a question. He wonders just how long Aphelios has gone without speech for his expressions and gestures to be so clear, but that is a question for another time. A time where that will be more appropriate. Aphelios still seems perfectly capable of killing him and Sett will not pick a battle he can’t win.

“Right.” Sett clears his throat. “So, crew’s mostly through with the plan. Make it to a harbour, then get you back to Targon. Problem’s still that they wanna see you. You’re quite the spectacle after all.”

He expects Aphelios to frantically shake his head and launch straight for his throat, but he offers resistance to Sett’s assumptions with ease. Instead, Aphelios gazes at him as if sizing him up and considering him. It takes longer than a few moments, and just as Sett’s about to make a snarky comment, Aphelios nods.

The corners of Sett’s lips curl up in a smirk. “Tomorrow, then. For now, you are due walking lessons and properly fitting clothes.”

Aphelios’s sharp inhale of air does not escape Sett’s ears.

Chapter Text

Gentle waves lap at Sett’s bare feet, the cold water spilling just over his toes. It’s a clear day. Not a cloud to mar the sky and only the distant sound of birds off on the hunt. Sett has no idea how he got to this beach. Last he remembers is clocking out for the remainder of the night, leaving the ship to Ryo’s capable hands.

Sett blinks his eyes a few times, ears twitching as he tries to familiarize himself with the bay. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen these cliffs before, or those high mountains blending in with the pale beach. 

When Sett lifts his gaze again, Aphelios is next to him like he’s been there the whole time, those sharp eyes focused on him. Sett startles, his breath hitching as he processes the man next to him. “Fuckin fuck, you scared me. How’d you get here?”

Aphelios is… Well, his face is recognisable enough, but that’s where the similarities ends. His torso flawlessly blends into a midnight blue tail, droplets gleaming in the afternoon sunlight like stars. His arms and chest are scattered with scales, and yeah, that’s a mermaid. Only his eyes are familiar. 

“Sett.”

And that’s the second scare of this strange situation. Aphelios is speaking, quietly, uncertainly, but he just spoke and Sett finds himself gaping in awe before finding his words.

“Ah, so he does have a voice,” he chuckles, “Perfect. Care to tell me where we are?”

Aphelios nods, sitting up on the sand, his tail fins absentmindedly floating in the sea. “This is a dream,” he reveals calmly, “I wish to speak to you properly in order to explain myself and my situation.”

Sett stares at him. Human Aphelios is pretty, but his natural marai body is ethereal, the stuff from his mother’s bedtime stories. The deep tenor of his voice spoke smooth and calm… yeah, this is a dream and it might turn into an embarrassing one. 

“Go ahead,” Sett says after swallowing. “I’m all ears, kinda hard to miss.”

The ghost of a smile flickers across Aphelios’s face. “I will start by telling you of the marai and our close relation to the lunari of mount targon. We, like them, venerate the moon’s celestial magic and it is the moon’s magic that keeps us safe from the threats of the deep.”

Sett has heard of the lunari before, hard to miss when stories are all to entertain you when you’re at sea for days. He’s met all kinds of people across harbour towns, but never Targonians. Only the tales that surrounded them. 

“The lunari have been at war with the solari for as long as we can remember, facing oppression and loss. In this, we have lost our contact with the aspect of the moon and by extension, our contact with the moon itself,” Aphelios continues to explain, the pace of his speaking slow and steady, like the sea during a stormless night. “I am a warrior of my tribe, sent with the task to uncover the aspect of the moon. I ask your assistance in return for the chalice you seek.”

“My assistance?” Sett raises an eyebrow at him. “I’m not about to get myself roped up in a war.”

“You don’t have to,” Aphelios answers quickly. “I meant, I need your help finding the aspect. You have a ship, and contacts. The marai are stuck beneath the waves and cannot look for her ourselves.”

Sett regards Aphelios, studying his expression and how sincere he is. “Before I make any decisions, why can’t you speak?”

The question catches Aphelios off guard, his face still ever expressive even now that he does speak. His eyes widen and his mouth opens and closes without answer. “I poison myself.”

“You what?”

“Wait, that didn’t sound right!” Aphelios stills, sucks in a breath and takes the time to think more carefully about his words now that he has to use speech. “I was born with my twin sister. Where I am a soldier, she has powerful magic abilities. During… events related to the conflicts, she pushed herself into the spirit realm. The only way to stay connected to her is through a poison so powerful it renders me unable to speak.” 

The best thing Sett has to say to that besides ‘that’s crazy’ and ‘wow I’m so sorry’ is, “What kind of poison?”

Aphelios stares at him. “What?”

“It connects you to your sister, right?” When Aphelios nods his confirmation, Sett continues, “If I could have some to connect me to my ma like that, I’d want to have it. I can’t, my ma’s normal, but you’ll run out of your poison, yes? If I know it, I can buy some. Or loot, whatever. Seems like we’ll be stuck for a while and missing your sister doesn’t sound like a good time.”

“It’s called noctum,” Aphelios answers, his voice oddly silent. “I will perhaps tell you more about it, but the night is slowly fading and we cannot sustain this dream much longer. Do you agree to our alliance, the chalice for the moon?”

“You got yourself a deal,” Sett answers, grinning as he offers up his hand to seal the alliance.

A wet webbed hand slots nicely into his own and shakes it, Aphelios managing a smile at him, the dark pools of his eyes the last thing Sett sees before the dream fades away around him. 

Sett opens his eyes again to dawn sunlight pouring into his cabin and that same gaze fixated on him. Aphelios is next to him, the bed large enough for two and Sett hadn’t thought twice about sharing. If he got cuddly, that would be Aphelios’s problem.

“Mornin’,” Sett groans, “That was real, right? I haven’t had one too many?”

Aphelios shakes his head, silent as the night again, and offers up his hand from beneath the sheets. 

Sett chuckles, shaking their hands again just to make sure that this is all real and he just got involved in freaky moon magic. Aphelios’s hands are human now, softer, smaller in Sett’s own even though Aphelios is by no means a small man. 

“Guess that explains why you haven’t killed me in my sleep, huh?” Sett laughs as he draws his hand back. “We’ll make port today, you’re coming into town with me. We’re gonna look for clues on your moon lady and your noctum.”

Aphelios’s alerted gaze perfectly emotes how he feels about going into a human town far, far from home. He slumps into the sheets, defeated.

“I know, I know. Humans suck,” Sett says as he hoists himself out of bed. “But hey, I’ll be there with ya! And you can practice with my crew beforehand. Speaking of, how’s the walking goin’?” 

That’s the second on the list of Aphelios’s least favourite things. An indignant huff sounds from somewhere deep beneath the sheets followed by sleepy eyes peeking out. Aphelios frowns at Sett to further drive his point home.

“Can’t be that bad, can it? Just yesterday you were standing upright!” 

Without warning or even giving Aphelios the chance to defend himself, Sett roughly tugs the blankets off and hoists Aphelios up to his feet without care. He manages to get somewhat of an indignant grunt out of Aphelios, leaving him scrambling for purchase as he’s trying not to collapse on his still unfamiliar legs. Long arms wind around Sett’s neck and blunt nails dig into his back in an attempt to find support in staying upright.

Sett rests his hands on Aphelios’s waist to help him steady. When Aphelios finally succeeds, he looks at Sett with silent rage. 

“Sorry,” Sett says, but his lopsided grin tells a different story. “You’re standing, eh? I say we’re making progress. You gonna keep hanging onto me like this?”

Aphelios’s eyes widen now that he realises the position that they’re in. Sett’s hands on his waist, his arms curled around Sett’s shoulders and bodies flush together. Immediately, Aphelios pushes him away and glares at him with an accusative finger jabbed at Sett’s chest. Now that Sett knows what Aphelios sounds like, he can imagine what kind of accusations would be thrown at him.

“Hey, say what you want,” he says, lifting his hands in defeat. “You’ve found your balance alright.”

Aphelios tilts his head a little before he realises that he isn’t wobbling and stumbling. He’s standing normally, humanly, and it results in a proud smile breaking on his face. 

“Attaboy,” Sett says, answering with a matching grin. “You’re getting there. D’you need help right now?”

Aphelios looks between Sett and down at his own legs before managing a few careful but otherwise perfect steps. He huffs, brow furrowed in concentration and Setf finds him oddly endearing.

“Good work,” he says, “I’m gonna go up to deck now. Get dressed in something fresh. I’ll be back in a bit to introduce you over breakfast, yeah?”

Aphelios gives Sett a curt nod and goes right back to walking careful but determined steps. It gives Sett the opportunity to go on deck and start greeting his crew, getting them ready for meeting Aphelios and for getting to the harbour.

Mostly for Aphelios, though. He’d like to keep casualties to a minimum and so Sett goes around on deck, chatting with his crewmates as he assists them with their tasks. There isn’t much Sett can tell them since he feels like Aphelios is mostly a stranger even though they’ve resorted to sharing the bed. 

The noctum and the aspect of the moon are none of his crew’s business, but he makes sure to share that Aphelios has agreed to help them find the Chalice. Sett also mentions that Aphelios does not speak, but understands everything when spoken to and shall not be spoken down to lest they want to risk getting their asses beat. 

“Aphelios is a respected guest on our ship now,” Sett mentions every single conversation, “He is no longer our captive.”

He has no idea how much time has passed by the time he’s made his rounds, but he figures Aphelios has had enough time to prepare himself. Mentally, at the very least. Or so Sett hopes. 

He barges back into his cabin where Aphelios is walking around like he’s been bipedal all his life. “Impressive,” Sett remarks with a short bout of applause. “Looks like you’re just about ready to meet my crew and get some fresh sea air. You comin’?”

Aphelios adjusts tunic and straightens it down before he nods, walking after Sett and into the sunlight.

Loud gasps and roaring louder than the wind itself reveal one crucial mistake Sett has made: he failed to mention that Aphelios has legs now.

Almost his entire crew had seen Aphelios in his true form the day he had been captured and that must have been what they were expecting. A marai, a merman from storybooks and drunken shanties alike. One word remains clear among the uproar and that is, unsurprisingly, legs .

“Calm down!” Sett roars, voice rising above the crowd. “You’ve never seen a man with legs before? How long have you lot been on sea for?”

“But captain! He’s s’posed to be a fuckin’ mermaid!”

“And he still is,” Sett counters, crossing his arms. “When marai dry out, they gain a human form. Weird vastaya magic, I dunno. But he’s great at walking!” 

Aphelios had been standing still, taking cover behind Sett’s broad shoulders. Probably because his previous encounter with Sett’s crew nearly resulted in his death. Now that he’s noticing that the crew is loud and consists of a lot of barking without any bite, he stands his ground out in the open. 

“So, now that you’re all used to seeing legs, you sodden virgins,” Sett continues with a shake of his head and the cracking of his knuckles. “Aphelios here will help us find the chalice. No fawning over his legs. He’s part of the crew now.”

Aphelios manages a cautious smile as he bows to the crowd stood in front of him. He waits a moment before rising, keeping that same innocent smile as his sharp gaze observes every person in front of him, no doubt assessing how much of a threat they are. 

“He gunna help us with chores?” Junhee remarks, crossing his arms.

“Yeah! Sounds fair!” Ying adds from further back in the crowd, and gains more murmurs and nods in agreement. 

Sett rolls his eyes. “If you’re willing to teach him. Patiently. For now, dismissed. Prepare for arrival in Razet.”

He half-expects Aphelios to follow him when he wanders up the stairs and over to the helm to take his place there, but Aphelios treks his own path and strolls around the main deck, no doubt curious about this new environment he’s found himself in. That, and he can keep trying out his legs. If anything, Sett is relieved Aphelios isn’t clinging to him like a scared child. Still, he’s glad he can keep an eye on things from this position. Mutiny tends to cause a few trust issues. 

No interventions end up having to be made, and Sett finds himself enjoying the best morning he’s had in a while. The sea is calm, the winds are blowing in their favour, and everyone is content to do their job and to do it well. Occasionally, he catches a glimpse of Aphelios walking around and seemingly helping out on deck.

It’s well past noon when the vague outline of a port materialises on the horizon. Right as Sett spots the distant towers, he hears a “Land ho!” coming up from the crow’s nest. Finally. Sett’s been dying for fresh meat and a good bottle of rum, and he’s certain the rest of the crew feels the same way. He’s not feeling like brothels, though, and he’s probably the only one with that sentiment.

“Before we do anything else, we need to get you some proper clothes.”

Aphelios averts his gaze from the high masts to look Sett up and down, making a vague gesture to Sett’s exposed chest and raising his eyebrows in question. 

“If you want to walk around half naked, be my guest,” he says with a shrug, “But this really isn’t the place for drawing unwanted attention. Especially with a pretty face. Let’s get going. I’ll take you sightseeing once you’re dressed.”

Aphelios coming into town with Sett hadn’t been a question. There’s no one else Sett trusts with him, and they need to find any intel on the aspect of the moon that they can get. It seemed they were on the same line on sticking together, Aphelios has been by Sett’s side the moment they set foot on dry land. 

None of Sett’s clothes fit Aphelios. He looks uncomfortable in them, out of place. If Sett’s mother had been closer, she would’ve made the most beautiful hanfus for him, customised to his height and size. She would dote on Aphelios.

Now Sett has to find whatever clothing merchant he can intimidate to get anything even slightly fitting on Aphelios and his slender figure. He looks nothing like anyone from these parts, it’s going to be the toughest job yet. 

Aphelios doesn’t seem to care about clothes at all. He’s fascinated by the town, constantly tripping over his own feet because his attention is everywhere except for his ability to walk. Every other minute hands grab at his bicep and nails dig into his skin and he knows it’s because Aphelios is enraptured by a fruit stand or a decorated street sign and forgot how to walk. 

Aphelios has so far pointed out the following things to him: 

• Several market stalls, including one selling fish that held Aphelios’s lingering gaze for just a moment longer than the lamb skewer stall and the glazed fruits stall.
• A stained glass window that held vision into a brothel. Sett kept the last part to himself.
• A woman in what Sett did admit was a beautifully bellowing dress that glistened in the sunlight like gold.
• Speaking of glistening, Sett had to drag Aphelios away from a stand selling a variety of very dangerous looking weapons.

It’s all strangely adorable, and Sett doesn’t rush Aphelios. He uses the moments where they stand still to make conversation and get any info from what’s been going in since they last docked. Invasions, attacks, Noxians, the usual business that comes with piracy and having to watch your back. He’s also been asking about herbalists in town, apothecaries or anyone with a knack for potions just to see if he can get noctum. He has a few leads, but first he’ll need Aphelios dressed in something a little more flattering.

“D’you have a favourite colour?” Sett asks, the store already in sight. “Mine’s red.”

Aphelios shrugs and gestures with his hands in a way that Sett doesn’t recognise. Probably realising Sett doesn’t understand, he sighs and points at his own eyes.

“Huh? Oh, let me take a closer look at you.” He leans in, squinting a little. “Oh, blue. Very nice.”

Not even a minute later, they barge into the tailor’s shop and Sett calls, “Your finest male clothing! In blue, if possible.”

A middle-aged man scrambles to his feet from behind his desk, shock marring his features. “Yes, good afternoon gentlemen. Male clothing, you say?”

“For him,” Sett clarifies, “D’you have anything nice that’ll fit him? Actually, just take all your wares out. I’ll have ‘em customised if they don’t fit.”

The tailor hurries to get to work and Sett leans back against a wall with a lazy grin tilting his lips. “We’ll be here for a while, at least until you have a full wardrobe.”

Aphelios crosses his arms at him, eyebrows raised in question. When Sett replies with a confused glance, Aphelios lightly taps at his own throat.

“Ah, the noctum? I got some leads,” Sett answers quickly, “But you need clothes first. Camouflaging as human first, scheming and moon ladies later.”

That seems to satisfy Aphelios. He nods, giving Sett somewhat of a smile. Aphelios never is very expressive and he can guess it’s precisely because of what he chose to poison himself with.

The tailor spends nearly ten minutes hurriedly placing every finished piece of clothing in the shop on the large counter and Sett has Aphelios sort through it all. He’s hesitant at first, but with Sett’s encouragement, he grows comfortable enough to be picky, frowning at certain shades of green and even cringing upon the coarseness of wool. 

The collection on the counter has slimmed significantly, but Sett is pleased Aphelios is cooperating with this at all. Blending in is what they’ll need to succeed, and Aphelios seems to have caught on to this. “Perfect,” he says with a clap of his hands. “Now you’ll have to try ‘em on. Chief, you got a private booth?”

Aphelios jolts in surprise so abruptly that it has him wobbling on his feet. He casts Sett an alarmed gaze and all Sett replies with is a cocked eyebrow. “What, you thought we were just gonna take it all? If you have to wear it, we gotta know if it fits.”

Aphelios sighs, glancing at the clothes in despair before once again giving his consent through a simple nod.

“Chief, dress him up in the stuff he picked,” Sett commands to the now slightly flushed tailor. “I’ll pay extra for the effort if you’re respectful. I’ve got enough gold to keep this place open for another year.”

Money always does the trick. Sett watches with sharp eyes as the tailor picks out something from the counter and guides Aphelios to a curtained booth. Sett waits and watches, ears twitching as he pays attention to anything inappropriate. He doesn’t want to beat anyone up, but well, if he has to…

Sett should give the tailor credit for his sales skills. With every piece of clothing, he shows Aphelios off, often using belts and pins to show where he would have to make adjustments to make the tunics and trousers fit perfectly. Before making his own judgement, Sett asks Aphelios how he feels and based on that the clothes either go on the left side of the counter, or on the right side of the counter.

The pile on the right side of the counter is growing faster than the left side and Sett is mildly concerned for his gold.

“I know the lot of you are pirates and don’t need fancy clothes,” the tailor starts while still in the booth with Aphelios. “But I couldn’t not try this on him. I’ve been waiting for a suitable model.”

“Don’t keep me- Oh, I see.”

The tailor ushers Aphelios out of the booth, a hand on his shoulder to guide him forward. Sett should have expected the tailor to pull such a trick on him and put Aphelios into something expensive and very attractive.

“Look at you, pretty boy,” Sett whistles appreciatively. The deep blue tunic fits perfectly on Aphelios’s frame, the collar cut deeply enough to tease with defined collarbones and a hint of his chest. Small gems bedazzle the edges of the sleeves. Together with Aphelios’s own pale skin and dark eyes, he looks like an ode to midnight. 

“D’you like it?” Sett asks, since Aphelios’s preferences are still more important than his own. To his relief, Aphelios rapidly nods his approval and even offers a smile, his hands seeking purchase on his black pants. He still looks out of place, but a little more content this time

“That would be it, then,” Sett declares with a clap of his hands. “Put him in whatever fit him best and tailor the rest to his size. We’ll pick them up tomorrow afternoon. Upfront payment?”

Sett tosses down a sack of gold without further hesitation. It’s a small price to pay for the way Aphelios flashes him the biggest smile he’s managed yet.