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“A pirate and a naval captain stranded on a leaking dinghy in the middle of nowhere.” Philza crows, “It sounds like a joke doesn’t it?” His tired chuckle is cut off by Techno weakly booting him in the side. The pirate grumbles and rubs his ribs, but there’s no true anger behind it. They’re both too tired for that.
They’ve long since given up on rowing. An entire day spent tirelessly heaving the oars back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, yet there’s been no sight of land. Hours of bailing and water still invades through the wood. The storm had ceased into nothingness, leaving them without even a breeze to sail on. Techno has never seen the waters so lifeless. It seems like a hopeless situation and— if the pirate doesn’t slit his throat first— fated to end in a slow, painful death. Techno shivers, and it’s not just from the cold.
The sea is unsettling. It’s too quiet. Too still. After the monstrous storm which wrecked the Anemoi, Techno knows he should feel grateful for the peace. He narrowly escaped that beast with his life (you owe Phil for that one, some traitorous part of his brain whispers). The ocean’s vastness usually sparks a flare of excitement in his heart. The promise of impossible adventure will call to him in the squawking of gulls and in the blow of the western wind. Sometimes if he tries hard enough, he can almost feel the breeze caressing his cheek and curling around the shell of his ear but, exhausted by the disastrous day, he’s now desperate for land. Gods, what he’d do for a drink in some seedy pub with his crew right now...
Techno swallows back a heavy lump in his throat. If he survives this perilous journey, there will be the opportunity to drink, but never with his crew again. They’re long gone. Soon to be mere bones at the bottom of the ocean.
Phil settles the oars down and lets his head fall back, too exhausted to row anymore. Even during the hours Techno had spent in a concussion-induced sleep, the pirate had continued rowing. He’d recited every adventure he’d ever been on but kept suspiciously tight-lipped about navigation. Neither of them had swiped up a compass during the destruction of the Anemoi. Does Philza know where they’re going? Doubt had taken root in Techno’s stomach hours ago and still thrives now.
“We should stop now and kip.” Phil says quietly, then slyly, “That’s if you’ve got tired enough for it in the last hour you were awake for.”
Techno glares daggers at him. He has half a mind to capsize the dinghy and set off again without Phil. In waters this cold, especially with the sun setting, it wouldn’t take long for him to freeze. It was what pirates deserve, isn’t it? Treacherous rats.
But Phil... Phil isn’t like other pirates, he’s discovered.
This admission, as tiny as it is, is enough to make anger burn hot in Techno’s chest. He feels the redness grow on his cheeks and neck. He is by far the warmest thing in this desolate sea.
He reigns back, steeling himself for he doesn’t trust the pirate not to kill him in a burst of rage and will in turn have to be the bigger person. The Navy taught him to have dignity. With his teeth gritted into a rictus, he spits out, “Would it not be a better idea to wait for the stars to come out? We could use them for navigation.” Unless you pirate types have some superstition against the stars? Techno’s heard rumours; he wouldn’t put it past them.
Phil shakes his head, wisps of blond falling out from his ragged green bandana.
“Nah, mate, we have time before the stars are visible. The borealis will be out for at least an hour.”
Techno already has a snarky remark ready on his tongue when he stops and blinks, asking, “Borealis?”
Phil smiles smugly but his tone is not mocking when he replies, “You never been this far up north, mate?”
Ah, that explains the chill. Have they drifted all the way into the Arctic Ocean? This new realisation somehow makes the cold air around him feel much more intense. It takes more than a bit of willpower to stop his teeth from chattering.
Phil goes on to explain the borealis to Techno. He does so in another tale (his seventh or eighth of the day) of a daring adventure into the iciest waters known to man. There’s something about icebergs and a strange mention of a squid, and, as he reaches the end of the story, Techno feels as if he’s on the verge of sleep again.
Phil notices and pauses, squinting at Techno with a deadpan expression, “My stories aren’t that boring, come on.”
Techno grumbles what sounds roughly like a counter to that claim. He would rather lie than admit the truth, even if the Navy taught him always to be honest.
“Keep goin’.” He mumbles, back slipping down against the edge of the dinghy. It’s growing darker now. Colder.
Something sparkles in Phil’s eyes as he recounts his only sighting of the mythical borealis, “As we exited the cave of ice, entering a large expanse of sea not unlike this, the sky was... I barely have the words to describe it.” He laughs airily, running a hand over his forehead and looking at Techno with eyes wide and wonder-filled, “Lights were dancing in the sky, shifting and swirling as if they were ribbons caught in a lazy tide. It was gorgeous. All these lights— ‘n’ the silence that fell across the ship! We were all in awe of this... this incredible sight. It felt too beautiful for a man to lay eyes on.”
Techno has never heard of such a thing. Lights dancing in the sky? Impossible. Pirates and their tall tales. Phil is a fool if he thinks he’ll believe something so absurd.
He tells Phil this, ignoring the heaviness of his tongue that no doubt makes his words sound slurred and stupid.
“You don’t believe me?” He says it like a challenge— as if he himself is powerful enough to point to the sky and have the mystic lights explode from his fingertip. A part of Techno would not be shocked by it. There’s something magical about Philza. Something otherworldly about the command he always seems to hold over every situation, even while in rags and chains.
But he’s still a pirate. His enchanting tales can’t dismiss that fact.
Lights in the sky? Maybe. Techno has seen red stars before.
But lights that dance in the sky? Not a chance.
So Techno shakes his head stubbornly (ignoring the darts of pain that shoot through his skull) and shuts his eyes.
“Wake me up when these so-called lights appear.” He says with finality, “Then I’ll believe it.”
Distantly, through the haze of sleep, he hears Phil breathe out a laugh. The dinghy rocks slightly, and then there is a new warmth against his shoulder. He opens one eye to peek, frowns, then shuts it again. He can wait until morning to complain about it. For now, he is far too tired to quarrel, and he can tell Phil is the same. So Techno accepts the pirate’s shoulder against his and, if their heads press together in the night, it’s Phil’s fault, not his.
It’s only fifteen minutes later that he is woken, but it feels as if he was asleep for far longer. The kind of grogginess only acquired after hours of peaceful dreaming clings to him. Groaning, Techno stretches his legs out and feels his foot collide with something.
Peeping out from through his eyelashes, Techno sees Phil sprawled out, leaning over the bow of the boat. What is he looking at? Whatever it is, he is so invested that he didn’t register Techno’s boot hitting his rear.
That’s when Techno notices it. The lights dancing in the sky.
He presses himself flat against the back of the boat, clinging at the sides with a vice-like grip. The eerie silence of the ocean is no more, not when his heart is pounding rapidly. With each frantic breath, puffs of white arctic air leave his lips.
How… how is this possible? Phil was right: the lights are like ribbons, sheer ribbons of emerald green and lilac swishing loosely in the night sky, but where is the master who waves them? If it wasn’t so dark, would he see strings pulling the ribbons to and fro? Or is this something magical, as otherworldly as the man gazing up at it from the other end of the boat?
Hesitantly, Techno crawls to the other end of the dinghy. Phil scoots over but, in a space as small as this, their elbows still knock together. Techno is too preoccupied to care.
He fears that if he speaks, the lights will freeze and flee like a scared animal, but they are brave, ancient things that do not even flinch when he whispers, “They’re real?”
Phil chuckles, “Yeah, mate. Pretty, aren’t they?”
Pretty doesn't even begin to describe the sheer majesty and sublimity of the borealis. It shifts and shines, much like the sea on a summer’s day, but the green and purple remind him of the darker depths of the ocean. The lights dance like a temptress, calling out to him with the angelic voice of a siren, caressing his soul with gentle hands mapped with past adventures and lifetimes.
Techno feels like he is gazing at his own soul. A gust of north wind meets him, as frigid as the waters they bob on. He gasps and scrunches his face up, having never felt a current of air so cold. But it’s incredible. When he opens his eyes again, he feels like he’s seeing the world anew.
When Techno looks at Phil, he sees the borealis reflected in the pools of his eyes. He rather suits the rich greens and purples. And when Phil glances at him with those borealis blues, he gives him a fond smile as if they were not fated enemies, but were friends.
“You never forget your first time seeing the Aurora Borealis.” He says, “The Northern Lights.”
Techno hopes he is right. This journey has been nothing but desperate and depressing and daunting but this— he never wants to forget the way he feels in this moment.
His hatred having melted away like ice, he whispers, “Do you feel it too? It’s not just beautiful… it’s like I’m looking at myself. My soul in its purest form. Somethin’ greater than I could ever be. The promise of another life, perhaps.”
Phil rests his forearm on the side of the dinghy and muses, “How poetic of you, Captain. But could you imagine any other life besides this?”
“Not without the ocean.”
“What about a life without your sword? A life of promised piousness and peace.”
“If I could find something else to be content in.”
“What about the Navy?”
Techno’s eyes narrow. A test? But the siren’s song is strong, and rebellion purrs happily in his chest when he replies with a playful look.
Phil throws his head back with a laugh. It rings out like a bell across the silent sea. When he has recovers he asks, “What would you do? Y’know, if you could do it differently?”
Techno shifts his gaze back to the borealis. The gentle turning of colours is as relaxing as watching the tide ebb on a sandy beach. His thoughts begin to flow just as easily as water from the mountainside. He’s never known a life without the rigid rule of the Navy, but, surprisingly, the thought of another path is pleasant. The concussion must have knocked a few screws out of place.
If he could do it differently? Every morning he would step out onto the deck of a gorgeous cedar-built Brigantine and take a deep inhalation of the salty sea air. He’d taste adventure on his tongue and follow the compass of his heart wherever it led him. He’d sail wherever he liked, not caring for which protocols he’d broken or which territory he was intruding on. He’d be free.
He’s sure that he owes his honesty to his dazed mind and the hypnotic nature of the lights.
Phil is looking at him expectantly, but Techno shakes his head, unwilling to share. Midnight musings like these are private. Such thoughts make him vulnerable. Techno feels like the pirate has already stolen a piece of his heart; what’s left must be protected.
Lolling onto his back, Techno stares up at the sky. Their guiding stars are hidden by the borealis but he can’t bring himself to care. He wishes the sky always looked like this. Maybe it does to the creatures that are privileged enough to share some of its magic, but, to Techno, the greens and purples are beginning to fade like ink in water.
Phil’s voice cuts through the cold air quickly, as if he’s been holding in the thought like an anticipated breath. He asks, “Do you think— maybe in another lifetime, another story, whatever— do you think we could’ve been friends?”
Techno freezes. Suddenly he feels very awake.
Could he ever be friends with this man, or are they to be enemies in every reality? Are they destined to meet on opposite ends of every battlefield? Are they always to charge at each other, teeth gritted into bloodthirsty smiles, their swords connected through a ribbon of fate?
Maybe. Who could say for certain? After witnessing the Aurora Borealis, a part of him believes that anything is possible.
But the other realities don't matter, for they are not in another reality: this is their story and this is how it is written. Enemies chasing each other like cat and mouse until Techno catches him in chains again— and he will catch him.
Casting a final look to the heavens, Techno’s heart swells with emotion. It really is beautiful. He feels a world of pain and sleepy fog hangs solemnly over his mind, but he knows one thing for certain: “We will never be friends, Captain Philza.”
And with that, he falls asleep, entering his dreams and leaving behind the chuckling pirate.
The clarity felt in the presence of the borealis doesn’t return to Techno for the rest of their journey. He slips in and out of consciousness, using what precious time he is awake to reaffirm his contempt for piracy and, by proxy, Phil.
But surely the Angel of Death can’t have returned the feeling of repugnance— otherwise, why would he provide a tavern with enough coin to settle his care? That small act of kindness sparks something in Techno. How dare he? He'd be less offended if Phil had thrown his limp form into the ocean before speeding off to the shore alone.
He knows this for certain: if he ever crosses paths with Captain Philza again, Techno will be ready to remind him that their enmity is written in the stars. Nothing— not even another dazzling borealis— will cloud that truth again.