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Gillion lies on the table still, eyes half-lidded as he starts to make out the ceiling. The room around him is quiet, but not eerily so—rather, the whistle of wind rustles through trees, feathers of birds perched on nearby ledges flutter quietly. He can almost hear the sea in the distance. There’s an exhaustion still that aches at his chest, something heavy weighing down all his arms and legs and head, the coral crowing him lying heavy on his skull.
Chip sits nearby, half-dozing himself. He taps the edge of the bar with a bottle in one hand and a dagger in the other, a bit of alcohol spilling over and trickling down his fingers. He glances over at Gillion, watching his chest rise and fall with a heavy look about him.
Gillion’s eyes flicker open, once, then twice—his shoulders lift from the table slightly as he props himself up on his elbows, inhaling softly before letting out a slow breath.
“Hey, Chip,” he manages to muster, smiling in a way that barely reaches his eyes. His voice barely reaches above a whisper. There’s a quiet glow there, a spark of his normal self draped in a layer of exhaustion that a few short hours can’t fix.
Chip brightens, “Hey! Good, uh, morning. Doin’ okay?”
Gillion laughs as Chip stands, dragging a seat from another table to sit closer to him. Chip perches beside him, abandoning his bottle at the bar he grins, asking, “Sweet dreams?”
“Eh, better than they’ve been,” he quips back, tapping the wood with his fingers. “Bright and cheery as ever.”
There’s a silence that falls—not an awkward one, mind you, just the sort that settles like another layer in cold weather. Welcome, sure, and not quite suffocating, but something, a sort of familiar comfort.
Chip sucks in a breath, exhaling as he laughs half-heartedly as he taps the wood with the flat edge of his weapon. “We weren’t sure you… we weren’t sure you were gonna be okay, Gill.”
“Ooh,” he winces. “Yeah, sorry about that.”
“What the—shut up,” Chip returns, knocking his arm lightly. “We’re here now! I just…”
He trails off, threading a hand through his hair. A habit he’s picked up recently. His fingers find the shape of a braid, one Ollie helped him with a few days back.
“As weird of a time as it is to ask, I realized I don’t… know much about you still? Like, as much as you’re, ‘the chosen one—’” and it’s here he does air quotes, not teasingly, but rather as a fact—”I don’t really know… what that means. And the only time we’ve visited a temple, I nearly got smited and was also kind of dying, I think.”
Gillion chuckles at that. “Yeah, I—if I can be honest, Chip,” and he lowers his voice as much as Gillion can lower his voice—”that was the first time I’d been in a temple too.”
“What?” Chip scoffs. “No way. Chosen one, champion of the undersea, hero of the deep Gillion Tidestrider hadn’t seen his so-called moms before?”
“No, no, no, that’s not what I'm saying, I—” He coughs, propping himself up with his elbows. “I’m saying, Chip, that there isn’t anything like those in the undersea. We… we made do in other ways. Respected different gods. I hardly even knew the names Aster or Lunadeyis before stepping foot on land.”
Chip cocks an eyebrow, leaning forward on his stool. “Oh yeah? Then why the obsession with them?”
“Well—they’re my moms, obviously!”
“But you barely know anything about ‘em, come on—”
“I”m sure Jay could tell us something. Where is she, anyway? Where…” He pauses, glancing around. “Uh, where are we?”
“Featherbrooke. Eagle’s Den.”
“Oh, shit. Really? Wait, what’s an eagle’s den?”
“Jay’s mom’s tavern.”
Chip laughs at his face. “It’s, uh… the only place we could think to go in time. You were talking with her before we left, idiot. Just be on your best behavior, alright?”
Gilllion waves off his teasing, sighing. “Where is Jay, anyway? She could tell you probably miles more than I could.”
Almost like magic, she pokes her head in the doorframe, rubbing sleep from her eyes. There’s a damp cloth wrapped around her wrist, her hair in a frizz. She perks up when she sees Gillion sitting up, stepping inside.
“Oh, I thought I heard voices. What’re you doing up so soon?”
“Jay, what do you know about the goddesses?”
She blinks, once, twice. He grins sheepishly, awkwardly apologizing, “Sorry, probably not the best response I can give as soon as I wake up.”
“No, no, you’re fine! I just, uh… wasn’t expecting it from you of all people?”
She lets out a breath, spinning a chair from a nearby table so its back faces the table Gillion lies on top of and sits, legs spread, with her elbows on the back. She leans forwards, tilting her cheek to lie on her arms.
“Chip I can understand, but not as much from you. Why the sudden question?”
“Chip asked about the prophecy, and, well…” He sucks in a breath between his teeth, exhaling slowly. “For all I’m supposed to know about it, I really don’t know much about… well. about them.”
“If I can be honest…” He lowers his voice as much as he can, stage-whispering conspiratorially. “Anything they told me about them was really boring compared to the leviathans.”
Jay laughs. “I can’t really give you an unbiased view of it all,” she sighs. “Growing up Navy… well. You can imagine with—” she gestures loosely at her eyes, one blue, the other the same golden-yellow as the sun “—all of this, I’ve grown up with some stories. But….” Her voice trails off, almost wistful, as she glances over at the bar, seeing something long past.
All that sits there are a couple dirty dishes and the half-empty bottle Chip left.
“But?” Chip prods.
“Shut up. I’m getting there.”
She straightens her posture, twisting a ring on her finger. “I guess… I guess I grew up a Ferin.”
-
She grew up a Ferin. And really, isn’t all there is to it?
She grew up in boarding school, in barracks. Visits home were few and far between as years trickled by. It felt like she hardly saw her mom once she turned twelve, always whisked away to some training bullshit. She hardly even got home even for holidays, as most of the time her father carted her over to a temple or base for them, somewhere less nowhere. Her mom came with him sometimes. Other times, not so much.
All she knew for a long while was R.A.F.T.
Her grandmother kept a candle lit during the night, swore new moons were bad luck. Her father dragged her to Sun Day school once a month, a silent stubbornness in his routine. She wasn’t sure what he believed in. She isn’t sure what she believes in.
It’s Sun Day school where she learned most of it, really. Learned the names of the goddesses, learned who Aster is and what she stands for. What she did and does for all mortals, what more she does for those who follow her, her blessings and her trials. What she makes of those who prove themselves, what becomes of those who go against her.
When she was younger, she was a little more scared of it all—especially when strangers visited the Grand Temple, dared to trespass holy ground while still carrying the weight of what Aster deemed sin. The burns never really got prettier, even if some were smaller than others. They’d all seen it first-hand, anyhow, what with the visit to the temple and Felipe’s foot catching fire.
It was annoying, sometimes. The routine. As she got older, temple days always rolled around with a sense of dread. She felt like she could waste her hours somewhere better, away from the near-silence of the temple. Target practice, maybe. Hell, she’d take scrubbing her room over staring at those arching ceilings, the ridiculous amount of sunlight making it impossible to doze off. At least she would have had something to show for her efforts then.
It was rare to hear the name Lunadeyis—always whispered, always hushed. They called her the moon goddess, she who lurks in the night, a taboo to even think her name.
Some days she’d stare at the murals on the walls and into Aster’s veiled face, a crown of light hiding any imperfections. It was strange, to look at a god and see pieces of herself—the same fire-red hair most of her family had adorning her head as well.
She’d look at her and squint and think the Lady of the Moon’s name real hard. As if she had something to prove. Maybe she did?
It never amounted to anything, anyway. Look where she ended up regardless, the light of the sun trapped under her skin anyways.
Sometimes she wishes she still had her mom’s eyes.
She digresses.
-
“So they taught you about her in school?” Gillion’s voice is slow, quiet.
Jay leans back a little, letting out a breath. “I guess so. I didn’t realize all of this wasn’t… common knowledge.”
“No, no! It’s…” He trails off, fiddling with his fingers. “Honestly, I didn’t really think any of it was important. The leviathans in the undersea are so different from Aster and Lunadeyis. I’d never really thought about how things worked until now.”
She lets out a quiet chuckle, shaking her head lightly. “Yeah, fair enough. I hardly know how Lunadeyis’ followers go about it. Judging from our visit to the Grand Temple of the Moon… it’s weird to think so much is similar but everything feels so different.”
She touches a finger to her cheek, tapping absently. “Aster’s very strict, and it seems like she of the night isn’t. It’s kinda how RAFT goes too. There’s a routine to it, expectations. A lot of it feels like it’s just for show.”
She grew up on wooden floorboards, on tiles worn by hundreds of steps atop them over the years but polished clean nevertheless. On humble temples and grand offerings, on yearly trips to visit with Grandma Fey to the central temple in the north sea.
Grandma Fey told her, once, about what it means to be a Ferin. A name that means traveler, explorer; of the wind, of the sea, of the land. She told her she needed to be strong.
She didn’t know if she wanted to be.
“My dad used to look like he wanted to help more with everything.” The memory is oddly warm, a ghost of a smile tugging at her face. “At offering, my mom would keep a hand on his like she was reminding him to stay put and watch like everyone else was.”
“Offering… what?” Chip asks.
She shrugs. “I don’t really know. I wasn’t ever asked to give anything up for it. Money, maybe, or something personal. I know they set the birds loose on offering days, though. It was always nice to see them in the skies afterwards.”
Gillion blinks slowly from where he sits, oddly still for his normal self. “What are the temples like?”
She shrugs. “The Grand Temple was a pretty extreme example. Most of the ones I’ve been to aren’t as big as… that. Just think well-kept and you’re on the right track.”
“Your dad spent a lot of time there?”
She sighs. “He spent what time he could make.”
Her fingers tap lightly on the wood of the table, the restaurant quiet around her. “Dad used to tell my mom about how he didn’t want me to be navy, but I went through the steps anyway for some reason. Promised I’d be captain and a friend would be my first mate. And then Ava…” she gestures vaguely, the words slipping past her. “…and now I’m a pirate, so who gives a shit, really?”
Chip lets out a quiet laugh, leaning onto the table. “Yeah. Ferin in name, pirate in act. Second to make it out, huh?”
“Second to make it,” she agrees quietly.
It’s always second with her.
Second born, second daughter. Second of her name, stolen straight from her father and cut short. Second to break from the family, following her forbidden Uncle Drey’s footsteps. Second to die, maybe.
She still thinks it’s coming, sometimes. That one day in the future every dread she’s ever felt will finally find its way back to her and rot her until even her bones are specks of dust, mulched away into the ecosystem of the sea.
She wonders if Ava would’ve wanted to be buried at sea.
Jay pauses, flicking her fingers against the wooden chair. “...I don’t know if Ava ever actually bought into it all.”
“Really?”
Gillion’s voice is quiet, but not weak. Contemplative, if anything. He stares into her, deep, as if turning the possibility over in his head.
“What was Ava like?”
Jay’s breath hitches and she lets out a slow breath. Her fingertips curl around the wood, tracing its shape the way she has a thousand times before.
“...It’s hard to say. They were…”
everything I couldn’t be is the answer that lingers in her mind, sitting in her mouth before she swallows it.
“They were incredible.”
Silence lingers for a breath. She laughs quietly, shrugging it off. “Enough about that, though. I guess it’s not weird to fall out of the norm in our family. Drey did too. In a way, you’re either all-in or all-out.”
“And you?”
She shrugs, brushing off Gill’s question. It never mattered anyway.
“What’s your family like anyway?” Chip drums his fingers on his table. “Do they all have sticks up their asses?”
“No!” She shuts her mouth, thinking for a moment. “Well, most of them do. You know Drey though, and now you both know my mom.”
“As for my dad…” she blows the air out of her mouth, sending a loose hair upwards. “well. You’ve met him.”
Gillion laughs at that, punching the air lightly. “He stole my goddamn sword!”
“Yeah, and I bet he kept it there like a maniac,” Chip adds.
Jay cracks a smile that quickly falls. “You’ve met him. You know what he’s like.”
Her hands find their way to the hem of her jacket, folding and unfolding the fabric into triangles. “I… he’s always been like that. Strict, I mean, not a dickwad. I don’t really know if he meant to be a dad. I don’t know if he was ready.”
-
Her dad believed in a goddess. She could say that much for certain.
He held it in his eyes, both of them that bright golden yellow, in the fire that he could barely contain in his body. Held it cupped between praying hands as he bowed his head to the unseeing eyes of a statue, whispered wishes and promises he knew to keep. He held it in his values, in an honor code—family first, when it mattered; but his duty before all.
Nothing could break his devotion, the minutes he whittled from his day to dedicate to her, to ensure he left some time no matter the ensuing chaos. It was what kept him anchored, she guessed, maybe even more than work.
Maybe even more than family.
It was his, though inherited, the same way he inherited his pin; the same way he inherited his spear.
It was a little awe-inspiring to see the ways his life reflected back to Aster. How, even when it didn’t feel like it had anything to do with anything, she’d come up on occasion. Just barely enough to remind her about it all.
She supposes it’s more right to say she inherited her beliefs from her mother’s side, not that they were any less fantastical. Her mom used to tell her stories of this great and powerful tree that was the source of land, of life as they knew it. Kid’s stories, bedtime tales. It felt nice. It wasn’t forced upon her the same way tribute and temple visits were. Less tangible, almost, except for… well. They’d seen her mother’s magic first-hand, the power that it gave her.
(Gillion was only here because of her. Because of it. Another higher power she owes her world to, apparently.)
It could be dying now, though. And after that, what would be left to believe in?
She didn’t know if she had an answer to that question. Didn’t know if she could find one that would satisfy her.
She still held a sort of fascination for the stories—the myths of islands sprouting from where Aster stepped, how she lay to rest in the center of the world where the four oceans connect. How, if you squint, All-Port could be her sleeping body, with the people she loved watching over her, making a home on her grounds like they always had.
It felt wrong to see her like that, after seeing that the Grand Temple was in the sky, far from the reaches of any of her footfalls. Lonely, almost.
She wasn’t sure what to make of All-Port when they visited. She couldn’t see any trace of a person beneath the city.
It was all just… water.
And maybe her god drowned, that day. Or maybe she’d always been dead. Or maybe she’d never lived at all.
But she still kept vigil in her left eye, sent a burst of light whenever she found her Mark. Chased a target and made it hurt.
Maybe she didn’t need to believe in a god. Maybe she just had to trust one.
-
“I still don’t know what to make of the dreams,” she tells them. “Or how Drey had them too, at the very least.” She lets out a quiet laugh. “I guess we match now.”
“Nah, his is on the other side,” Chip remarks. He traces the shape of an eyepatch over his right eye, pointing slightly. “he used to cover it, right? Other side.”
Jay pauses. “...I’m not sure what to make of that either, to be honest. Maybe god is just funny like that.”
“Maybe your god was just in a silly mood,” Chip quips.
Jay rolls her eyes.
“So…” Gillion draws out his words, leaning forwards slightly till he’s inches closer to Jay. “So she’s real?”
“Aster?” She leans back, stretching out her shoulders. “I mean, yeah. I think so, at least. Maybe not in the ways we think she is, but I’m pretty sure she’s out there. You saw what the Grand Temple did to Felipe and how seriously that took that confession shit.”
“Somehow it feels blasphemous for you to swear in the same sentence you talk about god being real.”
“I’m sure she wouldn’t mind.”
“How do you know so much about her, anyway?” Chip asks, a lilt of tease in his voice. He spins a dagger on the wood as if it were a top, leaving faint scratches on the table. “Grow up in the Grand Temple or whatever?”
“No,” she snaps back, before her voice softens. “Just, uh… I mean, when your family is maybe a little bit blessed by the sun, it’s a bit hard to avoid. I think, at least. Still figuring out that part. Can’t tell if it’s actually a blessing yet.”
“Wait, so if you’re—hold on.” Chip stops the dagger with a quick tap, picking it up and gesturing with it as he points towards Jay. “So if you’re from a family blessed by the goddess of the sun, and if you’re—” he points to Gillion, who flashes him a smile. “—chosen by the prophecy—where the hell’s my cool relationship with a god???”
Jay snorts, and Gillion follows suit, the three of them giggling tiredly as Jay rubs her eyes. Chip watches less amused, but his face still cracks into a smile. “Stop—stop laughing, I mean it!” he jokes.
It’s then Malenia makes her presence known, a quiet shuffle near the doorway. All three turn to look at her, eyes wide like they’ve been caught doing something they shouldn’t. She raises an eyebrow, but limps her way to the bar, one hand braced against the wall. She draws up a stool and sits behind the bar, sliding the bottle Chip left back into its place.
“Carry on,” she says. “But in the meantime, anything to drink?”
“Mom? What are you—what are you even doing up? You should be resting still.”
She laughs, brushing her daughter off. “I wanted to see what was happening. Come on, Jay. I’ll be okay.”
“Water, then,” Jay relents, but pauses, standing up to help her. “Maybe tea instead.”
The other two pass, Chip looking a little guilty for the drinks he borrowed earlier, though May insists on water for a half-dozing Gill. She settles down at the bar, her motions routine, quiet work joining the sounds of the night. She shoos Jay off after she starts the water boiling, gesturing for her to join her friends.
Jay turns back to the other two hesitantly, sighing as she leans against the bar.
“I, uh… I guess you should know about RAFT.”
-
The thing about navy is you didn’t have to pray.
Didn’t need to take time off just to visit the temple unless you wanted to go, didn’t have to stare at the ceiling and imagine stories to match everything. Didn’t have to become fascinated with their parables for all the wrong reasons, take lessons away that you knew you weren’t supposed to.
You didn’t have to pretend to look away when your cohorts threw someone overboard for fun, just to see what would happen. Didn’t have to bite your tongue when you traded lies in the bathroom, when you kissed a girl for the first time. She wasn’t sure if Aster would care or not, given some other interpretations she’d heard of the creation of Mana with the two goddesses, but she could never be certain.
It’s strange that the first time she broke away from being so close to the Ferin’s goddess, she was in the thick of all the other parts that made up the name.
And sure, sometimes she still visited the temple when her family went. And maybe she prayed a few times—prayed her sister was safe or that her dad would write, that she aced an exam, that she lived up to the expectations that came with fire-red hair and the name Ferin. But never the big things. The big things felt off-limits, unaffected by the touch of a god.
The first time she remembers praying over something real was when Ava died.
-
Her breath hitches and she goes silent.
“That time I… God, sorry.” She buries her face in her arms, hiding from the world. “I didn’t…”
Chip gives Jay a look, though with what intent she can’t really tell. She hopes it isn’t pity. She hopes it isn’t sadness.
She draws in a shuddering breath, fingers clenching into fists. Her nails slot into divots long formed by habit, loosening as she exhales. Her heart feels like it’s going to fall out of her chest, but god damn her if she can’t get through these memories.
“I didn’t really know what else I could even do. So I turned to the only option I thought I had left.”
-
She remembers staring at the sky as the sun rose over the leaves, staring at the water as it rippled and the sun as it stared down upon her, unforgiving eyes, unforgiving warmth. Everything felt coated in one too many layers of light, an extra glow that made her actions feel all the more seen.
It was in the few days After. She’d been shipped home from school. Her uniform was folded neatly beneath her bed. She hadn’t been able to pry it off of herself fast enough once she got back.
The woods on Featherbrooke weren’t the safest place to be without a real weapon, but she figured she could manage. She was still near the edge anyhow, just out of sight.
She awkwardly clasped her hands, the joints of her fingers touching strangely. Knelt, slowly, her knee on the cool soil. Her pants would get dirty, but a lot of things of hers were, so what did one more thing matter?
It took two seconds before she realized kneeling felt awful. Too strict. Too tight. She set her other knee on the ground, leaning forward and touching her hands to her forehead.
Maybe it’s what Aster would want from her. Or maybe she was doing it all wrong.
She prayed.
At least, she thinks she did.
She didn’t really know what to expect from it all—freedom, maybe? A response if the Lady was feeling generous. If she’s honest, she wasn’t really sure how to pray to begin with, what reverence she’s supposed to hold in her tone. A lot of the ones she’d heard before were ritual or routine, similar ideas reworded and rephrased for as long as she could remember. It felt wrong to talk to a goddess the same way she talked to a friend. It felt worse to talk to her the same way she did a commander.
Her father always paid respects with his head bowed, words murmured close to his chest. She didn’t know how right that felt either.
She doesn’t know if there’s a right way to pay her respects. She hoped there wasn't a wrong one.
So she stared at the earth, inhaled slowly.
“Lady Aster—can I… call you that?”
Her words felt… childish, almost. A wave of nerves made her hands shake against her head. Her chest felt weighted by the entire sky.
Jay shut her eyes. Drew in a breath.
“My lady, please.” And again, for good measure: “Please. I know that I am far from the person you want me to be, and that I barely call upon you on purpose, and that I’ve probably sinned half a dozen times just this week, but if anyone deserves life I-”
She swallows, her words getting caught in her throat as she struggles to catch up with them spilling out. Slower, she continues.
“I swear on my own it’s Ava. It has to be them. It’s her every day of the week, of the month, of the year; they…”
She sucks in a breath, her shoulders shaking as she bites her tongue, her voice low, unsteady. “I’d do… I’d do anything for her.” A touch more desperate: “Please don’t take her away from me, please, I—fuck. Sorry.”
Her shoulders shake, fingers clasped into her knuckles. Her fingers tighten uncomfortably with each other, straining against her desperation.
“I don’t know who—who I need to be without her.”
-
“It was a last resort, I think.” She drums her hands on the bar, letting out a slow exhale. “It was out of my hands, so I… I put it in someone else’s. I was begging a power I didn’t know what to do with. One I barely believed in to start.”
She glances at her mom briefly, letting out a slow breath. “She stayed gone. Obviously. You can’t just wish someone back to life like that when you’re not there. After that I moved out of school and came back here, and that’s where I met Chip. You know the rest from there”
There’s bits and pieces between that she’s skipping, of course. Grieving, mostly. A few more desperate pleas that lead to nothing that she wishes she could leave behind. Scraps of solace wherever she could find them.
She wonders how her dad had been doing. Or what he was doing, for the matter; she hadn’t heard word from him until she left Featherbrooke.
Jay stills, posture straightening. “Fuck. I… damnit, I really got side-tracked, huh?”
She gives a once-over to the room, a real look past her cursory glances when she briefly resurfaced from her own mind.
The bottles and dishes are clean at the bar, her mom moved to a seat near the back doorway with her eyes shut. Gillion sleeps curled up on the table, one arm beneath his head in a way that’s sure to make it feel weird when he wakes.
She stands up to toss her jacket over Gill as a rudimentary blanket until she can grab actual ones from a closet upstairs.
“You only asked me about the gods, and then you get… uh. Well. A handful of that and a whole lot else.”
Chip seems exhausted himself, his head tilting as Jay straightens. His words are slow as he reaches cautiously, placing his hand atop her own shaking ones.
“It’s okay, Jay.” A smile slips through his words, gentle and sweet. “I wanted… I wanted to hear what you wanted to say. And for what it’s worth, I’m glad you said it.”
She smiles, letting out a breath. “Thanks, Chip.”
“And!” He stretches, letting out a contented sigh. “Depending how much Gill remembers when he gets up, I might get to look smart about all of it.”
She gasps as exaggeratedly as her tired voice will let her. “Oh, you—”