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The sea is calm when Gillion finds him. Chip is leaning against the railing, staring out across the sea, face turned away so that Gillion can't read his expression.
"Pondering the waves, I see," he says by way of introduction. "A noble pursuit."
"Huh?" Chip asks. "Oh, uh, yeah. Sure."
When he doesn't move to keep talking, Gillion walks over to stand next to him. "I've remembered quite recently that I owe you an apology, Chip."
"Yeah, well, you did cut off my finger," Chip says, holding his hand up.
"You asked me to."
"I— you know what, I'm not going over this again. What are you apologizing to me about?" Chip asks.
"On Desire Island, when we were searching for a way to open the door to the room with the pool," Gillion begins to say, and Chip turns his face away from him so quickly that he is almost worried something has happened. "When I kissed you," he clarifies.
"Yep, got it, thanks."
"I shouldn't have done it." The sea is still calm when he looks away from Chip for a moment, but he quickly looks back. "I was aware of what it implied at the time, in a way, but I hadn't been so sure that the implications held true for humans as well. It was— well, when I read my grandfather's book on the subject that I realized completely, and by then we were preparing to face the Empress."
"It's fine, man," Chip says, voice oddly strangled. "Jay was drowning, y'know? You panicked or whatever. I get it, I've been there. Well, I mean, not exactly, but—" He cuts himself off. "Yeah. You know, we really don't have to talk about it."
"I was perhaps not the most collected at the time," Gillion allows, "but that doesn't mean it did not happen. And therefore, I owe you an apology." He laughs softly. "I certainly owe one to your wife as well, but that might be more difficult to achieve."
Chip looks at him for a moment. "You've lost me, dude."
"Your wife?" Gillion asks. "Amanda Rinn? Of course, we haven't heard from Loffinlot for such a long time, but surely you haven't forgotten about her."
Chip pauses for a moment before speaking. "Yeah, well, we got like, divorced, right? Remember? Pretzel said it was fine."
Gillion looks down at Pretzel, who spins slowly. "Pretzel says that you and Amanda are still married."
"What? After all that trouble I went to to fake my death? That we went to?" Chip asks, gesturing between them. "I thought that was supposed to take care of it."
"I don't know what to tell you, Chip," Gillion says when Pretzel continues to indicate that no, it did not work. "She says that you're still married."
"I mean, in the undersea maybe," Chip tries next. "I'm sure the laws are different everywhere." His face lights up. "Hey wait, we're pirates. Why do we have to follow the laws all of a sudden?"
"It's not about law Chip, it's about what's right! Did you think I consulted the laws of Edison Kingdom before dealing with the evil in that inn?"
"Just to clarify, you mean when you were throwing people out of windows." Chip's voice is slightly flat. "Because I'm pretty sure that was against the law, yeah."
"My point exactly! I consulted my instincts, and they told me that there was evil which must be remedied. So why would it matter if your marriage followed every law in every place, if it's valid at all?"
Chip takes a moment, sounding slightly annoyed when he speaks again. "Because I was drunk when we— oh, never mind. Sure, whatever, man. I'm sure she'd appreciate the apology. And I, uh, won't do it again." He mutters something which Gillion doesn't catch, before shaking his head. "G'night, Gillion." He turns to leave, clapping Gillion lightly on the shoulder as he passes.
In all honesty, Gillion should go to sleep soon as well, but he takes a moment to look out over the water before heading back to their quarters and his barrel.
It's not that he's guessing when it comes to marriage. Even if he grew up apart from his parents, his education had been a clear enough substitute, and his senses never lied to him when they saw— or smelled, rather— evil. Of course, there isn't any of that stench on himself or on Chip, which he certainly isn't complaining about. He'd hate to have to deal with that, and he's not quite sure what he would have to do if it was coming from himself. All in all, he's not quite sure where the boundaries lie. He's fairly certain he did owe Chip the apology, but he supposes this must simply have been one of those areas where a person has acted wrongly but not to such a level that it constitutes evil, per se.
Embarrassingly enough, he hadn't once thought of Chip's wife until it had occurred to him mid-apology. The lack of evil had probably helped there, of course, but he should have. Gillion hadn't spent much time with her, but he remembers her as a kind and passionate woman who deserves far better than strange men kissing her husband, even strange men such as himself. He has half a mind to write to her and let her know about what had happened, but he isn't sure how the postal system works and he can't imagine Chip would be inclined to help him with it, so he abandons the idea almost as soon as it comes up.
When he returns to their quarters, Chip and Jay are already asleep, the latter swaying slightly in his hammock, not even out of his boots. He takes a moment to look over at them fondly, smiling even though he knows the snoring will make it that much more difficult for him to get to sleep. Of all the burdens he carries, that is certainly the lightest.
Jay seems lighter after they leave the BLOCK, despite her father's threats. She explains her past to Gillion as the three of them sit in their quarters after escaping, taking a moment where Drey, Marshall John, and the crew won't be looking to them for guidance, and he wishes once again that her father was there in front of them, that Gillion had his sword back, that— all sorts of things. He wishes all sorts of things, but he's here to fight for what she wants, not to fight her battles for her.
When he reaches a hand over to her arm, Pretzel climbs over and sits on her shoulder, butting her head against Jay's jaw to make her laugh, and for a moment the weight of everything the prison has put them through is lifted, Jay's laugh cutting through the fog like the beam from a lighthouse, like Gillion's own arm reaching up through the water to grasp hers and Chip's all those months ago.
Jay looks up at them and grins, tears still shining against her skin, and for the moment they are all okay, and Gillion is exactly where he needs to be.
Of the Albatross' three captains, Gillion easily has the least history with Drey Ferin. Accordingly, it comes as somewhat of a surprise when Drey approaches him out of nowhere, apparently intent on speaking with him.
"Can't say I ever imagined Chip as the settling down type," is his opener, with nothing in his tone to give away what he means by it.
Gillion pauses for a moment, before hazarding a: "No?"
Drey nods. "Especially this young. Well, probably young. It's not the easiest, telling how long it's been."
"I'm fairly sure Chip said it's been ten years since he left the Black Rose Pirates," Gillion says, "If that helps at all. I don't have the best sense for how humans age, with such short lifespans."
"Don't remind me," Drey says with a mild shudder. "He is young, then. Still, he must have seen something in you. Beyond Finn's blood, I mean."
"You've lost me."
Drey looks at him, visible eye narrowing slightly. Gillion's half-sure another laser is about to shoot out and spear him through the chest, but Drey looks away and nothing of the sort happens. "Well, I overhead you and Jay talking about Chip's marriage."
"Oh, of course! The wedding was beautiful, I'm grateful he let me officiate, you know. We weren't as close then as we area now, it really meant a lot to me."
"Officiate," Drey repeats flatly.
"Well, I'm not officially ordained or anything, but I figured that with my status as the Chosen One and all, it would be enough. And I know the ceremony." Lunadeyis knows he'd been expected to appear at countless weddings in the Undersea, from prominent church officials to visiting nobility from the outer trenches, and after a while between Gillion and Pretzel the ceremony wasn't too hard to get down.
Drey is still looking at him like he's said something absurd. "So you... officiated."
"Yes," Gillion confirms. "Are you having trouble hearing?"
"I can hear just fine," Drey says quickly. "Tell me again who, exactly, Chip married?"
"His wife's name is Amanda," Gillion tells him. "Amanda Rinn. She used to sell oranges in a town we helped with this curse— all of the citizens of the town were laughing uncontrollably because the mayor wanted them to be happy, but his wish was corrupted and it only made them feel worse, that's where Earl is from too— and I'm getting off track. She used to sell oranges but I think she was going to quit to pursue her passions? I'm not sure, you'd have to ask Chip. I'm sure he knows her better than I do."
"I'll ask him about it, that's for sure," Drey says. "But, Gillion— gods know it's none of my fucking business, but apparently someone should say it— the only ring that boy wears looks a hell of a lot like yours." He turns to walk away before Gillion can explain anything, hitting the door with his knee to force it open and leaving Gillion behind to stare at it.
He has half a mind to chase Drey down, to try and clear his and Chip's names on principle, but he doesn't do anything of the sort. Instead, he leans against his barrel, quiet for the moment. He isn't entirely sure why he's kept his ring on for as long as he has, not when it lost its abilities after only an hour. For that matter, he's not sure why Chip kept his. They really aren't wedding rings, and not just because of Chip's actual marriage— neither of them have to keep them, but for whatever reason they have and it, what, led Drey to believe he was married to Chip in Amanda's stead?
He supposes it's difficult to keep up with one's wife at sea like this, but it's not as if they behave like a married couple. Not that he strictly knows what a married couple generally acts like, of course, especially abovesea, but he's confident that he and Chip don't meet the definition.
Maybe he should ask Earl about it.
He barely has the time to spare, what with Chip seeming to grow worse every day, refusing to sleep and only succumbing to more pain when he does, but he's glad to be able to speak with Edyn about it. His older sister has always had a way of making everything seem just a little less overwhelming, just a little safer.
She doesn't speak immediately when he's done describing what happened, and when she does speak her voice is shaky. (He does not approve of Chip's designs on his sister for many reasons, not least of which being that he is a married man, but perhaps the most pressing one at the moment is that when Edyn gives someone a chance, she loves them more fiercely than anything, and Gillion knows firsthand just how terrifying it can be to love Chip.)
"That's horrible, Gillion," she says at first, and then, after a moment: "I can ask around. See if I know anyone who might have information on a way to remove your friend's curse."
"I suppose if you did hear anything, it would be greatly appreciated. If we can't find a willing priest in Liquidus, I don't know what we're going to do." He leans back, head hitting the hull of the ship with a thunk. "You have no idea how much I wish I could simply fight our way out of this, Edyn, but I don't know how to fight evil when it's the thing destroying him from the inside out. You know, the other day I thought I smelled something, an enemy, but it was just Chip. He had run out onto the deck to play tag with Ollie, and I was so close to drawing my sword on him then and there."
"But you didn't," Edyn says softly. "I'm proud of you for that." She laughs, then, though it's lacking some of its usual shine. "I remember when we were younger and you were first getting your magic, when you were still living with our parents, and no-one could get even a little scrape while you were nearby, because some part of you would immediately heal them." He can hear her smiling, despite the distance between them. "If you're still anything like that, I'm sure he's lucky to have you."
Gillion remembers this too, albeit vaguely. The elders hadn't exactly encouraged his healing abilities, preferring that he instead focus on becoming a stronger fighter, so while he still retains some of them— and he's unfortunately sure that both Jay and Chip would have died at least once each by now had he not— he hasn't truly thought about that aspect of his childhood in quite some time.
"I've been doing what I can," he says, "but I worry that it will not be enough."
"I'm sorry," she says, something guarded in her voice. "I'll see if I can find anything here."
The paint of the Aster mural seems ancient, and he is almost worried that some of it will flake off when he reaches out to touch it, but it does no such thing. One part of him hopes that he was not lying when he came in here, that he really is the champion referred to in both cities, but another does not know what it is, exactly, that he would be prophesied to do in such a case.
Still, Aster allowed him passage into her temple, allowed his protection of Chip, has never once seemed to act against him as he's been living on the surface. And here the twin cities stand, and perhaps they are not without strife but they are not dangers to each other, not from what Gillion has seen so far. And if there was another chosen one, would they not also be obliged to follow this shaky peace? Or would Gillion be expected to strike them down before they struck him down and the Undersea with him?
The prophecy the Elders had given him spoke of choice, though it had been made clear to him what precisely that choice ought to be, but if there was another... what choice was there, precisely? To surrender or not, to fail in a battle or not? To break the peace between land and sea or refuse to fight the other champion? If there were two champions, what truth was there in the choice of the elders' prophecy? In his prophecy?
And if there was another champion, one who did not wish to swap life stories with him but to fight, to champion the land and leave the seas dried out, never mind the people and gods who made it their home, and if that champion was his sister? He would never fight Edyn, and he supposes that is his answer right there, but at the same time who would he be to allow the seas to dry up, to allow his people to dry out in the shadow of leviathan corpses?
He supposes if he is meant to be both champions at once, he is to make his choice between land and sea, but as for why the goddesses would both choose him as their champion, he can't say. He wishes desperately that all of this could be simpler, that someone could come up to him and point to the illustrations on the temples, tell him this one is right and this one is wrong, this one is good and this one is bad, but even his divine senses lie dormant at the sight.
In a way, Gillion isn't surprised to learn that today is an eclipse, for of course this would be the day in which the sun and moon come close to each other, taking up the same sky to watch over their champion(s) and teach of their history. The eclipse, for what it's worth, is stunning.
Gillion's prison, with its manifestations of the elders and their judgements, is cold. Perhaps in reality it is not as cold as the Undersea was, but it is still enough, in comparison with the Oversea and the Feywild, to be almost nostalgic.
The elders stare down at him through a haze of near-freezing water, lit only by small lamps fashioned to look like the moon. After so long abovesea, he had almost forgotten not just how cold it was where he was raised, but how dark. By human standards, the council room he finds himself in now would be oppressive, its walls appearing to tower over him in the darkness, and with the elders in their spots he certainly can understand why.
And yet, there is that part of him that was raised here, which sings this is good, this is home, this is what we deserve deep in his chest. There is still that part of him which is a small child sitting in on his first trial, expected to render judgment as the Chosen One, a part of him which is still expected to execute the Undersea's laws and maybe a prisoner or two, if their crimes were particularly heinous.
And there is also the part of him which was never actually entrusted with the executioner's blade, despite the expectations on him. The part of him which was exiled what seems like an age ago, the part of him who is a pirate captain, who is the friend of Chip and Jay and their crew, who learned that humans weren't all what he was taught, and that even when they were, that they could change.
The worst part, about that at least, is that those parts are still exactly that: parts. Gillion Tidestrider, as a whole person, misses home. He just isn't sure what that means any more.
When Jay returns his briefcase to him, saying that it has all of his things she could find to pick up, he isn't really surprised to find the platinum ring there, shining faintly and just as devoid of power as it has been for a long time. He is slightly surprised when he picks it up, turning it over in his hand and evaluating it.
"Jay?" he asks.
She tilts her head. "Yeah?"
He had intended to ask a question, but he can't find it in himself to remember what it was. "Thank you for taking care of Pretzel for me."
Jay nods, though the look that's been on her face ever since Gillion's return doesn't budge one bit. "Of course. If there's anything else I can do, just... let me know, okay?"
"I think that's supposed to be my line." Jay smiles weakly at that but walks away, leaving the both of them to their thoughts.
Gillion looks down at the ring in his palm and he sees Chip's face on the night of his marriage, cheeks not so much dusted with red as drowning in it, looking at Gillion and Amanda with near-equal wonder as he learns Gillion can officiate weddings. He sees Jay and RAFT headquarters, the way that the soldiers there spoke of everything so lightly and pushed the people of Allport around, the way that Jay told him all but one of the doors belonging to the admirals bore her name. He sees Caspian declaring that he will never return to the sea and Edyn among humanity.
Gillion sees the first time he ever watched over a trial, sees the face of the accused woman fall as her sentence was read, and he slips the ring back on his finger where it belongs.
Edyn's letter is stained blue with Gillion's own blood, the ink completely covered in a few places, but he still takes it out to read once the rest of the crew has gone to sleep and he's refrozen the ship. Before long, he may as well have it memorized, but the words haven't rearranged themselves into anything that makes sense.
When he was younger and in training, before the elders stopped trying to teach him anything that didn't have to do with the sword in his hands, the books he had been expected to read had gone the same way, histories and strategic texts full of sentences without meaning no matter how many times he read them. He can almost see them now, the little humans baring their teeth and hoisting spears to take the world for themselves, the denizens of the Undersea who taught him right and wrong, the statue of Lunadeyis outside the hall where he was raised, assuring him of his purpose for years on end.
He can't get Edyn's voice out of his head, and he doesn't know if that's due to the exhaustion or the simple fact that she is his sister and he does not understand what she's done. The wounds on his chest— left by the very organization Edyn is apparently aiding— ache, more of his blood staining the deck beneath him, and he recognizes that maybe he should be more angry. But he's too exhausted for his usual righteous rage, and if there is one thing he has known for as long as he can remember, it's how to bleed for that which he loves.
By the time anyone is awake in the morning, the letter is safely folded up and tucked into a space between his armor's plates, where it will be hidden from the rest of the crew, and where it is still so obviously present to him. And if anyone notices that the ice forming half of the Albatross' hull is getting far less elaborate as the nights pass, they don't point it out to him.
Gillion stands behind Chip as he speaks to the people of Zero, and he makes no moves to hide his smile as the townsfolk cheer. He hadn't exactly expected this when they'd arrived, though he had admittedly been fairly out of it at the time, but here they are, and here these people are, people who they helped break free from the Navy, people who they have now vowed to protect.
People who want them here because of what they've done. Because of who they are, and yes, what they represent, but what they have promised to represent. The space in Gillion's heart which holds his oath to the Undersea shifts slightly, beginning to change and make way for this new responsibility, this new promise he's made this day, and he looks out across the crowd with renewed purpose.
The crowd looks back at him and his crew with excitement, with love, because these are the townspeople who put up a statute of them and threw a festival upon their return, who cheer now as Chip plants their flag and who reach out hands to carry them after a moment of hesitation. These are the people he has chosen to defend, and Gillion finds that commanding the center of attention is far more pleasant when it is earned.
Jay's face is obscured from where he's standing, but he can see how her hand is clenched tightly on her pistol perfectly well, knuckles nearly white with the effort. They've barely left Zero— it's barely been any time since they promised their protection to Zero, no less— and here they are, forced to defend it against the Navy once again.
Jay shoots her father, quite a few times, but the bullets still barely seem to affect him. He tells Jay that she was supposed to do something so much greater than this, even when she's defending an island against his very own attack, and when his wings flare out Gillion can't help but think they're nothing but a shadowy and feeble imitation of Jay's own.
And then Jayson Ferin leaves, and in a way it is victory, but Gillion can see the way Jay's anger and grief do not go with him, the way they follow her as she chases down Kira and demands answers from Lizzie, the way that the truth about Ava brings her none of what she has been chasing for so long.
They part ways with Lizzie and the Grandberry Pirates, and they don't have so much as a moment to breathe before they're on their way to the Black Sea, to find even more knowledge of their families' pasts.. Gillion cannot find it in himself to imagine that it will be what all of them are so desperately hoping for.
It's not that he wasn't expecting to see Amanda Rinn again— she and Chip are married, after all, and that does generally imply a certain amount of togetherness— and more that he was not expecting to meet her again in this way. Chip refuses to go to her, even as she is carried away as a pirate, and Gillion stays by his side the entire time.
The skin of Chip's forehead— or rather, that of his disguised self— is rough as he kisses it, the way he has learned any human skin becomes after a life on the open sea, and from as close as he is he can see how Chip flushes slightly. (Perhaps he is still experiencing issues regulating his magic, though he took to it quickly enough.) He moves back, and after they deceive the Navy officer into letting them pass, drops the illusion of fabric in favor of a simple cloak.
One day, he knows, they will find Amanda again, and Chip will have rather a lot to explain to her. Gillion does not know, in contrast, rather it would be better if he were there beside Chip as he does so.
If he had thought that the injuries dealt to Chip by Kuba Kenta had been enough to douse him in the stench of evil, that is nothing compared to what it is like after Chip's heart is ripped from him, nothing compared to what Gillion senses when he stands up to keep fighting. For it is not only the smell of rot that now accompanies them, but that of the undead. He can barely bring himself to look at Chip, but when he does he is forced to reassure him that he will not attack, that no matter what he will stand by him, and in reality this is not only for Chip's benefit.
Destiny's Blade does not stir when Gillion looks at him, but it has been fond of Chip since the he wielded it in the Feywild and it is not the only part of Gillion, so to speak. The part of him who is still the Undersea's champion is straining, sending him images from his training, of the walking corpses he was expected to cut down with little remorse— even those from the Undersea are not themselves anymore, it says, they are not people and it is your duty to strike them down before they harm those who still are.
If the elders were watching him like this was his training, he would have been expected to kill Chip three times over by now, but all Gillion feels walking beside him now, behind the anger and the panic and the instinct to kill drilled into him long ago, is fear. Fear that one day the elders will be right, that his best friend will cease to be, and fear that he will not be able to see it until it is too late. Fear, because Chip is the only person he has known to speak the language of the gods, and because he has been taught that everything about Chip is inherently unholy, that if he cannot bring himself to strike this man down he cannot be trusted to strike down any other. Fear, because he never will.
He wants nothing more than to reach out to Chip and heal him, take his heart from Captain Widow's body and press it back into his chest, but he saw what happened when he removed the others, and what would attempting to heal him now do, besides strike him down? The elders would be pleased with that much, he supposes; to have found a way to use his healing against their enemies.
Gillion almost feels that he should not be taken off guard by what the tree shows him, but that does very little to change the truth of the matter, which is that he is left reeling. Because first had come the temples of Aster and Lunadeyis so long ago, but now here he was in the Black Sea, and here even the basis of the prophecy was not what he had been told.
He has to wonder what the point of all of it was, to raise a child to be the champion when they are not really your hero, not what you have told them and the rest of your people. Perhaps it had been so long that the elders truly did not know, that his purpose had been fabricated by history, but that does no more to guide him than any other answer he can think of.
Now he is a key to some great evil, a warning of something to come, a portent disguised as a force for good. He saw what the people the tree showed him were fighting against, or more accurately he sensed it, and he knew on some instinctual level that it was malevolent, that it meant harm to the world. He knew this on a deeper level than the one which told him the man standing beside him was evil, on a level that he had not known existed because he had never paused to think about it.
But if he is the warning of something so malevolent, of a change to the world so great, what can he be expected to do that is good? Is protecting a town from the Navy good if they will still be a part of the world he changes? Is saving the survivors of the Black Sea good if they will be part of that world, is looking for Chip's father good if he is to be brought out of one hell into another?
The prophecy still speaks of a choice, but to do what exactly? Can he choose to save the world from that which it has been doomed to, from some great inevitable evil when it has already been decided he is the herald of its return? He certainly can't choose to avoid that return, not if the tree's words are to be trusted, so what does any of it mean? What has he been training for but the lie that was most convenient to the elders when they found him?
When he tells Chip and Jay of the prophecy, he cannot keep the hint of shame out of his voice, cannot stop from wavering and cannot stop himself from falling quiet for minutes at a time to contemplate the new burden which has been placed upon him, because here are his family, here are the people he has sworn himself to, and here he is informing him of another horror he is expected to visit on their world.
He would not blame them if they turned away, if they hid their faces and flinched away, but they do not. They continue by his side without question, without hesitation, and Gillion wants to tell them that he is not a hero anymore to be given this love, this trust, but he knows them better than anyone else alive and he knows they would not listen, and so he continues by their sides as well.
His oath is still holding for the moment, even with what he has learned in the back of his mind and Chip's undisguised presence in the back of the room. Gillion reminds him of his responsibilities, what he once vowed to owe to Amanda, and his magic is strong enough to allow Star and Zamia to make that promise to each other.
And then it is their magic taking over, Zamia's oath coming to life and filling the hall with its power. It is that promise bringing the room to life, making a feast for those who have been starving for far too long, and he can only hope that the gods are looking down on them kindly, even through the clouds which blanket the Black Sea.
He takes a moment to look at Zamia where she is sitting next to her wife, face lit up in a way Gillion has, in his admittedly limited experience, never seen on her before. He had not been surprised when they first met and she admitted that her oath had been diminished: it had sat around her like something left to decay too long, withered and nothing like what it surely must have been in its prime. But now her new one has taken up that space in her heart and put roots down, used what was left of the dead one to grow itself anew, and she glows with joy and power in equal measure.
When he inspects his own heart, he finds it confused and straining, full of obligations all jumbled up and taking up each others' space, and he looks away from it almost as soon as he had brought it up for inspection. He almost wishes that he had not done it in the first place, but he can't exactly do anything to take it back, so as it stands he does his best to focus on the festivities once again. This is a time to celebrate light they can find in the Black Sea before they help the survivors back to Zero, not time for him to worry about his own oath failing.
Chip is back in his diguise when they announce the news of their teleporter, which is probably for the best given the reactions of the survivors to his presence, but something about it still feels like a lie, especially when Gillion can still smell undeath on him, when he can't get that fact out of his mind. Humans tell stories of sirens, luring human sailors to their death in the Undersea, but Gillion grew up hearing of human divers, luring the citizens of the Undersea abovewater to dry and burn in the sun. The first time he ever saw Chip, it was as an arm reaching towards him just above the water, and he could not get the stories out of his mind then or now.
But Chip swore to help these people just as he did, swore the oath to their crew with Jay and himself, planted the flag of their protection in Zero's tower with his own two hands, and Gillion knows he is not leading these people to their death, not if he can do anything to help it. And so he pushes that feeling of betrayal out of his mind and does what he can.
When he turns on the machine, it doesn't necessarily change anything. Not in so many words. His skin is still hanging off of him, shredded, and there are still jagged puncture wounds cutting through his palms, and the man who he was strung up next to is still dead.
But the doubts in the back of Gillion's mind quiet for once, the voice of the tree and Edyn's letter and the ring the creature did not take from his finger fading until they are not what they have been, not questions which haunt him as he tries to sleep and rather something quiet, almost ignorable, like the soft ramblings of someone halfway to unconsciousness. Something in his mind knits together, building itself up and reinforcing itself against that which broke it in the first place.
His oath to the Undersea hums in his chest, like it has been woken up and reminded of where it is, who it is supposed to be. And Gillion Tidestrider, Hero of the Undersea, stands up.