Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

WARNINGS!!

This story contains the following;

- Graphic descriptions

- Strong language

- No NSFW

- Fluff/Angst

- Possible mentions of SH/suicide (I will add a TW on the chapter) 

About the Author:

Hi author here! If you see this story anywhere else, it is not written by me as the original will stay on both AO3 and Wattpad. This is my first story and English isn't my first language so please excuse the errors I most definitely will make. I would also like to add the shipping is strictly  about the characters and not the people themselves! They are real and have their own real lives. 

I will release a chapter every week (it will probably be more than once in the beginning as I have pre-written chapters already finished, one of which is the ending to the story...Yes I know how it all ends.) If I do happen to miss this deadline please keep in mind I'm a human too with a busy life. Most chapters will be around 1000 words, which is a lot of writing time and I'm not a computer so I need breaks from time to time!

**I will also say read a your own risk because by the end of this story, you will hate me, and that's a 100% garentee.

More about the story/characters:

This is obviosly a Scarian-ship based story, but that's not to say the story line involves just  them. Although they are considered pirates, they don't roam the traditional territory of the sea, they are pirates of the sky.  All of the battles are in the air, any villages they come across are situated on floating mountains and the same goes for any discovered land, don't ask me about the physics because I might just bury myself in a hole and cry. This is a fantasy story so most aspects will be unrealistic, for example, no I haven't ever owned or built a functioning pirate airship before (shocker) so don't expect me to be using the correct terminology, I do sincerly apologize in advance. This story also isn't based around any specific time line. The way I invision the scenery/landscaping is similar to the scenery in the first Avatar movie if that helps you imagine their world a bit better. Clouds act as the water and beneath it is just void, after a certain distance you just die. The names of the islands/lands/creatures are all made up on the spot and if it happens to be a real place/thing know it wasn't intentional LOL. If you bothered to read all this thank you very much and I hope you enjoy my story! 

Scar:

Captain/Helmsman
- Scar is the charismatic and playful leader of the Jellie crew. His natural leadership skills make him the perfect captain, as he is able to command the crew with both humor and authority. Scar is also skilled in combat and strategy, leading the crew through pirate attacks and other dangers. While he has a carefree demeanor, he takes his role seriously and cares deeply for his crew. He also has a dark past which only drives his determination to be the very best captain for his crew.

Grian 

Unknown
- Grian is a quiet and skilled engineer with a sharp mind for problem-solving. After being retrieved from almost being sold on the black market for his hybrid avian traits, he now works alongside Mumbo in repairing engine damages and technical advances ensuring the ship stays on track through the skies. Though he often prefers solitude, the crew seem to have grown on him. His ingenuity and ability to pay attention to details is valuable to Scar's crew. 

Pearl

Navigator
- Pearl is a strong witted member with a knack for geography. She's responsible for charting the ship's course safely and keeping to the route. She's quick-thinking and reliable with a strong sense of loyalty to the crew. Pearl's ability to remain calm under pressure makes her an essential member of the team. She, although occasionally unhinged, remains responsible and puts the crew before herself.

Joel 

Weapons  Specialist
- Joel is a fiercely skilled fighter. As the weapons specialist, he's in charge of the ship's armaments and defense strategies, ensuring the crew is prepared for any attack.  Though he's often the chaos in he quiet, Joel has a dry sense of humor and is always ready with a sarcastic quip when the situation allows. 

Mumbo 

Engineer/Tech Specialist
- Mumbo is the ship's engineer and tech expert, often tinkering with the ship's systems to improve their efficiency or find new ways to solve mechanical problems. His innovative thinking and technical skills are crucial to keeping the Jelliechaser running smoothly. He's also known for his optimistic attitude and light-hearted banter, providing balance to the crew's more serious moments.

Gem

Lookout/Scout
- Gem serves as the crew's scout and lookout, constantly on the lookout for danger from above or below. With sharp eyesight and an instinct for spotting threats, Gem is invaluable during long stretches of travel or when navigating through unknown territory. Her quick reflexes, sharp combat skills and strategic mind also come in handy when planning raids or dealing with external threats. She is a wild spirit and known to fuel Joel's spark of chaos.

Chapter Text

The Jelliechaser hovered high above the wreckage of the downed airship, a large mass of broken wood and shredded sails that floated lazily in the sky after a short lasting battle. The wind whipped through the tangled mess, carrying the faint smell of smoke and burning metal. The crew, a rough and rowdy bunch, moved efficiently, scavenging what they could from the remains. Most of them were busy collecting supplies, weapons, or anything valuable that could be salvaged from the wreckage.

Captain Scar stood at the edge of the ruins, his eyes sharp, scanning the debris. He wasn't interested in trinkets or gold; he was looking for something else.

"Over here!" came the shout from one of the crew. Scar turned, eyes narrowing as he walked toward the sound. When he reached the source, the crew member stepped aside to reveal a small cage, half-hidden among the wreckage of the airship's hold. Inside was a young man, curled in on himself, his clothes ragged and torn. His skin was pale, almost sickly, and his blonde hair fell messily around his face. One of his wings, once elegant and strong, was now a mangled mess of broken feathers and twisted bones, barely recognizable as something that could ever carry him through the sky.

The crew member's eyes widened as he looked at the figure inside. "What is this? A captive?"

Scar stepped closer, his boots crunching over the shattered remnants of the ship. He studied the boy and judged the small tattoos and symbols he recognized from his time raiding smaller ships—He was a captive, probably auctioned off for his bright coloured feathers. Grian didn't look up. He seemed to know the gravity of his situation, but he didn't seem willing to acknowledge it, as if acknowledging anything might make it real.

The air was thick with the tension of the scene. Scar wasn't sure what to make of it. He wasn't known for his mercy, and yet, there was something about the boy's silent defiance that caught his attention. His wings, though broken, were beautiful. They held a certain grace, even in their damaged state.

"You there," Scar called, his voice cold but carrying authority. "What happened to you?"

Grian didn't answer. He only shifted slightly, his remaining wing curling protectively over himself. It was clear that he'd been tortured—his body marked with bruises and cuts, his eyes sunken from days or perhaps weeks of captivity. He knelt in the cage, forced to look up at scar, chains holding his arms uncomfortably behind his back amongst his wings.

Scar gestured to one of his crew, and the man broke open the cage, stepping back quickly. Scar crouched down beside the boy, his gaze still steady. "You've been through hell, I can see that but I'm not like them—"

Grian's eyes flickered up to meet Scar's, a flash of resentment in his gaze. "You're no better than the rest of them," he spat, his voice rough but defiant. Scar straightened, not taking offense, but considering the boy carefully. There was fire in him, even now, even after whatever he'd been through. It made Scar pause.

The broken airship rocked suddenly, the crew shifting their weight to steady the ship. The rough movement caused Grian to seize in pain, his broken wing sending a jolt of agony through his body. He crumpled slightly but didn't let out another sound.

Scar's expression tightened, but his voice remained calm. "You're not going to be able to fly with that," he said, gesturing toward Grian's wing. "Not without help. My crew and I—We can help you but I'm not going to pretend you're anything more than a liability to us right now."

Grian glared up at him, eyes hard with anger and bitterness. "I don't need your help."

"Right." He inturn responded flatly, using his sword to remove the chains, freeing his arms.

Scar's gaze softened ever so slightly, but his words were firm. "You've got two choices. I can give you your freedom. No strings attached. Walk away, find your own way up against the next mob you come across. Or... you can stay. Join my crew. Help us fix what needs fixing. We have a way to make sure you get back on your feet, but it'll come with work."

The silence between them stretched, thick with the weight of the choice. Grian said nothing for a long moment, his gaze fixed on Scar with a cold intensity. He was weighing his options, but there was something in his posture—stubborn, proud—that told Scar he was no stranger to hard decisions.

Finally, Grian spoke, his voice low but steady. "I'll help. But I'm not your ally, don't expect my loyalty."

Scar nodded, the smallest smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. "I didn't expect you to be, afterall loyalty must be earned."

Scar broke off the remaining chains that were securing Grian's prison cell, he stepped aside and waved him toward the heart of the ship. The boy followed with a stiff, reluctant step, the pain in his wing clearly making every movement a struggle. He boarded their unscathed ship with watchful eyes following him as he tailed the captain. 

__________

Over the next few days, Grian settled into his new role, though he was no more friendly to the crew than he had been in that first moment. He worked on the engines with quiet precision, his skills with mechanical work quickly becoming evident. It was clear he knew the inner workings of an airship—perhaps better than some of the crew. He was cold, distant, and avoided speaking to anyone unless it was absolutely necessary. Scar watched him with an ever-growing sense of curiosity. The boy had a sharp mind and even sharper instincts. But that didn't mean he trusted him—not yet.

Grian, for his part, kept to himself. His silence was almost oppressive at times, but Scar could sense something shifting in him. The boy might have been broken in body, but there was a strength that remained in his spirit—one that Scar wasn't entirely willing to let go of just yet.

As they sailed through the skies Scar couldn't help his growing inquiries about the avian. He had a way of working that was precise and efficient, but there was an edge to him that made Scar hesitant to get too close. They were both broken in their own ways. But for now, this would have to be enough. 

Chapter Text

The Jelliechaser was a patchwork of metal and wood, a ship built for survival in the unforgiving skies. The crew worked hard to keep it that way—tightening bolts, adjusting the sails, ensuring the engines hummed smoothly. It was a well-oiled machine, and Grian's skills had quickly become indispensable. Despite the tension in the air between him and the rest of the crew, Scar couldn't help but notice how seamlessly Grian slid into the role of mechanic alongside one of his crew members, Mumbo.

It was late one evening when Scar found himself drawn toward the engine room, the faint smell of oil and grease heavy in the air. He had been on deck overseeing the crew's repairs when a strange noise had started coming from the lower levels. Without thinking, he'd descended into the bowels of the ship, following the trail of muffled clanks and hisses that signaled something was off. There, sitting cross-legged on the cold metal floor with his tools laid out around him, was Grian. His expression was focused, his brow furrowed as he worked. His damaged wing was tucked against his side, the feathers stiff and ragged, but he moved with precision, as if it didn't matter. As if nothing in the world could stop him from fixing whatever had broken.

Scar hesitated at the entrance, watching for a moment. It wasn't the first time he'd found Grian down here, working late into the night with only the hum of the engines for company. Grian wasn't one for idle chatter. And Scar had learned over the past few days that the boy didn't respond well to anything that resembled forced camaraderie. Still, the captain couldn't help but wonder—what drove him?

"Something wrong with the engines?" Scar's voice broke the silence, low and steady.

Grian didn't look up immediately, his hands still moving over the mechanisms in front of him. Scar noticed how meticulous his movements were, the way his fingers seemed to know exactly where to go without hesitation. Grian's face remained a mask, but there was an intensity to his work, a quiet passion that Scar found oddly amusing.

"No," Grian finally muttered, his voice soft but edged with something like annoyance. "Just... making sure everything's tight. They've been acting strange. Can't risk a breakdown."

Scar crossed the threshold and leaned against the wall, his arms crossed as he watched. "Mm. You're not exactly one for small talk, are you?"

Grian didn't respond, his focus entirely on the engine in front of him. Scar could sense the tension in the air—the distance between them, the walls Grian had built around himself. The boy was cold, distant, and despite the occasional comment, there was an undeniable barrier that kept everyone out. Including Scar. The silence stretched on, thick and uncomfortable. Scar didn't mind it. In fact, he enjoyed it. But there was something about Grian's isolation that gnawed at him, a curiosity he couldn't quite shake.

"You know," Scar began after a while, leaning forward slightly, "I never did get a proper explanation for why you were in that cage. What did they do to you?"

Grian stiffened, his hands pausing for just a heartbeat before continuing to work. He didn't look up, his face hardening into a mask of indifference. "It's not your business," he replied, his tone icy, but the words didn't carry the same venom they once did.

Scar noticed the shift. There was a slight tremor in Grian's voice, something that betrayed the calm front he was trying to put on. Scar didn't push further, but the question lingered in the air between them. Instead, he watched Grian work, noting the fine-tuned way he adjusted the engine's parts, his brow furrowing in concentration. Scar had seen plenty of mechanics over the years—people who could fix things, people who could make things run—but there was a different kind of precision in Grian's work. Unlike Mumbo's passion for the work, for Grian it was almost as if he was trying to prove something, not to the crew, but to himself.

Scar's curiosity deepened, but he didn't press. There was no use in forcing the boy to open up.

"I'll leave you to it, then," Scar said, standing straight. "But if you need anything—tools, supplies—don't hesitate to ask."

Grian gave a quick nod, not looking up, but Scar could see the smallest shift in his posture. The boy didn't want to be alone, not entirely. It was as if he was testing the waters, seeing how far he could push before anyone would notice.

Scar turned to leave but stopped at the door. He looked back, meeting Grian's eyes for the briefest of moments. "You're good at this. You know that?"

Grian didn't respond, but there was the faintest flicker of something in his gaze. Scar wasn't sure if it was gratitude or irritation, but it was there, although probably the later. For the first time, Grian seemed to acknowledge him, even if only for a second.

"I'm not here for your praise," Grian muttered, though the words lacked the sharpness they once held.

Scar smirked softly. "I'm not giving it to you. Just stating the obvious."

With that, Scar left, his mind buzzing with thoughts of the boy who had slowly become an enigma.

__________

"I didn't expect him to be so of use to us," Pearl outlined as Joel nodded in agreement. The crew were sat around a wooden table carved from what used to be a barrel.

"Yeah me neither, but I'm glad we dragged him off that wreck along with us," Scar said with a subtle smile leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

"Maybe he'll join the crew!" Mumbo stated enthusiatically before recieving a bonk on the head from Gem who had a different view on the new addition to their airship.

"Don't be silly. He wants just about nothing to do with us, he only came with us to better his chances at survival." She says light-heartedly.

Although not wrong, Scar couldn't help but let a slither or doubt hang off Gems words.

Chapter Text

It had been a week since Grian joined the Jellie crew. He wasn't difficult—not exactly. He did his work, and he did it well. Better than well, if Scar was being honest. Grian repaired the worn-out rigging, recalibrated the navigation runes, and even reinforced the hull's enchanted plating. He was sharp, efficient, and clever. The problem was... he was a ghost. He moved through the ship like a shadow, silent and distant. He kept to the far edges of the deck, vanishing below at dusk without lingering by the galley's fire like the others. No shared meals, no stories, no banter.

It gnawed at Scar. The Jelliechaser was more than a ship—it was a made home, a family built from misfits and wanderers. But Grian didn't seem interested in being part of it.

__________

The ship soared through the open skies beneath a soft purple sunset. Wind hummed in the sails while the crew worked through the last of the day's tasks. Pearl secured the sails, Joel sharpened his blade, and Mumbo adjusted the magical conduits that powered the engine. Scar stood at the helm, his gaze drifting toward the starboard side, where Grian was perched, adjusting the lookout's telescope with careful precision. Alone. Again.

A sigh escaped Scar's lips. He passed the wheel to Joel and made his way across the deck.

"Good view up here," Scar remarked casually, leaning against the railing beside Grian.

Grian didn't look up. "Visibility's decent. Sky's clear." He responds, removing his face from the telescope.

Scar waited, but no further comment came. He tried again. "We'll make port in two days. The crew's thinking of restocking and maybe grabbing some shore leave."

"Sounds practical."

Scar fought the urge to groan. Why was this so hard?

"You know," Scar said, keeping his tone light, "you could join us sometime. For dinner. Maybe share a story or two of your own—I'm sure the crew would be interested..."

Grian's hands stilled on the telescope's brass handle. His shoulders tensed just enough for Scar to notice.

"I'm fine."

His words weren't cold, just... final. Like the door of a house closing, lights turning off as if no one's home.

Scar nodded slowly, stepping back. "Well... offer's open."

He turned to leave—

"Why?"

The single word stopped Scar in his tracks. He glanced back. Grian's sharp gaze met his, searching, suspicious.

"Why what?"

"Why try?" Grian's voice was quiet but edged with something raw. "Why bother with me?"

Scar blinked, caught off guard. He thought for a moment, then shrugged.

"Because you're here." His voice softened. "And you shouldn't have to be alone."

For the first time, Grian's expression cracked—just a flicker, a glimpse of something vulnerable before he slammed his walls back up.

"I don't need—"

"Maybe not." Scar smiled faintly. "But it's easier... when you let people in."

The wind stirred between them, cool and restless. Grian didn't reply. He just turned back toward the sky, eyes fixed on the horizon. Scar lingered a moment longer before heading back to the helm, leaving Grian alone—though maybe not quite as alone as before.

__________

Later that night, long after the deck had emptied and the crew had settled inside the warmth of the galley, sharing a meal, a quiet routine they all forged. Grian found himself outside like usual, observing the stars and how they scattered across the sky beaming in brightness, he propped himself against the railing, his gaze distant. Scar's words lingered, stubborn as the wind. You shouldn't have to be alone.

For the first time in a long while... he wasn't sure he wanted to be.

___________

The following night fall had settled over the Jelliechaser, its sails bathed in silver moonlight as the ship glided through calm skies. Laughter and conversation drifted from below deck, where the crew shared another lively meal. One Grian didn't take participation in again. Instead, he sat alone near the ship's bow, perched against the railing with his knees drawn up, watching the stars ripple across the vast, endless sky, a quiet comfort he made himself familiar with. The cool wind tugged gently at his red sweater, wrapping him in its familiar solitude.

He liked the quiet. It was steady, predictable—something he could rely on.

Footsteps approached, light but purposeful. Grian stiffened, already guessing who it was.

"Figured you might be hungry."

Scar's voice was warm, casual, as he set a tin plate beside Grian. The smell of roasted potatoes and salted fish wafted up, making Grian's stomach twist with reluctant hunger.

"You didn't have to," Grian muttered, keeping his eyes on the horizon.

"Didn't have to," Scar agreed, settling down cross-legged beside him. "Wanted to."

They sat in silence for a moment, the only sounds the distant hum of the ship's engines and the faint rustling of sails. Scar reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a small, battered brass compass. Its surface was scratched, the once-polished metal dulled by years of use. He held it carefully, as though it were something precious, something with more meaning than a simple put navigation tool.

Grian frowned. "That thing's broken."

Scar chuckled, thumbing the compass's lid open. Inside, the needle spun wildly, refusing to settle on any direction. It twisted and turned like it was chasing an invisible wind.

"Yeah," Scar admitted with a fond smile. "It's been like that for as long as I've had it."

"Why keep it?" Grian asked, genuinely puzzled. "You could replace it with a working one."

Scar's gaze softened. "It does work—just not how you think."

Grian arched a skeptical brow. "A compass is supposed to point north, not... spin like it's a lost mind."

Scar laughed—a warm, genuine sound. "See, that's the thing. It's not supposed to point anywhere. It just... moves." He twirled the compass gently in his hand. "Some people think broken things are useless. But this one? It's perfect."

Grian's frown deepened. "I fail to see how so."

Scar leaned back, his eyes tracing the glittering stars. "Because I choose where to go. It doesn't tell me what path to take—I decide. Every spin... every direction... is a new possibility, a new adventure awaiting."

"That's stupid," Grian said flatly. "You'll just get lost."

Scar chuckled again, unbothered by the remark. "Maybe. But sometimes getting lost is how you find things you didn't know you were looking for."

He snapped the compass shut with a soft click, tucking it back into his coat. Grian studied him, bewildered. Scar's words lingered, strange and stubborn, swirling like the spinning needle he carried so proudly.

He rose to his feet, brushing off his coat. "Good night, Grian."

With that, he disappeared into the shadows, leaving Grian alone with the stars... and the strange notion that maybe being lost wasn't the worst thing after all. As beyond everything, somehow, Scar had found him.

Chapter Text

The day had been long but uneventful—a rare blessing. They hadn't encountered any rival ships or turbulent storms, only endless stretches of silver-tinged clouds stretching to the horizon. Grian spent most of the day in the navigation room, plotting the next part of their journey alongside Mumbo. The air between them was businesslike but not unfriendly. Mumbo was easy company—focused and precise but never pushy, although he was always fiddling with something he never bothered Grian with it. Infact, Grian found himself appreciating the man's quiet competence, although never still. But he found Mumbo's constant fiddling amusing. 

"Coordinates set," Mumbo confirmed, rolling up the ship's chart. "Should be smooth sailing for the next few days" He says somewhat cheerfully, rolling out the 'oo' sound. 

"Unless the wind shifts," Grian added, forever the skeptic.

Mumbo chuckled. "You really are a ball of joy, aren't you?"

Grian smirked faintly but didn't answer. He double-checked the ship's enchanted compass, still marveling at how the needle pulsed faintly with arcane energy. It worked, unlike Scar's broken relic, which continued to spin aimlessly in its worn brass casing. The thought of that ridiculous compass tugged at Grian's mind throughout the day, though he couldn't say why.

By late afternoon, he found himself working with Joel and Pearl to secure cargo that had come loose during the day's flight. Joel grumbled dramatically about "pointless busywork," though he tackled the heavy crates with ease. Pearl worked swiftly and efficiently, cracking jokes to fill the air. Despite himself, Grian found their banter oddly comforting.

"Hey, Grian, pass me that rope!" Pearl called, tossing a frayed line his way.

He caught it and secured the last crate with practiced ease. Joel gave an approving nod.

"Not bad," he said, wiping sweat from his brow. "Almost like you belong here."

Grian snorted. "Don't get used to it."

Joel grinned. "Too late."

The warmth in his tone unsettled Grian more than he cared to admit. He wasn't used to casual acceptance—at least, not without strings attached.

By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the sky in hues of gold and crimson, the crew gathered below deck for their usual evening meal. The scent of Gem's cooking wafted through the ship, warm and inviting. Laughter echoed up through the open hatches as stories and friendly jabs were traded back and forth.

But Grian didn't join them.

Instead he lingered near the deck's edge, his usual solitary spot. He hadn't meant to stay so long, but the crisp air felt grounding after another long day of navigating through treacherous skies. It was easier like this—alone. No expectations, no awkward conversations. Just the vast, endless sky. His mind still circled Scar's strange philosophy about the broken compass. He'd thought the captain was foolish at first—but something about Scar's unwavering belief in forging his own path unsettled him in ways he couldn't quite explain.

"Bit for your thoughts?"

Grian startled, spinning around to see Pearl approaching, her arms crossed with a casual smirk.

"I don't talk for free," he quipped before he could stop himself.

Pearl chuckled, leaning on the railing beside him. "Fair enough."

They stood in comfortable silence, the wind weaving around them. After a while, Pearl tilted her head, studying him thoughtfully, while her long brown hair twirled in the breeze. 

"You know... you don't always have to be up here alone," she said gently, not wanting to drive their ships local ghost away.

Grian shrugged, his gaze fixed on the distant stars. "So I've been told—I'm used to it."

"Doesn't mean you have to keep doing it." Pearl's tone was light, but there was something knowing beneath it. "We're not so bad, you know—once you get past Joel's awful card tricks."

Grian huffed a small laugh before catching himself. Pearl smiled, not pushing further.

"I... I'm just not good at—" He gestured vaguely, struggling for words. "...all that."

"Good at what?"

"People," he admitted grudgingly.

Pearl's expression softened. "You don't have to be. You're here—that's enough."

Before he could respond, a voice hollered from below.

"Pearl! Get down here—you're supposed to be on my team!" Joel's indignant shout echoed across the deck in his usual exaggerated accent.

Pearl sighed dramatically. "Duty calls." She gave Grian a wink. "Think about it. We've got room for one more."

With that, she disappeared below, leaving Grian alone once more.

He lingered, her words still settling in his chest like an unfamiliar warmth. They didn't push or demand—just left the door open, waiting. For the first time in a long while, Grian considered stepping through. But nonetheless was contempt with the night breeze. Maybe next time. 

__________

"You think he'll join us tonight?" Mumbo asks softly, you could almost assume he was hopeful for that outcome. 

"No... But he knows the doors open for when he does decide to walk through." Pearl responds not fully convinced her brief talk was enough to convince the boy to join them. 

The crew fall silent for a moment, each looking around at one another. In truth, they are all hoping for that outcome. Longing for the time Grian will join their little found family, but it was more of an if than a when.

Chapter Text

Grian wandered the ship for a change, popping his head into rooms he had not yet seen. He came across Scar's ship quater's and quietly watched him from a far. He was busy writing a scroll, it was probably new ship upgrades or engine improvements. Grian lost himself in his mind thinking about what sort of lands they might come across, not noticing Scar making his way over.  Scar Leaned against the door frame supported by the wall Grian hid behind. 

"Well hello there." Scar greeted, not all that surprised by Grian's sudden appearence. Obviosly catching the boy off guard, Grian jumped and inturn recieved a soft chuckle. 

"I was just lost in thought," Grian said turning to walk off. 

"Do you like to read?" Scar asked bluntly, Grian paused.

"Uhm...Yes?" He replied, uncertainty laced his words. 

"The ship has a library, I'm not sure if you've come across it yet but its down the hall to the left," Scar added with gentle smile. 

"Thanks..." Grian responded almost inaudibly. With that Scar turned heel and walked down in the opposite direction whisteling an uplifting tune. Grian continued his wandering down the hall as his soft footsteps were accompanied by something else—life. 

The hall soon was filled with buzzing, raucous laughter and the clatter of dice against the worn wooden table. Joel and Gem sat shoulder to shoulder, exchanging competitive glances as they prepared for another round of Sky's Gamble, a pirate favorite, a game blending luck and strategy. Grian lingered near the door, half-listening. He told himself he was just passing by after returning inside from his usual spot on the deck—but the laughter drew him in like a moth to a lantern. Before he could slip away, Gem spotted him.

"Oi, Grian!" she called with a grin. "Think you can beat Joel's so-called 'unbeatable' rolls?"

Joel scoffed. "Unbeatable because I'm the best."

Grian hesitated. He wasn't used to such easy camaraderie. But something about the crew's genuine energy made it hard to stay distant. With a sigh that was more for show, he pulled out a chair.

"Let's see if your dice are as lucky as your mouth," Grian shot back, earning a round of delighted whoops. He caught the crew off guard at that as none of them had suspected his willingness to join them on this particular night.

Nonetheless, the game was on.

Dice tumbled across the table, and Grian quickly picked up on the game's flow. He played cautiously at first but soon matched the crew's competitive fire.

Joel leaned in. "Double or nothing, bird-boy?"

Grian smirked, tossing his dice with effortless precision. They clattered, spinning—six and six.

"Sky's luck!" Pearl gasped.

Joel groaned dramatically, burying his face in his hands. "Cheater!" he squawked in his voice in a slightly higher pitch than usual.

The crew erupted into cheers, banging the table. Even Scar, watching quietly from the far end of the room, found his eyes lingering—more on Grian than the others. There was something magnetic about seeing Grian like this—unguarded and alive, it was different. Scar's lips tugged into a quiet smile he didn't even notice until Grian's gaze flicked toward him. For a moment, their eyes met across the room. Seeing Scar's warm, genuine expression sent an unfamiliar warmth blooming in Grian's chest. He quickly looked away, unsettled but not entirely unhappy. Scar couldn't help but think about how Grian has meshed his way into the crew, slowly and definitely not without untrustworthy holes, but here they all were, playing a pirates favourite around a wooden table. 

__________

The night stretched quiet as the crew trickled off to sleep. Unable to settle, Grian wandered back to the comforts of the ship's deck, wings aching from the day's work. Sitting on the railing, he extended his injured wing, grimacing as he tried to preen the stubborn feathers. They had filled with small stones and sand, all not too comfortable to walk around with. 

Footsteps gradually approached, soft but unmistakable.

"Struggling?" Scar's voice was low, careful.

Grian sighed but didn't snap. "It's... harder than it used to be." Considering the makeshift wing brace Scar made him wasn't the most comfortable thing to wear. 

Scar stepped closer, still keeping a respectful distance. "Want help?"

Grian hesitated, pride warring with practicality. He hated needing anyone—but his wing burned with exhaustion. After a long pause, he nodded stiffly. Scar removed his gloves, hands warm and steady as he gently smoothed and untangled Grian's battered feathers. They worked in silence, the only sound surrounding them being the soft rustling of feathers in the cool night breeze.

"You're good at this," Grian admitted grudgingly.

Scar chuckled softly. "Years of fixing sails and rigging. Feathers aren't so different."

For the first time, Grian allowed himself to relax. Scar's touch was sure but careful—not prying, not pitying—just there.

As Scar finished, Grian murmured, "Thanks."

Scar met his gaze, something unspoken passing between them—acceptance, perhaps. Neither said another word, but they stayed there, side by side, until the stars began to fade into dawn. Not another word was exchanged nor needed. The 2 eventually headed their separate ways to sleep after the long work-filled day they treachered through. 

Chapter Text

The Jelliechaser had been soaring through the skies for days without a break. Between battling storms and constant adjustments to the sails, the crew hadn't had a moment to themselves in what felt like an eternity. They were soon to make it to the port. Grian, as usual, took the brunt of the work—his hands quick and steady as he fixed engine parts, tightened cables, and ensured the ship remained in peak condition. His sharp eyes never missed a detail, even when exhaustion was beginning to chip away at his focus. But he never complained. He couldn't afford to---he owed them this much didn't he?

The engine room was stifling, the air thick with the smell of oil and metal. The rhythmic hum of the ship's machinery was a constant companion, as familiar to Grian as the air he breathed. He was bent over the open panel of the main engine, his brow slick with sweat, his body aching from days of nonstop work. His eyes were bloodshot, struggling to stay open, but he pushed on, focusing on tightening a bolt that had slipped loose. His hands shook ever so slightly, but he caught himself before it became noticeable.

From the doorway, Scar watched quietly, leaning against the frame, with his arms folded across his chest. He'd noticed Grian's growing fatigue over the past few days—the subtle shifts in his posture, the way his movements had started to slow, the dark rings under his eyes. But Grian was tough. Scar knew that. And he wasn't one to ask for help. But something about tonight was different. There was a stillness in the air, a weight that hadn't been there before, and it set Scar on edge.

He took a slow step into the engine room, the sound of his boots on the metal floor pulling Grian out of his focus. The younger man didn't look up immediately, his concentration fixed entirely on the task at hand. Scar waited, giving him a moment before speaking.

"Grian," he said, his voice softer than usual.

Grian's shoulders tensed for a brief second, as though startled by the sound. He straightened, letting out a sigh, though he still didn't look up. "Yeah?"

"You've been at this for hours." Scar's voice was steady but lacking the usual jest, the casual tone that often defined his speech. This wasn't a game. This wasn't about teasing. "You need to get some rest."

Grian paused for the briefest moment, before returning to the engine with a quiet grunt. "I'm fine."

Scar tilted his head, taking a step closer, his gaze fixed on Grian's tired face. There was no humor, no sarcasm. Just a quiet concern in the lines of his expression. "You're not fine," he said simply. "You look like a corpse and about to pass out at that."

Grian's fingers froze mid-turn of the wrench. His eyes, though unfocused, flickered toward Scar for a moment—just long enough for the older man to catch the flash of defiance in them.

"I said I'm fine, Scar," Grian repeated, his voice more clipped than usual.

Scar frowned, leaning against a nearby table. "You're not fine," he said again, though his tone was more gentle now. "You've been working non-stop for 3 days. It's catching up with you. You won't be able to keep going like this."

Grian didn't respond, his eyes dropping back to the engine, his hands moving once more. He let out a shaky breath, trying to push past the exhaustion that had started to cloud his mind. "I can handle it, the new engine is faulty and will take more than one restless night to fix into position properly.. I need to do this, Mumbo is busy enough as is everyone else, I can't be lacking when the rest of the crew are over exerting themselves..." he trailed off.

Scar watched him for a moment longer before speaking again, his voice quieter now, almost tender. "You can handle a lot, Grian, but that doesn't mean you should." He took a step closer, his gaze softening. "You're not invincible. If you push yourself too far, you're going to break. And I don't want to see that happen. You think you would be any help when you're too exhausted to move?"

Grian didn't answer at first, his jaw tight, eyes fixed on the task before him. Scar could see the tension in his posture, the resistance in his stance. But beneath that, Scar could also see the cracks—faint but there—where Grian was starting to let the walls he'd built around himself begin to crack.

"You're no use to anyone if you're half dead on your feet, Grian," Scar repeated, his voice still steady, his concern unwavering. "Please. Take a break. Let the crew handle it for once, they have their own breaks too."

Grian didn't meet his gaze, his lips pressed together tightly. He wanted to protest, to argue that he didn't need anyone's help, but the words wouldn't come. For a long moment, there was only the low hum of the ship, the sound of Grian's shallow breathing. Finally, he sighed, his shoulders slumping.

"I'll get to it after this last part," he muttered, but his voice lacked its usual conviction.

Scar didn't press further. He could tell that Grian wasn't ready to fully admit the toll the work was taking on him, and forcing him would only make it worse. Instead, Scar took a slow step back, nodding. "Alright, but just... don't push yourself too far."

There was no immediate response, but the weight of Scar's words seemed to settle over Grian. For the first time in days, he didn't feel the burning need to keep going. He allowed himself to breathe, to rest for a single moment. Scar's quiet concern had planted a seed of realization in him: Maybe, just maybe, he didn't have to do everything alone.

__________

Grian woke up to the soft glow of early morning light streaming through the windows of the crew quarters. His body ached as usual, but something felt different. He stretched out, wincing at the stiff muscles in his back, and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He hadn't slept long—maybe only a few hours—but it felt more restful than it should have.

When he made his way to the engine room, he expected to find the usual noise of the ship's machinery—familiar, constant—but instead, there was an eerie quiet. The engine room was still.

Grian frowned, puzzled, as he stepped closer. He opened the door fully and froze.

Scar was hunched over the engine, grease and oil staining his clothes, his face drawn with exhaustion. The wrench in his hand was still gripped tight, his posture slumped slightly. He had clearly been working through the night, his eyes bleary but focused. Grian's heart gave an unexpected lurch as he realized that Scar hadn't just voiced his concern—he had acted on it.

Scar glanced up when he heard the door creak. His face lit up, though the fatigue was still evident. "Morning, Grian. You get some rest?"

Grian's voice caught in his throat as he stepped forward, the sight of Scar's dedication striking him harder than he expected. "You... stayed up all night."

Scar shrugged casually, though the exhaustion in his eyes gave him away. "Someone had to get it fixed so you didn't have to do everything yourself today. Can't have you working yourself into the ground."

Grian looked down at the work Scar had done—he had gone through the engine and made several improvements, even tightening up things Grian hadn't noticed needed attention. His throat tightened as something unfamiliar stirred in him.

"You didn't need to do this," Grian said quietly, his voice thick. "I would've managed."

Scar gave him a tired grin. "Yeah, well... I'm stubborn. You're not the only one who can push through things, you know."

For the first time in a long while, Grian allowed himself a moment of quiet appreciation. His chest felt tight, but not with discomfort—there was something soft there, something he hadn't expected from the man who was always so full of jokes and bravado.

"Thanks," Grian said, his voice just above a whisper.

Scar looked up, his eyes meeting Grian's, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. The words didn't need to be said aloud. There was understanding between them now—quiet, unspoken, but there all the same.

Chapter Text

The crew drifted into the bustling port of Lidiiahn Haven just after dawn, the ship's hull battered but holding steady. After tireless days traveled they had made it, the sight of dockworkers and merchant ships was a welcome relief. Scar stood at the helm, guiding the ship into an open berth with practiced ease while shouting orders to the crew.

"Pearl, get those docking ropes secure! Joel, make sure the cannons are locked down—we're not paying for any 'accidental discharges' this time!" Scar's voice carried across the deck, filled with urgency but tinged with relief.

Grian watched from the rigging, where he'd been adjusting the frayed sails. His muscles ached, but a strange lightness filled his chest. They had made it.

By midday, the crew scattered into the port to gather supplies and arrange repairs. Grian found himself paired with Mumbo, who was intensely focused on bartering for enchanted components for the ship's failing engine.

"You sure we need that?" Grian asked, eyeing a peculiar brass contraption Mumbo cradled like a newborn. "Looks complicated and more like an exploding clock."

"It's a combustion regulator," Mumbo insisted. "I can explain how it works-it's quite simple really. And very much needed for the airship!"

Grian rolled his eyes but couldn't help smirking. "Sure buddy." He paid the merchant while Mumbo debated with the mechanics reasons of its design. Grain's eyes wandered about the village square, where stalls popped up and just about every corner, each selling unique items and advances. He spun back around only to find Mumbo cradling another foreign gadget.

Meanwhile, Joel and Pearl turned the supply run into a competition. Whoever had retrieved the most and useful supplies would win the glory. They raced through the sprawling market, haggling with merchants and loading up crates. By the time they returned to the docks, Pearl stood victorious with a triumphant smirk.

"Face it, Joel, you'll never out-bargain me."

"You cheated!" Joel sputtered, pointing accusingly at her overflowing crates.

"Don't be salty, it's not my fault you can't charm a merchant." She says with a wide grin.

Their banter echoed across the docks, drawing a quiet chuckle from Grian as he passed by with Mumbo—along with all their newly bought contraptions. They returned to the ship and both decided to make some repairs here and there.

Repairs stretched into the evening, but by nightfall, the crew gathered on the nearby lake accompanied by a stunning waterfall. A roaring bonfire crackled against the backdrop of the dark blue abyss, its flames dancing in rhythm with the crashing water. Joel made a steady beat with sticks and wooden drums, while Gem led the group in a rousing sea shanty. Mumbo clapped, although off-beat, with more enthusiasm than any of the other members seemed to manage. Even Pearl joined in, her usually sharp demeanor softened by the warmth of the fire.

Scar nudged Grian's shoulder as they watched from the outskirts. "Not joining in?"

"Don't know the words," Grian admitted, though that wasn't the whole truth.

Scar grinned. "Doesn't matter. We make up half the lyrics anyway."

For a fleeting moment, Grian considered stepping closer—but he instead stayed rooted. He felt Scar's gaze linger before the captain wandered off, joining the others with ease. Later, as the group swapped stories, Grian surprised himself by sharing a half-remembered tale from his childhood. He left out the personal parts, but still, the crew listened with quiet attentiveness. It was about the time a friend of his accompanied him in stealing the light from a lighthouse before being chased away by a wizard, his friend ended up a frog for the following 8 hours and Grian had to fly the once avian, now turned amphibian, back home to their jungle.

When he finished, Gem beamed. "See? You do belong."

"I didn't take you for such a rebel, Feathers," Scar said with a smirk.

Grian looked away, but something warm settled in his chest. The crew were growing on him whether he liked to admit to it or not. They each took turns telling stories, Joel brought up an old memory that the crew still bugged him with today about the time he met a hybrid, a very pretty one he always added.

"He insists on the fact he met a pink haired hybrid, said to have soft features and blue scaled details. However, by the time I found him, he was just sitting looking at his reflection with no aquatic being spotted in sight!" Pearl giggled out and Joel was less than amused and brushed the banter off with a sigh.

"It's okay to acknowledge your charming good looks from time to time Joel!" Gem teased but he stuck to his story.

"You don't have to believe me but she gave me this gold ring right here," Joel showed off his golden ring and the message engraved on it to Grian, jumbled letters is what pearl liked to refer to it as. Joel smiled at the nostalgic memory, twisting the gifted trinket on his finger. Grian didn't quite know why, but he believed him. Maybe it was that look in his eyes.

Mumbo went next and told an embarrassing tale causing an eruption of laughs from his friends. The crew each took turns embarrassing Scar with silly memories of their captain, the favourite being the time Scar led them astray on a 2 day detour after he navigated reading the map upside down, a choice followed making Pearl the lead navigater instead.

"Now, now is this really all that necessary to tell Grian—" scar babelled, cheeks turning a soft pink.

"Oh I think it's very necessary Scar," Grian giggled out, all while amused.

After a day the crew could call a success they surrendered back to the Jelliechaser for the night, all excited for what the next day was to bring.

Chapter Text

The next day it dawned bright and bustling. The market was alive with vendors hawking enchanted trinkets and exotic wares. Scar led Grian through the crowded streets, pointing out oddities with unrestrained enthusiasm.

"Look at this!" Scar held up a strange, gleaming pendant shaped like a stormcloud. Must have been the forth trinket he had handled in the span of 5 minutes. "Supposedly blessed by sky spirits! Think it actually works?"

Grian smirked. "You'll believe anything."

"Maybe," Scar admitted with a wink, slipping it back onto the vendor's table.

They wandered past street performers and tinkers, pausing when a lively performance spilled into the street. Joel, always the show-off, got roped into the act and ended up juggling flaming torches while the crew cheered and laughed.

As they moved on, Grian lingered near a small stall selling handmade goods. His fingers brushed over a beautifully bound sketchbook, its leather cover embossed with delicate skyship motifs. He remembers the days he used to spend hours sitting on tree tops sketching out pictures of his local village people, his friends and family, a passion he took for granted, a passion that was taken away from him once he was captured. A shiver crept down his spine as he lifted his hand away and caught up with the rest of the crew. As time went on and people started giving into their grumbling belly's, they stumbled across a small tavern, cozily hidden inside what seemed to be an old hobbit hole dug into the cliff side.

The tavern was alive with warmth and noise, its thick wooden beams creaking with age and stories. The sounds of clinking mugs and hearty laughter filled the air as the crew made their way inside, drawing curious glances from the locals. They'd been on the move for days, their nerves worn thin by the endless repairs, and the constant tension of being on the run. But now, the air felt different—lighter, as though the weight of the skies had momentarily lifted. The tavern was alive with color—rough-hewn tables covered in stained cloths, warm candlelight flickering against the walls, and the rich smells of stew and roasting meats. The crew found a long table by the hearth, Gem and Joel taking seats first, immediately diving into conversation with the locals. Mumbo, as usual, busied himself with studying the various contraptions hanging from the rafters, while Pearl surveyed the crowd, her sharp eyes scanning the room like she always did, but with a hint of amusement this time.

Scar, for the first time in days, leaned back in his chair with a contented sigh. He looked at Grian across the table, who was, as usual, fidgeting with his hands, his posture a little stiff. Scar caught his eye, a mischievous grin creeping across his face.

"Relax, Grian," he said, leaning in closer. "It's just a meal. A drink or two. You don't have to keep thinking you're on some kind of mission."

Grian shot him a look, but it was soft, lacking the usual edge of annoyance. "I'm just not great with these things," he admitted, his voice low.

Before he could say more, the sound of a fiddle broke through the murmur of conversation, followed by a raucous cheer. A group of locals, having finished their own meal, had cleared a space in the center of the room. The music quickened, the fiddles and flutes pulling the entire tavern into a rhythm. The people around them began clapping and stomping their feet, urging others to join.

Scar stood abruptly, his chair scraping the wooden floor as he flashed a grin toward Grian. "Come on," he said, already making his way toward the growing crowd, pulling Grian with him.

Grian hesitated, his feet glued to the ground for a moment. "I'm not—"

"You're coming," Scar interrupted with a wink, his grip firm around Grian's arm as he tugged him toward the dancing throng.

It was chaos in the best way—a jumble of steps, spins, and laughter that flowed through the room like a river. The locals were a whirlwind of energy, their movements sharp, fluid, and full of joy. Scar caught the beat immediately, his body moving with the ease of someone who'd danced all his life. He turned back to Grian, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "No backing out now," he said, pulling Grian into the center.

For a moment, Grian felt completely out of place. His limbs felt stiff, his rhythm nonexistent. He stumbled a little, awkwardly trying to follow the steps, eyes darting around in search of some semblance of order in the chaos.

Scar noticed. He always noticed.

With a gentle nudge, Scar slowed his steps and guided Grian's hand onto his shoulder. "Just follow my lead," he murmured, his voice warm with encouragement.

It didn't take long for Grian to pick up the rhythm, his movements still hesitant, but gradually becoming more fluid. It was a strange kind of freedom—a feeling he rarely experienced. The music surrounded him, pulling him into something larger than himself. The crew, now scattered around the floor, cheered them on. Pearl flashed a grin, her movements sharp and precise, while Joel clapped along with the beat, grinning broadly. Mumbo, despite his usual tendency to retreat, had found a quiet spot at the edge of the room, clapping along and tapping his foot.

The room seemed to pulse with life. There were no boundaries between the crew and the locals. Everyone was part of the same dance, the same joy. Grian caught a glimpse of Scar's face—his eyes soft, his lips curling in that familiar, teasing grin as he spun Grian in a dizzying circle.

For once, the tension in Grian's chest melted away. It was a rare moment of simplicity, of just being alive. Each person fitting into the rhythm of their own unique step, but all moving together. The music played on, the dance growing faster, wilder. The crew laughed, shouted over the noise, and sang along with the locals, their voices blending into the night's chorus. It was familiar, this singing, this joining in the celebration, but there was something more—something that made it feel like a farewell.

The hours passed in a blur of movement and song. At one point, Grian found himself laughing harder than he had in weeks, spinning with Pearl as she twirled him around, the crew's chants echoing in his ears. The night stretched on, a fever dream of music and joy, every note ringing louder than the last. As the evening wore into the small hours of the morning, the music began to slow. The dancers drifted back to their seats, the tavern settling into a soft hum of contentment. The crew, flushed with warmth and happiness, gathered around their table once more, their laughter still bubbling.

Scar leaned back in his chair, wiping a hand across his brow, his grin wide and unrestrained. "See? Told you it wouldn't be so bad."

Grian chuckled, his gaze lingering on Scar for a moment longer than necessary. "You were right," he admitted softly, feeling a warmth spread through him that had nothing to do with the drinks.

The crew gathered their mugs, clinking them together in a toast. The room was still alive with the hum of conversation, the chatter softening into a lull as the night came to an end. For just a little while, there were no pirate attacks, no engine failures, no heavy thoughts. It was just them—the crew of the Jelliechaser—alive and together, surrounded by music, warmth, and the comfort of knowing they had each other.

It was their last night before the storm, their last night of true peace. And for once, they let the world fade away, letting the rhythm carry them until the stars themselves seemed to dance along.

_________

Later through the evening everyone made final missions of their own, Grian found himself beside Scar. He was pulled toward the edge of the pier, away from the noisy crowd leaving the tavern. The harbor was peaceful under the blanket of night, the chaos of Liahiaan Haven subdued by the gentle lapping of waves of wind against weathered docks. Lanterns cast warm, flickering light, illuminating the well-worn wooden piers. Scar and Grian walked side by side, their footsteps muted against the planks.

Scar spoke easily, recounting tales of past voyages—some grand, some laughably mundane. His stories wove through distant skies and bustling ports, each memory vivid and alive. "You should've seen Joel trying to outdrink a dwarven trader," Scar chuckled. "He couldn't walk straight for two days."

Grian snorted softly, picturing the scene. His usual guardedness ebbed in the quiet intimacy of the harbor. They reached the end of the pier and sat, their boots skimming just above the dark clouds. A comfortable silence settled between them, broken only by the distant calls of seabirds and the creak of moored ships.

Scar leaned back on his palms, gazing at the stars. "It's nice, isn't it? Just... being still for once."

Grian nodded, his gaze distant. "I'm not used to it."

Scar studied him, his expression softening. "You don't talk about your past much."

"There's not much worth saying."

"Maybe not. But sometimes remembering the bad reinforces the remembered good."

Grian hesitated, the words hovering just out of reach. "I... lost people. Long ago." He traced a scar on his wrist absentmindedly. "It's found it's easier not to get attached to people then have to let them go."

Scar didn't press. He simply nodded, his understanding conveyed without words.

After a long pause, he sat up straighter, pulling something from his coat pocket. "I got you something." He handed Grian a small, leather-bound sketchbook, the cover worn but crafted with care. The edges were stitched with thin cord, the paper thick and inviting.

Grian blinked, caught off guard. "Why...?"

"You were eyeing that market stall earlier," Scar explained, a shy grin tugging at his lips. "Figured you might like it."

For a moment, Grian couldn't speak. He traced the rough edges of the cover, his chest tight. "You didn't have to..."

"Consider it a captain's investment," Scar teased, though his tone was softer than usual.

Grian exhaled a shaky breath, the beginnings of a smile ghosting his lips. "Thanks."

Scar tilted his head. "I do have one question...Why a sketchbook?"

Grian hesitated but answered honestly. "I... draw sometimes. It helps clear my head."

Scar's eyes sparkled with curiosity but held no judgment. "I'd love to see something sometime."

"Maybe," Grian muttered, though he felt strangely like he might mean it.

They lingered there a while longer, feet dangling over the dark edge, surrounded by stars and the gentle murmur of waves. For once, Grian didn't feel like running from the stillness—or the company beside him. He turned and watched as Scars eyes lit up as he admired the stars. Something about this quiet moment felt like the weight of a memory you choose to always remember. Grian looked back down at the sketchbook resting in his lap. Maybe it would be best if Scar didn't see his sketches.

Chapter Text

It was time to leave the port, the crew had left with resources for the next while and memories for the next lifetime. The ship lifted from the bustling port at dawn, its hull gleaming from fresh repairs and its hold restocked with supplies. The crew had worked tirelessly through the early hours, readying the ship for its next journey. With sails unfurled and the wind steady, they left behind the noisy harbor and set course for the open skies once more. As much fun as it was in the village, being back in the sky felt like being back in your bed after being on holiday. It was home.

By midday, the ship drifted lazily through a peaceful stretch of sky, clouds swirling in soft mists beneath its hull. The air was still and the winds gentle, no threatening ships loomed on the horizon. It was a rare, but nonetheless a perfect day. Scar leaned against the railing, eyes fixed on the shifting white expanse below. "Alright, crew," he declared, clapping his hands. "We're cloud-fishing today!"

Pearl, already perched on a nearby crate, arched an eyebrow. "Cloud-fishing? Today? The winds are blowing west—"

Scar waved dismissively. "There's always time for fresh fish. Grab a line and let's see what we can catch!"

Joel, eager for competition, was already rummaging through a storage crate. He pulled out a tangled mess of rope. "Bet I'll catch something before you do, Gem."

"Please," Gem scoffed, expertly tying a perfect knot. "I'm twice the fisherman you'll ever be."

Before long, fishing lines dangled over the edge of the Jelliechaser. They cast into the misty expanse, the fishing lines trailing like gentle ripples in a lake. Scar handed Grian a rod, grinning with wild enthusiasm. "What... exactly are we fishing for?" Grian asked skeptically, holding the line awkwardly.

Scar grinned wider. "Cloudfish, obviously silly. Big ones. Fast ones. They ride wind currents, and we catch them with these," Scar proudly showed grian his collection of lures, all with different shapes, colours and sizes.

Grian snorted but played along. The calm, cloud-filled expanse felt peaceful in a way he hadn't experienced in what felt like a long time.

Joel let out a triumphant yell. "I've got something!" He yanked his line, only to pull up a soggy, twisted scrap of sky-weed. "Look at that! Winner's luck!"

Pearl cackled. "That's sea-trash, Joel."

"I still caught it," he shot back. "Technically counts."

Mumbo decided to finally join in, tying an over-complicated contraption to his line. "This should maximize wind resistance and bait visibility," he explained proudly. Minutes later, his line jerked hard, and with a surprised shout, he reeled in a shimmering Breeze-Tail fish, its fin rippling like silver-edged sails.

"You caught a Breeze-Tail!" Pearl exclaimed. "Good eating, that one."

"Yeah all thanks to the Cloud Catcher 0-900, I'm chuffed to bits, this was just a test run!"

Encouraged by Mumbo's success, Grian focused on his line, determination sparking in his eyes. Suddenly, it tugged—sharp and sudden.

"Whoa! I think—" He gripped the rod tightly as it bent under the strain but almost lost control over the reel.

Scar was instantly at his side, his hands overlapping Grian's. "Steady! Reel it in slow!"

The line pulled fiercely, jerking Grian forward. Scar braced behind him, helping steady the line. Together, they hauled their catch upward until—A sleek Cloud-Jumper broke the surface of the mist, its translucent body shimmering like a piece of the sky itself.

"We've got dinner!" Scar cheered.

The crew erupted into cheers and teasing remarks, even Joel conceding it was the best catch of the day. As the sun dipped lower, painting the sky in amber and rose, the crew gathered around the deck's edge, lines reeled in, laughing at the day's ridiculousness. Scar strummed a few soft notes on his battered lute while Gem and Joel argued over whose fish was the hardest to catch, the 2 could be mistaken for siblings at that.

Grian leaned against the railing, watching the fading clouds drift by. His chest felt light in a way he hadn't noticed before. It hit him suddenly—this odd, chaotic group had become something more than just a crew. But he couldn't fill the gap of what they really were—but he decided that was okay. Scar's laughter rang out, clear and warm, tugging Grian from his thoughts. He smiled, letting the peaceful stillness settle over him. For a change, there were no dangers, no running, no fear. Just sky, clouds, and the people he'd found in between. They all enjoyed a delicious grilled fish dinner together around a small rickety table that night. It was simple, a quiet day, but a day Grian would travel back to just to relive the comfort of.

Chapter Text

The Jelliechaser sailed steadily through the open skies, the wind calm and the horizon stretched wide and endless. Days like this were rare—no storms, no pirates, just the hum of the engines and the soft rustling of sails. Boredom, however, was the bigger problem. Joel was the first to crack to no one's surprise. "We need a game!" he announced, pacing the deck like a restless caged animal. "Something fun—none of that boring sky-chess Scar keeps trying to teach us."

Scar looked up from his whittling, mock-offended. "Sky-chess is intellectual, thank you very much."
"No one's intellectual here, Scar." Gem smirked as she polished her daggers. "Joel's right, though. We need something fast-paced. Competitive."
"I could create an obstacle course using rigging lines," Mumbo suggested, already scribbling diagrams down in his notebook.
"Nah, too complicated." Joel waved him off, eyes gleaming with inspiration. "I've got it: Deckball!"

"What's Deckball?" Grian asked, perched on a barrel near the ship's edge. He still kept to himself these days, rarely joining in these antics, but curiosity got the better of him today.
"It's simple!" Joel grabbed an empty storage crate and a worn leather ball from the hold. "Two teams, one goal: throw the ball into the crate without getting tackled. If you do—just keep going."
Scar's eyes lit up. "I love it already."

Pearl crossed her arms skeptically. "No weapons allowed."
"Obviously." Joel said although there was a hint in his voice that gave up the probable idea that Joel had in fact considered allowing weapons.

The teams formed quickly—Joel, Mumbo, and Grian against Scar, Pearl, and Gem. Grian hesitated but got roped in before he could protest. The game started in a whirlwind. Joel immediately tried to cheat by claiming the deck's starboard side was "out of bounds" but only when it suited him. Pearl was having none of it.
"Stay in play or you're disqualified!" she shouted, snatching the ball from him with surprising speed while Joel giggled cheek-ly in the corner. Scar played defense with over-the-top enthusiasm, diving dramatically even when no one was near him. Mumbo, although considered the brains onboard, was hilariously uncoordinated, tripping over the rigging lines he himself had tied earlier.
Grian hung back at first, reluctant to fully join in. But when Joel lobbed the ball toward him with a desperate shout of, "Catch it or we're doomed!" instinct took over.
He caught it cleanly which was surprising to the crew as much as it was him. Pearl closed in fast, her gaze sharp and determined. Grian's heart pounded, but instead of freezing, he sidestepped at the last second and bolted down the deck.

"Go, Grian, Goooo!" Joel cheered on excitedly. Scar lunged—but this time, he tackled Grian full force, sending them both sprawling onto the deck with a loud thud. The ball rolled loose out of Grian's grasp. "Got it!" Joel yelled, seizing the ball and tossing it into the crate just before Pearl could block him.
"Point for us!" Joel whooped, lifting Grian off the ground in a victorious spin before setting him down again.

Gem, still cheering, suddenly noticed Pearl's stern expression and quickly switched sides. "Uh—great defense, Pearl! You almost had him!" The crew burst into laughter. Breathless and stunned, Grian couldn't help but laugh—really laugh. The game continued until the sky turned a soft orange and their exhaustion won. They collapsed in a heap on the deck, lying on their backs in a circle, muscles aching but spirits light.
"You've got some moves, Grian," Pearl admitted grudgingly. "Didn't think you had it in you."
"Neither did I." He smiled, still catching his breath.

Scar propped himself up on his elbows. "See? Told you we'd wear down that broody edge of yours eventually."
Grian looked away, his expression softening. Maybe... maybe he didn't mind it here as much as he thought. The wind whispered gently through the sails as the Jelliechaser continued its journey, the sound mingling with lingering laughter that echoed across the open skies.

__________

The air was crisp and still, the sky a blanket of deep indigo scattered with shimmering stars. The ship rested quietly in the sky's embrace, sails furled and lanterns dimmed. The only sound was the soft creak of wood and the distant whisper of the wind. Grian sat cross-legged near the ship's prow, his back resting against a coiled rope. A well-loved sketchbook lay open on his lap, faint lines of a half-finished drawing catching the silver glow of moonlight. His charcoal idly traced the horizon, though his mind wandered elsewhere. "You're up late though I can't say that's unusual."

The familiar voice drew Grian's attention. Scar stood nearby, wrapped in his battered red coat. His usually wild curls were tamed slightly by the cool night breeze, and he held two steaming mugs in his hands.
"Couldn't sleep," Grian admitted, closing the sketchbook with abrupt speediness.
Scar approached and held out one of the mugs. "Figured. Thought you could use something warm."
Grian accepted it, the heat soaking into his chilled fingers. "Thanks." He took a tentative sip, tasting something sweet and spiced—comfort in liquid form.
Scar eased down beside him with a contented sigh, setting his own mug nearby. For a moment, they sat in companionable silence, the quiet wrapping around them like a cozy blanket. "What were you drawing?" Scar asked gently, nodding toward the closed sketchbook.

"Just... the horizon," Grian said. "The stars."
Scar smiled softly. "I like that. Seems fitting, you know? Drawing something that's always there but never quite the same."
Grian chuckled under his breath. "Didn't think you'd be poetic."
"I contain multitudes." Scar's grin widened, playful but sincere. His eyes sparkled—not just with amusement—with something warmer.

They fell into another easy silence, broken only by the soft lap of wind against the ship's hull. Grian watched Scar out of the corner of his eye—how the moonlight softened his features, how the lines of weariness seemed gentler in the stillness of night. "I'm glad you're here," Scar said suddenly, voice quieter but steady. "I know this life... It's not easy and probably not ideal for you. But I'm glad we're doing it together."
Grian blinked, caught off guard by the quiet honesty of it. His chest felt tight in a way—but it wasn't unpleasant.
"Anythings better than being in that cage Scar and yeah," he murmured. "Me too."
"Oh right. I'm sorry I didn't mean to be so ignorant—"

"That wasn't ignorance, and don't worry, recent days I've been forgetting my old life too—and that... that's something I wouldn't have even be able to dream of a while ago without you and your crew."

Scar beamed with questions, he wanted to know everything, he wanted to listen. But he knew better than to ask about his past—not yet, certainly not tonight. Instead he silently nodded and retreated back to admiring the stars. For a while, they simply sat there, sharing warmth from their mugs and the unspoken understanding that needed no words. The stars shimmered on, eternal and patient, as the airship drifted through the sky—two souls finding peace in the quiet of the night, side by side.

Chapter Text

The sun hadn't fully risen when Grian awoke to the soft hum of the airship. It creaked gently, as if it was stretching its wings after a long night. He blinked against the soft morning light that filtered through the small porthole, a pale orange that kissed the horizon. Grian rubbed his eyes, stretching his arms above his head with a quiet groan, his back stiff from the hours spent in the same position the day before.

He liked mornings on the ship. There was something peaceful about it, the steady rhythm of the engine beneath the floor, the knowledge that they were flying above the world, untethered by the worries below. The endless sky was a constant reminder of how far they had come—and how far they still had to go.

Grian sat up and swung his legs over the edge of his bunk, his boots heavy on the floorboards. He padded across the small room, grabbing his shirt from the hook and pulling it over his head. As he brushed a hand through his messy hair, he glanced at the tiny, worn-out mirror above his desk. It wasn't much, but it reflected the familiar face staring back: eyes tired but determined, the same face he'd seen every morning.

The creak of the door startled him as it swung open, revealing a groggy-looking Mumbo, holding a steaming mug of something that smelled faintly of coffee.

"Morning," Mumbo mumbled, squinting in the light. "Pearl's already been up for hours, tweaking the engines."

Grian chuckled, taking the mug from him. "You mean tinkering with them until they explode?"

"Hey, that only happened once." Mumbo grinned, and Grian couldn't help but laugh. It was true—Pearl had a knack for fixing things, but sometimes the fixes involved more... explosions than anyone liked.

The two of them left the small crew quarters and made their way to the mess hall, a humble space with a few tables, a stove, and an assortment of mismatched chairs. As usual, the crew had already gathered. Joel was sprawled out on one of the benches, half-asleep with a piece of bread in hand, while Gem was talking enthusiastically to Pearl about the latest repairs. Scar, of course, was seated at the head of the table, sipping a cup of tea and reading over a few maps.

"Good morning," Grian said, settling down next to Scar. The man looked up, offering him a tired but warm smile.

"Morning, Feathers. Sleep well?"

Grian shrugged. "As well as you can, on a ship that feels like it's going to fall apart at times."

Scar chuckled softly, the sound low and familiar. "A bit of shuddering is nothing to worry about. The Jelliechaser is a tough one." He raised an eyebrow. "Although, if you'd like, I can personally make sure it doesn't fall apart on us today."

Grian grinned. "I'll pass on that, thanks. I don't think I could handle another engine breakdown this soon."

The conversation continued around him, the usual mix of banter and easy-going chatter. Pearl was in the middle of explaining a complicated repair when Grian tuned out, his mind drifting. He watched Scar as the man bent over his tea, studying the maps in his hands, a faint crease between his brows. Grian's chest tightened at the sight—there was always something so unreadable about Scar, something that hinted at a past Grian couldn't quite place. But it wasn't the time to ask about that. It wasn't the time to ask anything. Not yet.

__________

The day passed in much the same way: small moments of camaraderie, easy tasks, and mechanical work. Grian spent most of the morning helping with some minor maintenance to the engines, adjusting the sails, and checking the ship's compass. It was the kind of work that made the time blur into the next task without much thought. He liked it—no one was demanding anything from him, and the quiet gave him space to think.

At one point, he found himself on the upper deck, gazing at the open sky. The wind was cool against his face, and the clouds rolled by in soft streaks of white. He breathed in deeply, feeling a brief sense of calm settle over him.

Everything felt steady. The ship was gliding through the air with grace, the crew was functioning well, and the world below seemed far away—distant and muted, as if nothing on the ground could touch them up here.

"You know, it's strange," Grian muttered to no one in particular, his gaze still fixed on the horizon. "I've always dreamed of being up here, of flying. But sometimes, I feel like it's a little too quiet. Like something's missing."

A soft chuckle came from behind him. "I know the feeling." Joel had emerged from inside the ship.

"Oh morning Joel," sitting up a little straighter.

"Morning G, how's it going?"

"Just another day in the sky," Grian replied. He stretched a bit, feeling the tension leave his shoulders. "How about you? Got anything interesting going on today?"

Joel shrugged, taking a bite out of his apple. "Same old. Probably gonna help Pearl with the sails or something. She seems to think I'm the only one who can tie knots without making the ship look like a rat's nest." He paused, then shot Grian a mischievous grin. "Though, I might sneak in some extra time at the deck, you know, just to supervise."

Grian chuckled. "Supervise, huh? That's what you're calling it now? Sounds like an excuse to laze around to me."

Joel leaned back in the railing, elbows on the edge, looking relaxed. "Hey, it's a hard job. Someone's gotta do it." His eyes twinkled, and Grian found himself smiling despite the teasing.

"Well, just don't fall asleep at the wheel again," Grian teased back, the memory of a previous mishap when Joel had almost steered them into a flock of birds still fresh in his mind.

"Hey! That was one time," Joel said, raising his hands in mock defense. "And it wasn't my fault! The birds were too fast for me and the auto-pilot should've kicked in, which meant I technically tested Mumbo's technical job so without me we never would've known the design needed fixing," Joel said very matter of factly.

The banter continued, light and easy, as they enjoyed the sunrise. Grian found himself enjoying the simplicity of the moment—the absence of tension, the casual chatter that filled the air like the sound of wind against the hull. It wasn't a day of great triumphs or dramatic adventures, but there was something comforting about the routine. After some time the 2 made their way down the deck where they helped Pearl with the sails. It wasn't anything particularly exciting—just checking the rigging, tightening a few ropes, and adjusting the angle of the sails as they caught the wind. But the work kept them busy, and the hours passed quickly. At one point, while they were tying down a particularly stubborn rope, Grian glanced at Joel, who was looking up at the sky, hands on his hips.

"You ever wonder what's out there?" Grian asked. "Beyond the clouds, beyond all of this?"

Joel paused, his gaze shifting toward the horizon. "I dunno. Sometimes I think about it. There's so much of the world we haven't seen, so much we don't even know. But I like this—being up here, in the sky. Feels like we're part of something bigger, you know?"

Grian nodded slowly. There was a truth in Joel's words that resonated with him, something he hadn't quite put into words himself. Being out here, far from the ground, gave a sense of freedom—a sense of possibility. But it also made him feel small, a speck in the vastness of the world. They worked in comfortable silence for a while, the wind tugging at their clothes as the ship sailed smoothly through the sky. Grian caught himself watching Joel now and then, taking in the ease with which he worked and the quiet confidence in the way he moved. Joel had always been like that—unconcerned with much, but somehow always managing to do what needed to be done.

_________

After a few hours, they took a break, leaning against the railing to watch the view. The vast expanse of the sky stretched before them, a sea of clouds—an endless pale blue, broken only by the occasional mix of other clouds.

"So, what do you think we'll find next?" Grian asked, a slight edge of curiosity in his voice.

Joel snorted, taking a swig of water. "Hopefully not another pirate attack, that's for sure. I'm all for adventure, but I'm not in the mood to get stabbed today."

Grian laughed, shaking his head. "Fair point."

The rest of the afternoon passed in much the same way: lighthearted conversation, small tasks, and a general sense of peace. As the evening drew near, they returned to the mess hall for a quiet dinner, sharing stories and enjoying the simple comfort of being with the crew. As the stars began to fill the sky, Grian found himself retreating to his bunk, the gentle rock of the airship lulling him into a sense of calm. It had been a good day—nothing extraordinary, nothing particularly eventful—but sometimes, those were the days that meant the most. He settled beneath his blanket, eyes drifting shut, the soft hum of the engine and the distant voices of his friends making it feel like a home. He did wonder what Scar had gotten up to for the day, but with that thought dissolving he closed his eyes and took an early night of rest.

Chapter Text

The wind was calm, as were the past few days, a soft breeze gently pushing the ship through the sky. Grian stood at the edge of the deck, squinting into the distance. The view was clear, the horizon dotted only by the occasional cloud, but something was off. There was a shape on the horizon that wasn't like the usual scattering of islands they passed by.

"Hey, Scar," Grian called, his voice cutting through the quiet. "Do you see that?"

Scar, who had been overseeing the engine repairs below deck, came up to the railing beside Grian, following his gaze. For a long moment, there was silence, as both of them tried to make sense of what they were seeing. It wasn't marked on any of their maps, and it certainly wasn't a place they'd planned to visit.

"It's... an island?" Scar mused, leaning forward. "Never seen anything like it before."

"I don't think it's on the map," Grian said. "It's too... high up? Floating?"

"Could be a skyland," Scar said slowly, a hint of curiosity in his voice. "But skylands aren't usually found just floating around out here. They tend to hang around in fixed areas."

"Well, it's worth checking out," Grian suggested. "We could use a break. Could be interesting."

Scar looked at him for a moment, then nodded. "Alright. We'll head over there. Keep an eye on the crew, though—if something feels off, we pull back. Understood?"

Grian gave a quick salute, his mind already buzzing with the possibilities. A floating island. What could be waiting for them there?

__________

As they flew closer, the island grew larger in the sky. It was unlike any normal island they had come across before: vast and sprawling, with oddly coloured greenery hanging off the sides like vines strangling the land, almost like it was forever spreading—taking over, and then there were these towering peaks that seemed to scrape the sky itself. As they approached, the island's edges appeared to shimmer, like a mirage, as though it wasn't fully anchored to the world around it.

Joel leaned over the railing, eyes wide. "That's... wow. Look at that." His voice was awestruck, filled with wonder. The rest of the crew gathered on deck as they prepared to land, each of them caught up in the strange allure of the Skyland. There was an unspoken excitement in the air—an adventure in the making. They landed on a plateau near the base of the island, the Jelliechaser anchor secured with a soft thud. The island's strange nature had a surreal quality to it, and the air felt almost heavier. As the crew disembarked, the ground beneath them felt solid, but there was something faintly unnerving about the stillness.

The crew split into small groups to explore. Grian, Joel, and Mumbo set off toward what appeared to be a village in the distance, nestled in a valley surrounded by steep cliffs. The further they walked, the more they noticed how idyllic the village seemed. The streets were lined with cobblestones, and colorful homes with thatched roofs dotted the landscape. The people, dressed in simple yet elegant clothing, waved cheerfully as the group approached.

"Well, this is nice," Joel remarked, looking around at the smiling villagers. "I mean, it's a little... quiet, but still. Can't complain."

As they approached the village square, a middle-aged man greeted them. His face was kind, but there was something calculating behind his eyes.

"Welcome to Skyhaven!" the man said warmly. "You must be travelers from the skies... We don't see many visitors up here. What brings you to our humble village?"

"We were just curious," Grian replied. "We came across the island and thought we'd stop by. It's not on the maps, so we thought we'd see what it was about."

"Well, you've come at a good time," the man said with a grin. "We rarely get guests, but we're always happy to share our hospitality. Please, come! Enjoy the feast—we have plenty of food and drinks."

The crew exchanged glances but followed the man into the village. It seemed like a typical village, perhaps too perfect, but there was something oddly comforting about it. The villagers bustled around, offering food and drinks as though they had been expecting them. But Grian couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. He watched the villagers carefully. They were friendly, yes, but there was a strange lack of urgency to their movements, a stillness that didn't quite belong. He brushed it off, maybe they were just really accommodating.

_________

After a short while, as the crew sat down to a hearty meal, Grian caught a quiet exchange between two villagers—whispers that faded when they noticed his gaze. His suspicion grew, but he said nothing to the crew, keeping his thoughts to himself for now.

It wasn't until later, after the feast had ended, that things began to take a darker turn.

It was Joel who first noticed something strange. As the group wandered deeper into the village, he spotted a building that seemed different from the rest—a large stone structure that looked much older than the surrounding homes. There was a faint hum coming from it, like a low vibration beneath the surface.

"Grian, come look at this," Joel called quietly. Grian approached, his curiosity piqued.

Inside, the building was dimly lit, and a series of ancient runes covered the walls. There were strange symbols etched into the stone, as though they had been placed there deliberately. As Grian examined them, he felt a shiver run down his spine. There was something else going on here. The realization hit him like a slap. The villagers weren't just welcoming them—they were keeping them here. And it wasn't for hospitality. There was something sinister about this place, something they were being kept from, but what?

Suddenly, there was a shout from outside. Mumbo had been separated from the group, and when Grian and Joel rushed outside, they found him cornered by a group of villagers, their faces now cold and threatening.

"What's going on?" Grian demanded, his hand instinctively going to the knife at his side similarly to Joel.

"You shouldn't have come here," the man who had greeted them earlier said, his voice suddenly harsh. "You're welcome but not for the reasons you think. The island is ours to nourish, and you 3 will be perfect."

A tense silence fell over the group as the villagers advanced. Grian's heart raced. They were being set up.

"Get back to the ship and warn the others," Grian hissed to Joel. "Go. I'll handle this."

Joel hesitated but nodded. "Don't do anything stupid."

Grian drew his knife, stepping between the villagers and Mumbo who had equipped his sword. He didn't know how this was going to play out, but he knew one thing: they weren't leaving without a fight. But before they could act, a loud noise echoed from behind them. Several more villagers appeared from the shadows, and in an instant, they were surrounded. Grian's heart pounded in his chest as they began to circle closer, their eyes fixed on him and Joel.

Suddenly, a net shot out from behind a nearby building, catching both Grian and Joel off guard. The thick ropes tangled around them, pulling them to the ground with a harsh thud. Mumbo tried to move, but before he could, another villager grabbed him, forcing him to the ground with terrifying strength.

"What—?" Joel gasped, struggling against the ropes that bound him.

"Not so fast," the man who had greeted them earlier said with a sinister grin. "We have plans for you."

Mumbo's mind raced. They had underestimated these villagers. They weren't just nourishing the island, there was something more, what were they missing?
With the last of his strength, Joel struggled against the net, but the more he moved, the tighter it became. The villagers advanced slowly, their faces emotionless, and he knew, with a sinking feeling in his gut, that they were in grave danger.

As the crew tried to make sense of their situation, the Jelliechaser was still anchored in the distance, the villagers began to drag them towards the stone building that had piqued their suspicions in the first place, their footsteps heavy against the cobblestone pathway. The air had grown thick, and Grian, Joel, and Mumbo knew they had no choice but to find a way out—and fast. The village might have seemed welcoming at first, but now, it was clear: they weren't just visitors. They were prisoners here.

Chapter Text

The cold stone floor was unforgiving against Grian's back as he shifted in the dark, the metal chains biting into his wrists and ankles. His mind raced, trying to process what had happened. One moment, they were exploring the village, and the next, they were surrounded, caught in a trap they hadn't seen coming. Beside him, Joel and Mumbo were in similar positions, their expressions grim as they struggled against the ropes and chains that held them in place. Grian's arms ached, his legs uncomfortably spread, and his thoughts were clouded with one constant fear: the villagers weren't just ordinary people.

They had a plan. And they had captured them for it.

"I swear, I'll break these chains," Joel muttered, his voice low, muscles tensing beneath his clothing. "When I get out of here..."

Grian glanced at him, his heart heavy. He knew Joel was strong—stronger than anyone else on the ship—but even Joel couldn't fight an entire village, not without a way out. Mumbo, on the other hand, was unusually still and quiet, his head tilted slightly to the side as if he were deep in thought. Grian couldn't help but wonder what he was thinking. If anyone could come up with an escape plan, it was Mumbo. But for now, they were all stuck. The walls of the small stone room they were imprisoned in seemed to close in around them, the air stale and heavy with an eerie silence. There were no windows, no signs of life beyond the flickering torches that cast long shadows along the walls. But the silence was far too deliberate, far too unsettling.

He tugged at the chains again, but it was no use. The metal was too tight, the links too strong. He gritted his teeth, willing his mind to think of a way out. There had to be something they could do. Something they hadn't thought of yet. Meanwhile, Joel had started to flex his muscles again, testing the chains' limits, but there was still no sign of giving. Mumbo sighed in frustration, staring at the dimly lit ceiling.

"I don't know how we're going to get out of this," Mumbo said, his voice unusually serious. "We underestimated them."

"We have to keep our heads together," Grian said, his voice barely above a whisper. "We'll find a way. We always do."

Joel's expression darkened. "The villagers aren't who they say they are. They're not just protecting the island... they're hiding something. I think they've got a lot more to their plans than just locking us up."

Grian nodded. "Exactly. And whatever they want, we need to stop them before it gets worse."

Suddenly, the heavy door creaked open, and the village chief stepped inside. His face was grim, a stern expression replacing the warmth he had shown earlier. The villagers had been friendly but now they seemed to reveal their true colors.

"Time to begin," the chief muttered, his voice low and heavy with purpose. He glanced at Joel, and his gaze lingered on the man with a streak of green hair as one of his accomplices unchained him form the brick wall.

"Joel," Grian said quietly, trying to maintain some semblance of control. "Whatever happens... don't fight them. We don't know what they're capable of."

But Joel, always determined, couldn't stand to stay passive. "I'm not just going to let them take us Grian."

Before Grian could stop him with another word, Joel lunged toward the chief, his muscles rippling as he threw himself into a brutal attack. The sound of fists hitting flesh echoed through the room as the two struggled, Joel's rage and desperation fueling him. He landed blow after blow, but the chief was fast—too fast—and his movements were eerily calm, as if he had done this countless times before.

Instantaneously, the chief grabbed a jagged rock from the ground, his eyes narrowing with intent. With a single swift motion, he brought it down on Joel's head. The sickening crack of impact filled the air. Joel staggered, blood streaming from the gash on his temple and down to his chin, his vision blurred as he tried to regain his footing. But the pain was overwhelming, and he collapsed to the ground with a heavy thud. His breath was ragged, and he groaned as he fell unconscious.

"No!" the other 2 shouted, struggling against the chains.
"You'll kill him!" Grian pleaded.

The chief didn't respond, motioning to two of his men, who dragged Joel's limp body from the chamber. Grian watched helplessly, his heart pounding in his chest. He couldn't do anything to stop them.
"Where are you taking him?" Mumbo demanded, his voice rough with anger.
"To prepare him," the chief said coldly, his eyes glinting with a dark satisfaction. "He'll feed the island's needs. His energy will be invaluable."
Grian's mind reeled. Feed the island? What did that even mean? He felt a chill crawl up his spine as the door slammed shut behind them. His eyes locked onto Mumbo's, who looked as confused and terrified as he felt.

"We have to get out of here," Mumbo said, his voice low and urgent. "Before they do anything else to him---to us."

Chapter Text

Meanwhile, back at the ship, Scar stood at the helm, his mind still racing with negative outcomes. It had been hours since the 3 had gone to explore, and there had been no sign of them. The crew had checked in multiple times, but no one had heard from them. He had tried to shake it off at first. Maybe they had just gotten caught up in the village, exploring a bit longer than expected. But now, with every passing minute, a sense of unease settled deeper in his gut. Something didn't feel right.

"They should've been back by now," Scar muttered to himself, turning away from the wheel. He made up his mind. He was going to go find them. Scar turned to the rest of the crew, who were preparing to continue exploring, still unaware of the danger ahead. He called over to Pearl and Gem, who were chatting near the galley.

"I'm going to split from you," Scar announced. "Something's off. I need to find Grian and the others."

Pearl raised an eyebrow, concern flashing across her face. "You think something happened?"

"I'm not sure yet," Scar said, his voice low. "But I don't want to take any chances. Stay here, keep the ship ready, and keep an eye out."

Gem nodded, glancing between Scar and Pearl. "We'll be fine. Just... don't do anything reckless, alright?"

Scar gave her a reassuring smile, though the tightness in his chest didn't lessen. "I won't. I'll be back soon."

As Scar left the deck and made his way down the winding path to the village, his instincts kicked into high gear. He had never been one to trust people easily, but the villagers had seemed friendly—too friendly, in retrospect. And now, with every step he took toward the village, his gut twisted further. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong.

The village looked even more ominous now that he was closer. The warm glow from the setting sun barely reached the narrow alleys between the stone buildings, and the streets seemed unnaturally quiet. Scar's hand instinctively moved to the hilt of his sword as he walked through the village, the hair on the back of his neck standing up.

Then he found it.

A feather.

Grian's feather, lying in the dirt at the edge of the village, was unmistakable. Scar crouched down, his heartbeat quickening as he examined it closely. This is no coincidence, he thought. He had been looking for signs, but now, this was undeniable evidence that Grian and the others were in grave danger. Scar tucked the feather into his pocket and stood up, glancing around. His instincts told him he was being watched, and he wasn't about to let the villagers know he was onto them. He needed to find Grian and the crew—fast.

As he moved through the village, his gaze fixed on the narrow paths that twisted behind the houses. It led him toward a hidden, almost forgotten corner of the island, a place where the trees grew thick and dark. There, partially obscured by foliage, was a large stone structure—an ancient temple of sorts. The hum that vibrated through the ground grew stronger the closer he got. Scar paused, eyes narrowing in suspicion. There was something about this place. It felt... wrong.

He approached cautiously, his hand still resting on his sword for extra precautions. The closer he got to the stone doors, the more the hum filled his body, vibrating deep in his bones. There was a pulsing energy here—something alive, something powerful.

__________

Inside the stone structure, Grian and Mumbo sat in the dim light, waiting in silence. They had no idea what was happening to Joel, but the dread gnawing at them told them it wasn't good. The door creaked open, and the village chief stepped inside again, his expression unreadable.

"Your friend is being prepared," he said, his words chilling. "His energy will feed the island. But don't worry, you both will get your turns."

Grian's heart raced. "Feed the island? What do you mean, 'feed the island'?"

The chief's lips curled into a tight smile. "Skyhaven isn't like other islands. It is alive. It feeds off the energy of the living, animals, people, anything alive, and every few years, we must offer it more. Humans... they provide the most energy. And you three? You're less valuable than my own villagers."

Grian's breath caught in his throat as the pieces began to fall into place. Skyhaven was no ordinary island. It was a living, sentient being that required constant energy to survive—and it fed off the life force of the living. The villagers had been its guardians, but they were also prisoners, forced to continue this cycle to keep the island alive. And now, the crew was its next harvest. But before Grian could react, the door suddenly flew open with a violent crash. Scar stood there, his silhouette framed by the dim light as he stepped into the room, his sword drawn.

Scar squared off against the chief, his sword raised and gleaming under the dim torchlight. The villagers were closing in, their eyes glinting with malice, but Scar wasn't backing down. His mind raced—he had to get to Grian and Mumbo, and fast. Just as the first villager lunged toward Scar, the door to the chamber flew open with a crash. Gem and Pearl burst into the room, weapons drawn. Their entrance was as explosive as a cannon, and the villagers froze for a heartbeat.

"You're not going anywhere," Gem growled, her tone lethal. Pearl's eyes glinted, her stance confident as she twirled her blade in a dangerous arc.

The room then erupted into chaos.

Scar fought with fierce precision, blocking attacks and slicing through the villagers with swift, decisive strikes. Gem and Pearl were right behind him, their movements synchronized as if they'd fought together for years. It was a well-worked machine of destruction as they made their way to Grian and Mumbo.

"Grian!" Pearl shouted, her voice cutting through the noise. She rushed to his side, working quickly to undo the chains that bound him. Mumbo, his face pale with fury, managed to free himself in a blur of movements. His eyes were wild, his usual calm demeanor completely gone. Something about this situation had triggered an anger the crew had never seen from him before. He grabbed one of the villagers by the throat and slammed them into the ground, his expression one of pure rage.

"You don't mess with my friends," Mumbo growled, his voice low and threatening.

Grian, still groggy but determined, pushed himself up to his feet, his chains clattering to the floor as Pearl unlocked them. They weren't safe yet, but they were free, and that was enough for now.

"Stay close," Scar ordered, his eyes scanning the room for any more threats. "We need to get out of here and find Joel before they—"

Before he could finish, a shrill sound echoed through the chamber—a warning signal of some kind. Scar turned just in time to see several more villagers rushing in, armed and ready to fight. The tension crackled in the air as everyone braced for another wave of attacks. But the crew wasn't giving up. With Gem and Pearl leading the charge, they fought off the villagers with a brutal, precise intensity. Scar, Gem, and Pearl pushed the villagers back, buying enough time for Grian and Mumbo to regroup.

Mumbo's fury had reached a terrifying level. He moved with such force that it was hard to believe this was the usually calm, calculating man they all knew. His fists were like sledgehammers as he took down two villagers at once, not stopping until they were incapacitated on the ground.

Grian followed close behind, his eyes blazing with anger and determination. "We need to move! Now!"

__________

Meanwhile, in a dank, fetid room filled with the stench of rot and death.

"Joel you need to get up. They will kill you." a soft voice spoke, "Joel get up!" the voice demanded, loud and clear but not unfamiliar.

Joel began to stir. The world around him was blurry, his head throbbing painfully. His body felt heavy, and as he tried to sit up, a wave of nausea hit him hard. He fought back the urge to vomit as he looked around, trying to make sense of his surroundings.

The room was dark, only the flickering light of a nearby torch casting a sickly glow on the piles of dead animals that lay around him. He could barely breathe without gagging from the putrid smell. His stomach churned in response.

As Joel struggled to clear his head, a villager appeared at the doorway, dragging a long, bloodstained knife behind them. They muttered something under their breath—something about preparing him for the island.

Joel's heart raced. He wasn't going to let them do this. Not again.

Summoning all the strength he had left, Joel shoved himself to his feet, his vision still swimming, his balance shaky. The villager didn't notice him at first, too focused on the preparation for the "ritual."

Joel lurched forward, grabbing the nearest weapon he could find: a broken metal lrod from the ground. He swung it with all the strength he could muster, catching the villager in the side with a sickening crunch. The villager crumpled to the floor, letting out a gasp of pain.

Joel didn't hesitate. He swung again and again and again until the man before he could even think of retaliating, his head now undone in a pile of dark red. Joel's hands were shaking as he stood over the body, trying to steady himself. He had just killed someone. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut, but there was no time to dwell on it. He had to escape. He had to get back to the others.

The door to the room creaked open again, and Joel immediately ducked behind a pile of dead animals, his breath shallow as he listened for the footsteps. The villager he had just killed wasn't the only one here. There were more.

He needed to move fast.

_________

Meanwhile, back in the chamber, the fight was reaching its peak. Scar, Gem, and Pearl were managing to hold their ground, but the villagers were relentless, and the air was thick with the scent of blood.

Suddenly, a loud crash echoed from the far end of the temple. Scar's head whipped toward the noise, and a relieved smile broke across his face as Joel appeared, disheveled and bloody but alive.

"You're alive!" Grian shouted, rushing toward him. "What happened?"

Joel's face was pale, his eyes wide with exhaustion and confusion. He had clearly just barely escaped whatever they had been preparing for him. "We need to go. Now."

Without waiting for another word, the crew rallied together, running through the labyrinth of tunnels that led toward the surface, Mumbo supporting Joel from under his arms. They could hear the villagers chasing after them, but the crew were faster, their adrenaline pushing them forward. Joel stumbled slightly, still dizzy from the blow to his head, but he gritted his teeth and kept moving. Grian, Pearl, and Scar stayed close, their eyes scanning for any threats as they ran. As they neared the exit, the ground beneath their feet began to shake. The island was alive, and it seemed to be waking up—furious at the interruption to its feeding ritual.

The doors to the outside world burst open, and the crew emerged into the bright daylight, the warmth of the sun hitting their skin like a slap of reality. But they didn't stop. They couldn't.

"Get to the ship!" Scar barked, his voice sharp with urgency.

The crew ran toward the Jelliechaser, the airship tethered just a short distance away. But as they sprinted toward it, the ground trembled beneath them, and the island seemed to groan in anger. The air felt thick, as if the island itself was trying to pull them back.

But the crew made it. Barely.

As they reached the airship, Joel collapsed into a seat, his vision still spinning. The others quickly began preparing for takeoff while Gem tended to his head injury, but their relief was short-lived. They had escaped, but Skyhaven's darkness wasn't finished with them yet. The island still pulsed with energy, and they knew they hadn't truly escaped—not yet at least.

Chapter Text

"Is it really over?" Grian asked, his voice tinged with doubt.

"No," Scar answered sharply, his jaw clenched as he stared at the island disappearing behind them. "We've only scratched the surface."

The island had been alive, but that didn't mean it was done with them. The crew could feel it—Skyhaven's anger hadn't dissipated. The way the island trembled beneath them, the low hum that seemed to follow them in the air, all suggested that the island wasn't going to let them go without a fight.
"You're right," Mumbo added, his hands still shaking from the adrenaline of the fight. "It's going to follow us. We have to make sure it doesn't reach us again."

Scar glanced over at him. "And we'll stop it before it can."

But even as he said it, he wasn't sure how they would. The island wasn't just a physical placeqq—it was alive, feeding off energy in ways they hadn't even begun to understand. And its guardians, the villagers, weren't just servants—they were protectors of something far more dangerous. The crew worked quickly to keep the ship steady, but just as they were about to breathe a sigh of relief, the sky above them darkened. At first, it was subtle, like a cloud passing over the sun, but then the darkened sky began to swirl, clouds churning violently in a pattern that could only be described as unnatural. The air thickened, and with it came a deep, groaning rumble. The island was reaching for them.
"We need to get higher!" Scar shouted, his voice cutting through the rising panic.

But before they could adjust their course, a massive wave of energy burst from the center of Skyhaven. It rippled through the sky, a force so powerful that it shook the ship violently, throwing the crew off balance. The ship faltered in midair, its engines sputtering as the pulse of energy caught it in its wake.
"Dammit!" Joel cursed, gripping the nearest railing to steady himself. "It's pulling us back in!"

"They're channeling all the energy they've harvested," Grian said, eyes wide with realization. "It's coming for us."

Scar's eyes hardened as he steered the ship to the side, trying to avoid the force, but the island wasn't just sending waves of energy-it was summoning something far more dangerous. From the depths of the swirling clouds, enormous tendrils of shadow began to stretch toward them, reaching out like grasping fingers, their tips crackling with raw energy. The island itself had become a monster, its sentient core now trying to drag them back into its clutches.

"It's too strong," Mumbo said, his voice shaking but determined. "We can't outrun it. We have to fight back."
"We don't have a choice," Scar replied, his grip tight on the wheel. "Prepare for battle. Get to your stations."

The crew scrambled into action, grabbing weapons, securing the ship, and getting ready for what was coming. Pearl, Gem, rushed to man the cannons, while Grian and Mumbo quickly set up makeshift barriers to keep the ship from being pulled apart. The first tendril lashed out, its dark, swirling mass of energy slamming into the side of the ship, rattling the Jelliechaser like a toy. The ship veered off course, but Scar expertly righted it, pulling them back on track.
"We need to destroy that core!" Grian shouted, his eyes scanning the sky for any weak points.

"There's nothing solid up there to hit," Pearl called back, firing a blast from the cannon at one of the tendrils, but the energy just absorbed the hit, like water soaking into the earth.

"It's not about hitting it physically," Scar said grimly. "It's about severing its connection to us."

The crew exchanged glances. Severing its connection? It wasn't just the island they were fighting-it was something far deeper, more insidious. The island's energy was intertwined with everything around them. But how?
"Wait," Mumbo said, his face lighting up with a sudden understanding. "What if we used their own energy against them? They've been harvesting energy for years, right? What if we take some of it back?"

The others stared at him, piecing together the plan. "We can use their own ritual to break the connection," Grian muttered, a smirk forming on his lips. "But we need to overload their energy source."
Scar nodded, slamming his fist into his palm. "Alright. We're doing it. We need to get back to the heart of the island."

The storm around them grew worse, the air growing heavier with each passing second. The energy waves from Skyhaven were now thick, almost tangible, and the tendrils became more desperate, lashing out more violently.
"We need to get to the source of the island's power!" Scar called to the crew. "Back to the temple. We can overload their energy core!"
"Take us back to the island?" Joel's voice was incredulous. "Are you mad?"
"No choice, Joel," Scar said through gritted teeth. "We've got to break its hold, or we'll be toast."

The crew gritted their teeth as Scar veered the airship around, heading back toward the island with everything they had left. The storm seemed to recognize their intent, and the energy surges grew stronger, more aggressive. The island was fighting back.
As they neared the temple, the dark tendrils converged on them, trying to pull the ship back in. Grian and Mumbo worked furiously at the engine, while Joel and Gem prepared the energy dischargers. Pearl and Scar led the charge, firing the cannons directly at the dark, swirling mass of energy.

Suddenly, Grian shouted, "I've got it! Overload the core!"

The island trembled in response, but the crew wasn't about to back down now. They had one shot at this. With a final coordinated effort, they fired all their weapons at once—cannons, energy blasts, everything they could muster—into the temple's heart. The surge of energy was deafening as it shot back toward the island, causing it to tremble and quake beneath them. A far stretching shriek echoed through the land.

The storm raged with fury as the island seemed to scream, its energy core breaking apart in a burst of light so bright that it illuminated the sky. The tendrils snapped back violently as the island's hold on the crew was finally severed. As the storm cleared, the crew looked down at the now-silent island. It had become a mere shadow of itself, its once—terrifying power now reduced to nothing.

Skyhaven was defeated.

Chapter Text

That night none of the crew slept well, some didn't sleep at all. Nonetheless the Jelliechaser sailed through open skies, battered but free. The wind rushed past the ship's torn sails, carrying the scent of rain and faint traces of smoke still lingering from Skyhaven's distant, cursed shores. Silence blanketed the deck, broken only by the rhythmic creak of wood and the groaning engine still straining against recent damage.

Joel sat on an upturned crate near the stern, shoulders hunched and gaze distant. His knuckles were bandaged, but the bloodstains hadn't fully washed away. A bandage wrapped around his head like a bandana, the bruises stark against his skin. His shirt was stiff with dried sweat and something darker. Grian watched him from across the deck, arms crossed, wings still aching from the brutal fight. Pearl worked quietly at the helm, her expression set and unreadable, though she cast glances at Joel now and then. Mumbo paced near the engine room, muttering calculations, desperate to keep the ship running.

Gem approached cautiously, holding a tin mug of hot tea. "Joel?" she called softly. He didn't respond at first. His eyes stayed fixed on the horizon, unseeing. When she gently touched his shoulder, he startled, breath hitching, as though waking from a nightmare.
"It's just me," Gem reassured him, holding out the tea.
Joel stared at it, as though struggling to remember what it was for. After a long pause, he accepted it with shaking fingers.
"Thanks," he rasped, his voice rough from disuse.
"I'm here Joel." Gem said, not asking for a response, just letting him know that she was and always will be there for him.

The crew exchanged uncertain glances. Joel hadn't said much since they escaped—not about what he'd been through, not about how they encountered him bloody and dazed out of that horrid room, the stench enough to put anyone off of entering. Scar emerged from below deck, wiping oil-streaked hands on his coat. "Engine's holding... barely," he reported grimly. "We can keep sailing for now."
Grian nodded but didn't look away from Joel. He hated feeling so useless—hated that none of them knew what to say.

"You should rest," Grian finally said quietly, stepping closer. "You're hurt."
Joel's jaw tightened. "I'm fine."
"No, you're not." Grian's voice softened. "None of us are."
Joel let out a hollow laugh. "You didn't see it. That... place." His grip on the mug tightened. "I thought I was dead. I was dead—might as well have been."
Scar approached, his usual easy charm replaced by a rare seriousness. "But you're here," he said firmly. "You fought your way back. We all did."

Joel's gaze dropped to his bandaged hands. "I didn't fight. I... I killed him." His voice cracked. "I didn't even think—I just... did it." He wiped away the invisible blood off his hands onto his pants. The weight of his confession settled over them. There was no judgment, only shared grief.
"You did what you had to," Pearl said, her voice steady but kind. "It doesn't make it easier, but it kept you alive."
Joel's breath shuddered. "What if... I'm not sure who I was in that moment."
Gem knelt beside him, resting a gentle hand on his knee. "You're still you, Joel."

"I wish I could just forget."

He pressed a trembling hand over his face, fighting tears he could no longer hold back. Slowly, Grian sat down on the deck next to him, wings tucked tight, offering silent presence rather than words. Scar lowered himself to the deck too, leaning back against the railing. Pearl followed, settling cross-legged nearby, and even Mumbo abandoned his calculations, sitting heavily beside the rest of them. For the first time since their escape, Joel let himself lean into the circle of his crew, the weight of survival shared among them. The skies stretched endlessly beyond, harsh but promising, as the Jelliechaser sailed on through the fractured but healing wind.

________

Later that night, everyone headed off to bed after a quiet dinner. No one spoke a word but the silence wasn't unwelcome or awkward—it was needed. The ship rocked gently under the dark sky, its sails whispering in the cool wind. Quiet had settled across the Jelliechaser and the crew had fallen asleep in the safety of their beds. Gem stirred from her bunk at the faint sound of something out of place. Muffled sobs, low and broken. She rose silently, following the sound to the corner of the lower deck where Joel sat hunched against the wall, head buried in his arms. His shoulders trembled with each ragged breath. She first hesitated, knowing how much Joel hated appearing vulnerable. But leaving him alone felt cruel.

Without a word, she settled on the floor beside him. Slowly and carefully, she reached out and rested her hand gently on his back. Joel stiffened, his breath catching.

"Just me," Gem whispered. "I'm here."

For a moment, he stayed rigid, locked in his misery. Then, all at once, the tension crumbled, and he slumped against her. Gem wrapped her arms around him, resting her chin on his head as he shuddered, his tears dampening her shirt. She held him tightly, anchoring him against the storm still raging in his mind.

"It's okay," she murmured. "You're safe. We've got you now."

Joel's breathing slowly steadied, the sobs giving way to exhausted silence. His fingers clenched weakly in her sleeve, holding on. Gem stayed there, rocking him gently until his trembling faded. Only when his breath evened out into a deep sleep did she let her own tears fall, silent and unnoticed, under the cover of the star-speckled sky. Seeing him so vulnerable was hard. Joel wasn't her friend, he was her brother and they didn't need blood to confirm that. They had joined the crew together and she was convinced when the day comes that's how they'll leave it—together.

Chapter Text

It had been a few days since the narrowing escape from Skyhaven.

The Jelliechaser sailed steadily now, patched up but resilient, much like its crew. The bruises on the ship's hull mirrored the invisible wounds carried by those onboard. The deck was alive with quiet activity. Pearl worked the rigging, her hands steady and sure. Mumbo adjusted the main engine's flow regulator, muttering about airflow ratios with his familiar obsessive focus. Scar steered with his usual flair, though even he seemed a bit more subdued.

Grian sat cross-legged on a storage crate, mending a tear in one of the sails. His wings fluttered occasionally, still stiff but healing with the help of Scar's made brace. He paused, glancing toward the stern where Joel stood alone. Joel had been quieter these days, his usual brash confidence dulled which was a shock to no one. His usual cocky boasts about out-lifting Mumbo or out-climbing the rigging faster than Pearl were gone. He still did his share of work—but with a noticeable detachment. He avoided conversation unless pressed and he often swayed away from joining the crew at dinner time despite their best efforts to get him to stay with a number of new made games. Although there seemed to be a noticeable shift in his demeanour, maybe he would return to his old self—the Joel they missed so much.
"Hey, Grian." Pearl's voice pulled him from his thoughts. "Need help with that sail?"
"I've got it," Grian replied, though his eyes lingered on Joel. "Thanks." Pearl nodded and walked off.

Then suddenly, Scar called out from the helm, "Alright, crew! Smooth skies ahead! We'll reach the next port in three days if the wind keeps up." His voice carried its usual cheer, though the forced edge wasn't lost on anyone. After tying off the final sail stitch, Grian wiped his hands on his trousers and headed toward Joel. He found him seated on the edge of the stern, staring into the endless sky.

"Mind if I join you?" Grian asked cautiously.
Joel shrugged. "Free sky." For a while, they sat in companionable silence, the wind humming softly through the sails.
"You know," Grian said, voice low, "you don't have to carry it alone."
Joel's jaw clenched, but he didn't look away from the horizon. "I'm fine."
"Joel." Grian's tone was gentle but firm. "We all went through something back there. You don't have to pretend it didn't happen."
Joel let out a shaky breath. "It's... harder to forget than I thought." His hands gripped the edge of the ship, his knuckles turning white. "I keep thinking... what if I hadn't gotten out?"
"But you did." Grian placed a hand on Joel's shoulder. "And we're all here—together—we're all here for you Joel."

Joel's gaze finally met his, haunted but grateful. "Thanks G." Before Grian could respond, Mumbo's shout echoed from below deck. "Hey! Lunch's ready if anyone's hungry!"
Joel managed a faint smile. "I could eat." Grian's eyes might as well have started glowing at that simple remark. They rose together, the wind at their backs, carrying them toward a future just a little less heavy than before.

_________

Plates of steaming stew and freshly baked bread passed from hand to hand, it filled the air with a comforting, savory aroma. Joel sat near the edge of the long deck table, picking half-heartedly at his food. His gaze wandered to the horizon, distant and unreadable. "Alright!" Scar clapped his hands loudly, drawing everyone's attention. "Enough moping! Time for a round of Sky Toss!"

Grian groaned playfully. "Sky Toss again? Didn't you technically lose last time, Scar?"
"Details," Scar dismissed with a grin and a wave of his hand. "Rules are simple: toss the weighted sack through the rigging hoops. Highest points win."
Pearl grabbed the makeshift sack and tossed it in the air, catching it easily. "Who's first?"
Joel started to rise, ready to retreat below deck, but Mumbo waved him back. "You can't sit this one out, mate. We need the 'Champion of the Skies' on our team!"
Joel raised a skeptical brow. "Champion of the Skies?"

"Joel's legendary shot from three sails back!" Grian declared dramatically. "It's practically ship history, even I know about it."
A spark of competitive fire flickered in Joel's eyes, just for a moment. "Alright," he said, standing. "Let's see if you've all gotten any better."

The crew were trying and their plan was working. Cheers erupted as teams were quickly formed. The game began with Pearl landing an impressive shot through two rigging loops, earning loud applause. Scar's wild throw nearly hit the mast, causing everyone to double over with laughter. When it was Joel's turn, the deck fell silent. He hefted the weighted sack, judging the distance. With a swift, practiced motion, he launched it. The sack sailed cleanly through three hoops and landed perfectly in the catch net.

The crew erupted in cheers.

Joel smirked despite himself. "Still got it."
Scar clapped him on the back, grinning from ear to ear. "That's what I'm talking about!"

The game continued with playful banter, light-hearted teasing, and triumphant cheers echoing across the open skies. Joel laughed—genuinely—for the first time since Skyhaven. And though he'd never admit it, he knew what they'd done. The game wasn't about winning; it was about living again.
The winds carried their laughter far into the endless blue, where no shadows of the past could reach.

They were all healing. Slowly.

Chapter Text

Grian had been trying to keep himself busy-helping with repairs, adjusting the sails, anything to keep his mind from drifting back to the chaos they'd barely escaped. So when Gem asked for an extra pair of hands in the galley, he figured, how hard could cooking be?

Scar, apparently, had the same thought.

The galley was warm, filled with the scent of something on its way to being edible. Gem stood at the small, cluttered counter, sleeves rolled up, knife flashing as she chopped carrots with ease. Grian was stationed near the stove, stirring something thick and bubbling, and Scar hovered nearby with an eager, mischievous look.
"Just follow the recipe," Gem reminded them, sliding a scrap of paper toward them before returning to her own work.
Grian squinted at it. The handwriting was cramped, instructions barely legible. He frowned. "Is that a four or a nine?"

Scar peered over his shoulder. "I think it's a-wait, which way is it supposed to be facing?" Before either could decide, Scar grabbed the small glass jar of salt and dumped a generous handful into the pot.
"Scar!"
"What?" he said innocently. "You were hesitating!"

Gem turned at the sound of their bickering, eyed the pot, then the two of them, and sighed. "I am not fixing whatever this turns into."

Grian grumbled but kept stirring, determined to at least make it edible. The mixture thickened in an unsettling way. Scar, the helpful assistant, started tossing in extra ingredients with absolutely no reason. A pinch of something green, a splash of something dar- Grian didn't even want to ask what. And then Scar reached for the flour. "Wait-" Grian barely had time to react before Scar enthusiastically dumped in far more than necessary. A white puff of flour exploded into the air, coating them both in a fine layer of dust. There was a beat of silence.

Then Scar started laughing.

Grian sputtered, wiping at his face. "What is wrong with you?"
Scar grinned, barely containing his amusement. "You look like a powdered pastry!"
"At least I didn't ruin dinner." Grian glared at the pot, which was now an unrecognizable gloopy mess.

Scar, undeterred, scooped up a spoonful and examined it thoughtfully. "Maybe it just needs-" He tossed in another ingredient, which only made it worse. The moment Gem turned back around and got a proper look at their creation, she groaned. "I changed my mind. I am fixing this because I'm not eating that."
Pearl walked in just in time to witness the disaster, took one look at the two of them covered in flour and the bubbling catastrophe on the stove, and burst into laughter. "You two should never be allowed in here again."

"Agreed," Gem muttered, shoving them both aside as she took control of the mess they'd made.

Scar, still grinning, nudged Grian's shoulder. "Well, at least we tried."
Grian sighed, but there was something strangely light about it. For the first time since Sky Haven, he felt... okay. Like things might actually return to normal. Even if 'normal' apparently meant never cooking with Scar again.

It's safe to say Scar and Grian were officially banned from the kitchen.

Gem, muttered something about "sky-cursed idiots," and forced them out while she salvaged what she could. Pearl was still laughing, wiping tears from her eyes as she leaned against the doorframe. "I mean, I knew you two were bad at cooking, but that was something else." Grian rolled his eyes, brushing flour off his sleeves. It was in his hair, too - he could feel the fine dust settling in, making it itch. Scar didn't even bother trying to clean himself up, looking far too pleased with the chaos they'd caused.

"Hey, at least we provided some entertainment," Scar said cheerfully.
Pearl shook her head. "You definitely did. Anyway, I came to tell you guys that Joel's up on deck."

That got Grian's attention.

Joel hadn't been doing well since Sky Haven. None of them had, really, but it had hit him the hardest. He'd been quieter, avoiding conversation, disappearing into the rigging or his cabin whenever he could. Grian had seen him snap at Mumbo the other day over something minor, and that wasn't like Joel at all.

Scar's grin faltered just a bit. "Up on deck?"
Pearl nodded. "Yeah. Just sitting there, looking at the sky. I figured..." She trailed off, but they all knew what she meant.
"I'll go," Scar said, his usual playfulness dimmed. Grian hesitated, then followed.

__________

Up on deck, the sky stretched out in endless shades of blue, as the sun dipped toward the horizon. The wind was steady and cool against Grian's skin. Joel sat near the railing, arms resting on his knees, his gaze distant. He didn't look up when Scar and Grian approached.
"Hey," Scar said, easing down to sit beside him. Grian followed suit, settling a few feet away. For a moment, none of them spoke.

The sounds of the ship filled the silence - the creak of the wood, the rustling of sails, the occasional distant chatter of the rest of the crew below. It was peaceful, but not in the way it should've been. The kind of quiet that wasn't really quiet at all.

Grian shifted uncomfortably. "Pearl said you were up here."
Joel exhaled through his nose, a humorless half-laugh. "Guess I was found out."
Scar leaned back, stretching his legs. "Not hiding, are you?"

"No." A pause. "Perchance."

Another moment of silence passed.

Grian wanted to say something reassuring, something that would make the weight on Joel's shoulders lift, but he didn't know how. He wasn't great at this kind of thing. So instead, he just sat there, letting the wind carry away words he didn't know how to form.
Eventually, Joel spoke. "It's stupid."
Scar turned his head slightly. "It's not."
Joel let out another breath, shaking his head. "I keep thinking about it. What I could've done differently. What I - what I should've seen coming. And I know it's over. I know we're safe now. But I can't stop hearing it. The yelling. The-" He cut himself off, jaw tightening while his eyebrows furrowed.

Scar looked down at his hands. He knew the feeling. He was quiet for a moment before saying, "You're not the only one."

Joel finally turned to look at him. Scar's expression was unreadable, but there was something in his eyes-something unspoken, something shared. Grian felt it, too. The way his heart still jumped at loud noises. The way he still saw flashes of it - Sky Haven, the danger, the fear - when he closed his eyes. But here, now, sitting together with the wind in their hair and the sky stretching endlessly ahead, it felt better..

Joel huffed a breath. "You're both still covered in flour, by the way."
Scar grinned, some of the usual mischief creeping back in. "Yeah? Well, Grian's the one who looks like a ghost."
"Because you dumped half the kitchen on me!"

Joel snorted, and the tension in his shoulders eased just a little. It wasn't much. But it was something. The three of them sat there, the wind tugging at their clothes, the sky above painted in the deep oranges and purples of a setting sun. It was quiet-not the heavy, suffocating kind, but softer. Something easier. For the first time since Sky Haven, it didn't feel like the past was pressing down on them.

Then -

"Wow," Pearl's voice cut through the moment, amused. "Look at these three, getting all sentimental."

Joel nearly jumped out of his skin, whipping around to see Pearl standing behind them, with her arms crossed and a knowing smirk on her face. Gem was beside her, holding a tin cup in each hand, shaking her head. "Told you they'd get all sappy," she muttered, passing one to Pearl.
"You snuck up on us?" Grian accused, glaring.
"You make it sound like it was hard," Pearl teased, stepping forward and dropping down to sit cross-legged beside them. "You were all brooding so hard, I think even Mumbo noticed."

Mumbo, as if summoned, suddenly appeared behind them, looking somewhat confused but pleased to be included. "What are we talking about?"
Grian groaned. Scar grinned. Joel rolled his eyes but didn't tell them to leave.

Gem settled in next, handing Joel a cup without a word. He blinked at it, then at her. "What's this?"
"Tea," she said simply resting her head on his shoulder. "Good for calming nerves. Not that you need it or anything."
Joel hesitated, then took a sip. He didn't say anything, but the corners of his mouth twitched slightly, like he almost wanted to smile. Scar stretched his arms behind his head, looking around at the now - gathered crew. "Well, since everyone is here, I'd say this is officially a crew meeting."

"Oh?" Pearl raised an eyebrow. "And what's on the agenda, Captain?"
Scar made an exaggerated thinking face. "Hmm. I'd say... talking about how we made dinner tonight, and how Gem rudely kicked us out."
"You poisoned the stew," Gem corrected, deadpan.

"That's a strong word," Scar argued. "We experimented."
"And failed," Grian muttered.

The crew laughed - an honest, genuine laugh that filled the space between them, chasing away the remnants of tension still lingering in the air. They were all here. Together.

Pearl nudged Joel's shoulder. "Y'know, if you wanted a moment of quiet reflection, you could've picked a better spot."
Joel scoffed, but there was no real bite to it. "Yeah? Where would you suggest?"
Pearl grinned. "Anywhere away from these two disasters." She gestured at Scar and Grian, who both feigned offense.

"Excuse you," Scar said, clutching his chest dramatically. "We provided quality entertainment today."

"And a near-death experience," Gem added.

Scar waved a hand dismissively. "Details."

Mumbo chuckled, sipping from his own cup of tea. "I think what matters is that no one actually died."
"A low bar," Grian muttered, but the warmth in his chest didn't fade.

The conversation drifted - nothing serious, nothing heavy. Just idle chatter, playful teasing, the occasional half-hearted argument about who actually won last night's card game. The Jelliechaser sailed on toward port, and as the sky darkened more, the crew stayed there, sitting together beneath the stars, holding onto the feeling that - just maybe - they would go back to their usual selves - soon.

__________

The night slowly crept up on them, the sky an endless stretch of navy blue, speckled with stars. They drifted through the sky, the creak of its wooden frame being the only reminder that they actually were still moving forward. No one seemed eager to leave.
Gem leaned onto Joel and tilted her head toward the sky. "You ever just look up and realize how small we are?"

Joel huffed a laugh. "Alright, philosopher. I thought we were avoiding deep thoughts tonight."
She shrugged. "Just saying. We spend all our time running, fighting, sailing-sometimes I forget how big everything is."

Grian followed her gaze. The stars were impossibly vast tonight, scattered across the sky like dust on an old map. He let himself stare into the abyss and feel. Soon enough the lot of them dozed off.

Things were getting easier for them all. And that - that, no one could take that away.

Chapter Text

The crew had made it to the port after a way through pink skies and a cloudy ambience. The floating port was seemingly alive and full of activity from the villagers, its wooden platforms sprawling outward like the roots of a massive tree. Banners rippled in the breeze, their bright colors announcing the annual Sky Lantern Festival. Lanterns hung from ropes stretched above the streets, swaying gently and casting a warm, inviting glow over the bustling market below. Scar leaned on the railing, his expression soft and tinged with nostalgia. “Still the same,” he murmured, mostly to himself.

“You’ve been here before?” Grian asked, stepping up beside him.
“A few times actually,” Scar replied with a smile, his voice taking on a faraway tone. “A long time ago. It’s where I met someone who helped me when I didn’t know what I was doing. Her name is Evelyn. She runs a stall here.”
“Someone you didn’t drive completely mad?” Grian teased.
Scar laughed, nudging him lightly. “Hard to believe, I know.”

Pearl, hanging upside down from a rope she’d been fixing and chimed in. “Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s get down there before Gem and I buy out the whole market!”
“Oh yes!” Gem called from below, already preparing to disembark.
Joel, leaning against the mast, rolled his eyes but wore a faint smile. “You two are going to bankrupt us.”

Scar shot him a grin. “It will be worth it.”

The crew climbed down and onto the docks, their spirits high as the vibrant sounds and scents of the village enveloped them while the distant sound of ringing bells could be heard.

__________

The streets of Zephyr’s Rest were a sensory feast. Stalls overflowed with colorful goods: handwoven fabrics, trinkets carved from polished wood, and jars of glowing paint that promised to shine under moonlight. Vendors called out their wares, and children darted through the crowd clutching sweets wrapped in paper. Scar led the group confidently, weaving through the maze of streets until they reached a quieter courtyard. Beneath the shade of a flowering tree sat an elderly woman, her hands deftly tying colorful ribbons to small charms. She looked up as Scar approached, her face breaking into a radiant smile.

“Skybird!” Evelyn exclaimed, setting her work aside and rising to greet him.

Scar chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Still calling me that?”

“You’ll always be my Skybird,” she said, pulling him into a warm embrace. Her voice carried the affection of an old friend, and for a moment, Scar’s usual playful demeanor softened into something warmer.

The rest of the crew hung back, uncertain, until Evelyn turned her gaze toward them. “Well, who are these fine people?”

Scar stepped aside, gesturing grandly. “Evelyn, meet my crew. Pearl, Gem, Joel, Mumbo, and Grian.”

Evelyn studied each of them in turn, her eyes twinkling. “A lively bunch. And you, young man,” she said, pointing at Grian, “have a look about you. Keep an eye on Skybird here—he’s trouble.”

“I do my best,” Grian said grinning.

Evelyn handed each of them a ribbon tied to a small charm. “For luck during the festival,” she explained. “And from the looks of all you, you’ll need it.”

Joel raised an eyebrow but accepted the charm, while Pearl laughed. “She’s got us pegged already.”

After tying their charms to their wrists, the crew began to relax. Evelyn gestured toward the market stalls lining the nearby streets. “Go enjoy yourselves. And Skybird—” she gave Scar a mock stern look “—don’t cause too much trouble.”

“No promises,” Scar replied, his grin widening.

"Well go on then, go have fun you lot." Evelyn encouraged. They headed off towards the sounds of music and the colorful banners.
_________

As the crew scattered into the market, the evening air filled with laughter and the sounds of celebration. Joel and Mumbo wandered off to explore a game stall, where Joel quickly proved he hadn’t lost his competitive streak. Scar and Grian disappeared into a crowd near a cider stand, their banter fading into the distance. Gem and Pearl strolled through the quieter part of the market, admiring the stalls selling handmade crafts. One table, in particular, caught Pearl’s eye—a collection of delicate necklaces, each with a charm shaped like a star.

“This one’s beautiful,” Gem said, picking up a necklace with a silver star dangling from a fine chain with an emerald gem in the centre.
Pearl studied it for a moment before nodding. “It suits you.”
Gem hesitated. “Do you think so?”
“Of course,” Pearl said, taking the necklace from her. “Here, let me.”

She stepped behind Gem and carefully clasped the necklace around her neck, her fingers brushing Gem’s skin. As Pearl stepped back to admire her handiwork, Gem turned to her, her cheeks flushed.

“Perfect,” Pearl said softly, her grin lopsided but genuine.
Gem glanced down at the star resting against her collarbone, then back up at Pearl. “Thanks.”
Pearl winked. “Just don’t lose it. Or I’ll make you buy me one to match.”

Gem laughed, the sound light and genuine. Would it be so bad if she did? She quickly picked out a matching necklace and left a few extra coins than needed on the table as she scurried to catch up to Pearl who was slightly ahead.

"We should should check out the rest of the market before the stalls close. We have plenty more to see!" Pearl suggested gently taking Gems hand to lead them towards the other pop-up stalls.