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A Heroes of Providence Eternal Short Story

BY JONATHAN REICHEL

Navigator Tumult Virile gripped his ichor-soaked saber and grit his teeth, bracing for impact. A deep bellow escaped the Kraken, shaking the chest of every soul aboard. A massive tentacle of the towering sea monster crashed down upon the ship deck, exploding wooden shrapnel through the air. Tumult roared in agony as a hundred oak shards pelted his back, dampened slightly by his thick fearnought jacket.

Krog, the bare-chested orc cannoneer, locked eyes with Tumult, in shock. Glancing down at his green chest, Krog briefly studied his impalement, and collapsed to the deck. Tumult gazed up at the towering sea monster, a more terrifying sight than any he had seen in all his eighteen years. He spat salt water and ichor out from under his thick black mustache, clearing his mouth.

“Cap’n Verve!,” Tumult shouted through the lightning storm, “The ship can’t take much more of this, and our last cannoneer has just fallen!”

Captain Henrik Verve, locked in a wrestle with a smaller tentacle around his waist, shot a glance at the fallen orc nearly split in two. Verve barked, "Skinner, man the cannon!"

First mate Skinner Bramblethorn stood shell-shocked, shaking, frozen in fear. Verve hissed in disappointment, barking “Tumult, ye’ve just been promoted! Be readyin’ the midship cannon, and fire upon the monster’s maw at will!”

“Aye, cap’n!” Tumult roared through the storm. He sheathed his saber and ripped the largest oak fragment out of his back.

The Ver’delven elf arcanist in the crow's nest above glowed bright blue. A fresh bolt of frost erupted from the panicked elf’s hands, ricocheting off the thick carapace of the monster. Having drawn the attention of the Kraken, a broad tentacle sliced through the rigging, whipping the elf through the air into the swirling black ocean below.

Tumult grit his teeth and heaved the heavy cannon into position, furiously loading the grapeshot and powder. Reaching for the flint case, Tumult noticed a massive hole in the ship, where the case and three other cannons were, mere seconds ago. Desperate for a spark, he called out to the last arcanist still above water.

“Soreth, do ye still be carrying a flame for me!?” The beautiful Calum Sha elf raised an eyebrow towards her name. “I thought ye'd never ask…” she smirked, and finished hurling a fireball at a tentacle tightening around the mast. The heat of the strike only slightly halting the monster’s crushing grip.

Tumult shifted the cannon’s aim to the monster’s thousand-toothed maw, salivating, drawing ever closer to Captain Verve. One of the monster’s dozen eye stalks locked onto Tumult. A large tentacle burst out of the water and began coiling up his leg. Soreth’s arm became wreathed in flame as she started to manifest the Arcane.

The monster’s three tongues began slithering around Captain Verve’s arm. “Tumult!” Verve cried, fear in his eyes. A broad tentacle snaked up Tumult’s back, tightening around his neck. “Now!” Tumult roared. Soreth launched a thin wreath of flame from across the deck, igniting the fuse. The monster began constricting Tumult’s throat as he steadied the cannon with all his might.

The cannon EXPLODED.

Tumult’s heart stopped.

The world disappeared, and all went black.

In the black void of Tumult’s unconsciousness, a thousand fragmented memories of six years past flooded his mind. His twelve year-old eyes opened to the blue rays of moonlight cutting through the cracks of his family’s cramped, damp, dark shack.

His five older emaciated siblings yelled at each other, biting wrists over the last scrap of moldy bread that had fallen to the dirt floor. His six younger siblings toddled around his mother’s stained skirt, some gurgling, some crying. The two youngest twins she cradled in her arms, one nursing, the other squirming. Tumult would rather starve, continuing to read the scrap of discarded Caelum Sha philosophers’ parchment he found, than fight his own siblings for bread.

“Tumult, clean up! Yer father’s ship returns to port tonight, and y’er of age. Ye best be ready to join ‘em. Go claim him at the docks, we need his coin before he drinks it away!” Tumult’s mother Sordia, exhaled in exhaustion. Tumult lifted his deep blue eyes from the parchment, sliding his long black disheveled hair out of his face. “Aye, mama…” he timidly whispered through the chaos.

“Son, ye must learn to go against the grain. May El Shaddai bless and guide ye, far more than I ever could.” Her smudged face softened into a glimmer of a smile, only to be snapped back to exasperation as her eye caught the older kids’ melee. “Get off me table Phillip, and let go’a yer sister!” she barked. Phillip dismounted the table, carelessly knocking Tumult backward, as he stumbled through the doorway outside into the moonlight.

Tumult gazed down at the massive crest of Brigand’s Bay below. Cliffs lined with shanty shacks and lean-tos pieced together from scrap and old wooden ship parts stretched as far as the eye could see. Dots of firelight and smoke rose through rough holes in a thousand slapdash roofs, speckling the cove’s crest like starlight reflecting off a muddy puddle.

The filth of Brigand’s Bay oozed downhill toward the docks, where a hundred pirate ships and vessels of ill repute transferred cargo, passenger, and beast of every sordid sort. Deep in the distance, Tumult’s eye caught the sight of one ship’s black flag, with a blood red skull and one golden eye. The Maiden’s Fury was preparing to dock. Tumult’s eyes widened, gasping, knowing he would be late.

He sprinted down the zigzag turns of the shantytown. He grabbed a clothesline dangling loose, attached to a chimney. He swung wide out over the edge, skipping three tiers of shacks, and crashed onto the roof of a startled elven family. A cheerful elven girl, appearing near Tumult’s age perked up, recognizing him.

“Tummy, ye can always join us for suppa’, just give us a heads up next time will ye?” Soreth blushed, giggling, and biting her lip.

“Only after he helps me repair this roof!” Soreth’s father Ver’then grumbled in wry amusement. Soreth’s palm ignited in a soft arcane flame, warming the bent tin tea cup she raised. The cup, a scavenged gift from Tumult.

“Care for a spot o’ warm tea?” She raised her eyebrows hopefully. Tumult untangled himself from the clothesline, embarrassed.

“I wish I could but I can’t. Me dad’s ship just docked, and me mum told me to bring ‘em home straitway!” Soreth’s smile faded in sadness as her hand’s flame went cold. Ver’then’s face tightened into a sneer, stepping between his daughter and Tumult.

“Son, you are welcome here if you need, but don’tchu bring that mongrel of a man you call father anywhere near me family. A Human should know better. Do you understand?” Tumult shrank backwards in shame, in the shadow of Ver’then.

“Yes, sir, ye have me word.” Tumult retreated, bowing his head respectfully. He glanced at Soreth, her hopeful eyes imploring him to stay a moment longer.

“I’m… sorry…” he whispered, as he stumbled backward into the night.

Tumult’s adrenaline propelled his bare feet through the jagged dirt paths, zig-zagging the near endless tiers of shacks down to the docks. The excitement of merchants noisily inspecting new shipments matched the enthusiasm of the pirate crews finally setting foot on dry land for the first time in weeks. Tumult’s eyes darted between two-headed camels spitting on their new owners, to a rogue slyly lifting a pouch of gold from behind a half-drunken sailor, already lost in revelry.

Sprinting through the chaos, Tumult crashed into the side of the last bastard he would want to cross paths. Tumult bounced off of thick muscle and was shoved down to the splintered docks.

“Watch whar yer goin, ya daft scallywag!” Skinner Bramblethorn barked, swelling his chest with all the bluster the beefy sixteen year old could conjure. Tumult rubbed his sore head and rose to his feet, gazing up at the notorious thug. “The lads n’ I penned a new dirge in honor of yer father’s …exploits on our recent voyage,” Skinner taunted.

Some of the other sailors gathered around, grunting in amusement, ready to revel in the scathing to come. Skinner stepped up onto a barrel and purred aloud, “On waves of blue, Boatswain Virile CRESTED. By his own drink he was always BESTED. ‘Till captain gave ORDERS, leaving Virile to SORT HER, fell off the ship, his honor MOLESTED!” The dozen gathered sailors erupted in laughter, slapping Skinner on the back, celebrating his verse.

Tumult, bruised physically and emotionally, scanned the jeering crowd, defeated, until he saw the small soft face of an elven girl. Soreth, having snuck away in the night to follow him, met his gaze from behind the crowd, with gentle encouraging eyes. Tumult took a deep breath, grit his teeth in a devious grin, and stared directly up into the eyes of his tormentor, still standing proudly upon his barrel. Tumult conjured the most commanding voice he could, “As sailors go, some are no guts, all BLUSTER. When danger nears, yer bladder’s zipper doth RUST HER. We’ve heard the word, HAVE YE? Yer a yellowbelly, SAVVY? Is that all the verse you can MUSTER?” The merchants howled in startled amusement. Tumult winked at Soreth giggling behind the crowd. More onlookers gathered around, anticipating the battle of verse.

Skinner’s face fell ice cold as he furrowed his brow furiously. He jumped down off the barrel, slowly prowling toward his prey. He hissed, “I’ve cleaned filth off me pristine BOOT. Your poor kind matches the SUIT. In the gutter yer BORN, yer mane UNSHORN, you’ll die penniless like yer OLD COOT.” His shipmates roared in approval. Skinner flashed his gold tooth grin, spinning with arms wide to the crowd. He pushed two gold-ringed fingertips into Tumult’s thin chest shoving him backwards, laughing viciously.

Tumult looked down at his bare feet on the splintered docks, absorbing two kinds of pain in his chest. He itched his nose quickly trying to mask the bead of moisture forming in his eye. He looked up through the jeering crowd, longing to find the only face that brought him hope. Soreth’s smile filled him with warmth, as her wide eyes narrowed deviously.

His expression matched hers as he subtly nodded, licking his lips in giddy conspiracy. Tumult breathed deeply, filling his chest with confidence. He took a step towards his towering foe, who backed up, not expecting the advance. Tumult bellowed, “A man of word and deed is to be ADMIRED. Knowing that ye are neither, we TIRE. Yerself ye ADORE, yet yer lies are a BORE. So it seems that yer pants are on FIRE!”

In a moment, the seat of Skinner’s immaculate britches ignited in flame. As he squealed in surprise, the entire crowd erupted in laughter, cheering verse and spectacle. Skinner attempted to put the flames out, smacking his own posterior furiously. In desperation, he jumped off the docks into the filthy water. The gathered crowd peered over the edge laughing at the extinguished bully.

Skinner’s eyes narrowed above the waterline in brief relief, then embarrassed defeat. A few of the gregarious merchants lifted Tumult up on their shoulders, celebrating the victor. He saw Soreth cheering through the crowd, extinguishing her still subtly flaming hand, as the two shared a playful wink.

The revelry was cut short, when above the hum of the crowd slurred a drunken roar “What be zuh meaning of thizzz rife commotion!?” Boatswain Rummy Virile stumbled through the crowd, a voluptuous woman of the night under each arm. Tumult’s father gazed at his son in disbelief. “What are ye doin at the docks at this hour! Go tell that wench I’ll be back up to that damn shack when I’m good n’ ready!”

Tumult, attempting to not cause any more of a scene, stepped closer to his father, lowering his voice. “Mama asked me to bring you home straightway, we’re going hungry, and have no coin,” Tumult quietly pleaded. The giggling escorts on each arm halted their frivolity and glanced at Rummy, curious at Tumult’s perceived accusation.

Rummy’s cheeks flushed red in rage. He raised his backhand ready to strike his son across the face, “Ye MONGREL! It’s MY coin! I’ve told ye I’ll get to yer troubles when I’m good n’ ready! Yer just one more of too many MOUTHS to feed!” Tumult winced as Rummy’s hand sliced through the air, in its practiced manner, toward his son.

A moment before impact, Rummy’s thick wrist was caught mid-air, gripped by the mightier hand of one Captain Henrik Verve. The noise of the crowd instantly hushed as the captain’s dominating presence weighed upon every soul. The captain’s slowly spoken words rumbled from his lips like a deep, controlled avalanche. “Boatswain Rummy. Ye lost a fortune worth of Lord Morris’ supplies when ye fell overboard, a slave to yer rum. Ye owe near five year’s worth yer pay. See’n as ye have nearly spent all ye earned this voyage since we’ve docked, only a fool would trust you’ll be good for yer word to repay.” Captain Verve’s stern expression tightened further as his deep voice rumbled, “Though it brings me no pleasure, Lord Morris has commanded me to bring him yer head, and all ye own as payment, before ye sully his name further.”

The two maidens shrieked in horror, retreating through the crowd, repelled by Rummy as if seeing a ghost. Captain Verve swiftly unsheathed his heavy, sharp cutlass, and threw Rummy over a barrel, pressing his neck to the splintering wood under heavy boot. Rummy wept in a mindless terror, blubbering, too drunk to conjure any last words. The crowd backed up further, too frightened to protest. Captain Verve slowly raised his blade above his head, preparing to exact judgment.

“Good captain!” Tumult’s shaky voice cut through the tense silence. Verve’s eyes slowly shifted to Tumult. “I know me father owes ye and yer Lord more coin than he is ever likely to repay.” Rummy, spittle dripping from his quivering lips, slowly raised his red-eyed gaze up to meet his son’s. “If ye and yer gracious Lord Morris wish to be makin’ a better deal, I offer you me services aboard yer fine ship, until I’ve paid off seven times what me father owes.” Soreth’s shocked gasp escaped the frozen crowd.

Silence.

Captain Verve’s eyes seemed to pierce the very soul of young Tumult, judging the boy, and his offer. The eyes of the stunned crowd shifted between the captain’s raised blade, to Rummy’s shivering wimpers, to Tumult’s determined expression. Captain Verve’s stoic lip cracked a hint of an amused grin. He slowly rumbled, “Rummy, why did ye never mention yer blood was thicker than yer rum?” Verve kicked Rummy off the barrel onto the splintered docks, as the crowd breathed sharply in sudden relief. “Seven times ye say, boy?” Verve rumbled.

“Ye have me word, captain,” Tumult declared, swelling his chest.

“So be it, boy. We’ll test yer mettle yet. Return here at first light, and we’ll see if ye have sea legs attached to them bare feet.” Verve sheathed his cutlass, and slowly turned on his heavy boots, thundering across the docks towards the Isle of Lords across the bay.

Tumult reached down to help his father to his feet. Rummy swatted his son’s hand away, “Fool of a boy! Don’t ye know what ye’ve done!?” he slurred. Lost in confused stupor, Rummy crawled to his feet, stumbling in the direction of the nearest pub.

The crowd slowly stirred back to life, merchants trying to claim customers from the gathered onlookers returning to their travels. The swirl of activity orbited Tumult. His stunned gaze began to blur into tears as the ever shrinking image of his father’s back disappeared into the darkness. His eyes fell to his bare feet, teardrops falling upon them. Two smaller feet timidly approached his view, toes touching his. Soreth’s soft palm cradled his tear stained cheek, lifting his eyes to hers. Her face, already painted in tears of her own. Wordless, she fell into his chest in a comforting embrace, trying to warm his heart, in a way powers of flame never could.

The two children cried, alone, in the crowd.

“Tummy, what you just did was the bravest thing I’ve ever seen.” Soreth whispered as her voice finally returned between labored breaths. The two of them sat upon a smooth boulder, overlooking the bay, at the top of the cliff. Their favorite play spot. The clouds had finally broken, exposing the infinite expanse of the heavenly stars, and the bright glow of Terrath’s three moons. Tumult wiped the last tear from his face. He breathed deeply, steadying himself, studying the starlight reflecting in her warm eyes.

“Me father is a monster, but I don’t have to be. I don’t think what I did was brave, I was just afraid to lose him. Mum needs someone to fix what me dad has broken, and it won’t be him. It may as well be me.” Soreth smiled up at Tumult, until her eyes lifted further to the stars. She paused pensively, contemplating. “Tummy, do ye think anyone is up there? Beyond what we can see?”

He gazed up into the stars, considering. “I don’t know. The great Calem Sha philosophers of the scrolls I’ve been reading say there is far more to this world than what we see. They say the stars themselves tell stories, far deeper than just guiding ships back home.” Soreth smiled, leaning into Tumult for warmth from the cold cliff breeze. Tumult glanced down at Soreth, sharing her smile, as they both returned their eyes above. “I don’t know what there is out there, but tomorrow I intend to find out.”

The next morning, tumult arrived at the docks earlier than required, alert and ready for action. As the crewmates stumbled across the gangplank, some hung over, some still exhausted from the evening’s revelry, only Skinner Bramblethorn took note of the young lad. Hastening his pace to a charge, Skinner seemed ready to vengefully push Tumult overboard into the filthy water. Just before contact, he froze in his step. From the corner of his eye, he caught Captain Verve’s presence. The captain stood stoically, thick hand on the helm, with stern eyes as piercing as a harpoon.

Skinner paused, slowly nodding reverently at the captain, then sneered at Tumult, “Ye best watch yerself, its mighty easy for one of yer kind to get swept overboard, pulled under-tide by webbed Sirenian hands.” Skinner knocked Tumult with his shoulder as he sauntered up the gangplank.

A pair of crewmen, Jackson and Mal, snickered as they too passed. Tumult winced and rubbed his shoulder, staring up at the captain. The captain let the quiet linger for a moment, studying the boy. “Well lad, if yer dusty feet are to become sea legs, ye best come aboard.” “Aye, captain!” Tumult blurted, as if snapped out of a trance.

Hulking midshipman Krog sneered his orcish grin, as he showed Tumult his meager assigned hammock shoved in the corner of the crew’s quarters below deck. “You sleep dere,” the lumbering orc grunted. Tumult nodded slowly. Krog pointed at a bucket of steaming slop on a table nearby. “You eat dat.” Tumult nodded slowly. Krog waved at a disgusting hole in the floorboards opening down into the bay. “You poo dere.” Tumult nodded slowly.

Krog’s eyes widened in concern as he cupped the entire top of Tumult’s head in his giant palm. “You… no… die.” Krog’s hand nodded Tumult’s head for him. “You smart hooman.” Krog patted Tumult’s head softly, shaking his entire body. The satisfied orc lumbered away, shaking floorboards with each step. Tumult paused. “Hmm.” He murmured to himself. Tumult nodded slowly.

A few hours of prep later, the deck’s arcanist launched a fireball up into the air, signaling the ship’s departure to other ships in port.

As the Maiden’s Fury took to the open ocean, Tumult’s first week was spent swabbing filthy decks, emptying higher-ranking chamber pots, and absorbing as much as he could from the sailors' flurry of activity around the ship. The feline Leenon navigator Kivuli took a special liking to Tumult, impressed by his ability to decipher the complex Caelum Sha sea charts and tide maps. Captain Verve encouraged the mentorship, and Tumult quickly distinguished himself as an apprentice navigator, searching the stars for maritime secrets.

Months later, under the moonlight of first watch, Kivuli hissed, scratching his whiskers, laboring over a celestial chart. He gestured his favorite dagger at the table. “This makes little sense. This map shows “Pueri Cunabula” an island that does not exist!”, Kivuli growled. Tumult glanced over the large oak table, moving his lantern closer under the moonlight.

Checking the coordinates, Tumult nodded. “Aye, we’ve passed through those waters before, and nary a sight of land. Could the cartographer simply have been mistaken?” Tumult queried. Kivuli smiled, exposing his white fangs, “Unlikely. The maps made by the ancient Dryaspis are known for their flawless topography, vetted over generations.”

Tumult’s eyes narrowed, stroking his chin. “Perhaps the island has moved, or sunken?” Kivuli blinked slowly, letting Tumult sit with his absurdity. “I know how it sounds, but I’ve read legends of islands on the backs of giant turtles, or even some that have been cast to the bottom of the sea!

Kivuli purred in amusement, “I see you’ve stumbled upon the old Sirenian legends, lad! Myths of mer-elves and sunken empires are a fine tall tale for children. But you n’ I are tasked with guiding this ship through what actually EXISTS of the ocean. Not drunken dreams of wayward troubadours!” Kivuli chattered in amusement, smacking a wide paw on Tumult’s back. Tumult smiled, noting how ridiculous he must have sounded.

"When I was a young cub in the jungle, my father taught me to find my path in the dark!" Kivuli swished his tail proudly. Tumult paused a moment, remembering, "...when I was a young child, my father made my path darker." A silence lingered. "I understand." Kivuli rested his comforting paw on Tumult's shoulder.

Brightening, he encouraged, “Worry yer head not, little lad. If there be no island, there is simply one less thing to navigate around!” Kivuli continued his snickering as he wandered off to the rum barrel, flipping his favorite dagger passively.

Tumult watched the retreating Leenon in the distance swish his tail in amusement, as he pondered the absurdity of his own suggestion. His eyes wandered back to the maps, focusing on Pueri Cunabula, the island that did not exist… as his vision blurred… lost in time.

A loud CRACK brought adult Tumult back to the present moment. His wandering memories of age twelve, years ago faded as the terrifying visage of the Kraken loomed high above yet again. The overloaded grapeshot Tumult fired from the cannon had struck wild; blasting through the mainmast, nicking Skinner through an eye, and pummeling the maw of the Kraken’s three tongues, dropping Captain Verve to the deck. Skinner roared in agony, covering his dead eye, and glaring at Tumult with the one remaining. Captain Verve gasped deeply, finally free of the maw. Tumult slashed his sword down through the tentacle around his leg, untangling himself. The beast went quiet for a moment, tasting the metal of the grapeshot, absorbing it. The Kraken stopped moving.

A terrifying silence cut through the storm.

The Kraken’s dozen eyes rolled back, pupils replaced by a ghastly white. The deep purple skin of the beast shifted color, taking on the appearance of the black metal it just tasted. The beast’s white glazed eyes snapped back into place, red pupils filling their orbs. The ROAR of the enraged beast shattered the silence, as a dozen fresh tentacles erupted out of the swirling waves.

One lashed out toward Soreth who bounded lithely over its grasp. A second tentacle swatted towards her head as she slid underneath it, across the slick oak deck. She paused for a moment as she wreathed her hands in flame, focusing all her might. She hurled a lance made of fire at the forehead of the kraken.

To her horror, the strike glinted off the monster’s freshly metallic surface. In her moment of pause, a third tentacle shot out of the water behind her vision, constricting her. “Soreth!” Tumult roared. He sprinted up the bow of the ship, towards her. She attempted to pummel the constrictor, injuring her fists.

Tumult raised his sword high above his head, and slashed down at the appendage confining her. The expected SWISH of a clean cut was instead replaced by the sharp CLANG of sword deflecting against hard metal. “The beast’s skin is not what it was!” Soreth gasped. Tumult winced in confusion, slashing furiously. “Me metal has no effect!”

Captain Verve jumped down from the helm, reaching to help Skinner to his feat. Just as he extended his hand and grasped Skinner’s forearm, Verve’s ankle was caught by another tentacle, lifting him upside down into the air. “Skinner! Hold fast!”, Verve bellowed. Skinner’s loose grip slipped as he fell to the deck, scampering backwards from the monster in fear.

“Captain!” Tumult exclaimed. “Unhand me, sea devil”, Verve roared, his blade clanging against the new metal skin of the tentacle. Tumult glanced down at his own blade, dropping it in futility. His eyes settled upon a small wooden galley fork sloshing about the swaying deck, and an idea crested his thoughts. “We shall go against the grain…” he muttered his mother’s wisdom to himself. He bent down and gripped the wooden fork tightly.

Captain Verve began thrashing wildly as the beast dangled him over the mangled thousand-toothed mouth. The beast's three tongues slithered around his ankle, sharp barbs injecting his thigh with a black ichor. The captain’s leg went limp, paralyzed, as he roared in pain. The kraken’s dozen eye stocks focused upon Verve, as the hot breath of the monster enveloped the Captain, ready to feast…

In an instant, the monster paused, distracted. All his eye stalks whipped to focus on a strange new sound emanating from Tumult.

“OOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHH have ya ever known a lass who was bold as brass with flames for hands ANEW?” Tumult sang in a thundering sea shanty lilt, winking at Soreth. “WIIIIIITH a face quite fair, and a mind contraire, she’s bound ta startle YOU!”

She smiled at him as he gripped a loose rope and swang into the air through the storm, dodging tentacles.

“BUUUUUUT have no care, great comfort there, as she cradles yer heart in TIME.”

Unsheathing his wooden fork proudly, he adeptly stabbed the center of one of the Kraken’s eye stalks, finding rich purchase. The kraken shrieked! Dropping Captain Verve into the water with a crash. The beast whipped half of its tentacles up into the air, trying to protect its eyes. Tumult lept and grabbed a new rope, swinging backward.

“JUUUUUSSST a day with her, and ye’ll confer, it is a liiiiiiife….. SUBLIME!”

He roared and stabbed a final eye stalk with all his might, forcing the monster to completely release its remaining grip on Soreth. She was flung swiftly skyward, crying aloud, clutching desperately for any rigging to cling to. Tumult caught a new rope, urgently pressing towards her chaotic fall.

The Kraken SHRIEKED in agony, flailing, losing its grip on the side of the ship. The towering monster began to fall onto the center of the Maiden’s Fury. The jagged spike of what remained of the mainmast glistened wet in the lightning. The monster’s massive carapace fell closer … and closer and closer… until its entire towering belly crashed, IMPALED proudly upon the mighty titanic wooden spike.

Soreth crested her ark, falling faster, and faster toward her doom upon the ship deck. She closed her eyes, accepting her end. Just before the fatal impact, she felt the strong arms of one dashing pirate envelop her completely, catching her out of the air. She opened her eyes, and gazed into the rich blue of his. His dashing smile warmed her more than fire. She gasped, returning his smile, as he landed them high atop the conquered mountain of impaled kraken flesh.

The lighting of the storm flashed brightly behind them. Her kiss upon his lips surprised him. He closed his eyes, holding her more tightly, keeping her safe. Their eyes opened as their smiles mirrored each other. “You haven’t forgotten how to sweep a girl off her feet,” she said, trying to hide her blushing. “You seem to have a talent in falling for me.” She giggled, loving his playful flirtation with all her heart.

Tumult’s eyes widened as his memory reignited. “The captain!” he reminded them both. The two of them gazed intently into the waters below, searching. Soreth’s sharp elven vision caught sight of the glint of metal first. “There!” she pointed, shaking through adrenaline.

Captain Verve waved wildly at them, trying to call with a mouth nearly drowning, desperately treading water with paralyzed legs. Tumult tied the long coiled rope around the fork and expertly flung the line toward the captain. The line sank beneath the waves, but the wooden fork floated within reach. Verve grasped the line, and tied it about his chest.

The world seemed to slow, as Verve gazed up at Tumult atop the mighty monster’s impaled corpse, lifting him out of the abyss. As the lightning split the black sky behind Tumult, Verve finally saw the vision of what he perceived in a brave child’s eyes years ago. As he looked up, Verve beheld a man who would become, legend.

In the days following, the Maiden’s Fury’s crew limped back to port with herculean effort, dragging the titanic kraken still skewered through the mainmast. The entire population of Brigand’s Bay seemed to gather at the edge of the hundred docks, gazing with open-mouthed wonder at the impossibility of what their eyes beheld. Considering the urgent medical state of Captain Verve, the crew docked the ship directly into the exclusive aristocratic Isle of Lords across the bay, to seek a healer worthy of the Captain’s station. Tumult disembarked swiftly, his sea-sodden boots sullying the immaculate Path of Lords leading up to the opulent Morris Manor.

Tumult banged on the gilded gate to the dismay of a well-dressed steward who approached nonchalant. “I’m sorry, but the Lord will not be seeing guests of your … station today.”

Tumult exhaled in exasperation, “I assure ye this is urgent! Captain Verve is in need of…”

“YOUNG MAN!”, the steward interrupted, “I declared to you already the intent of my Lord is to…” As the steward gestured behind himself, his eye caught the high balcony door open to a garishly dressed rotund man gazing at the impaled monster far down by the docks. Lord Morris lifted a single finger silencing his steward below. The moment lingered. The Lord’s plump cheeks slowly swelled into a broad smile. His full set of gold teeth glinted in the sunlight. His rotund belly began to rumble in guttural laughter, his eyes nearly glazing over in avarice.

“Ha... ha... ha… HA! Yes… my boy, with an offering like that, you are precisely the sort of guest I wish to entertain today. What news have ye of my dear Captain Verve?”

“My Lord, he is in dire need of a healer. He is unable to walk, and the color leaves his skin as we speak!”

“Smarmson, were you sincerely prepared to eject this fine lad in his time of need?” The steward bowed his head in mock shame. “Apologies, my lord. Shall I summon our healers?” Lord Morris narrowed his eyes at Smarmson, “...I marvel it has not yet been done.” “Yes m’lord” Smarmson snapped as he disappeared to his master’s bidding. Tumult sprinted the length back down to the docks. He and Kivuli carefully lifted Captain Verve onto a levitating wooden gurney, prayed aloft by one of Lord Morris’ priests. The concerned crew walked the long procession through Morris Manor’s opulent gates. Regal guards lined the path, eyeing them suspiciously. The towering gilded doors slammed ominously behind the crew collecting in the wide atrium.

Trumpets blared from the balconies as jeweled doors opened at the top of the grand staircase. “Presenting, his Opulence, Lord Morris!” announced the pretentious Smarmson. The Lord’s abundant girth nearly filled the double wide doorway as he descended with faux grace. He stopped at the last step, his gut nearling tumbling him off the edge. He raised a diamond encrusted monocle to his eye, studying the hushed rabble.

“Captain Verve, you have brought me quite a gift, yet you seem to have paid the cost personally,” the Lord crooned. The captain attempted to sit up. Tumult assisted, helping him onto his elbow. His complexion had paled as the kraken’s venom sapped the strength of his legs. Finding his raspy voice through labored breathing, he declared, “Aye, me lord. The bastard of a beast would ‘a gotten more than a taste o’ me had it not been for Tumult’s sharp wit. He found a way to slay the beast and brought us back, the while I was near me grave.”

Lord Morris eyed Tumult as a hawk would a rat. “Yes, the first man to have survived a dance with a Kraken. That is quite a feat.” “Seeing as you are recently deprived of yours, what do you suggest be the fate of my fair ship, the Maiden’s Fury?”

Skinner Bramblethorn burst through the crowd swelling his chest, “Father, old Verve has had his time, and I be owed what is mine!” A few of the crew cheered in approval.

Lord Morris studied Skinner a moment. “Captain Verve, what say you?”

Verve paused a moment, fighting his own lungs. “Your Skinner has some passion, but he hasn’t the nerve. He freezes. He’s a man owned by the sea, not drawn to it.” Jackson and the crew murmured in mixed agitation.

Lord Morris glanced at Skinner with mild disdain, “That is …unfortunate. More reasons the bastard has yet to earn my surname.” Skinner barked, “Ye can’t just!...” Skinner opened his mouth in protest, but a single wave of Morris’ finger silenced him. “Mind your tongue, boy.” Morris grumbled. Skinner clenched his teeth furiously. “Then, my good captain, whom do you suggest?” Morris purred, petting one of his large ruby rings.

“Of all the men I’ve sailed with these 30 years, some are strong of arm, or swift of blade, or skilled slinging fire or ice. Yet only one has the mind to have slain a kraken, and lived.” Verve bellowed, “Young Tumult was born for the sea. I say let him claim it.” Kivuli, and much of the crew cheered in approval. Tumult glanced over at Soreth, beaming at him with joyful pride.

Lord Morris’ eyes widened at the proclamation. His gaze settled upon Tumult. “What say ye, Krakenslayer?” Soreth helped prop up the captain as Tumult stepped forward into the middle of the room.

“My Lord, as I am indebted to ye for the sins of me father, I swear I shall slay any monster ye set before me, and bring ye great renown and treasure with yer ship under me command!”

Lord Morris’ flashed his gold-toothed grin, and descended the remaining stairs. Verve reverently returned the Captain’s hat into Morris’ hand. The Lord gestured as Tumult knelt before him, and placed the symbol of command upon Tumult’s brow. The crew erupted “Hail, Krakenslayer!” echo through the opulent hall. Tumult stood and scanned faces of cheer, and some of pensive thought, and one… of unbridled rage.

The body of the kraken proved to be overwhelmingly profitable to Lord Morris’ estate. The beast’s immeasurably rare meat provided a much demanded delicacy. Kings, warlords and aristocrats across Terrath’s globe sought the prized culinary status symbol. The unique properties of the monster’s anatomy piqued intense interest of Protencian alchemists, Pact’um healers, scholars and arcanists as far distant as the Ver’delven forests.

In the months that followed, the demand for such impossibly rare reagents grew, as did Tumult’s fame in its acquisition. To meet demand, Lord Morris granted Tumult command over an ever increasing collection of his fleet. The Lord promoted several talents from Tumult’s crew to captain their own vessels instructed by Tumult’s philosophies, including Soreth and Kivuli. Tumult’s philosophy gradually converted the bulk of Morris’ maritime exploits from pillage and plunder to the more profitable slaying of elusive sea monsters and treasure hunting.

With haste, competing pirate lords’ fleets attempted to imitate Tumult’s success, but they fatally failed to replicate leaders with Tumult’s keen mind for celestial navigation. His passion for research of ancient cryptic texts, and the ever-increasing complexity of the monstrous encounters, proved too much for contenders to replicate.

As soon as Tumult was able to save enough, he paid for his mother and siblings to move out of the slums of Brigand’s Bay, into a small farming village, distant from piracy, and close to the sanctuary of the Pact’um Monastery.

In time, Tumult poured deeper into his research of ancient texts. He became convinced of the location of ‘Pueri Cunabula, the island that did not exist’. Soreth sat, decoding fragments of cryptic scrolls recovered from their recent voyage. She sipped soothing tea from her old bent tin tea cup, re-heated by her softly glowing hand. The humble cup was Tumult’s scavenged gift to her from their poor childhood. Though she owned several nicer cups since then, this one her heart favored.

The translations she labored over hinted at hidden Sirenian caches, protected by arcane wards. At the time written, they were fabled to contain ‘untold priceless treasures, buried in new chests.’ A secret island, hidden under the sea by cataclysm.

“This… could be it…” Tumult glanced up at Soreth across the maps through the candlelight. “This treasure would surely be enough to pay off me father’s debt.” Soreth rested her lithe hand upon his weathered knuckles.

She furrowed her brow, “Tummy, ye and I both know ye’ve brought more wealth to Lord Morris than would pay for a hundred times what yer father owes. Yet still he demands ye under his boot. Ye are worth more than wealth to him. Ye ARE his wealth. I narry think he’ll ever let ye free.”

Tumult considered the truth. He rested his other hand upon hers. “There must be a way.” He clenched his jaw. Soreth’s hand upon his cheek softened his stress, as he gazed up into her eyes. “Ask the man who has tasted freedom,” she whispered. She glanced at his captain's hat upon the table, and returned her soft eyes to his. He breathed deeply, paused, and nodded slowly. She smiled, as he kissed her softly on her forehead. He stood and departed, in search of Verve.

Strolling in the moonlight through the lower tiers of the Isle of Lords, Tumult approached a sturdy, respectable home with no gate or furnishings. He rapped his knuckle softly upon the thick oak door, hand-carved by Verve with care. “Who it be?” rumbled a voice fighting for air. “It be Tumult, Cap’n.”

Silence.

“Aye, open.”

Tumult slowly cracked the door on squeaky hinges, and beheld a dark austere living room, with a single candle casting long shadows. The once imposing figure of the mighty captain had thinned through years seated with paralyzed legs, suffering the effects of the kraken’s toxin. The emaciated Verve weakly gestured Tumult to sit. “Where be yer steward, yer servants?” Tumult queried.

“Aye, …I sent them away.” Verve trembled his hand to his chalice, slowly knocking it off the small end table. Tumult swiftly caught the cup before it hit the dusty rug, and delicately refilled the Captain’s libation.

“Me Captain, I did not know! Why did ye not respond to me letters? Why did ye not call for me when ye needed?” Tumult whispered in agitation.

Verve’s chest heaved, desperate for breath, “Me purpose is spent. I’m of no use. I’ve become just one more of too many mouths to feed. I’d rather die than be a burden.” Tumult bit his quivering lower lip hard, holding back frustration, and pain.

He whispered, “Me captain, ye gave me the sea, ye brought me the horizon!” Verve tried to laugh through clogged throat, coughing up blood on his stained jerkin. Tumult pressed his white sleeve to his captain’s chest, futilely trying to clean him. Verve weakly swatted away Tumult’s helping hand. “I gave ye nothing, boy. A man earns what he has, or he is not a man.”

Tumult’s eyes darted around the darkness of the room, as it closed in around him. He whispered, “I’ve slaved to earn me freedom, yet it is not to be mine.” Verve clasped Tumult’s collar in a fist with his last vestiges of strength. Tumult gripped Verve’s fist upon his collar, locking eyes with him, shocked.

Through gritted teeth Verve quietly seethed, “This world cares not what it owes us, but only what it can take. Ye be NOTHING… but what ye make of yerself!” Tumult breathed sharply, overwhelmed. Spent, Verve collapsed back into his seat. Verve’s eyes glazed over as he gazed into the dimming candle. His hollow voice finally exhaled, “Cast… your shackles. You don’t belong… in this life.”

Verve’s lifeless fist loosened on Tumult’s collar. Tumult tightened his trembling hand around Verve’s.

A cold breeze through the open window snuffed the candle dark. White smoke wafted ghastly through the shadows of the room.

Truly alone, Tumult wept.

The next morning, Tumult requested an audience with Lord Morris and proposed his plan to acquire the “ultimate treasure” in exchange for his freedom. The Lord chuckled dismissively once Tumult named the target as ‘Pueri Cunabula, the island that does not exist.’ Yet, his eyes widened when Tumult revealed the new discoveries of his research, all but confirming the location.

Weighing the risk of sending expensive vessels and crews to their doom, Lord Morris granted Tumult his requested three ships upon one condition. To protect his investment, Lord Morris mandated that one of the three ships be captained by his own aspiring bastard son. Skinner “Deatheye” in time had fashioned his own new surname after his ominous wound, collateral damage from Tumult’s old cannon blast. Skinner’s face twisted into a venomous grin watching Tumult consider.

With great reluctance, Tumult agreed to the terms, and shared the mixed news with a hopeful captain Soreth. With preparations completed, the three ships’ arcanists launched signal fireballs into the sky, and the Maiden’s Fury led the three-ship expedition into the open sea.

Days of sailing around the deadly Torrent Maw maelstrom finally led the ships into the treacherous waves of the Dragon’s Delta. Guided by the stars of the heavens, Tumult finally commanded the three ships to drop anchor in the void, distant from any mass of land.

Hesitant, but trusting, all three anchormen found rich purchase upon a phantom mass below the ships. Tumult smiled, relieved. He requested the captains of each ship to nominate ten crewmates to join on his deck to form the expedition party. Soreth approached, delicately cupping a glowing satchel full of Sea Seeds. Distributing one to each of the expedition party, she instructed, “These seeds were acquired at extreme expense. Depending on yer size, ingesting one will enable yer lungs ta breathe the water for less than one full day. Make the most of it, as yer lives depend upon it.” Each crewmate reverently received a seed, and ingested it.

Tumult removed his heavy overcoat and hat, strapping his waterproof Simex'id dynamite and other gear around his belt. Skinner wrapped his expensive kraken-skin cloak around his neck, eyeing Soreth. “Ye shan't be need’n that extra weight underwater.” Tumult advised. “I favor it.” Skinner sneered.

The crew gathered empty buoyant treasure sacks, and sharpened their blades. Kivuli sheathed his favorite dagger, and distributed necklaces with a simple glowing pendant upon each, their eyes in the dark. Tumult scanned his brave crew, “We dive into the very bowels of the abyss. Take heart, and stay close - destiny awaits.” “Aye Captain!” Kivuli led the chorus of agreement. Soreth squeezed Tumult’s hand tightly. As some of the crew grumbled, Skinner’s gold-toothed grin glistened ominously in the moonlight.

Tumult dove into the dark abyss below, followed by the thirty.

The terror of the deep enveloped them as their gems glowed like an underwater sky full of stars. The constellation of crewmates swam deep into the mouth of a cave tunnel, winding, endlessly beyond sight. An hour of swimming felt like an eternity as the darkness of the rock tunnel finally opened into an underwater air chamber. The crew who needed no air still violently expelled the water from their lungs to make room for the air they were accustomed to breathing. Tumult’s eyes adjusted to the glowing turquoise mushrooms of the cave.

He beheld a tall stone monolith at the center of the chamber, with glowing blue runes upon it. As he moved closer he identified symbols of the ancient Sirenian script he had poured over for years. Requesting Soreth’s specialized arcanist’s talents, she approached and joined him in deciphering the complex arcane protections upon the waystone.

The two other arcanists of the crew stood in confused awe, trying to fully discern the intricacies of the markings. In time, Soreth spoke the impossibly nuanced Sirenian command that unlocked it. A deep arcane pulse shook the cavern. The crew dodged the few falling stalactites. Bright blue light ignited a beautiful arcane circle on the sand surrounding the monolith. The circle projected twelve smaller circles each wide enough for a single person to stand in. Tumult smiled broadly at Soreth’s accomplishment as he squeezed her hand tightly thrice, her expression exhausted, but relieved.

Each captain chose three crewmates to join them standing in the twelve circles. Tumult rested his palm upon the glowing hand-shaped marking on the monolith. It felt soothing to him. “The ultimate treasure ye say?” Skinner accused. “If the legends be true,” Tumult confirmed. Skinner’s eye narrowed. Skinner’s palm, and five of the other crew seemed to spark in pain as they touched the stone.

Kivuli twitched his tail, and glanced nervously at Tumult before pressing. Soreth nodded encouragement at Kivuli as he then rested his hand on the stone more calmly, exhaling in relief. Once the last hand had pressed upon the monolith, the world seemed to expand, ripped through space and time. Teleported into a different chamber, the twelve collapsed around a similar looking waystone, its own blue glow dimming as they landed.

Shrieks of surprise echoed through the ornate chamber as a few dozen small creatures the size of children scampered behind the gown of a taller figure. The pirates seemed to have interrupted a lesson. Head spinning, Tumult’s blurred vision started to focus. He stood, trying to regain his balance.

As he assumed his full height, the tiniest of the small creatures seemed to have transparent torsos, exposing a single beautiful glowing blue gem pulsing within each chest. The gems were captivating, similar to treasures he had seen in the ancient scrolls. The children and the matriarch protecting them had beautiful teal scales upon their skin, long finned ears, with webbed toes and feet. Tumult’s eyes locked with one of the toddling girls, a face that reminded him of Soreth’s as a child.

Skinner became entranced, eyeing the gems lustfully. “The legends… were true,” he whispered ambitiously. He unsheathed his sword and began stomping towards the matriarch. The children shrieked. “Halt!” Tumult bellowed. Skinner paused a moment in frustration. “We be here for the treasure, and we shall have it,” Skinner hissed. He grabbed the wrist of a child, and steadied his blade prepared to extract his prize from her chest.

The Sirenian matriarch roared in rage and began to glow blue, channeling an arcane attack, but was interrupted as Skinner struck her with the hilt of his blade to the ground. The children wept in terror as Skinner raised his cutlass to begin the brutal surgery.

Just before his blade pierced flesh, it was parried swiftly by Tumult’s saber, followed by his boot to Skinner’s chest. Skinner stumbled backward into the sand. Tumult stepped between him and the children. Jackson, Mal and half of the crew snarled, unsheathed blades and lept to help Skinner to his feet.

“Ye disobeyed a direct order.” Tumult stated with deadly intensity.

Skinner rose to his full height, wrapping himself in his expensive kraken-skin cloak. “Yer order from me father is to retrieve this treasure, ye fool, are ye ta disobey him? I shall earn me name! These monsters are not even human! What does it matter to rip a pearl from an oyster?” Skinner hissed.

“The plan has changed. We slay monsters, not children.” Tumult growled.

Deadly silence.

“Then die penniless like yer father!” Skinner roared as he raised his blade and charged Tumult.

Skinner’s crew bellowed a battlecry and rushed to assault. Blades clashed as Tumult’s faithful crew locked in savage mele defending their captain and the children. Jackson slew a defender and stomped toward one of the children huddled behind the unconscious matriarch.

Soreth wreathed her hands in righteous flame and ignited him instantly, collapsing to the sand. Exhausted, she stumbled to the prone matriarch, helping her regain consciousness. She whispered broken Sirenian words to the matriarch, explaining. The woman nodded, understanding. Soreth helped her to her stumbling feet. Kivuli pounced upon an attacker, clawing him ferociously.

Skinner struck with the savagery of a man possessed. In the chaos, Mal sliced at Tumult’s thigh, cutting free his Simex'id dynamite into the air and knocking him to a knee. Skinner raised his blade to strike a killing blow. Soreth cried with the last measure of energy she had, “Tumult!” A lance of flame erupted from her hands towards Skinner. Prepared, in an instant, Skinner lifted his kraken-skin cloak, shielding him from the flame. The embers ignited the dynamite flying through the air, landing at the base of the monolith. All eyes locked briefly on the expiring fuse. It exploded, knocking fighters to the ground, and destroying the monolith, their way out.

In the shock, ears rang. Soreth wrapped her arm around the stumbling matriarch. The Sirenian woman gestured to Soreth deeper into the cave system. Skinner renewed his assault upon Tumult. Their blades clashed as Tumult glanced at Soreth.

“Run! Save them! I will find you!” Tumult yelled through gritted teeth, pressing blades. Completely arcane-exhausted, Soreth paused. She looked into the terrified, tear stained face of a child, then back at Tumult and nodded. She stumbled with the matriarch, and led the children, disappearing into the safety of the caves. Tumult saw the darkness of the cave they entered flash brightly and then dark again.

Kivuli pounced upon Mal with sharp claws and tore him away from Tumult. Mal sliced Kivuli across the abdomen. The feline howled, clenching his gut, as he fell into the sand, laying still. “No!” Tumult cried, reaching for Kivuli’s body. Skinner’s heavy boot crushed into Tumult’s rib cage, knocking him to the ground. Skinner sheathed his blade and sprinted with all-consuming obsession towards his fleeing treasure. His name to be earned.

Tumult labored for breath with crushed lungs, crawling through the sand towards Soreth’s flight. In the sudden silence of the cave, he could hear his doom approach. Mal’s heavy bootsteps thudded behind him like the clock hands of fate towards the midnight of his death. Just as Tumult’s hand clawed the edge of the tunnel entrance, he felt Mal’s mighty grip flipping him over onto his back.

“Ye were never fit for command, gutter rat!” Mal teased Tumult’s neck with the tip of his blade, eyes narrowed with murder. Just as Mal grit his teeth to slice, his eyes shot open wide, choking on his breath. He swayed then fell forward next to Tumult in the sand. Kivuli’s favorite dagger, thrown, sunk deep into Mal’s spine.

Kivuli lifted his face from the sand, gasping for breath. Kivuli eyed his student. He whispered, “Captain… may you find your way… through the dark,” and collapsed into the sand.

Tumult’s head fell. He grit his teeth in two kinds of agony.

Through adrenaline, Tumult clawed to his feet, and stumbled into the tunnel.

Rounding the corner, he saw three monoliths, one still slightly dimming from the most recent traveler. Gripping his ribs, he stumbled forward and pressed against the hand-shaped symbol. Ripped again out of space and time, he found himself in a new location, with no sight of Soreth or the children.

Below the dark clouds of a stormy sky, a long narrow stone bridge extended forward across a deep chasm with raging black water far below.

“Ye chose the wrong path… and so did I.” A vengeful voice echoed. Skinner slowly approached, walking back across the long bridge toward Tumult. “This be a dead end.” Skinner seethed.

“Well phrased.” Tumult declared.

“Ye have a choice, gutter rat. Ye can stand aside. Let me claim me treasure, me name, and ye win yer freedom. Or…” Skinner gestured his blade down to the black waters far below. “Ye can be lost in the abyss, and I’ll give that lovely Soreth… yer… regards.”

Tumult looked evil dead in the eye.

“I don’t slay children.

But I do slay monsters.”

Tumult slowly unsheathed his blade. “...Deatheye.”

Deatheye’s gold-toothed sneer flashed in the lightning. “So be it.”

The clash of blades rung with titanic ferocity. Each man struck with killer intent with every blow. Blood sliced through the air as rage filled every swing. Blades locked as both men pressed chests.

Deatheye rasped in raw adrenaline, “Ye throw away yer freedom fer those mongrels? Ye know well, there be too many mouths to feed!”

“Nay monster, there be too many men like you.”

His foe’s blade slashed Tumult across the face. Tumult clutched his own eye in horror, and kicked his foe away, both swords falling into the abyss below.

“An eye for an eye. As it should be. A mercy… ye need’t see what comes next…” Deatheye gripped tumult by the neck and pressed him down against the bridge. Tumult swiped the fuse of his last Simex'id dynamite against the stone, lighting it.

“Better a selfless death, …than a selfish life.” Tumult whispered.

He rolled the dynamite down the bridge.

“Wretch, you will never belong… in this life!” Darkness spoke.

Tumult’s eye closed. His foe’s eyes widened. He did not feel the explosion.

Both men fell through the abyss. Waves of darkness enveloping them completely.

An eternity passed.

Pain. Emptiness. Sorrow. Lack. Fear. Dread. He felt everything. He felt nothing.

Through the swirl of darkness… far above, a single star… appeared.

He heard a Still Small Voice, filling his soul.

“My child. I see you.”

Tumult reached in the direction of the voice. “My father is dead.” Tumult spoke wordlessly.

Washed up on shore, he opened his only eye to behold a radiant priest with kindness in his eyes. “As is mine, young one. Yet I serve a new Father, El Shaddai, who cannot die.”

Tumult, the empty man, wept with his whole heart. “Any father I have known… has not accepted me.” The priest held the lost man close to his heart.

“I am Geno, and my Father,

…will.”

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