Rowan gasped awake, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he struggled to catch his breath. His shirt was drenched in sweat, sticking uncomfortably to his back. The room was dark, lit only by the dim glow of the moon filtering through the cracks in the wooden shutters.
His heart pounded in his ears.
It had been that dream again.
The same one that had haunted him for years.
The st time he saw his father.
Rowan was ten years old when it happened.
The storm had been building since dawn, rolling in from the horizon like a beast awakening from slumber. The skies had turned gray, the wind howling through the port, rattling wooden beams and snapping loose sails. The sea had been restless that day, and the fishermen knew it.
Most of them had stayed behind, choosing safety over profit. Even the most seasoned sailors hesitated to challenge the ocean’s wrath.
But Rowan’s father?
Ethan Creed had never been one to hesitate.
"Ethan, please," his mother had begged, standing at the doorway as he prepared to leave. "You don’t have to go. We can manage until the storm passes."
But his father had only smiled. Not a careless grin, not a reckless smirk—just a quiet, knowing smile.
"Our coffers are running dry, Evelyn. We can’t wait for clear skies."
Rowan had been standing at his mother’s side, clinging to the edge of her dress, his stomach twisting with unease.
"Dad, don’t go today," he had pleaded. "The other fishermen aren’t going. Why do you have to?"
For the first time, something flickered across his father’s face. A hint of hesitation. Not because of the storm, but because his son was asking him not to go.
Then, Ethan knelt in front of Rowan, resting a hand on his shoulder.
"Rowan… The Eldarecredes were born for the sea."
The words had meant nothing to Rowan back then. They had made no sense. His father rarely used that name—Eldarecrede. To the rest of the world, he was Ethan Creed. Just another fisherman.
But that day, he had spoken the name as if it meant something more.
"We will not sink like the rest of them."
And with that, he had left.
Rowan had stood there, watching as his father walked toward the docks, the storm clouds thickening above.
Watching as he climbed onto his small fishing boat and sailed into the angry sea.
Watching as he disappeared beyond the mist and the waves, never to return.
Rowan stomped downstairs, his stomach tight with irritation. His mother was already setting breakfast on the table—eggs, bread, and weak tea. Simple, like always.
And, like always, Marcus was sitting at the head of the table, drinking his coffee.
Rowan wasn’t even halfway into the room before Marcus spoke.
"School’s opening soon, isn’t it?"
Rowan froze.
It wasn’t an insult.
It wasn’t a compint.
It wasn’t even spoken in his usual condescending tone.
For once, Marcus actually sounded like he was just making conversation.
But Rowan didn’t care.
He was already in a terrible mood, and the st thing he wanted was to entertain Marcus with polite conversation. Whether the man was baiting him or just trying to make casual talk for once, it didn’t matter.
Rowan didn’t want to talk.
Didn’t want to sit at the same table as him.
Didn’t want to be here.
So, he didn’t even bother to answer.
Instead, he grabbed a piece of bread off the table, stuffed it into his mouth, and turned right back around.
"Rowan," his mother called after him, clearly sensing the tension.
But he didn’t stop.
Didn’t acknowledge her.
Didn’t give Marcus the satisfaction of a reaction.
He snatched up his metal detector from the corner of the house, threw the strap over his shoulder, and walked out the door before Marcus could say another word.
The cool morning air hit Rowan’s face as he stepped outside, but it didn’t calm him down.
His thoughts were still a tangled mess, swirling around the memory of his father, his nightmare, and the cryptic words that refused to leave his mind.
"The Eldarecredes were born for the sea."
Why did it matter so much?
Why couldn’t he just forget it?
Rowan tightened his grip on the handle of his metal detector. This was why he searched the shore every day. It wasn’t just about treasure or junk or passing the time.
It was about finding something his father left behind.
Something that would make sense of it all.
Something that would tell him why he left.
And why he never came back.
Rowan marched toward the beach, his boots kicking up sand as he reached the familiar stretch of shoreline.
He had covered this beach more times than he could count, scanning every inch of sand, every rocky crevice, every pce that might have hidden something—anything—worth finding.
And yet, he had found nothing.
The people of Bckreef had started whispering about him.
"He’s gone mad, just like his father."
"Another Creed lost to the sea."
"Searching for treasures that don’t exist."
Rowan didn’t care what they thought.
But some days, he wished—just once—that he could find something valuable enough to shut them up.
Something that would make them stop looking at him like he was broken.
Something that would prove that he and his father is not mad.
Rowan’s metal detector beeped.
At first, he almost ignored it.
This was a pce he had already searched before.
A pce where he had dug so many times, convinced that if his father had lost anything behind, it wouldn't be here.
He expected nothing.
Maybe junk—a rusted nail, an old coin, a scrap of metal someone had tossed onto the beach recently.
But something compelled him to dig.
He dropped to his knees and pushed away the sand with his hands, digging deeper, cwing at the damp earth beneath the surface.
And then—his fingers closed around something solid.
Something smooth.
Something cold.
Rowan pulled it free.
A chain—silver, long, unbroken. And at the end of it, a medallion.
The medallion was gold, its surface gleaming as if it had been buried only yesterday.
No rust.
No scratches.
No sign that it had been sitting under yers of sand, untouched by time.
It looked new.
Rowan’s breath caught in his throat as he turned it over, brushing the st grains of dirt from its surface.
One side bore the image of a ship.
A ship etched with perfect detail, its sails full of wind, riding the waves like it was frozen mid-voyage.
But it wasn’t just any ship.
Rowan felt his heart stop.
It was the same ship—the exact same shape, the exact same carved figurehead—as the wooden toy ship his father had given him years ago.
He flipped the medallion over, his fingers trembling.
On the other side, an emblem had been engraved—a sigil of a noble house.
A ship and castle.
The symbol of an old lineage, one that had once belonged to those who commanded the seas.
Rowan stared at it, his mind spinning.
How?
How had this been buried here, when he had already searched this pce dozens of times?
How had it never rusted?
And more importantly—
Why did it have his father’s ship on it?
Rowan held the medallion and chain in his hands, his breath still uneven, his heart pounding.
This was it.
This was what his father had been searching for.
This was what had consumed him—why he had spent hours on this very shore, sweeping the sands with his own metal detector, never giving up, never expining what he was truly looking for.
And now…
Rowan had found it.
Without hesitating, Rowan slipped the chain over his head.
The silver links settled against his skin, the golden medallion resting just over his chest.
And then—
A sensation flooded through him.
Rowan froze.
A strange tingling spread through his entire body, running from the base of his neck to the tips of his fingers.
It wasn’t painful.
It wasn’t even uncomfortable.
It felt… right.
Like the medallion had been waiting for him.
Like it belonged to him.
Like it had always belonged to him.
Rowan took a deep breath, steadying himself.
He had no idea what had just happened.
But one thing was certain—he wasn’t telling anyone about this.
Rowan looked down at the medallion, watching how the gold gleamed in the sunlight. This thing—this artifact—looked expensive.
Too expensive.
If Marcus ever found out about it, there was no way he’d be able to keep it. His stepfather would take it from him in an instant, either selling it or forcing Rowan to hand it over for the “good of the family.”
That wasn’t happening.
Rowan hurriedly tucked the medallion beneath his shirt, making sure it was completely hidden.
It was his now.
He wasn’t giving it up.
Rowan took off toward his house, his mind racing.
The ship on the medallion… it wasn’t a coincidence.
He had to check.
Had to be sure.
Had to see it for himself.
He sprinted through the winding streets, past the familiar stalls, past the dock workers unloading fish from the day’s catch.
Past the people who barely paid him any attention.
When he reached his house, he didn’t stop.
He burst through the door, ignored whatever his mother was saying, and rushed straight upstairs to his room.
He flung himself toward his desk, where the miniature wooden ship sat—the only thing his father had ever left him.
With shaking hands, he pulled the medallion from beneath his shirt and held it up next to the toy ship.
His breath hitched.
It was the same ship.
The exact same shape, structure, and carved details.
It wasn’t just simir.
It wasn’t just a coincidence.
It was identical.
