His descent, his wings, and his stature deemed him the agent of the sky for the tribe of Clinmere, and his words held the weight of that angry roar—the corridor ended, and the drawings led Ewan and Nana to the core of the hall.

  He settled on the highest seat of the largest hall, his chin up high and his shoulders wide as if it were a throne, overlooking the tribesmen with a prideful smile.

  The passage of seasons cemented his authority and the tribe bloomed under him; his command won them battles, and his directions led them to luxury. His advent shifted the tribe’s hierarchy, and even the elders gave way to his rule. They crowned him, called him his king, and the seat indeed became his throne and the tribe his kingdom. Soon his harem birthed his firstborn, winged as he was, and he lifted the wrinkled child to the sky with a forlorn curve in his eyes.

  “He was their source,” Nana whispered.

  “Seems like so,” Ewan replied, moving on to the next section.

  The royalty owned the wings, and the commoners were without; the unsaid rule became the convention of the kingdom—even a king’s son lost his status if his back bore no feathers. And the kingdom saw its ups and downs with the years, it flourished and withered then prospered again, but the crown changed no head. Yet the worst of it came when the ‘greedy’ and ‘ungrateful’ commoners rebelled under the banner of the wingless banished princes.

  “Should we be seeing this?” Nana asked, clutching his hand.

  “History is written by the victors, there won't be anything here that they would want to hide,” Ewan said. “Secrets that might sully them is already buried.”

  The mutiny washed the kingdom in a river of blood that spilled into the ocean. As steel bit into flesh again, the king saw the last man fall under his blade, his wings dripping red, and he trampled on his crown. The victory provoked his ambitions, and he finally saw the world outside the island.

  The paintings were vague beyond this, but they pictured his stay with a lofty mountain, acquainting with its spirit, and then his conquest of another island rivaling Clinmere’s size. In the end, his kingdom expanded to triangle the three points—he owned even the breaths of the beasts within the bounds.

  “Fallsard…,” Ewan murmured, looking at the strokes of the mountain on the wall.

  “And that’s Bexthon Haven I think,” Nana whispered. “That giant stone in the middle, that’s where they lived.”

  “Weird coincidence,” Ewan said, and something clicked in his mind. He wasn’t sure of the idea though, he had to go back and consult his family journal and the books, he needed confirmation before he evoked even a single thought about it.

  “This is the end…,” Nana said as they traversed the hall and came back to the corridor again. “What happened to him after all that?”

  “Who knows, maybe he just lost against time and faded out,” Ewan said. “Let’s go.” And they left, bidding Shadowfarer a silent farewell, taking the official exit this time at his prompt, climbing the steep corkscrewed steps out into an aged hall with cracked walls. The drowsy guard bowed as his wings drooped…

  …..

  The chasm that touched the hall of history dwarfed any trenches that Lance found in the area, so Kidd remained on the warship, and he brought Stefan to the island. Nana stood on the waves, probing the conditions of her Astylinds, while Ewan joined Lance down in the trench, and under their secured gazes, Stefan sank into the abyss.

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  The world lost him with every inch of the dive, the darkness admitted him; he merged with the silence of the depth. And his rite—Quiet Echoes—kicked off with the inception of the soft whispers. They breathed and they hissed, and their rippling verge bubbled Stefan. He was the last of them still hovering in the Kyron’s territory, and his promotion would finally level the crew.

  “You take the first shift,” Ewan said. “Switch with Nana or Kidd, whoever’s up for it. I’ll come keep watch after I brew a batch of potions.”

  “Yes, sir,” Lance said. “What should we do about the merchant ship though?”

  “It’s most likely a bait, someone’s fishing for the eager,” he said. “I can't see a Kyron merchant getting involved in something of this level on his own. But if he really is rescuing those children and keeping them alive, then we’ll join the mess and trawl for what we can get. Tell Kidd to ask around about it when he comes here.”

  “He’s befriended quite a lot of fishing ships in the area, he should be able to get something,” Lance said. “How long do you think we have, sir?”

  “We’ve already crossed my estimate, Ashevagord is now stalling,” Ewan said. “Even if the sun took all their resources, they should’ve been able to attend to this issue by now, it was just a matter of announcing a ban after all. But they haven’t, so there might be something else going on. I’m also basing my presumption on what I’ve read and heard, so I can't be sure, but it’s not like them to dawdle.”

  “They were able to release so many contracts for the market crash, this should be much easier…” Lance muttered.

  “We can infer all we want, but we won't get any result without more information. And there’s only one way to get some right now,” Ewan said. “Once these three finish their rites and Ghost breaks through, we’re attending that humble banquet.”

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