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In The Mist Of The Erie Isles

By Mantrid Brizon

Episode Forty-Eight: Regrets

Yawning and slowly opening her eyes, she rubs her ruby orbs with her dainty hands. Sitting up in bed, Mairlynn’s blanket falls from her nude body. How wonderful it is to no longer be sharing a room with Kirsta anymore, or anyone else for that matter. Climbing out of bed, her feet patter softly on the wood as she walks toward the porthole. It’s just high enough that she has to rise onto the tips of her toes to see through it. The sky is bright blue and crystal clear.

“Oh, it looks so nice out!” She exclaims.

Looking down at her own body, Mairlynn glides a hand over her petite form. Her skin holds a natural tan, albeit light. She’s always enjoyed seeing her skin a nice golden brown, however; it contrasts so well with her ruby eyes and her dark golden hair. With her mind made up, she heads toward a simple vanity, made from a nightstand and a mounted mirror. It’s something that Valan had created for her upon request, crafted from gathered parts. Collecting a robe, she slips it over her shoulders. As her hands caress her body, patting down the robe, she winces.

“Nnn... Huh! That’s odd!”

Opening her robe and looking down at her chest, she stares at her modest breasts. Extending her finger, she gives her left breast a little poke.

“Ow!” She pokes the other and feels a similar sensation. “Huh... Why are they so tender all of a sudden?! Maybe I slept on them strangely? ... Is that even a thing? It must be!”

After several more pokes, she winces and rests her hands upon her small, womanly mounds. They slowly glide over her mammaries before cupping them from the bottom, her slender fingers gently squeezing her soft flesh.

“Oh! They feel a little bigger! ... I think.”

After another squeeze and a brief pause, she disregards her findings and decides to carry on. Closing her robe and tying it shut, she heads for the corner of her room and collects a wooden and cloth artifact. Opening her door, she drags the heavy object along the hall, briefly worrying that she’ll awaken anyone else who’d slept in as late as she has. Nearing the lounge, she peers inside. Only one person sits there. Perhaps she hasn’t disturbed anyone? She drags the artifact up the steps, moving one step at a time. Bang. Bang. Bang. The wooden artifact slams against the face of each step as she makes her way toward the main deck, growling as she exerts herself.

“Come on, damn you... Why must wood be so heavy?!”

Sitting alone in the lounge, her fiery eyes gaze upon a half-eaten piece of hardtack. Beside it are the crumbs of what was a chunk of dry goat cheese, and an empty mug that was once filled with a weak wine. The strange banging catches her attention, but she quickly realizes that it’s only Mairlynn, who grunts and growls as she drags something heavy up the steps. She sighs, taking her claws and poking at the hardtack, pressing dots into the traditional bread of sailors and soldiers. With her chin resting in an upturned palm, she presses dot after dot, spelling out a letter. As she begins working on a second, footsteps approach. She shifts her gaze just as the Scribe walks in.

“What’s all that noise?” He grumbles to himself, glancing toward the stairwell.

“It’s Mair, doing... Something.”

“Oh, hi, Lutala!”

Finally seeing the Lahnyt priestess sitting by herself in the dinning booth, Irzain raises a hand and waves it once.

“Hello.”

“Came for a snack, too?” He asks, walking past her and toward the galley.

“Yeah...” She sighs.

“I’m surprised I slept so late. It’s hard to keep regular hours on this ship, with Trellan doing most of the work. I wonder if anyone else is having that problem? ... I guess Mairlynn is.” He thinks aloud.

Standing before the galley, Irzain watches her for a moment. She continues to press dots into what’s left of the hardtack, slowly spelling the next letter. Entering the galley, he collects a tin of pork, a fork and a mug, along with a sack of weak wine. Returning to the lounge, he sets the articles atop the table. Lutala spells the third letter. Taking a seat across from her, Irzain sees the word.

“You miss him, don’t you?”

“Hm?”

Lutala shifts her gaze toward the middle-aged human, who merely points at her hardtack. She glances back down, looking upon the dots that form the crude letters, “sal”. Covering it with her hand, she stares at her own flesh as if she were peering through it.

“Did you want to talk about it?” He finally asks.

“Lapira has already tried that... Several times.” Lutala grumbles.

“I can’t imagine you’d want to hear from her, huh?” He says as he cracks open the can.

“... Irzain?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you ever wonder if you’re doing the right thing? I mean, do you ever think ‘maybe I shouldn’t be doing what I’m doing; I should really be doing something else’?”

He takes a bite of pork, his emerald eyes turning upward as he seems to ponder her question. He closes his eyes and his head slowly bobs. She raises a brow, waiting for him to answer.

“Mmm... That’s good.”

“Irzain!”

“Hm? ... Oh, your question! ... ... No, not really!” He chirps.

Releasing a frustrated sigh, Lutala clenches a fist. Gripping the piece of hardtack, she glares at it before opening her maw and tossing it in. As she chews, she taps her sharp claws against the wooden table, her eyes narrowing as she stares at her own fingers. Over and over she taps her claws atop the table. Tap, tap, tap. Her self-doubt has been swelling ever since she left with the others, and after a week at sea, it hasn’t subsided. Growling and slamming a hand atop the table, she startles Irzain, who can see the turmoil in her fiery eyes. She rises to her feet.

“Thanks for the talk...” She grumbles.

“I don’t question what I’m doing because I don’t have a choice!” He swiftly adds, his words stopping Lutala in her tracks.

She twists her body, glancing over her shoulder and looking at the Scribe. He sits on the bench, turned around and looking back at her, an arm resting atop the table.

“I’ve lost it all, Lutala. I had status and wealth as the Overseer of the Grand Athenaeum. I met a woman through my work, a woman who I fell in love with. We went so far as to plan a life together. Everything was perfect... And then King Euralian died so mysteriously and Vashalak took power.”

As he speaks, she finds herself returning to the booth, reclaiming her seat across from the older human. She watches him intently as Irzain’s expression changes, the sorrow hanging over him as he remembers his past life. She can see how thoroughly the events that’ve ensnared him have damaged him.

“We learned of what he was doing through Bremen, Naoma’s brother. He worked in another temple, documenting military matters. He was worried something would happen to me, because I’m human, but then he realized how close Naoma and I were and he feared for both of our lives, because our love is so forbidden. I knew then, looking into his eyes, that I didn’t have a choice. Everything from that moment on has been me merely reacting to someone else’s decisions... I’ve lost it all, Lutala. I’ve lost my status, my wealth, my home, and the love of my life. I even lost my memories for a time, until you healed me.”

“I’m so sorry for your seizures! I had no idea that would happen to you!” The guilt-ridden Lahnyt exclaims.

“It’s alright. I haven’t had one since that last wave of memories, and I’m fairly certain those are all done. I remember my mother and my father, and I remember where I grew up and how I came to be the Overseer. I remember what little magic I was practicing at the time; it’s nowhere near your level of skill, but I know enough Halcyon that I was able to mend Kirsta’s broken ankle. Most importantly, I remember every blissful day that I had with Naoma... By the Seraphs, do I miss that woman!” He lets out a little sigh.

“Still, had I known I would’ve made things worse, I’d have used potions instead.” She adds.

“I know.” He flashes a little smile. “You didn’t mean me any harm. After my anger subsided, I was able to realize and accept that. You’re Forgiven, Lutala, so stop apologizing!” He softly chuckles.

“Alright.” She bows her head.

“You gave me back my memories and I owe you that... I had no choice in what happened to me. Assassins tried to kill me and I found myself on the shores of a cold beach in a northern isle. I’ve been following a path that almost feels written. Now that I think about it, I bet the story of my life would fill a tome or two! Heh... Anyway, unlike me, you have a choice. All you need to do is make it.”

“You make it sound so easy...” She murmurs.

“Well, it certainly doesn’t need to be difficult! If I were you, and I know how selfish this will sound, but if I were you, I’d choose whatever made me the happiest. If I could go back right now, I may very well leave with Naoma and let Vashalak have his precious documents and the true heir. At least then I wouldn’t have sleepless nights, or be plagued by nightmares when I succumb to exhaustion. I wouldn’t wake up alone every morning, either.”

“Maybe you still would? Have sleepless nights, I mean. Maybe the suffering of others would keep you awake as you lay beside Naoma? Maybe you were meant to walk this path, for the good of others?” Lutala retorts.

“It’s possible, but I have the feeling that after decades of bliss with my beloved, maybe the fate all those people I’ll never know would cease to matter to me... Maybe my conscience only cares because my mind isn’t distracted by my love? Maybe it only cared before because I could see how troubled she was, and because our love was in real danger? After all, how many people know the awful things soldiers do, but then completely ignore them when their sons and brothers and husbands come home?”

“I... Don’t know how to respond to that.” She admits, bowing her head once more.

“We’re losing focus here. My point is that we all saw your last moments with Salman. Don’t pretend because I once lost my memories that I’m also dense. If what we saw wasn’t love, then it was very close to it. If Salman makes you happy then maybe when we return to Mishgan you should leave with Valan and Jarae? If he truly cares for you, he’ll welcome you with open arms. That’s what I’d do, and that’s what I think you should do.” He finishes, before taking a sip of his wine.

“Thank you, Irzain. You’ve been... Surprisingly helpful.” Lutala softly chuckles.

“You say that as if I’m not!” He grins and takes another swig of his wine.

“Well, to be fair, you haven’t been around much. I don’t often know what to expect of you, if anything at all.”

“I’ve been lost in my thoughts ever since I regained my memories, and now, without Roak to share my room, I’ve also been enjoying my privacy. I’m sure you’ll see much more of me. I won’t be able to fade into the background once the full moon rises.”

“Are you nervous?”

“About reading the scroll or meeting King Albrecht? Or did you mean about whatever happens after that?”

“All of it, I suppose.”

“Yeah, a little.” Irzain sighs. “But I resign myself to my fate. Whatever the Seraphs want from me, I’ll just have to do it. Walk the path, as I’ve heard you Yashuvanites say.”

“Maybe I should do that more often.” She murmurs.

Rising from the bench, she approaches the Scribe. With a hand on his shoulder, she gives him a squeeze before leaning in and hugging him.

“Well, hello there!” He chuckles.

“Thank you, Irzain. I appreciate this, more than you know.”

“Anytime.” He says with a little smile.

Making her way out and into the hallway, she turns the corner and heads for the steps. The fresh air and the sea spray might do her some good. She stops when she sees Jarae approaching, leaving the cabin which she shares with Valan. The two women wave and greet each other. As Lutala continues to walk toward the stairs, Jarae dashes to catch up.

“So, was it you?” The Jaliscan suddenly asks.

“Hm?” Lutala turns back.

“I’ve wanted to ask you for a while, but I haven’t seen much of you these last few days. I just wondered, was it you who told Valan about my coal figurine?”

“... I hope you’re not mad.”

“I thought nothing I said would ever leave that room...” Jarae remarks, narrowing her shimmering, pink eyes.

“Yes, but some things shouldn’t be kept a secret, and that was one of them.” Lutala retorts.

Jarae glares at Lutala for a moment, only for her expression to swiftly change. With her eyes closed and a wide smile gracing her face, she giggles and playfully pats the Lahnyt’s upper arm.

“Hehe! I got you! You should’ve seen the look on your face.”

“So, you’re... Not mad?” Lutala raises a brow.

“Not at all! I’m actually glad you told him. He asked me to make another, which is good, because I miss it. I used to look at it every night before I slept and it brought me so much comfort. He brings me more, of course, but I still miss it. It’ll likely outlast us by several generations, after all! Val encourages me to exercise my talents, and besides, making those sculptures is fun!” She chirps.

“Well, that’s good to hear.”

Waving her clawed fingers, the bubbly Jaliscan bounces down the steps and toward her lover’s workshop. Ever since their reunion and their new status as a couple, both Valan and Jarae have seen their personalities drastically shifting. They’re more positive, with the formerly serious and snarky Jarae now often quite jovial. Valan has been similarly affected, once again spending time with Steingar and acting like a young adult of fifteen. Lutala would be lying if she denied being somewhat jealous of the pair, one of the few things she shares with Princess Lapira.

Climbing the steps, she makes her way through the watertight hatch. A brief scan finds Mairlynn on the main deck. The Falmun is entirely nude, lying atop a unique and adjustable folding chair; she’s sunbathing. She’d claimed the custom-built piece of furniture from Salman’s castle, and the Lord either didn’t notice its absence or didn’t care. Raising a brow, Lutala cocks her head and walks around Mairlynn. Her eyes scan the petite woman’s body, which glistens with some form of oil. She’s coated every inch of her flesh, and even smeared it into the golden forest of her pubic hairs.

“Hey, stud. Care to join me?” The little elf speaks with her eyes still closed.

“Not particularly.” Lutala replies.

Mairlynn swiftly opens her eyes and sits up.

“Oh, hi! Sorry about that. You’ve been very heavy footed these days; I thought you were Irzain or maybe Steingar. Those are my only available targets now.” The youthful looking elf winks. “I’d go for Valan, but Jarae made it clear that if I wanted to keep my lovely skin attached to my body, I’d steer clear of him. From how detailed her threat was, I wonder if maybe she’d flayed someone before... I wouldn’t put it past her, with the life she’s lived.”

“Uh-huh... So why aren’t you wearing clothes?” A cringing Lutala asks.

“Why not?! If I had a body like yours, I’d be showing it off on every beach! They’d be chasing me with a parasol or blanket just to hide those big, bouncy globes.”

Lutala’s cheeks flush as the petite elf carefully scans her form with her ruby eyes, focusing on her ample bust. Lutala herself glances down at her own chest and briefly looks upon her large, perky breasts. They jut out through her flowing robes, the humble vestments of her faith. Even with such flowing garments, her big bust is almost on display. How has she never noticed this before?!

“I really wish I had bigger breasts...” Mairlynn sighs, still staring at Lutala’s chest. “Two handfuls would do wonders for my body.”

“Well...” Lutala clears her throat. “I’ll leave you to that, then...” She murmurs, slowly stepping backward and away from the elf.

Turning around, she stops in her tracks as she looks toward the bow. Leaning against the railing, Lapira watches the waves and stares at the horizon. Lutala had gone out of her way to avoid direct contact with the Princess, still fraught with jealousy over her relationship with Salman. As she stands there, staring at the Vizhek’s back, her long, silvery-white hair flowing with the wind, the woman turns her head. Glancing over her shoulder, they lock eyes. It’s as if the Princess could sense Lutala’s gaze. Just then, Lutala’s feet begin to move, though she doesn’t know what possesses her.

“Hello, priestess.”

“Hello, Princess.”

“You can call me Lapira, you know.” The towering elf softly chuckles.

“I know.”

Lutala can barely force a smile, leaning against the railing and staring into the horizon. Lapira watches her, her silver eyes focused on the Lahnyt who stands a head shorter than her.

“I haven’t seen you much...” The Princess begins. “I was beginning to think you were avoiding me.”

“Perhaps I was?” Lutala coldly retorts.

“Where you?”

Lutala turns her head and stares up at Lapira. The seconds creep by so slowly as the Princess waits; Lutala never responds.

“That’s alright. I probably would too, if I were you.” Lapira murmurs.

Turning back and looking toward the horizon, the Princess stares at the waves. Shifting her eyes once again, Lutala glances at the Princess. She’s struck by the pure melancholy that shrouds her beautiful face like a veil. It catches her off guard. Lutala had assumed that Lapira was using Salman for his body, enjoying his flesh in the same way that Mairlynn did. Unlike Mairlynn, who was up front and downright cruel to the hopeful and somewhat lonely Lord, Lutala had thought that Lapira might’ve been stringing Salman along, feeding him false hope to keep him available to her. Was she mistaken?

“Pardon me, Princess, but... Why do you look so sad?”

“Because I am.” Lapira retorts, a snippy tone in her voice.

“It’s your fault! If you’re upset about Salman, you should’ve kept him.” Lutala blurts out, burning with jealousy.

Lapira’s silvery eyes widen and she turns to face the Lahnyt. Visibly offended, the Princess scoffs and shakes her head.

“You talk as if you know what I can and can’t do.”

“If you care for him, you can be with him. That much I do know.” Lutala replies.

“Maybe for you, but it’s not that simple for me... I wish it was. As much as I’d love to, I simply cannot be with Salman, at least not publicly.”

With her tone increasingly gloomy, the Princess once again leans against the railing, staring into the distance as if there’s something out there worth watching. Lutala is overcome by curiosity. Which of the myriad excuses could the Princess conjure up to justify her own misery?

“... Well?! Why not?!” She angrily demands.

“Isn’t it obvious, priestess?” Lapira retorts.

“Valan and Jarae have claimed each other, and that’s not socially acceptable. They don’t seem to care, and I’ll tell you right now that in the time I’ve known them, neither have been so elated in their lives.”

“Lucky them...” The Princess grumbles.

“With your status as a Princess and his as a Lord, you shouldn’t have nearly those same issues.” Lutala continues.

“Heh. You don’t know a thing, priestess...” Lapira snickers. “Our racial differences have nothing to do with this. I could care less if it’s socially acceptable to be with him. The problem is that it’s not politically acceptable, and whether I like it or not, I was born a Princess, the daughter of King Euralian, ruler of the Vizheki Empire. If I were any other Vizhek, I’d have spat in the face of society and married Salman when he asked for my hand years ago. I’d be raising our half breed children with pride! If I married him when he first asked me, they’d already be twelve years old!

But I’m a Princess, and though he’s a noble, he’s a lesser noble. In the Empire’s hierarchy, he’s barely a pawn. If he was a higher noble, with multiple islands and regents serving him, we’d have a chance. None could challenge us then, but in the world of politics, my love for Salman could be used against us and our family. In the political world, he could be ruined by disgusted nobles with more power, or even assassinated! Our children would have no prospects for marriage, or hope for any kind of future. They’d end up destitute when our funds inevitably ran dry...

They wouldn’t even be able to find a trade and live commonly, because of the stigma, and the shame of their lost nobility. You’re lucky, Lutala, lucky that you’re not a noble. For you, all you have to deal with are stares and unkind words, and maybe your children having to fight their peers every now and then... I would have to live in fear of a funeral, which I would then be forced to attend by the nobles who are showing their ‘respects’, even if they hated us and sanctioned his murder. In many ways, I envy you. I don’t enjoy my life, and I likely never will again, but you don’t have to suffer as I do. All you have to do is choose. I wish every day that I could do the same...”

Lutala gulps, frozen by Lapira’s heartfelt speech. She feels her nerves rattling and takes a step back.

“What do you mean, ‘all I have to do is choose’?”

“Don’t pretend to be a fool and don’t insult me with your poor excuse for a lie. I saw all of the signs the moment we met! How you raced toward him as we approached that carriage... The glee in those eyes... It was like mine. I saw the way you burned when I held him as we traveled to this ship. Every kiss I gave him cut you like a sword; I saw it! And let’s not forget the day we left Mishgan! Everyone and the Seraphs saw how you held and kissed him before leaving him on that dock... Don’t pretend for a second that you don’t desire him.”

Lutala’s cheeks darken as she flushes.

“I know you crave him, priestess. You’ve already converted him! Though I can’t be certain, I believe you want far more than his body, and as much as Sal and I once loved each other, it was never meant to be. One day he and I will both realize that. If I were you, I’d be there to guide him through that unfortunate truth. Who knows what will happen when he decides to move on? ... And that’s all I’ll say on the matter...”

With that, Lapira slowly turns and walks away, leaving Lutala standing on the main deck. The Lahnyt watches her as the Princess storms away, her flowing dress blowing in the breeze. The towering Vizhek doesn’t even glance at the sunbathing Mairlynn, who’s head is turned; she’s been watching them the entire time. The little Falmun’s gaze follows Lapira, who soon disappears below deck, angrily slamming the watertight hatch behind her.

“Didn’t go as you expected, did it?” Mairlynn asks, turning toward Lutala.

“Shut up and put on your clothes!” Lutala growls.

Ignoring her, Mairlynn stretches back out and continues her full-body tan, rolling over and exposing her back. Lutala faces the railing and grips the wooden beam, her claws digging into the surface. Though she’s struggled with her decision, this is the first time that she’s truly believed it was a mistake. Now regretting ever leaving Salman’s side, she closes her fiery eyes as they well up. She takes a deep breath and begins to pray.

“Please, Yashuva... In the name of your prophet and the willing- sacrifice, I ask you to hear my plea. Cleanse me of unrighteousness and guide me through this tumultuous path. Give me the strength to carry on... And please, Lord, protect Salman from harm and ensure that I can return to him... ... Guard him from his enemies, and guard him in my heart.” She speaks aloud.

“Granted!” An amused Mairlynn chirps.

“Rrrr...” Lutala glares at the dainty elf.

Dashing down the corridor and returning to her cabin, Princess Lapira sniffles as she struggles to hold back her tears. The confrontation with Lutala had been long overdue, but it doesn’t make the pain any less horrendous. The tears begin to stream like a rive and so the Princess hastens her retreat. Hearing the heavy footfalls, Irzain turns in his seat and glances back at the archway.

“Is that Steingar?!” He asks.

“No...” Trellan’s spirit replies, his hologram glowing above the onyx plate in the corner of the room.

Rising from his seat, Irzain makes his way toward the archway, peeking through the opening just in time to see the Vizheki Princess yanking open her cabin door at the end of the hall before disappearing inside. He can tell from her sniffles and from the thin, glossy sheen on her cheeks that she’s crying. He sighs and rests his hand on the archway, turning his head and focusing his attention on Trellan’s hologram as he taps his fingers against the wood.

“As heavy as those footfalls were, I thought maybe it was Steingar.” He says, softly smacking the wall before leaving the archway.

“I know. We’re a large race; at two heads taller than most anyone but another Vizhek or a Helngar, you can expect us to sound as big as we look.” Trellan remarks.

“I guess I just forget; she’s a woman, after all.”

“She may be a woman, and a beautiful one at that, but she’s almost twice your size.”

“I’m not that short!” Irzain retorts.

“I meant in weight... She’s built sturdy, like all Vizhek.” Trellan replies.

“Are you calling her fat?!” Irzain quips.

Trellan smirks, shaking his head and softly chuckling. Irzain returns to the table, collecting his nearly empty mug. Taking the last drink, he approaches a bench near the corner of the lounge and sits within arm’s reach of Trellan’s onyx plate.

“I know what you meant; I was with a Helngar for a time, after all. She was big, as the Helngar are, but so very beautiful. Sleek and slender, but voluptuous. She had the largest and perkiest of breasts, a strong tail, and a perfect buttocks... Muscular legs... Naoma was an angel... She... She had such beautiful eyes, and a laugh that could calm the seas...” Irzain sighs as he reminisces. “I’ve never loved a woman more. Yes, I know all about the size of a Vizhek or Helngar woman, or maybe you forgot that about me?”

“I didn’t forget.”

“What do you think made the Princess so upset?” Irzain asks the old elf’s spirit.

“What else?!”

“It must’ve been her talk with Lutala... Or maybe she really misses Salman.”

“Or both. It’s obvious she cared for him very deeply. I can only imagine how hard this is for her.” Trellan remarks, glancing toward the wall that separates the hallway from the lounge. “She’s a sweet woman, well, for a noble. I feel badly for her.”

“Yeah. I suppose that’s the problem with love triangles; someone always ends up hurt.” Irzain sighs.

“Unless they’re into that sort of thing.” Trellan smirks, turning his eyes toward Irzain.

“You speak like you’ve done that before...” Irzain raises a brow.

“I reserve the right to not incriminate myself.” Trellan jokingly examines his fingernails.

“Ugh... I can’t imagine you in such a position.”

“Just because I’m a ship now doesn’t mean I never had a life before. In fact, you knew me longer while I was still alive!” Trellan retorts.

“I know, but even then, you were just a kindly old man. What you’re speaking of requires Mair levels of perversion to say the least.”

“True. She already hinted to Jarae that she’d like to share Val with her. I’m hoping she was joking but Jarae was less than amused.”

“Yeah, well...” Irzain murmurs, growing uncomfortable. “I just can’t picture you like that, thank the Seraphs...”

“I might not have ever been as intense as Mair, but I’ve had my share of life experiences.”

“So then why don’t you-?”

“Why don’t I, what?” Trellan’s expression swiftly changes.

“Forgive me for asking but... You were nearly as old as I’ve ever heard a Vizhek being, and you didn’t even die from age. I can’t help but wonder...”

“Go on...”

“I can’t help but wonder how you made it through almost one-hundred and fifty years of adulthood without ever marrying and fathering children. Even with the Vizhek’s notoriously long and difficult breeding cycle, I just... Well, it begs the question.”

“...”

Trellan stares blankly at Irzain, who can feel the discomfort coming from the translucent, foot-tall image. Crossing his arms, Trellan bows his head and lets out a powerful sigh. He lifts his head a little, turning his eyes up and looking toward Irzain who waits so patiently for his response. He his hologram takes a deep breath and slowly exhales, though Irzain feels no wind.

“It does, doesn’t it?” Trellan finally replies. “I’m going to take a nap. I’ll see you later.”

“Wait, you’re a spirit! You don’t ever sleep!” Irzain exclaims.

He’s too late. Trellan’s hologram disappears, leaving only the blank, onyx plate.

“Trellan? ... Hey, Trellan! ... ... Well, that’s great.” Irzain grumbles to himself, overcome with guilt.

He slumps back in his seat and rests his head against the wall, turning his emerald eyes and looking toward the plate. In the distance, he can hear the faint sobbing of Princess Lapira echoing throughout the corridor. With her door closed, she must be wailing quite loudly in the confines of her cabin. He sighs and lifts his empty mug, looking into the void basin. Alcohol was one of the few things they neglected to stock. He looks toward the wine sack, already quite low. In the background he can hear Lapira’s weeping, and from the main deck he can hear something else. A shocked and revolted Kirsta yells at Mairlynn on the main deck, demanding she put on clothes. Lutala joins in and the debate becomes heated as Mairlynn continuously refuses.

“This is going to be a very long trip...” He thinks aloud.