2: The Island of the Arches

  After a full day at sea, Alina was unraveling.

  It had seemed reasonable at the time. Sensible, even. Jumping into a ragged boat with a stranger she had known for only a few hours felt like freedom in that moment. Now, with hunger gnawing at her stomach and the sun bearing down without mercy, the choice felt increasingly foolish. Each passing hour stripped away the romance of escape.

  Her thoughts refused to stay with the endless stretch of water ahead. They drifted back to Windfall Island, to the narrow paths she knew by heart, to the house she had grown up in. To her adoptive parents. To the life she had abandoned.

  She had said her goodbyes. That much was true. Acceptance, however, had never followed. How dare she leave them? How dare she turn her back on their beliefs, on everything they had taught her? In her heart, Alina knew leaving had been the right choice. She had felt it with a certainty that frightened her. Still, doubt lingered, a persistent ache whispering that she had made a terrible mistake. That she had thrown herself into the unknown only to fade away slowly.

  She blinked, realizing she had been staring at nothing.

  Her gaze drifted to Asta, meeting his eyes for a brief second before she looked away. He had been quiet most of the day, speaking only to ask if she was all right. Otherwise, he paddled in silence, letting the wind guide them deeper into the open sea. There was something unsettling about how calm he seemed, as if the surrounding vastness meant nothing at all.

  Alina wasn’t ready to talk. Anxiety sat heavy in her chest, tightening every thought. Not yet.

  She wanted to know more about him. About where he came from. Multiple realms. A lifespan stretching for hundreds of years. None of it made sense. Then again, neither had what she witnessed that night. She had seen his hand ignite into flames. She had seen how easily he struck down Marlon.

  And she had felt something, too.

  An energy. A presence. Something she had no words for when Asta pulled that strange force from the Priest. The memory sent a chill through her, one that had nothing to do with the sea breeze.

  “I see something,” he said, breaking the silence. He leaned forward, squinting at the far horizon.

  “Where?” Alina turned at once. She narrowed her eyes, searching past the glare, until she saw it too. A smudge against the endless blue. A suggestion of something solid.

  The breeze was carrying them straight toward it.

  “Land?” she asked.

  “Looks like it,” Asta said. “We’ve been heading north this whole time. We were bound to hit something eventually.”

  “My dad used to say there were islands scattered around,” she said. “He just never said how close they were.”

  Dad.

  The word struck harder than she expected. His face flashed in her mind, tight with anger and disappointment as she left. The pain lingered, sharp and familiar. She would not see him again. Not soon.

  There really was no turning back.

  “Well,” Asta said, smiling, “it seems we will not die in the middle of the ocean.”

  She did not return the smile.

  “Why did you kill the priest?” She asked at last.

  “Oh. Him?” Asta said casually. “He was just a charlatan.”

  “Charlatan or not, you do not kill people for that,” she said.

  “It was the only way to get you out of there.”

  “I could have run away with you,” Alina said. “You could have just asked. We do not kill people just because.”

  “Maybe,” he replied. “It just seemed like the most optimal solution at the time.”

  “Optimal?” She shook her head. “I know you said you are not from this realm, or whatever you are, but that does not matter. We do not kill people because it feels convenient. Keep that in mind.”

  Asta studied her for a moment, then nodded. A small smile tugged at his lips.

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  “Will do,” he said.

  The ocean stretched on ahead of them, calm and uncaring, as the shape of land slowly grew clearer.

  “I see a shore,” she said.

  “Indeed,” he replied.

  They reached the beach not long after; the boat scraping against soft, white sand. Another stretch of land at last, one that was not Windfall Island. Alina jumped out first, her feet sinking into the warm sand as she kicked it up with a quiet laugh. Relief rushed through her, light and sudden.

  She smiled and caught Asta watching her, amusement in his eyes.

  “Well, that was more excitement than I expected,” he said. “Do I smell that bad?”

  “A tiny bit,” she replied, smirking.

  Her gaze drifted down the shoreline and settled on a narrow wooden structure reaching into the water.

  “That should be a small pier,” Asta said, stepping onto the sand beside her.

  The land beyond the beach surprised her. Unlike Windfall Island, the terrain was almost completely flat. Pale green grass stretched inland, and beyond it she could make out the clear shapes of buildings. Civilization, close enough to touch.

  She pointed towards it. “A town, it seems.”

  “Let’s go,” he said. “I really want to know where we ended up.”

  As they walked, something else caught her eye. Towering structures rose near the town, massive arches in various states of decay. Most were built from ancient-looking stone, worn smooth by time. They stood scattered across the landscape, too deliberate to be ruins, too intact to be forgotten.

  Even the road leading toward the town passed beneath them. One arch was stone, cracked and weathered, while another closer to the settlement had been rebuilt from wood.

  A sign hung from it, swaying gently in the breeze.

  Arch Town.

  The town was small, that much Asta could tell at a glance, but his eyes went straight to the bar. If anyone here had answers, that was where they would be. The streets were empty, not abandoned, but watched. Doors were shut. Windows dark. No one wandered freely. The stillness pressed in, calm in a way that felt wrong.

  He gestured for Alina to follow him inside.

  She had barely spoken on the walk from the shore, but the moment they stepped onto unfamiliar ground, her posture changed. More alert. More alive. That was good. He still felt the sting of her earlier words, the way she had challenged him about the priest. She had every right to. He had done worse things for less. He knew what people like that man became in the end. He had heard the stories all his life, whispered by his siblings.

  The bar door swung open.At last, people.

  A bartender stood polishing a glass, his eyes narrowing the instant they entered. An old woman slumped at the counter, draining the last of her whiskey with shaking hands. Near the back, a mustached man with a pistol strapped to his waist slept with his boots propped up on a table, snoring softly.

  “What is that smell?” Alina whispered.

  “That is the smell of alcohol,” Asta said quietly, “and a lot of it.”

  He took an empty barstool and rested his elbows on the counter.

  “Excuse me,” he said. “This may sound strange, but where exactly are we?”

  The bartender raised an eyebrow. “You come in like a fresh mercenary from the northern islands and you do not know where you are? Are you stupid, boy?”

  “Mercenary?” Asta frowned. “No, you have that wrong. My partner and I just arrived by boat.” He glanced at Alina, who was scanning every corner of the room, tense but curious.

  “By boat?” the bartender scoffed. “The Transoceanic Water Bus has been shut down for years. The only vessels that come here sail from the northern port, behind the King’s fortress.”

  “Well,” Asta said, “we got lost in a shanty boat. Between my impressive paddling skills and a generous ocean breeze, we ended up on the shore near here.”

  The bartender snorted. “Bullshit.”

  “He is telling the truth,” Alina said, hopping onto the barstool beside him. “We came from Windfall Island.”

  “Windfall Island?” The bartender shook his head. “There is no such place.”

  “I lived there for the past twenty-seven years,” she said evenly. “I can assure you it exists.”

  His eyes dropped to her clothes. “Those garments are uncommon.”

  “I was a Shore Watcher,” she replied. “These are our work robes.”

  Asta leaned forward. “As she said, we drifted here from the south. We are not mercenaries. We are just trying to find our bearings so we can reach Alboria. I have urgent business there.”

  The bartender studied them in silence, then squinted.

  “I’ll be damned,” he muttered. He rapped his knuckles against the bar. “Hey, Martha. These two are real outsiders.”

  A few stools down, the old woman chuckled into her empty glass.

  “Outsiders?” she slurred. “Now there’s a word I haven’t heard in a while. The sheriff’s going to be real mad when he catches wind of this.”

  “That man?” Asta asked, jerking his thumb toward the mustached figure snoring at the table.

  “No,” the bartender said. “That’s the mayor. Long story.” He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “And trust me, they already know you are here. They will come looking. The King does not take kindly to outsiders, and the other islands are well aware of it.”

  “Oh, fantastic,” Asta muttered. “Another closed-off island. Just our luck.”

  “You picked an awful place to drift into,” the bartender said. “This is Arch Town, a shanty settlement just outside the Fortress of Vaharta. You are on the Island of Arches, part of the Arch Kingdom. Alboria is about two days north, but right now all travel is under the King’s control. You are stuck here unless you convince him otherwise.” He snorted. “And knowing that bastard, you are not going anywhere.”

  He straightened and wiped his hands on a rag. “Name’s Sam.”

  “Asta,” he said. He gestured to the woman beside him. “And this is my partner, Alina.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Sam said, “but I suggest you get back on that boat and leave while you still can. Otherwise—”

  The sound of boots cut him off.

  Heavy. Deliberate.

  Every head in the bar turned toward the window, then the door, as four men stepped inside. Three wore armor dulled by use. The fourth led them, dressed in a blue jacket over a white shirt with rolled-up sleeves. A headband held back his short brown hair. He was tall, nearly as tall as the spear strapped across his back, and he carried himself like someone accustomed to being obeyed.

  “Sheriff,” Sam mumbled.

  “I heard a boat was spotted near the shore,” the man said. His eyes locked onto Asta. “And I believe I have found its occupants.” He shifted his gaze to Alina. “You and the girl are under arrest by order of King Seneca. Surrender peacefully.”

  Asta did not move.

  “I do not think so,” he said.