Something shifted in Kaine's expression—a softening, perhaps, or a deepening."Your family means everything to you.
The remark caught her off guard; there was an observational nature to it that she found strange.Family was...family.The foundation upon which all else was built.
"They're part of me," she said simply."My mother, Mari—they're why I came to Frostforge in the first place.Our family couldn’t afford to bribe the recruiters twice.I volunteered to go so that Mari wouldn’t have to.So that she could live a normal life.Everything I’ve ever done was for my family."
Kaine's smile was bitter, barely visible in the hold's dimness."Not everyone has that," he said."Not everyone comes from love."
Understanding dawned, and with it, a pang of sympathy."Your family..."
"Was fractured from the beginning," he finished."My father was...not a kind man.Not to my mother, not to me.My childhood was learning to dodge his fists and hide his bottles."The admission seemed to cost him something vital; his shoulders hunched slightly as if warding off a blow."As I grew older, I realized what I'd missed—what a family could be when built on love instead of fear and obligation."
Thalia reached for his hand, finding it cold in the hold's chill."Kaine—"
"I want to give you the chance I never had," he continued, his fingers tightening around hers."The chance to save what matters most.Even if I don't fully understand it, I recognize its value."
The hold seemed to shrink around them, the space between their bodies charged with something Thalia couldn't name.Not desire, though that was present too, but something deeper—a recognition of broken pieces that might, somehow, fit together.
"Thank you," she whispered, the words inadequate for the gift he was giving her—not just his help on this mission, but a glimpse into the pain that had shaped him.
Kaine's free hand rose to touch her cheek, feather-light."We'll find them," he promised."Whatever it takes."
***
The sea air hit Thalia like a benediction as she emerged from the hold, washing away the stale darkness with its bracing clarity.She filled her lungs with it, tasting salt and freedom and danger all at once.The schooner cut through the waves with graceful purpose, its deck alive beneath her feet, each timber and line singing with the joy of open water.Behind them, the pine shroud that wrapped Frostforge’s fjord was disappearing.
Ashe nodded to her from near the bow where she studied a weathered chart, her red-streaked hair whipping in the wind.Further along the rail, two barrels had been lashed securely, their contents—gunpowder and glacenite blades—hidden from casual inspection.
The thought of wielding the glacenite again sent a chill through Thalia that had nothing to do with the morning breeze.Those hallucinations still lingered at the edges of her mind, waiting for moments of weakness to resurface.
The schooner itself was a marvel of efficiency—smaller than Frostforge's standard vessels, but crafted with obvious care.Its dark blue sails had been cut to catch even the faintest breeze, and its hull sat low in the water, designed for speed rather than comfort.A ship built for stealth, for slipping past watchers in the night.Perfect for their purpose.
Thalia made her way across the deck, adjusting her stance to the vessel's gentle roll.The fjord opened before them, a ribbon of steel-gray water winding between towering cliffs.Soon they would reach the open sea, where the Southern currents would carry them swiftly toward Verdant Port—and toward whatever awaited them there.
At the helm stood Roran, his hands resting lightly on the worn wooden wheel.He moved with the ship as if they were extensions of each other, anticipating each swell and gust with subtle adjustments.The wind had teased his black curls into wild disarray, yet he seemed utterly at peace amidst the elements.No—not peace, Thalia realized as she drew closer.Focus.As if the sea and sky demanded every fragment of his attention, leaving no room for doubt or fear.
"You handle her well," Thalia said, coming to stand beside him."As if you were born to it."
A ghost of a smile touched Roran's lips."Perhaps I was."His voice held no bitterness, only a quiet acknowledgment of the heritage he'd hidden for so long."The sea recognizes its own."
Thalia watched him for a moment, seeing him with new eyes—not as the Southern merchant's son he'd claimed to be, but as Rorik Stormchild, born of Isle Warden blood.The revelation should have changed everything, yet somehow it changed nothing.He was still Roran.Still the man who had kissed her in the quiet halls after his trial’s end, who had stood between her and a storm mage's lightning.
"Why are you doing this?"she asked, the question that had plagued her since they'd formed this plan."Why risk so much for me?"
Roran's eyes remained fixed on the horizon, but something in his expression shifted—a softening around the edges, a vulnerability he rarely allowed himself to show."You freed me," he said simply."When I was chained in that amphitheater, waiting for death, you came back for me.You cut my bonds when everyone else was running for safety."
"Anyone would have—"
"No," he interrupted, his voice gentle but firm."They wouldn't.Theydidn’t.They left me there."His hands adjusted the wheel slightly, compensating for a crosscurrent."You risked your life for mine.How could I do any less for you now?"
Wind snapped the sails taut, driving them faster toward the mouth of the fjord.Thalia gripped the rail beside the helm, steadying herself against the increased pitch and roll."There's more to it than repaying a debt," she said, not a question but a certainty.
Roran was silent for a long moment, his eyes tracking the movement of a lone seabird against the pale sky."Yes," he admitted finally."There is."
He shifted his weight, adjusting their course by degrees."Despite my blood, I'm a Southerner.I was raised in a coastal village.I walked its markets, swam in its harbor, knew its rhythms and seasons."Pain flickered across his face."And I watched the Wardens take everything from me once before."
Thalia's heart tightened in her chest.The merchant parents he'd spoken of—the ones the Wardens had killed, driving him to Frostforge.
"My adoptive family," he clarified."Good people who took in a strange child with no questions asked.Who loved me despite not knowing what blood ran in my veins."His knuckles whitened on the wheel."I was thirteen when I watched my father die.He tried to fight them—a merchant with a machete against warriors born to battle.My mother hid me in the cellar, made me promise not to come out no matter what I heard."
