Just as he restabilized himself, an even more frantic call surged through the ship. The voice cracked as the words “MAN OVERBOARD” tore through the downpour. At first, Kingsley made no move, nor felt any emotional reaction to the announcement.
“WHO DID WE LOSE!?” came the return call of the First Mate.
“IT’S THE BOY!” this cry worse than the initial announcement, “TYR’S BOY HAS GONE UNDER THE WAVES!”
He never imagined the experience of his heart sinking faster than the bow of any ship. And yet, his eyes widened and his chest instantly grew tight. For just a moment, the ship grew silent. The chill of the rain and the sloshing waves grew numb. And the world slowed down just for a moment.
Davan went under the waves. The child who he swore to teach and protect was moments away from drowning.
He immediately recalled one of his axes, raising it high over his head in preparation to cut his own line. For once in his life, he contemplated recklessness. For once in his life, he hesitated.
The sudden cajun “SHIT” followed by the crack of gunfire recentered his focus and brought the king back to reality, and more importantly back to logic. His gaze sharply turned to the first mate who made direct eye contact with him as he hung, tied and secure from the mast’s bottom rung. With his free hand, Jamil flicked his wrist, releasing a surge of electricity from his fingertips. The bolt crackled as it danced through the droplets of water and crashed into the scales of the creature’s tail.
“TYR,” commanded the First Mate, “ON MY SIGNAL!”
The king raised his axe. The magestone inside dimly glowed with an acid green, shining off the iron blade like a burning beacon. In preparation for Jamil’s signal, he spread his stance momentarily and kept his eye to the reflection on the barnacle encrusted scales. The air scalded his lungs as he drew in a deep, steadying breath. And once again, seconds felt like minutes as he waited... and waited... and waited.
Oisín
Warning: Book 7 references ahead. Proceed at your own disgression
Like searing iron to flesh, their head began to pulse. The throbbing sensation, beating against their skull, could only be compared to that of a knife being stabbed into one's thigh over and over and over. Bursts of grey, tumultuous ash erupted from the collar of their armor. With smoke rising into the night sky like signals, the rhythm of the pulsations drove the smoke rising from their core into an involuntary dance.
Until it all came to a sudden halt. Akin to stained glass shattering upon concrete ground. A release of pain and tension all at once, and relief washed over them like the evening tide.
What... happened? And moreover, why did it feel like the past had just converged with the present in a horrific cacophony of events?
[Ah, I see you're finally with us,] came the ever familiar voice of one Idia Shroud. As the dullahan raised their lantern in search, they spotted the floating tablet, its occassional glow indicating that the Housewarden had turned on push to talk, [Welcome back to reality, Oisín.]
They felt the presence of others with them: Ortho, Silver, Sebek... and also the Ramshackle Prefect. And in that moment, they realized that the ensemble before them had likely witnessed some of their most intense, traumatic, and even vulnerable points in their life. If they could have, they would have shot Silver a glance. Curiousity welled up inside them, wondering how he was responding to everything that had unraveled before him. The things they deliberately left unsaid.
While he had always been one who struggled to emote, they could have sworn they caught a glimpse of tears pricking his eyes. The glint of their lantern's cerulean glow reflected off the edges of his eyes. Scarlet veins emergedin the whites of his eyes, like he had been on the brink of tears. And for what reason- what thoughts, they hadn't the slightest clue.
They rarely had time to process what exactly they were witnessing before the boy had thrown his arms around their chest, pulling them in so tightly, like he was desperate not to let go. The shifting and russling of leather and steel clattered as he buried his face into their chest.
"I'm... so sorry."
Prompt
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