And here's a second fanfiction I've written, for the iconic Ascendance Trilogy of course. A story that I'll probably never finish because I get distracted and I procrastinate so yeah. Brief context is that Gelyn is beginning its long rumored assault on other countries for territory expansion, and has shockingly attacked the city of Isel, where Tobias happened to be working as a doctor {I won't explain why he's in Isel because that'll take far too long}. From within the carnage, Tobias wasn't found, and Jaron is desperately searching for him with the hope that he's still alive. Of course credit to my girl @ascendance-clubhouse for the Gelynian plotline is hers.

So here it is:

The sea was restless at this seemingly cursed witching hour, her billows pummeling the oaken hull of a lone ship, as if a warning. Alabaster sails were looming upon the masts, weaving with the mist like a phantom, searching, undeterred. 

The Ashen Hymn thrust onwards despite the rushing swells, their foaming rage lurching onto the bow and showering the helm where the captain bitterly stood. 

Captain Erick Loman's countenance appeared forevermore plastered in a grimace, muted curses dripping from his mouth with each strained creak of the vessel. 

His ship. His beloved Ashen Hymn. And King Jaron Eckbert was trying to pulverize it. 

Despite all that he'd witnessed, Erick was convinced Jaron possessed nothing more than spasmodic luck, and if said serendipity was exhausted on this day, Captain Loman wouldn't hesitate to perform a mutiny. 

Jaron could read all such thoughts from Erick's expression as if it were an open book. 

If not clashing with the dismal circumstances, Jaron might've even been amused.

On the contrary, a harsh scowl engraved itself in the young king's countenance as he scoured the murky horizon; the fog was undeterred, though, and Jaron squinted to distinguish the ghostly silhouettes tricking his vision. 

Isel lay in ashes several leagues to the south of them now, attempting to gather from the rubble what remained of their lives. Jaron was certain the wretched scar etched into the land by King Edward's advocates would not soon be healed. 

Yet another war waged within Jaron's mind, for the captain of his guard entreated him to remain and regroup with the others, but here he stood upon deck, traveling further and further from Avenia's coastline.

Guilt's canons were far more powerful it appears than reason's voice, for he was pursuing a dead man. 

"On starboard tack, adjust the sails, stay towards the east!" Jaron barked above the gale, the wind whistling passed his ears, and tousling his disarray of bronze curls. 

"King Jaron, may I have a word." Erick entreated placidly then, although his teeth were clearly gritted. 

"You may." 

Hands clasped at his spine, Jaron gradually marched towards the helm, during which time Erick had begun to scowl. 

"You are aware of what lunacy this is, Jaron, and I speak that as a statement rather than a question. The closer we draw towards the coastline the more likely Gelynian scouts will catch sight of us. Can you imagine Edward's glee upon learning the King of Carthya has been delivered to him on a silver platter? Are you even listening to me?" 

Despite Erick's attempts to get Jaron to look in his direction, the young king stared passively into the mist, a bold flash of determination glossing over his eyes. 

Jaron had already made up his mind, and a mountain couldn't so easily be moved. 

An exasperated huff was expelled from Erick's mouth, and regardless of Jaron's unyielding stance, the captain continued, 

"It's one thing to go waltzing through death's door on your own, but it's an entirely other matter if you're dragging a whole crew with you." 

Erick's voice melded into the background as Jaron's gaze shifted to the deck, a flaxen haired boy wielding a shortsword coming into his line of sight. 

Fink whirled the blade through the air, striking the wind with unexpected fluidity. Roden's guidance had clearly been helpful, for not too long ago Fink bumbled about with a sword as if he wielded a flopping snake. 

Erick wasn't wrong, there was much to lose if the tables were turned. 

"What offer was granted all crew upon this ship?" Jaron articulated, salty spray trickling from his chin. 

Captain Loman muttered incoherently beneath his breath, no doubt something not fit to be shared, before answering, "I'm aware that we all had the option to defect from your- from your follies, but we didn't realize you'd planned on storming Gelyn's coast like a madman." 

"You're wrong again, we're circling around Gelyn, not charging up the beaches. The idea is still being tossed around, though, I appreciate the reminder." 

"Jaron." The name dripped from Erick's tongue like poison, "Your guilt is blinding you. Not a single soul in Isel was distinguished from the other; men, women, children, all of them were insignificant obstacles that Gelyn crushed beneath their soles. Why would they have looked at Tobias any differently?" 

"Because he was one of Carthya's regents. And he was my friend." 

Erick raked his sodden, auburn hair from in front of his eyes, yet spoke not another word. 

Jaron gratefully accepted the silence, and he dismissed himself from the helm and the cloud of tension as if parting a curtain. 

Gripping the braided cords of rope, he descended the swaying ladder and dropped onto the deck. 

Jaron tilted his head as he analyzed each stroke of the sword held in hands once trembling and unsure, now sturdy and dauntless as they flowed as one with the blade. 

It had taken this long for him to realize that Fink wasn't that garrulous rat boy from the Avenian slums anymore. The boy was paving his own way now, be it with the royals of Carthya, or the daring pirates, Jaron was uncertain. Despite his growth, though, Fink still had much to learn. 

Metal hissed against leather as Jaron slipped his longsword from its engraved scabbard, and the vigilant twins of steel whistled in unison a familiar chorus before they clashed against one another as Fink turned. 

Startled at first, Fink soon displayed a toothy grin and lowered his sword. 

"I've gotten much better, don't you think Jaron? Roden and I were training almost every dawn throughout the summer." Fink babbled, mopping the salty beads from his forehead with his frayed sleeve.

"I can tell, and your balance is excellent given the circumstances, although you need to watch your footwork. You always take a step forward before you swing, your opponent can take advantage of that." 

"Roden warned me of that too, I am working on it." His eyes flickering to his left then, Fink murmured, "Was she watching?" 

Jaron's gaze accompanied Fink's, settling on a young lady with an austere crook chiseled into her brow. She was reclining against an anchored barrel, fighting her sepia mane that blew into her face, while methodically weaving a stiff knot into her bowstring against its notch. 

Laera tended to fade into the background as a glint of steel concealed within a sheath, a dagger patiently yearning to be wielded in battle. 

She was one of the very few women that had weaseled her way into the ranks of pirates, and to preserve her position she needed to maintain her inconspicuous air. 

Jaron assumed this was the reason he'd failed to notice her when he'd interacted with the pirates; she, too, would've been only a child the last time he was with them. 

A pair of squinted eyes bored into them then; they evaded the daggers shooting from Laera's glare as they innocently peered in the opposite direction.