The skiff slid away from Khelt.
Behind them, the hull's rusted towers and lights shrank into haze. Ahead: water, dark horizon, nothing else.
Gin steered, one hand on the tiller, the other resting on the gunwale. The Hemovore reef hummed quietly under his skin, like it was curious what came next.
Jakk sat opposite him, boots braced, arms loose on his knees. For the first time since Gin had met him, Jakk actually looked… relaxed.
They let the silence breathe for a bit.
Then Jakk said, "So. Captain."
Gin perked up. "Yes, that is my new and official title, thank you—"
"Where are we going?" Jakk cut in.
Gin opened his mouth, then realized "away" wasn't a very captain-like answer.
"The island," he said. "Obviously."
Jakk raised an eyebrow. "The uncharted myth island. With no coordinates."
"There are coordinates," Gin said. "They're just… not on this map."
"Do you have them in your head?"
"I have them in my heart," Gin said.
Jakk gave him a look that could have curdled seawater.
"Fine," Gin admitted. "I know it's supposed to be out near the Hydrarchy's main fortress. Somewhere in that mess." He waved at the distant horizon. "Trees, real land, no rules. That's where I'm pointing us."
Jakk grunted. "And in this bold plan, what does my 'no cages' actually look like?"
"That's up to you," Gin said. "That's the whole point. What do you want, Jakkon Mirefell?"
Jakk looked out at the water for a long moment.
"When I was a kid," he said, "I wanted to be strong enough to topple the Hydrarchy."
"Oh," Gin said. "Small goal."
"I was thirteen," Jakk said. "I thought if I got strong enough, I could break all of it. Pirates. Patrols. Rules. Everything that lets people get killed so someone else can fill their overstuffed pockets."
"And now?" Gin asked.
"Well, up until very recently, I thought naïve thinking like that would get me nowhere, get me and everyone I care about killed," Jakk spoke. "So I settled for keeping one Hull safe. Killing beasts. Protecting trade. Making sure scared kids live long enough to be idiots on their own terms."
He shrugged. "But if you're asking about the real answer… it hasn't changed much. I don't want to settle. I know I'm not strong enough right now, but if I don't try... What's even the point?"
Gin studied him. Then he grinned.
"Great," he said. "That's your pirate goal."
"We are not—"
"We are absolutely pirates," Gin said. "Rogue Floodborn, wanted posters, dramatic exit in a beat-up boat. We've crossed the line. Might as well have ambitions."
Jakk hesitated, then said, "Fine. Very reluctantly, I will accept 'pirates' as a working label."
"Progress." Gin's grin widened. "So you'll aim at the Hydrarchy wall, I'll aim at the island, and somewhere in the middle we either succeed or die amusingly."
"Comforting," Jakk said. "And how, exactly, are we getting to this island you can't find?"
Gin looked at the empty horizon.
"…I was hoping inspiration would show up before you asked that," he said.
Jakk closed his eyes briefly.
"You don't know," he said.
"Correction: I don't yet know," Gin said. "We'll ask around. Network. Do pirate things."
"You have no plan."
"I have the start of a plan," Gin argued. "We head toward a proper trading hub, find a merchant who actually knows the Hydrarchy routes, and bribe them with our winning personalities."
Jakk snorted. "Lucky for you, I've been to one. A carrier stack east-south-east of Khelt. Real market, real smugglers, lots of ships. They call it Vaelor's Span."
Gin brightened. "See? This is why I hired you."
"You didn't hire me. I was stupid enough to come along for free." Jakk snorted.
"And look at us now," Gin said. "On a grand quest. With a destination! Vaelor's Span. We go there, find a merchant who doesn't hate us, offer Floodborn muscle in exchange for a ride toward the fortress and the maybe-island. Done."
Jakk considered, then nodded once. "Merchants hire escorts. And Vaelor's the kind of place where people will take risks for the right price."
Gin adjusted their heading on the battered map, lining them up with a cluster of routes feeding into the trading hull.
"It's about five days from here," Jakk added. "If the weather behaves."
"Five days it is," Gin said. "Plenty of time to train."
They settled into a routine.
They took turns on the tiller. Gin checked the skiff's guts: water barrels, food bins, patch kits, the sad little generator, the harpoon gun that did not inspire confidence.
"This boat is held together by resin and hope," Jakk observed.
"T' is why I like her so much," Gin answered.
When the wind was good, they let the motor rest. When it wasn't, the motor complained but did the work anyway.
At night, they ate ration bars and whatever Gin could haul out of the water. Jakk cleaned the fish with neat, quick cuts.
"You cook?" Gin asked.
"Enough to whip something up to go along with my drink," Jakk spoke dryly.
They talked, a little at a time.
Jakk didn't say much, but what he said was usually worth hearing.
On the third day, the sea went glassy and quiet. The skiff cut a thin line through flat water that looked like it could just… swallow them.
Gin lay on the bow, hand in the water, tracing lazy circles.
"You ever regret not staying on Khelt?" he asked.
"We barely even left." Jakk thought about it. "I'd regret it more if I had," he said. "At least out here, when something tries to kill me, it's honest about it."