A deckhand was sprinting toward the ship, weaving between stacked cargo crates and coils of rope. One hand waved frantically overhead. In the other, he clutched a folded paper.
"Master Grayson!" he shouted between breaths. "Master Grayson!"
The laughter faded.
Johnathan stepped toward the rail.
The deckhand hit the gangplank at full speed and nearly tripped over his own boots in his hurry to climb aboard.
He clutched not a letter, but a newspaper rolled tight in one fist.
"Master Grayson!" he gasped again, breathless with excitement. "Have you seen it?"
Johnathan frowned.
"Seen what?"
"It's all over town, sir. Every stall, every dock corner, every tavern wall—everyone's talking about it!"
He thrust the paper upward with both hands.
Johnathan took it automatically, still confused.
"What are you on abou—"
The words died in his throat.
He froze.
Alexander's amusement faded at once.
"What is it?"
But John didn't answer. He was staring at the front page like the ink itself had struck him speechless.
Across the top, in bold black print large enough to stop foot traffic, was the headline:
VIREMONT LOCAL AWARDED PHOENIX CREST OF VALOR
Beneath it was a printed academy portrait.
Lara.
Her school photograph—uniform neat, posture straight, trying very hard to look serious and only half succeeding.
The harbor noise seemed to vanish around them.
Johnathan's fingers tightened on the paper.
For a moment, all he could do was stare at his daughter smiling back from the front page.
Alexander stepped closer, impatience replacing confusion.
"John."
No response.
He reached out and nudged his brother's arm.
"What is it?"
Johnathan swallowed once, eyes still locked on the page. Then, with a voice gone strangely thin, he began to read aloud.
"'This past weekend, a violent robbery in the market district of Aeloria City was brought to an end through the intervention of three students from Celestara Academy…'"
Alexander's brow furrowed.
John kept reading.
"'Witnesses report the students acted before city watch forces fully secured the scene, confronting five armed criminals, rescuing a hostage, and protecting nearby civilians and merchants from harm.'"
The deck around them had gone quiet. Even nearby sailors were pretending not to listen while hearing every word.
Johnathan's voice shook slightly now.
"'Among those recognized was Viremont native Lara Grayson, daughter of the Grayson Shipping family, whose decisive action alongside fellow students helped end the threat without civilian loss of life.'"
Alexander stared at the paper, then at Johnathan, then back again.
"That's our Lara?"
John barely heard him. He read on.
"'In a special appearance before the full academy assembly, His Imperial Majesty Valerius Crestwood personally commended the three students for courage, restraint, and service to the people of Astoria.'"
John's throat worked before he forced out the next line.
"'Each was awarded the Phoenix Crest of Valor and granted the title of Honorary Knight of Astoria, to be elevated to full knighthood upon graduation should their conduct remain worthy.'"
Silence followed.
The paper lowered slowly in Johnathan's hands.
The harbor still moved around them—ropes creaked, gulls cried, waves struck wood—but for the brothers on the deck of the Lara Dawn, the world had narrowed to one impossible truth.
Alexander was the first to move.
He snatched the paper from Johnathan's hands, scanned the headline for himself, then looked back at his brother—who still stood frozen like a man struck by lightning and left upright out of courtesy.
"John."
Nothing.
Alexander waved the newspaper once in front of his face.
"Johnathan Grayson."
Still nothing.
So Alexander did the only sensible thing.
He smacked him lightly across the back of the head.
John jolted. "What?!"
"She's still your daughter," Alexander said. "Try blinking."
The world rushed back into Johnathan all at once.
His eyes widened. He grabbed the paper back with both hands.
"Reina."
He spun toward the gangplank so fast he nearly collided with the deckhand.
"Reina!"
Then he was running.
Straight down the plank, across the dock, newspaper clutched like treasure in one hand. Workers leapt aside as he tore through the harbor shouting his wife's name at full volume.
"REINA!"
Alexander watched him go, a slow grin spread across his weathered face.
"Aye," he muttered to himself.
"That sounds about right."
Johnathan ran like a man pursued by fire.
Boots pounded from dock planks to cobbled street as he tore through the harbor district with the newspaper clenched tight in his fist. Breath burned in his lungs, but he never slowed.
"Reina!"
The cry echoed between warehouses and shopfronts.
Heads turned everywhere he passed.
Then people recognized him.
A fishmonger standing beside a stall of iced catch raised both hands.
"That's your girl on the front page, Grayson!"
A seamstress leaned from her doorway, laughing with delight.
"Congratulations, Johnathan!"
Two laborers carrying timber paused long enough to clap him on the shoulder as he barreled past.
"Knew the Graysons would rise again!"
More voices joined in.
"Well done!"
"Honorary Knight, they said!"
"Your daughter's famous now!"
Applause broke out in pockets along the street. Some cheered. Others simply smiled and stepped aside to let him pass. News traveled faster than ships in Viremont, and by now half the district seemed to know before he did.
John barely managed breathless nods as he ran.
His heart hammered for reasons that had nothing to do with speed.
Only one thought mattered.
Reina has to see this.
He turned hard down the lane leading toward the temporary housing district where families displaced by rebuilding were staying. Laundry lines swayed overhead. Children playing in the street scattered with startled laughter as he sprinted through.
"Reina!" he shouted again, voice cracking now from equal parts exhaustion and joy.
The newspaper fluttered in his grip like a victory banner.
In the temporary housing courtyard, Reina Grayson stood beside a line of freshly washed clothes, pinning shirts to the cord one by one beneath the morning sun.
The work was simple. Familiar. The kind of task that kept hands busy while the mind worried elsewhere.
A breeze stirred the hanging laundry. Somewhere nearby, children laughed. Pots clinked from an open window.
Then she heard it.
"REINA!"
She turned at once.
Down the lane came her husband at full speed.
Hair disheveled. Coat half-open. Face flushed red from running.
And in one hand, he was wildly waving a newspaper over his head like a man who had either won the lottery or completely lost his mind.
"Johnathan?" she called, alarmed.
He did not slow.
"REINA!"
Neighbors began peeking from doors and windows. A child pointed. An old woman across the courtyard crossed herself preemptively.
Reina stared as her husband charged toward her looking like an absolute madman with paper in hand and joy written all over his face.
For one brief, bewildered second, she genuinely had no idea which disaster this was.
Johnathan reached her in a rush of breath and joy.
Without slowing, he swept Reina clean off her feet and pulled her into a spinning hug that sent the newspaper flapping wildly beside them.
"We did it—no, she did it—Reina, you won't believe—our girl—there's a medal and the Emperor and she's in the paper and—"
The words crashed over each other so fast they stopped resembling language.
Reina let out a startled laugh as the world turned once around them.
"Johnathan!"
"She stopped robbers—there was a hostage—she's a knight—well not fully a knight but honorary first and then later—"
Reina laughed again despite herself, reached up, and flicked him lightly in the forehead.
Tap.
He stopped mid-sentence.
She gave him the patient look only wives perfect over years of practice.
"Put me down properly," she said softly. "And explain like a sane man."
Around them, neighbors pretended not to watch while absolutely watching.
John blinked once, took a breath, carefully set her fully on her feet, and handed her the newspaper with trembling excitement.
Reina took the newspaper with both hands, still smiling at her husband's chaos more than believing any of it.
Then her eyes found the headline.
They dropped lower.
To the photograph.
To Lara.
For one suspended heartbeat, she went completely still.
Then the courtyard erupted.
A sharp, joyful scream burst out of her so suddenly that birds scattered from the nearby rooftops.
"AHHHH!"
She clutched the paper to her chest, then pulled it back out to stare again as if it might disappear if she blinked.
"That's my baby!" she cried. "That's my baby in the paper!"
Tears sprang to her eyes instantly.
Neighbors were no longer pretending not to watch. Doors opened wider. Faces appeared in every window.
Reina pointed wildly at the article with shaking hands.
"She got a medal!"
She looked at Johnathan in complete disbelief.
"The Emperor knows our daughter exists!"
Then she screamed again—this time laughing through it—and threw herself into Johnathan's arms so hard they nearly both fell over.
The newspaper crumpled between them.
Neither cared.
Johnathan caught her with a laugh that broke straight from the center of him.
Then he lifted her clean off the ground again.
This time she didn't protest.
She wrapped her arms around his neck as he spun her through the courtyard, both of them laughing like they had forgotten how hard life had been. The newspaper flapped from one of Reina's hands, bent and wrinkled and more precious than silk.
"She did it!" John shouted.
"Our girl did it!" Reina cried back.
They turned once. Twice. Three times beneath the laundry lines while neighbors clapped and cheered around them. Children jumped up and down without fully understanding why. Someone from a nearby doorway yelled that the Graysons owed everyone drinks.
Johnathan nearly lost his footing and corrected at the last second, laughing harder.
Reina pressed the paper against his shoulder and laughed until tears streamed freely down her face.
For months they had carried fear in silence. Debt. Uncertainty. The weight of starting over.
Now joy swept through them so suddenly it felt unreal.
In the middle of the temporary courtyard, beneath hanging shirts and patched sheets, they celebrated like royalty.
At last, breathless and laughing, Johnathan set Reina back on her feet.
She wiped at her eyes, still smiling so hard it hurt, then turned quickly toward the doorway of their small temporary home.
"Come here!" she called. "Both of you—right now!"
Small footsteps answered almost immediately.
Lara's younger brother and little sister appeared in the doorway, curious and wary in the way children became whenever adults were suddenly shouting with happiness.
"What happened?" her brother asked.
"Did we win something?" his sister added hopefully.
Reina laughed and dropped to her knees in front of them, unfolding the crumpled newspaper with careful hands as though it were treasure.
"No," she said, voice trembling with pride. "We got something better."
She turned the front page toward them and pointed.
"There."
Both children leaned in.
At the center of the article was Lara's academy portrait—uniform neat, chin lifted, trying to look serious.
For a second, neither child reacted.
Then the little sister gasped so dramatically it made Johnathan laugh.
"That's Lara!"
Her brother's eyes widened.
"She's in the newspaper?"
Reina nodded quickly, tears threatening again.
"She saved people," she said. "She was brave. And the Emperor gave her a medal."
The children looked from the picture to their parents and back again, trying to understand how their sister had somehow become larger than life while still being exactly who she was.
The little girl touched the printed image with one fingertip.
"Big sis Lara?" she whispered.
Reina kissed the top of her head.
"Yes," she said softly. "Big Sis Lara."