Anastasis 3 – Anastasis 8, Imperial Year 1644
The Southern Coast, Mercia – The Port of Whitecliff
The class had been on the road for two weeks since leaving Aelindor. The silverwoods had given way to coastal pines, and the air smelled of salt and seaweed. Whitecliff was a small port town, its harbor crowded with fishing boats and a few battered merchant vessels.
Elara led the group to a tavern near the docks – the Salty Mermaid. The common room was loud, smelling of fish and cheap ale. Sailors argued over cards. A one‑legged man played a fiddle in the corner.
They took a table near the window.
"We need information," Elara said. "About the island. About the man."
Roderick flagged down a serving girl. "Ale. And whatever you have that's hot."
The girl nodded and disappeared.
A grizzled sailor at the next table overheard them. He was old, his face weathered, his beard grey. One eye was milky with blindness.
"You're looking for the island?" he asked.
Elara turned. "You know of it?"
"Every sailor on this coast knows of it. We call it the Ghost's Rest. Ships that go near never come back. Bad currents. Hidden rocks." He spat on the floor. "But there's a man there. Been there for years, they say. Waves a flag of torn sailcloth. No one's ever gone to fetch him."
"Why not?"
"Too dangerous. Not worth the risk for one man." The sailor shrugged. "He's probably dead by now anyway."
Celia, who had been silent, spoke. "He's not dead."
The sailor looked at her – pale, red‑eyed, wrapped in a cloak. He shivered.
"Suit yourself, girl. But don't say I didn't warn you."
Anastasis 4, Imperial Year 1644
The Harbor – Chartering a Ship
The class found a captain willing to take them. His name was Harlan, a stocky man with a red beard and missing two fingers on his left hand. His ship, the Sea Serpent, was small but sturdy.
"Fifty gold marks," Harlan said. "Half now, half when we return."
"That's robbery," Rosalind said.
"That's the price of sailing into the Ghost's Rest." Harlan crossed his arms. "Take it or leave it."
Elara counted out coins. "We'll take it."
Celia stood at the prow, staring at the horizon.
"You're quiet," Hikari said, joining her.
"I'm thinking," Celia said. "If it was me out there, alone for years… I'd want someone to come."
"We're coming."
"I know." Celia hugged her arms. "That's why I'm here."
Anastasis 6, Imperial Year 1644
At Sea – The Storm
The first two days were calm. The class helped where they could – hauling ropes, scrubbing decks, trying not to get in the way. Gregor discovered he was seasick and spent most of his time leaning over the railing. Roderick stood at the bow, unmoved by the rolling waves.
On the third night, the storm hit.
The sky turned black. The wind screamed. Waves crashed over the deck, cold and violent. The Sea Serpent pitched and rolled, her timbers groaning.
"Everyone below!" Harlan shouted.
Celia froze. The water – dark, endless, hungry – brought back memories of the attic, of being trapped, of drowning in darkness.
Hikari grabbed her arm. "Celia. Come with me."
"I can't move."
"You can. One step at a time."
Roderick appeared beside them. Without a word, he lifted Celia and carried her below deck.
Gregor, green‑faced, stumbled after them.
The storm raged for six hours. When it passed, the ship was battered but afloat.
Harlan wiped his brow. "We're off course. But the island's close."
Anastasis 8, Imperial Year 1644
The Island – Landfall
The island was small – a hump of rock and green, surrounded by jagged reefs. A thin column of smoke rose from the far side.
"Someone's there," Elara said.
Harlan anchored the ship in a sheltered cove. The class took a rowboat to the shore.
The beach was littered with driftwood and broken shells. And there, at the edge of the trees, a figure stood.
He was thin, bearded, his clothes reduced to rags. A flag of torn sailcloth hung from a pole beside him. He raised a hand – not waving, but shielding his eyes against the sun.
Then he saw them.
His arm dropped. His mouth opened. He stumbled forward, then fell to his knees.
Elara ran to him. "Hiroshi?"
The man looked up. His eyes were bloodshot, his face gaunt. But he was alive.
"You came," he whispered. "You actually came."
End of Chapter Fifty‑Seven