Chapter 20 – "The Way to Hollow Anchorage"
The sea was calmer than it had any right to be,
as if even the waves were holding their breath.
With Virelya now walking in mortal form,
the impossible became merely inconvenient.
No longer did they have to announce themselves atop the Leviathan's back like a living tsunami.
Instead, they waited—quiet and strategic—on the edge of a trade route
until a spice ship passed,
bound for the lawless sprawl of Hollow Anchorage.
---
Amara earned their passage with strong hands and stronger silence,
her expression daring anyone to question her presence.
She tied knots faster than the first mate,
hoisted sails like she was born with saltwater in her blood—
Which, in many ways, she was.
The sailors gave her a wide berth after the second night,
when one of them grabbed her shoulder too roughly
and found himself nearly tossed overboard.
---
Bandit, stowed in a crate marked "Saffron – Do Not Touch,"
stole pastries and sarcasm in equal measure.
> "These knots are an embarrassment,"
he hissed from the shadows one night,
munching something sweet and unearned.
"I've seen better craftsmanship from a kraken with arthritis."
---
Virelya, calling herself Amara's cousin from the islands,
enchanted the sailors with her strange charm.
Her skin shimmered faintly in the moonlight,
and her hair—thick and kelp-dark—always seemed slightly damp.
She devoured three days' worth of ship rations in one sitting.
> "I like bread," she declared gravely,
licking salt off her fingers.
"It's like sea foam, but with… resistance."
The cook gave up trying to understand her by the fourth day.
---
At night, while the ship groaned and rocked gently,
Amara would sit near the prow alone,
the stars watching silently above.
She opened her satchel and unfolded the water-stained journal of her mother—
the first Pirate Queen.
Her fingers brushed over the faded ink,
the salt-rough paper.
It wasn't all war plans and sea charts.
There were lullabies written in a shaky hand.
Notes to herself.
A lock of dark hair tied in faded ribbon.
A sketch—two infants, identical,
swaddled in cloth marked by a crescent moon.
The mark of the Pirate Queen's bloodline.
Both daughters. Lyra and Mira.
---
Tears threatened,
but she didn't let them fall.
She pressed her fingers against the sketched sigil.
Her voice cracked, but she spoke anyway.
> "Hold on, little ones," she whispered.
"Mama's almost ready. I'm coming for you. Both of you."
---
Above, the stars didn't blink.
Below, far beneath the keel,
the Leviathan stirred—
A vast, silent shape echoing her grief.