Chapter 4 – Fragments of the North
They found a shaded café nestled along the harbor, where the tang of brine mingled with the rich
aroma of freshly brewed coffee. From their table, the sea stretched out like a vast sheet of blue
glass, dotted with sails drifting lazily toward the horizon, catching the golden morning light.
Elli leaned forward, flipping through her journal with enthusiasm. "The settlers who came here
after the war in Karsden — those refugees are called Northerners, even though they now live in the
southern coastal regions like Mare Rosso. It's a way to mark where they came from, not where they
are now. Their customs, architecture, even some of their superstitions still reflect that northern
heritage."
Ren raised an eyebrow. "So, they're basically Northerners in exile?"
"Exactly," Elli said. "It explains why places like Vale feel so different from the rest of the coast.
They're small pockets of northern culture preserved far from home."
Ren took a slow sip of his coffee, then smirked. "Great. So instead of a vacation, we signed up for a
refugee history lesson with a side of gloom and doom. Lucky us."
John grinned, elbowing Ren. "Yeah, Elli's turning this vacation into a full-blown history seminar.
Next thing you know, she'll be handing out reading lists."
Elli shot them a sharp look but couldn't suppress a small smile. "Well, if you'd just listen, you'd learn
something. The war in Karsden displaced thousands — real human stories lost in the archives.
Those who escaped first landed here in Nareth. Some stayed, but others pushed further north along
the coast. That's where Vale appears — right at the edge of the oldest immigration records we have.
But after that..." She tapped her journal, her voice dipping into a conspiratorial whisper, "the trail
just… disappears. No official records, no census, nothing."
Ren smirked. "Maybe the clerk got tired. Or the town was so boring, no one thought it worth
mentioning."
John laughed. "Or maybe everyone grew wings and flew away. That'd explain the seagulls'
dominance here."
"Ha," Elli said flatly, though a flicker of unease crossed her face. "Funny. But the folk tales say the
settlers brought their own ghosts along. The mist, the cries — those are old Northern elements. It's
not just local superstition. These stories have layers of truth buried beneath."
Ren leaned back, grinning over the rim of his cup. "Elli, we're on vacation. Let's save the ghosts for
your notebook and keep the sunshine in the real world, yeah?"
John nodded in agreement, smirking. "Besides, if we followed every ghost story, we'd never get to
the beach."
Elli rolled her eyes but didn't push back. She tucked her journal closed with a soft sigh, the nerdy
passion momentarily softened by the easy camaraderie.Meanwhile, at the edge of the table, Liza sat silently, her sketchbook open on her lap. Her pencil
moved almost without conscious thought, tracing the curve of a horizon stained with bleeding red
sky… and a lone bird, its wings unnaturally long, casting a shadow that stretched like a dark claw
over the shimmering water.
Her hands trembled slightly as she glanced down at the drawing and froze — she didn't remember
starting it. The image tugged at something deep inside her — a memory or a warning she couldn't
quite place. The weight of the boy's haunting words and the bloodied smile pressed at the edges of
her mind, leaving her feeling unmoored, shaken by a presence she couldn't see but somehow felt.
She swallowed hard and closed the sketchbook, forcing herself to look up, but the calm chatter of
the others felt distant — as if she were already caught somewhere between the light and the dark,
between the sea's crimson bleeding and the shadow of that twisted bird.
John glanced over just in time to see Liza's hand tremble and the sudden stillness that had settled
over her face. He cleared his throat, breaking the easy flow of conversation.
"Hey, Liza," he said gently, "you okay? You've gone all quiet on us — and that sketch looks...
intense."
Liza blinked, snapping out of her daze, then forced a small, shaky smile. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just got
caught up in the drawing, I guess."
Elli gave her a knowing look. "You sure? You look like you're wrestling with something."
Ren raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Maybe she's finally admitting those ghost stories are getting
under her skin."
Liza shook her head, tucking the sketchbook away. "No ghosts. Just… something that won't let go."