The patched-up boat had survived longer than either of them expected. A week at sea, no capsizes, no sea monsters, and only one plank lost to rot.
"See?" Hunter said, feet propped on the side as the waves rocked them gently. "She's sturdy. I told you she'd hold."
Vince sat at the bow, arms crossed, watching the horizon with cool eyes. "She's drifting, not sailing. That's not the same thing."
"Semantics," Hunter said, waving him off.
By the time they reached a small coastal port, their supplies were down to crumbs and stale water. Hunter leapt ashore, arms wide. "Land! Glorious, non-floating land!"
Vince followed silently, blades strapped across his back. His first stop was the market stalls—measured steps, steady gaze, calculating every corner for danger. Hunter's first stop was the bakery, face already stuffed with bread before he even paid.
Hours later, with packs full and coin purses light, they trudged back toward their boat. That was when Vince stopped. Something was wrong.
The sail was swaying. Not with the wind—too heavy, too uneven.
He drew a blade in one smooth motion. "Hunter."
Hunter looked up from his bread. "Huh?"
"There's someone on the boat."
Hunter grinned. "Already? We're famous!"
"Or robbed," Vince muttered.
They crept aboard. Vince's blade was steady, eyes locked on the covered crate by the mast. It shifted.
"Come out," Vince said coldly.
The crate lid lifted, and a girl's head popped up—short black hair messy, eyes sharp but nervous. She was small, wearing patched clothes, and clutching a compass so tightly her knuckles were white.
"Hi," she said quickly.
Hunter blinked. "Well, hello there."
Vince's blade didn't move. "Who are you?"
The girl climbed out of the crate, brushing herself off with surprising composure. "Emily. Emily Zho. And before you kick me off, I can navigate."
Hunter's face lit up. "Perfect! We need a navigator!"
"No," Vince said instantly.
"Yes," Hunter countered, just as fast.
"She's a stowaway," Vince snapped. "She snuck on our boat without asking."
Hunter shrugged. "So? I snuck into the Anvil once. Doesn't mean I'm a bad person."
"That's exactly what it means," Vince shot back.
Emily crossed her arms, meeting Vince's glare without flinching. "If I wanted to rob you, I'd have done it already. But you clearly need help. Your sail's patched wrong, your heading is crooked, and your captain—" she pointed at Hunter, "—doesn't know port from starboard."
Hunter gasped. "How dare you. I know… at least one of those."
Emily arched an eyebrow. "Which one?"
Hunter hesitated. "…Port?"
Vince groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "This is ridiculous."
But Hunter was already nodding, smiling wide. "She's in."
"You can't just decide that!" Vince barked.
"Captain's orders," Hunter said proudly, puffing out his chest.
"You're not my captain," Vince growled.
Emily smirked faintly. "Sounds like you're outvoted."
For the first time, Vince looked almost offended. "Outvoted? There are only three of us."
"Exactly," Hunter said. "Majority rules."
---
They set sail again the next morning, Emily perched at the stern with her compass and maps, adjusting the sail with surprising skill. The boat no longer drifted aimlessly but cut through the waves with purpose.
Hunter sprawled across the deck, arms behind his head. "See? Already smoother. She's a keeper."
"She's trouble," Vince muttered from the bow, eyes on the horizon.
"Aw, come on," Hunter said. "She's got guts. Reminds me of… well, me."
"That's exactly the problem," Vince replied dryly.
Emily ignored them both, focused on the compass. But when Hunter sat up and asked, "So, Emily, what's your story?" she froze.
"…Doesn't matter," she said quickly. "I just want to sail. That's all."
Hunter tilted his head, studying her. She avoided his gaze, eyes fixed firmly on the compass.
"Good enough for me," Hunter said cheerfully, leaning back again.
Vince scowled. "That's not how trust works."
"It's how my trust works," Hunter said.
For days, the tension lingered. Hunter treated Emily like part of the crew, tossing her food, cracking jokes, teaching her stupid songs about sailing. Emily responded in small smiles, subtle laughter she tried to hide. Vince, meanwhile, kept his distance—watchful, quiet, but never letting his guard down around her.
---
Two weeks later, the jagged cliffs of Autumnvale rose from the horizon, draped in red-and-gold trees that shimmered in the wind. The sight was breathtaking, the forest aflame with autumn colors that never faded, no matter the season.
Hunter leaned forward over the bow, eyes shining. "Now that is an entrance."
Emily squinted at the coastline. "There's a port on the southern edge. We'll dock there."
Vince's jaw tightened. His eyes lingered on the island too long, as if it pulled something from his chest he didn't want to feel.
"Something wrong?" Hunter asked, catching the look.
Vince didn't answer right away. Then, with a low voice, he said: "This is Autumnvale."
Hunter blinked. "…Wait. You're from here, aren't you?"
The boat creaked as the waves carried them toward the shore, and Vince didn't reply. His silence said enough.
The Shaders Crew had arrived.