Once we stepped out of the back room, Marina did not hesitate.
She moved through the tavern with quiet authority, speaking to a handful of young men who were already familiar faces around the docks. Most of them had spent years hauling nets, repairing sails, or assisting with maintenance on ships that never took them beyond sight of Mariner's Hearth. They were strong, capable, and restless in that particular way only island-born youths could be.
Within minutes, she had gathered four of them and directed them toward a long wooden table near the center of the tavern.
Not coincidentally, it was the table directly beside Simon's.
Close enough to hear every word.
Far enough to pretend it was accidental.
I caught the detail immediately and shook my head slightly, though I did not comment on it. Marina pretended not to notice.
Simon remained seated at his table, nursing a drink he had likely not touched since the earlier incident, his posture composed but unmistakably attentive.
Marina folded her arms and leaned casually against the wall behind our chosen table, positioning herself where she could both observe and listen without appearing overly invested.
Bren sat to my right, already adopting a more serious expression than usual, while Lio hovered nearby with barely contained excitement.
I rose to my feet.
The tavern noise did not quiet entirely, but it softened enough that the men at the table could focus.
"You all know me," I began evenly, keeping my voice calm rather than loud. "You know my family, and you know the Mariner's Oath."
They nodded.
No one interrupted.
"I am organizing a short voyage," I continued, "within a four-day radius of Mariner's Hearth. We will not sail beyond nearby islands, and we will remain within navigable trade routes. The purpose is experience, discipline, and preparation for future crew applications."
One of the men, broad-shouldered and sun-browned from years on the docks, leaned forward slightly.
"How many days?" he asked.
"Seven at most," I replied. "We will conduct full drills before departure and sail under structured conditions. This will not be a joyride."
Marina's eyes flickered approvingly at that phrasing.
"And the pay?" another asked, more bluntly.
"Thirty copper for the month," I answered. "Standard for new crew members."
There was a murmur of consideration around the table. Thirty copper was not generous, but it was fair, and more importantly, it was official crew compensation rather than vague promises of adventure.
"You covering food and supplies?" the first man asked.
"Yes," I said. "Ship provisions will be stocked prior to departure. No one sails hungry."
Another man, younger than the rest but visibly eager, spoke up.
"Who's overseeing the vessel?"
"Marina," I answered without hesitation.
At that, several of them glanced toward her, and whatever doubts they might have had visibly lessened. Her reputation as Faresh's granddaughter and an accomplished shipwright carried weight.
"And navigation?" someone asked.
"Bren," I said.
Bren lifted his chin slightly, trying to look seasoned rather than proud.
There was a pause.
"And you?" the broad-shouldered man asked, looking directly at me now.
I met his gaze steadily.
"I am leading the voyage."
Silence followed that declaration, not hostile, but evaluative.
It was one thing to propose a voyage. It was another to declare leadership at fourteen.
Before any doubt could form fully, I continued.
"This is not a reckless expedition. It is a structured trial. Anyone who joins will gain documented sailing experience, which will significantly improve their chances when applying for established crews. You will train properly, sail properly, and return properly."
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Simon's posture shift slightly as he listened more intently.
The broad-shouldered man leaned back and folded his arms, studying me carefully.
"And if something goes wrong?" he asked.
I did not hesitate, nor did I soften my expression.
"That is the nature of sailing," I said evenly. "There is always risk beyond the shoreline. If danger alone is enough to stop you, then you may as well remain on the island."
The words were not spoken arrogantly, but plainly, as a fact rather than a challenge.
A quiet tension settled over the table.
I continued before the silence could turn uncomfortable.
"This voyage is structured, disciplined, and within controlled distance. We will drill for emergencies before departure. We will not sail blindly. But the sea is never without danger, and I will not pretend otherwise."
The men exchanged glances, not offended, but weighing the truth of it.
The broad-shouldered man studied me for several seconds, searching for bravado and finding none.
"You speak like someone older than fourteen," he said finally.
"I speak like someone who intends to come back," I answered calmly.
That earned the faintest smirk from one of the others.
The mood shifted, not into carelessness, but into something firmer. They were not boys chasing excitement now. They were young men weighing calculated risk against opportunity.
Thirty copper.Real drills.A proper vessel.A chance to leave Mariner's Hearth under structured command.
After a moment, the broad-shouldered man gave a slow nod.
"I'm in."
One by one, the others followed.
And at the neighboring table, though he had not yet moved or spoken, Simon remained very much within earshot.
Once those willing to join voiced their agreement and those less certain quietly excused themselves from the table, the atmosphere shifted from persuasion to organization. What had begun as a proposal was now becoming structure.
I remained standing.
"It will take one month before we set sail," I continued, making sure my voice carried clearly enough for those still seated. "During that time, you will train."
Several of them straightened instinctively.
"You will undergo full sail simulations and emergency drills under Marina's supervision. You will practice coordinated rope handling, timed sail deployment, rapid sail drop procedures, and controlled response to simulated hull stress."
Marina gave a slight nod of approval but did not interrupt.
"In addition," I went on, "you will train in swordsmanship and firearm handling under Bren and me. You will be paid thirty copper for the month, as agreed, and you will be responsible for maintaining your own weapons."
That earned focused attention.
"On the ship, there will be three rifles assigned," I added. "Those will go to the three who prove to be the best marksmen during training."
There were murmurs of interest at that, the competitive spark lighting quietly in their expressions.
"You may all disperse now," I concluded. "We meet tomorrow at sunrise at the Mariner's Training Ground, north of the island."
There was no surprise at the choice of location. Everyone present knew that the training ground belonged historically to crews of the Mariner's Oath, and while no one said it aloud, the association with my father and Bren's father carried weight. Being captain and first mate's sons had its privileges, but it also meant expectations.
One by one, the recruits stood, nodded, and filtered out of the tavern with purpose.
When the last of them left, only four of us remained seated at the table: Marina, Bren, Lio, and myself.
For a brief moment, silence settled between us, the kind that follows decisive action.
Then a chair scraped softly against wood.
Simon approached.
He did not look at Marina.
He looked at me.
"I want to join the crew," he said evenly. "If she is going, I am coming too."
His voice carried none of the earlier awkwardness from when Marina had twisted his arm. Now it was steady and deliberate.
I leaned back slightly in my chair and regarded him without hostility but without welcome either.
"Why should I bring you?" I asked calmly. "What exactly do you offer to this voyage?"
Without hesitation, he raised his hand.
A faint green glow shimmered around it, subtle but unmistakable.
"I am an awakened healer," he said.
The tavern noise seemed distant for a moment.
"That is impressive," I replied, my tone controlled. "But if I recall correctly, you just had a disagreement with my shipwright. Why should I bring you aboard and risk tension on a confined vessel?"
Simon did not flinch.
"Listen," he said firmly. "I am showing you respect because of what you have done for this island and its people. That does not mean I will accept dismissal without reason. There is no bad blood between me and Mari. Whatever disagreements exist are ours."
He paused briefly, then continued.
"If she truly did not want me on this voyage, she would not have chosen that table. She knows I could hear everything. So I am not asking for permission out of desperation. I am telling you that I am coming because an awakened healer significantly increases your crew's survival chances, and even Old Faresh would hesitate to let her sail without one."
His confidence was unexpected.
This was not the awkward admirer from earlier.
This was someone who understood leverage.
I did not respond immediately. Instead, I turned my head slightly toward Marina.
She did not smile, nor did she blush this time.
She gave the faintest nod.
It was not romantic.
It was practical.
I looked back at Simon.
"You will follow ship discipline," I said evenly. "No personal matters interfere with crew cohesion. You answer to command structure during voyage."
"I understand," he replied.
"You train like everyone else," I continued. "No exceptions."
"Of course."
I held his gaze for another moment, testing resolve.
Then I nodded.
"Alright," I said. "Welcome aboard, Simon."
Bren exhaled softly, impressed despite himself.
Lio looked between them with obvious curiosity.
Marina said nothing, but the tension in her shoulders eased ever so slightly.
And just like that, the crew gained its healer.
The voyage was no longer a bold idea.
It was becoming formidable.