#oldest ports

[rrcraft-and-lore]

Uh...super totally cool and not nerdy stuff....

Um nothing about the new discovery of Harrapan civilization shipyards at Lothal - the heart of the old south Asian civ.

And how that explains south Asian artifacts and more in cradle Mesopotamia and Egyptian sites and what that means for earlier old world trade, this stories, and back and forth religious perhaps influences too?!

Because it is officially now recognized as THE WORLD'S OLDEST PORT!!!!!

And they found foreign artifacts IN the shipyards too! So back and forth trade as well as obvy like mentioned the fact Indian artifacts showed up in the Persian Gulf coast.

But what's crazy is the fact there's networks of rivers and paths showing people traveled and traded TO Lothal (on their way) and then some from Lothal bought and traded onwards and some continued their journeys from there to Mesopotamia (today Iraq). That is huge!

Um...oh, and uh cars, and how to make a PVC tube snow ball when winter comes so I'm prepared to be the most dominant force on my block. Get rekt!

...also the history of sapphic pirates.

Oh, map representation of the water was from Nal Sarova and all the way up from Ahmedabad for how people could get to Lothal -- for some the boat trip was only two days on a boat with a little humped thatched roof over it.

Two days of river going comfortably and you could be at a trade epicenter (water NYC) then from there outward into the wider world to trade with other cradle civilizations. Idk if you get how fucking huge that is for a trader. Think about the stories traded back and forth, superstitions, myths, folktales, lives, and of course they money, goods, information. Learned people would travel ABSOLUTELY for the sake of knowledge and the new.

South Asia was home to the world's oldest residential university. Most of the cradle civilizations were more advanced than many give them credit for because they had built up the wealth/resources at the time to invest back into the collection and pursuit of knowledge so higher level learning through schools of various sorts and private tutelage and having just people dedicated to its pursuits (and libraries of course) all existed and could be funded/possible.

The old world was FAR more interconnected than people realize.

But this is freaking super duper cool.

The Silk Road maritime routes were absolutely documented. But that is a far way away from this period in time.

[azaisya]

Sometimes you get fatally stabbed and resurrected and then you don’t even have the scar to show for it and it doesn’t hit you til you’re getting changed days later and see the unmarked skin and then you need a little existential bathroom floor time

[eclipsecrowned]

thinking about how laerion is only team bl4ck bc his parents said so bc in his ideal plan he’s taking his siblings kids, grabbing his ex-in-laws shared kids because everything a gods damned circus in his mother’s family, negotiating for aeg0n’s kiddos, then taking them all across the sea. neutral, here for the kids not getting fucked up in all of this.

[brbgensokyo]

man utawarerumono has me fully cooked. This is no good, no good at all

[scara-writes]

sweetheart

Yandere Emperor X Consort! (F)Reader X Yandere Crown Prince(platonic)

милашка-sweetheart according to google correct me if im wrong!

CW: kidnapped, reader is look down upon by the nobles, infantilize, forced pregnancy, dehumanizing, mentions of attempt suicide, false rumor, power imbalance, worshipping, delusional(?)

NOTE: Crown Prince is at the age of 16(he is your first/oldest son). Reader is around 36-38. Emperor is two year younger than the reader. Also I don't speak russian everything is google (the empire is not based on irl russian empire but a fantasy world like the manhwas/shoujou isekai we read) and english is not my first language you can clearly see when you read the story. This is purely a fiction and I do not mean to offend anyone.

I DO NOT CONDONE ANY ACTION IN THIS FICTION.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Running is not ideal for a 5 month pregnant woman like you.

When you tried to seek help from your parents for the first time, they never helped you because who would believe an illegitimate daughter who was frowned upon by nobles.

You are an illegitimate child of the duke and a humble maid who passed away shortly after giving birth, but despite this, you are a physically and mentally healthy child. You even managed to withstand the attempts of your stepmother and your half-sister to discredit you in the family, and didn't even find a help to your neglectful father who busies himself of taking home many women from brothel.

That was in the past but you were desperate when you ask for their assistance. However, you never heard from them ever since you bore your first child, Ize.

Ize your son. Your lovely crown prince son grew up to be like your husband with his teachings. You tried to persuade him to never listen to his father but he only shook his head and told you that all his teaching that he was learning from his old man was to protect you.

Afraid that it will stress you even more in this suffocating high walls to protect you during your pregnancy and well being, Ize-the crown prince would be willing to act like a little kid for you. He would occasionally brew you a cup of tea that you enjoy or give you a handmade gift, such as an embroidered handkerchief, to show you that he was thinking of you and that said skill you taught him when he was a child. Knowing the child, this kind of acts is for him appease the worries you have;he is different behind closed doors of your confined palace where your eyes and ears can't reach; your crown prince son is a different person who will be willing to shed the blood of others just for you.

And it seems that the morals that you taught him must have been thrown out of the window thanks to your husband.

So here you are after escaping from the hundreds gazes of a watchful loyal hounds around your palace you escape, it wasn't easy since you are carrying the emperor's second child. You heard on a passing by servants that the two tyrants had a meeting with the other nobles and the neighboring kingdom, this is a rare occurrence that the two left you alone. It took you an hour to escape the royal grounds before exploring around the town till you found a port that would take you to another country. This is your only chance to escape that suffocating palace that those two tyrants confined you in. Your Husband, Yuri can't leave you alone not when he found out that you are with his child-a second child at that. Even before you were pregnant with his first child, his wary gaze and infantilization to you had multiplied tenfold.

Your husband spread the rumors about you being mentally ill. But why would he do such a thing? You reflected to yourself and it devastate you to realize it was his scheme to prevent you from seeking help from his subjects to escape. Only the royal physician and your husband were aware of this bogus illness. It felt betrayal that he has to make that action so he can confide you more.

Your husband's scheme worked. Even your own son believed the spewing lies coming from his father, and the nobles never gossip about you as if it was a taboo ever since you were married to the emperor. Speaking ill about the emperor's consort was just as good as the reaper visiting you by the second you speak those words. Only praises coming from their filthy mouths were allowed.

No one bats an eye on you, even the servants who serves under you. They will bathe you, serve you food, refreshments, but none of them will engage or start a conversation with you. When someone last made an effort to assist your escape, a kind servant at that. The lowest mining pit, which is worse than death, The emperor bestowed upon them to be sent the servant's family, including the said servant. High ranked criminals labour in a pit there for 18 hours with a maximum 4 hour break the rest of the hour are for necessities like sleeping, with much less food and income. In short, a death torture for them.

You implore your husband to kill them rather than send them there, the only thing he said to you that it wasn't your fault they were sent there. Something along the lines of—"you were acting like this because of your condition. That servant was attempting to kill you." He told you that in front of other servants. Everyone compliments his action for 'protecting' you. His cunning red eyes looks at you that none of the servants and nobles noticed but you did. It was a warning for you to behave or he will do worse.

Yuri has never harmed you, physically. but he will harm others who want to separate you from him.

The only time you regret your decision is when you met Yuri—he was about to meet his demise by the hands of his brothers if it weren't for you stumbling to see him in the middle of the night on an alleyway of the tsvetok village struggling to breathe from the deep pools of his own blood. So you drag his half dead body into your abandoned chamber—which is rarely visited by servants—that your father bestowed for you when you were born. Aiding his deep wounds, helping him heal up, befriending him, falling in love—

You purse your lips and gave a small wince feeling your belly is starting to ache, the kick from your unborn child thumps under your long dress.

My child please, Now is not the time! you gently brush your belly soothingly before leaning on the lamp post that dimly lit the night. You sigh in relief when you felt the baby inside of you cease on kicking. Although you were a little further from the palace when you looked behind you, you still needed to move quickly. Right now, you assume that Yuri or a servant that was suppose to serve you had definitely find out that you were gone this afternoon and notify the knights and some of high ranking mage to find you immediately, but the sun had already been sunk by the evening. They must have been having a hard time finding you. A little more 18 minute walk and you'll be able to ride on the ship that will help you travel to another empire, or any nation.

"ort---s--ing!" you turn to your left to look one of the vendors of the nights were gossiping. A woman with her husband was panting, assuming he was running to deliver a news to his family. His cloth headband on his raggedy hair is soaking. He took a deep breath before repeating what he said earlier. A dread of fear rise from your throat as he uttered his next words,

"The Emperor's Consort is missing! The Emperor's knights are blocking all way out!"

You heart felt like dropping when you saw a nearby knight were looking one by one at the women nearby, specifically women who are similarly pregnant like you. Speaking of the devil, they are already here!

Knights in horses, mages running around the busy street. Some of them stopping women who has similar hair color as you to assess if they found the right person.

"Oh my! I'm hoping the consort is doing okay! She must have acted such way due to her failing mental state. The emperor must have been worried sick, I can't imagine the devastion look of the emperor especially their son!" said the woman to her husband.

You hid your hair with your cape and quickly blend in with the busy road of the night town. Muttering, "excuse me!", "Apologize!" As you force your way around the crowd. One arm around your belly to protect child, while your hand went to sling your bag with clothes and some gold coins. as you bump so many people on the crowd. You look edges of the town, at the gate, to see all the possible exits were starting to get block by the imperials knights and mages. You bit your lips frustration as you felt the hope of getting your freedom back is slipping away from your grasp.

Your plan of getting to the port has been discarded after seeing a two mage and three knights were on their way there. Even if you did go in town's gate the gatekeepers will inspect people who are exiting and entering.

But...

You look at the old man who was riding a donkey with his carriage towards to exit of the gate, fruits were laying under the cloth. An Idea quickly pop your head but you are desperate to leave this suffocating country so you have no choice but to execute it.

Your silent foot falls went behind on a slow moving carriage before climbing up silently and quickly, in your haste and desperation movement, you didn't feel as though you had torn your cape at the wooden edge of the carriage before taking the fabric that was covering the fruits that keeps them from dust and dirt. You carried a handful of fruits before slowly sitting down beside it then covering yourself with the said fabric and the remaining fruit fast enough before the knights from the gate of this region would notice you. You wince when one of the fruit hit your belly but not enough to endanger the baby.

"Have you seen this lady?" A man in his mid 60s look at the paper, he squint his eyes as he held his old lightly crack glasses to take a better look. Your (e/c) eyes look at the gapping hole of the carriage and gulp fearfully when you saw your portrait on the paper holding by the imperial knight.

"O-oh...sa-aw her!" you held your breath when the old man spoke. The two knights look at each other before listening to the next word of what the old man would say.

He lick his dry lips before continuing, his voice's struggling due to his old age, "If I-Im..not mistake-en the lady in the p-picture look like the lady I saw by the lampost o..on the rozahk street!"

You exhaled in relief since you mistakenly believed that the elderly man had just seen you, but he actually noticed you five minutes' walk from the gate to roza street. However, this would also let them know that you are actually close by.

The imperial knights gave the elderly merchant a nod as they hastily walked around the city, alerting a nearby mage to use a spell to track you. They quickly tell their subordinates for a new command.

You felt the carriage starts to move. Hugging yourself for reassurance especially at your upcoming baby that everything will be okay.

You weren't escaping just for yourself but for your second child that will be born. You don't want your kid to become like their older brother and learn from their father. Ruthless, and doesn't have a compassion to another human. You want your kid to have a brighter future, away from the blood shed. You hope that if you got caught or killed by your husband in the future. You will tell your second child to run away and never look back, when you are gone.

You ignored how uncomfortable it was to sleep in the fruits. You close your eyes and see the farm neighborhood that the carriage passed as well as the slowly dissipating kingdom that was beginning to appear as a dot on the horizon.

The abrupt shake of your ride woken you up. You hear noises outside the carriage and glance through the hole to see that light was creeping through, signaling that it was dawn but sun has yet to come in the horizon. What is happening?. You peek above the cloth seeing that you don't have enough visual on what's happening. A dusty road lay in front of you, and woods surrounded you. You turn around to look behind you and realize that the palace is no longer in sight. A sense of relief that you were indeed far from that prison.

A bunch of voices caught your ears, you turned to look to your right.

Your whole body went pale.

Your son-the crown prince was chatting with each of the roadside merchants who had just exited from their vehicle not far from where you were. The imperial warriors and mages that were conversing with the other sellers the same task as your son was doing just behind him.

You curse yourself, how did they come here to fast?

You need to leave before they notice that you are inside this carriage. Just as you swiftly escape your imprisonment. You carefully stood up, removing the fabric that was covering you and the fruits, ignoring the woozy and aches from your muscle pain for not moving too much from the entire night.

A creak was heard in your vehicle when you tried to climb down. Snapping your eyes back at them, to witness if they heard the mistake you made. To your relief, The prince and the other guards were still busy interrogating.

They didn't hear me..

You reach down and starts to stalk away from them, your hands were trembling. Stepping back to reach the wood just a 5 meters behind you. It didn't matter if you get lost in the woods, as long as they don't catch you.

No, you would rather live in a woods, in a forest where no one can reach you.

As you step forward carefully in to the woods, you didn't notice from your cautious and anxious state that your boots crack a twig, just like the cliché you previously read. The nearest knight snaps his head at the sound. He was perplexed before realizing that the woman from the paper in his hand resembles you.

"Her majes-"

You dash toward the woods. The imperial knights sought to catch up to you, as you heard him behind. You grab a nearby rock and shot it directly to his skull, and it hits him.

You ignored the yelp as he yells your honorific causing the nearby knights hear him and went for his aid, before they realize what he was yelling and starts to chase after you.

You felt the dress that was getting stuck on some of bushes and dried branches, resulting to have your dress to be ripped.

Heartbeat were thumping agressively, adrenaline were rushing around your body. One of your hands went up to your belly protecting it from getting injured despite your legs were now full of scratches and bruises from the twigs, and sharp edges of these woods. You feel your legs ache.

"Mother!" You faintly hear a galloping horses along with your son's voice behind you.

Your mistake was to look behind you while running away. You saw how your son and his guards were starting to gain just to bring you back to that hellhole. Your son Ize was reaching up his hand to take you back, his red orbs were full of concern and anxiousness.

"Mother! It's me,Ize! Please, slow down you will hurt yourself!"he yelled."Mother! Think about my sibling! Your child! Listen to me! Don't let this illness take over you!"

Poor child, he thought all of this nonsense that you are doing was because of your bogus illness.

You were about to stop when you saw a nearby cliff but a trunk made you tripped.

You screamed feeling a misstep when you realized you are falling, instinctively cradling your pregnant belly, protecting it as you roll down from the ground. A piercing scream was heard—from your son. Your head colliding to the three and it felt like your head would split open.

Your eyes were blurry from the impact. Touching your belly if there was injury. Atleast trying to feel your lower part if there was bleeding through your thighs other than your legs.

You look up at the steep cliff to see your son was sliding down, crying out your title as his mother. You saw his red orbs were full of tears as it glides down to his cheeks. The last thing you saw before your vision was consumed by the darkness was his hands reaching up to your head.

You were awoken by the sound of the chirping birds coming from the balcony.

You coughed, feeling the dryness from your throat. You eyes were blurry for a few minutes before clearing to see that you were back to the same imprisonment.

But....

It wasn't the same room you shared with your husband. Are you...even in the palace?

You took your time to assess your surroundings only to realize that the room has similarities of the royalties room that are exiled but it looked renovated, one of your husband's brothers used to live here before taking his own life. You felt grim about the thought of it.

After his brother's passing you heard from one of the maids that he turned it into a vacation palace for royalties.

It was different from the last time you saw it. It was much more cleaner and better. It looked good after it was renovated.

Wait, the baby.

THE BABY!

You eyes quickly gaze down to your belly. Hands quickly feeling around them, you exhale in relief when you felt a small kick from your stomach. You felt your tears at the edge of your eyes. It was a miracle that the heavens hadn't take your unborn child away.

I'm sorry baby...

They would have died from the stupidity you'd done!

You laid down to your right side of the bed and cradle in your stomach muttering a soft apologies and starts fluttering your eyes to go back to sleep.

But somethings not right. You felt like a pair of eyes watching you, looking at you.

Observing you.

You opened your eyes and look up only to see your pair of red eyes staring down at you.

Your husband, the emperor sitting on a wingback couch, his face resting at his hand while the elbow is resting at the arm of the couch beside him is a kettle with a cup that rest on top of the bedside table.

You feel your body tense up, you tried to get up and turn to look at your husband.

"Y-your majesty." You called but it sounded like a whisper. You don't know what he will do to you. Sure, he never hurt you physically but this is the first time you'd gotten far away from the place he imprison you in.

You gulped, will he hurt you this time?

"I-I'm... I.." you cannot come up a word,an excuse, what if he gets sick of you? What would happen to your child?

You felt your breath shorten. Tears are starting to swell up in your cheeks.

A rough hand brush on your cheeks before cupping it. You found your partner is already beside you on the bed.

He didn't speak he just let you weep as he brush away your tears. You stammer your words wanting to apologize. The emperor handed you a cup of water and you took it quenching the thirst from your larynx.

Once you drank it all, you hiccup trying to stop your tears from coming out. You felt his hands caressing your belly. "H-husband.."you gulped.

"hush,милашка."he commanded and you held your tongue and closed your eyes when he leans on your cheeks before engulfing you with his arms around you. You felt suffocating around him like a snake coiling around your body.

You feel tensed as he starts peppering kisses on your shoulders and neck before resting his lips to your earlobes, you shudder when he kissed it.

His right hand from your waist slid up under your loose sleeve before sliding it down, your emperor leaned down giving your shoulder a hickey. You whimpered trying to push him away but he hadn't budge an inch. Once he was satisfied he let your skin go with a pop before looking at the red mark he left.

The same hand went to brush your hair, tuck it behind your ear before leaning his forehead against yours. His red eyes held adoration, affection, but most of all obsession.

"милашка." He muttered closing his eyes sighing, he brush his lips against yours before deepening it.

He kept calling you, held you in his arms gently. The same arms that has full of blood that slay so many heads to get to the top of this food chain.

He laid you down before kissing every finger tips of yours and then clasping it with his rough hands as he called for you.

"милашка...."

".... my милашка..."

He pressed one kiss on your collarbone. "None of this is your fault..." He told you.

"... This illness will be the death of you."

Your heart broke for him. He really delude himself that everything you did to get away from him was because of your 'illness'.

"... Everything will be fine, darling. I will take care of you." He dampened his lips one last time onto your lips before leaving you in your new confinement.

[frostedmagnolias]

Fan

c. 1790

“Cadiz is the oldest continuously inhabited city in Western Europe and became the home port of the Spanish Navy in the 18th century.”

ivory, paper, parchment, paint, glass, wood

by Robert Delamotte (British)

The Metropolitan Museum of Art

[ltwilliammowett]

The Sorlandet (1927)

- The oldest full-rigged ship in operation in the world

- First Norwegian training ship that crossed the Atlantic in 1933

- First tall ship in the world to offer sail training for women (1981)

- Participated in the first international race for tall ships in 1956

- Participated in several port festivals in Europe and in the USA

[servicpop]

𝓞𝓒 visual descriptions

⠀⠀⠀⠀Adrien Castillo — deliquent oc

⠀hair color⠀:⠀dark brown

⠀eye color⠀:⠀dark brown ( can be interpreted as hazel )

⠀type of hair⠀:⠀fluffy , messy , the back is a little longer ; reaches to maybe a bit past his ear

⠀skin tone⠀:⠀slightly tan

⠀piercings⠀:⠀snake bites and a nose piercing ( he doesn't always keep them in )

⠀tattoos⠀:⠀has a snake tattoo down his left arm reaches up to around his wrist but he wears longsleeves alot to cover them ! also has a back tattoo of various doodles nd' things

⠀build⠀:⠀pretty toned , not exactly buff but muscular enough to fight

⠀typical clothing⠀:⠀very casual , streetwear , regularly wears hoodies and sweatpants ! usually wears dark colors but not opposed to colors like red , blue etc

⠀⠀⠀⠀Vallen Carter — rich ceo oc

⠀hair color⠀:⠀ink black

⠀eye color⠀:⠀dark , muted green or gray

⠀type of hair⠀:⠀very neat , slightly slicked back with little strands infront

⠀skin tone⠀:⠀pale

⠀piercings⠀:⠀none !

⠀tattoos⠀:⠀none

⠀build⠀:⠀toned but not extremely muscular ( he focuses mostly on cardio / fitness rather than aesthetics but he is still very pleasing to look at ) , very veiny and long fingers

⠀typical clothing⠀:⠀formal or smart casual , always wears an analog watch , prefers to wear black , white and beige

⠀⠀⠀⠀Cole Hudson — sweet cowboy oc

⠀hair color⠀:⠀very light brown borderline blonde

⠀eye color⠀:⠀brown

⠀type of hair⠀:⠀very fluffy , short , semi-curly

⠀skin⠀:⠀slightly tanned and red from sunburn , light freckles along his cheeks and nose , dimples !!

⠀piercings⠀:⠀none

⠀tattoos⠀:⠀none

⠀build⠀:⠀as expected of a cowboy , strong arms and legs ! kind of a sleeper build

⠀typical clothing⠀:⠀very western , usually wears gloves boots and always carries his hat !

⠀⠀⠀⠀Callahan Marshall — detective oc

⠀hair color⠀:⠀dark brown almost black with small streaks of gray hairs

⠀eye color⠀:⠀black , prominent eye bags

⠀type of hair⠀:⠀slightly tousled but mostly slicked back to try and keep appearances but gets messy sometimes

⠀skin tone⠀:⠀light but not too pale

⠀facial⠀:⠀stubble or slight growth , never really fully grown but its there

⠀piercings⠀:⠀none

⠀tattoos⠀:⠀none

⠀build⠀:⠀he's a big guy but not exactly through muscle , his arms are the most muscular , doesn't really like to train for abs

⠀typical clothing⠀:⠀between casual and formal , mostly wears long coats and suits and a watch !

⠀⠀Adefemi Akinola — cyberpunk mechanic oc

⠀hair color⠀:⠀dark brown

⠀eye color⠀:⠀almost gold / yellow-ish

⠀type of hair⠀:⠀thick , usually wears dreads

⠀skin tone⠀:⠀dark

⠀piercings⠀:⠀has a lobe piercing and a helix

⠀tattoos⠀:⠀has one on his right shoulder to his bicep ; cybersigilism

⠀build⠀:⠀beefy guy !! very muscular and toned especially in his arms ( mechanic things ) and legs ( racer things )

⠀prosthetics / details⠀:⠀his entire left arm is a robotic arm and he's got ports in his neck ( cyborg ish )

⠀typical clothing⠀:⠀wears sleeveless shirts alot / tank tops , heavy cargo pants with utility belt , very tech wear style

⠀⠀Alastair Williams — police man oc

⠀hair color⠀:⠀platinum , black at the bottom

⠀eye color⠀:⠀hazel

⠀type of hair⠀:⠀straight , usually in a middle part , undercut

⠀piercings⠀:⠀had piercings but took them out so he has little scars on his lobes

⠀skin tone⠀:⠀pale

⠀tattoos⠀:⠀none

⠀build⠀:⠀lean , fit but not muscular , focuses mostly on running

⠀typical clothing⠀:⠀always wears his uniform , if not he dresses very academic , warm colors mostly

Who's the tallest ?

Adefemi is the tallest ! ( all those enhancements . . . He's kind of cheating )

Callahan

Vallen

Cole

Alistair

Adrien is the shortest T T he's still growing !

Who's the oldest ?

Callahan is the oldest !

Adefemi

Vallen

Cole

Alistair

Adrien

[velvetvisionsaurora]

Pairing: Hongjoong x reader, Seonghwa x reader, Yunho x reader, Mingi x reader, Wooyoung x reader.

Summary: Five eight-year-old boys aboard the slave ship Crimson Serpent form an unbreakable bond with five-year-old y/n. before she's sold at auction. Despite their failed rescue attempt, they swear a blood oath on her teddy bear to find her. Fifteen years later, now feared pirates leading the ATEEZ

Warnings: Slavery/Human Trafficking, Separation/Loss, Violence, Eventual Smut. SA(not by any main characters) y/n gets switched to a real name but it has a purpose. More warnings to be updated.

Want to be notified when a chapter is updated? Join the Taglist!

‼️if you have read chapter 7 already please go back and make sure you have read the reunion part with Ella/Yeosang! It’s after the flash back scene! Something happened with posting and it got removed‼️

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Masterlist

Chapter 7

Intersections

In their shared cabin on the ATEEZ's port side, Yunho sat cross-legged on his bunk, carefully fixing a torn sail section while Mingi cleaned his special tools at the small workbench beneath their single porthole. Neither spoke for several comfortable minutes, the silence between them built on years of shared understanding rather than awkward emptiness.

Finally, Yunho looked up from his stitching. "She knew the stars in Orion's belt before I even pointed them out."

Mingi nodded, continuing his careful work on the firing mechanism laid out in perfect order on his workbench. Unlike the nearly silent way he acted in group settings, here in their private room, his shoulders looked more relaxed, his movements less stiff, more natural.

"And she knew exactly where to find Canis Major," Yunho continued, his normally gentle voice showing a hint of doubt. "The same stars I taught y/n to spot during night watches on The Crimson Serpent."

"Important," Mingi replied, his voice fuller and more flowing than the short phrases others heard. With Yunho, words came more easily, the safe space of their shared cabin allowing him to express himself in ways he rarely showed elsewhere.

"But not proof," Yunho countered, setting aside his sail repair. "Seonghwa pointed out that anyone with basic star knowledge would recognize major constellations."

Mingi turned from his workbench, giving Yunho his full attention—something he did almost only for his roommate and oldest friend. "You doubt now?"

Yunho sighed, running a hand through his hair in a gesture of real frustration. "I don't know what to believe. Yesterday I was certain. Today..." He trailed off, the conflict clear in his usually calm expression.

"Seonghwa's reasons," Mingi observed, not a question but understanding.

"He makes good points," Yunho admitted. "Everything we see as her recognizing things could be explained other ways. Common behaviors, basic knowledge, chance preferences."

Mingi rose from his workbench and moved to sit beside Yunho on the bunk—a closeness that would have surprised anyone else aboard the ATEEZ. While the quiet gunner typically kept careful distance from others, with Yunho he allowed closeness built through years of shared hardship and looking out for each other.

"Found my maker's mark," Mingi said, his tone showing unusual certainty. "On the gun port housing. Hidden on purpose. She knew exactly where to look."

Yunho's expression brightened slightly. "You didn't mention that in the officers' meeting."

Mingi shrugged one shoulder, a small gesture carrying complex meaning. "Seonghwa would find an explanation. Coincidence. Good observation skills."

"And you don't believe that?" Yunho asked, watching his friend carefully.

"No." The single word carried absolute certainty, rare from the careful gunner who typically added qualifiers to his statements with careful precision.

Mingi reached beneath his shirt and pulled out a simple leather cord from which hung a small wooden compass rose, its five points carefully carved despite its tiny size. The navigation symbol that had become his maker's mark—appearing on every weapon he designed, every mechanism he created, every carving he left behind—was an exact copy of this original pendant.

"The compass I made for Mr. Hugs," he explained, holding the pendant where Yunho could see it. "Fell off during struggle at auction house. I kept the original design. Put it on everything since."

Yunho studied the wooden compass with new understanding. For fifteen years, he had seen this symbol on Mingi's creations without fully understanding its importance—not simply a maker's mark but a deliberate connection to the teddy bear's lost navigation guide, to the little girl who had called Mingi "Puppy" with innocent affection rather than mockery.

"I forgot you kept the original," Yunho said softly.

Mingi tucked the pendant back beneath his shirt, the private gesture showing how he carried both keepsake and mission against his heart. "Reminder of promise," he said simply.

He returned to his workbench, but instead of going back to tool cleaning, he opened a small drawer built into its side. From within, he took out a rolled piece of fabric, carefully unfolding it on the workspace to reveal dozens of tiny wooden animals, each small enough to fit in a child's palm, each bearing the special compass mark on its underside.

"Make one every port," Mingi explained, his voice softening with rare emotion. "Leave them where children might find. Markets. Docks. Public squares."

Yunho stared at the collection with growing realization. For fifteen years, he had sometimes noticed Mingi carving small animals during quiet moments, had sometimes seen him lagging behind when they left port cities, but had never connected these observations to their shared mission.

"You leave them as messages," Yunho realized. "In case y/n might find one and recognize your work."

Mingi nodded, his finger gently touching a small wooden rabbit, perfect despite its tiny size. "Fifteen years. Hundreds of carvings. Every port we've visited."

The revelation—delivered in Mingi's private voice rather than his public way of few words—carried emotional weight beyond its factual meaning. While the others had searched through official channels, tracking auction records and slave lists, Mingi had kept up his own parallel effort: creating tiny wooden messengers that might somehow find their way to a lost girl who had once treasured his carvings.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Yunho asked, moving to stand beside his friend at the workbench.

Mingi's expression shifted slightly, showing rare vulnerability. "Might seem foolish. Not practical."

"It's not foolish," Yunho countered immediately, his hand settling gently on Mingi's shoulder—one of the few touches the gunner accepted without tension. "It's... hopeful. Faith that connection might last through separation."

Mingi's posture relaxed slightly under Yunho's reassurance, the acceptance flowing between them without need for more validation. Unlike others who might have dismissed his silent fifteen-year ritual as superstition, Yunho understood the deeper idea: that connection sometimes followed paths logic couldn't predict, that effort kept up without guaranteed result still had value.

"You really believe Ella is y/n," Yunho observed, the statement carrying no judgment or pressure.

Mingi nodded once, certainty clear despite his usually careful expression. "Too many matches for coincidence. The way she moves. Watches. Protects herself. Knows things without saying she knows them."

"Seonghwa suggests those behaviors might come from fifteen years of captivity rather than specific connection to us," Yunho countered, though his tone suggested he welcomed Mingi's counterargument.

"True," Mingi acknowledged, his response more detailed in Yunho's presence than others ever witnessed. "But combined with specific knowledge—star patterns, maker's marks, food preferences—pattern becomes clear."

He selected a small wooden dolphin from his collection, its details remarkably precise despite its tiny size, and placed it in Yunho's palm. "Made this last night. For her."

Yunho examined the tiny carving, noting the compass rose carefully embedded in its underside. "You want me to give it to her?"

Mingi shook his head slightly. "Leave where she'll find it. Without obvious placement. Test whether she recognizes what it means."

The suggestion—smart yet respectful of Ella's choice—reflected Mingi's careful approach to all challenges. Unlike Wooyoung's desire for immediate confirmation or Seonghwa's careful skepticism, Mingi proposed subtle opportunity for recognition without pressure or manipulation.

"Her bedside table?" Yunho suggested. "When she's with the captain for afternoon briefing?"

Mingi nodded approval. "Natural discovery. Her choice to acknowledge or ignore."

The plan settled between them without need for further explanation, their years together creating shorthand communication that others aboard the ATEEZ marveled at but couldn't copy. Even Hongjoong, with his smart planning and leadership instinct, sometimes found himself excluded from the silent understanding that flowed between the ship's tallest officer and its most reserved.

"If she is y/n," Yunho said after a moment, his voice carrying the uncertainty Mingi's lacked, "why wouldn't she simply tell us? We've given her no reason to fear us."

Mingi considered this carefully, his expression thoughtful in ways he rarely showed outside their private quarters. "Fifteen years captive," he replied finally. "Trust becomes a tactic, not instinct. She weighs benefit against risk before sharing."

"And the risk of revealing herself to us?" Yunho prompted.

"Expectation," Mingi answered immediately, the insight flowing more freely in Yunho's presence. "We might expect y/n unchanged. The child we knew, not the woman survival created."

The observation showed emotional intelligence that would have surprised those who knew only Mingi's public persona—the silent gunner whose rare words addressed practical matters rather than people's feelings. Yet with Yunho, he revealed the depth of understanding that made him not just the ATEEZ's weapons specialist but one of its most insightful observers.

"You think she fears disappointing us," Yunho realized. "That we might reject who she's become in favor of who we remember."

"Possible," Mingi acknowledged. "Survival changes people. Needed adaptations might not match childhood memories."

He carefully rolled up the fabric containing his collection of carved animals, securing it with careful precision before returning it to its drawer. "We remember five-year-old child. She brings twenty-year-old survivor shaped by captivity."

"And if she's not y/n?" Yunho asked quietly, the question reflecting his lingering doubt despite Mingi's conviction.

Mingi paused in his careful organization, considering this possibility with typical thoroughness. "Then she remains valuable ally against Blackwell. Worthy of protection regardless of identity."

The simple statement reflected core principles that had guided their mission through fifteen years of increasingly dangerous operations: that their campaign against the slave trade went beyond personal revenge, that protection extended beyond specific connection to broader purpose.

"You're right," Yunho acknowledged, his expression clearing somewhat. "Whether she's y/n or not, she deserves freedom and safety after fifteen years of captivity."

"Exactly," Mingi confirmed, returning to his workbench with renewed focus. He resumed cleaning his special tools, each movement precise yet flowing with natural grace rather than forced control. In Yunho's presence, he kept to careful standards without the rigid tension that marked his public performance, the safety of their shared space allowing expression that others never witnessed.

Yunho watched his friend work for several quiet moments, appreciating Mingi's confident movements and focused attention—qualities that had saved their lives countless times during fifteen years of increasingly dangerous missions. Though Mingi spoke rarely in public and avoided casual contact, in their private sanctuary he revealed the person beneath carefully built protection—thoughtful, perceptive, and far more talkative than anyone beyond Yunho ever experienced.

"Thank you," Yunho said simply, the gratitude covering their current conversation and fifteen years of unwavering loyalty.

Mingi looked up briefly, a small but genuine smile softening his usually blank features—an expression reserved exclusively for Yunho. No verbal response followed, none being necessary between two who had survived childhood captivity, teenage rebellion, and adult warfare side by side.

Outside their cabin, the ATEEZ continued its steady progress through morning waters, feared throughout the maritime world as the Black Ship, the Compass Crew, the vessel whose appearance meant precise revenge rather than random destruction. Few who encountered its distinctive silhouette understood the vessel's true purpose—that its feared reputation came not from bloodthirst but from blood oath, from promise made by children and fulfilled by the men they became.

And within that black-sailed ship, the quietest officer continued creating tiny wooden messengers marked with five-pointed compass rose, carrying fifteen years' hope that connection might somehow last through separation, that paths cut by violence might eventually come together through persistence and determination.

*Blackwell's Estate - Seven Years Earlier*

Twelve-year-old y/n stood stiffly in Blackwell's formal study, her expression carefully blank despite her inner panic. The summons had come without explanation—guards appearing at her work station in the laundry, taking her directly to the master's private domain where staff entered only when specifically ordered.

Victor Blackwell sat behind his massive desk, fingers joined beneath his chin as he studied her with the same clinical detachment that had marked his ownership for seven years. Unlike most slave owners who barely told apart individual pieces of property, Blackwell kept detailed knowledge of each person he owned—their abilities, their connections, their vulnerabilities. This personal attention made him more dangerous rather than more humane, his understanding used for maximum control rather than compassion.

"Do you know why you're here, girl?" he asked, his cultured voice showing no particular emotion.

"No, sir," y/n replied, the response automatic after years of conditioning. Show no curiosity, no initiative, no independent thought—only prompt obedience and proper respect.

"Valuable property requires proper maintenance," Blackwell continued, as if explaining a basic concept to a slow student. "This includes not merely physical health but appropriate mental conditioning. Assets that form incorrect attachments develop divided loyalties, lowering their functional value."

Cold dread settled in y/n’s stomach as his meaning became clearer. Blackwell rarely spoke directly about specific wrongdoings; his preferred method involved philosophical explanations that forced the listener to recognize their own mistakes, confessing through realization rather than questioning.

"Individuals within my household serve specific functions according to their abilities," he continued, rising from his desk to pace with careful steps. "The doctor's assistant provides medical support to maintain collective health. You girl, are to become the perfect slave. Educated, hard working and pretty enough to fulfill any requirements a buyer might need. Neither role includes unauthorized socialization beyond what's needed."

Y/n kept her carefully blank expression despite the growing certainty that her friendship with Yeosang had been discovered—the shared moments of connection they had believed properly hidden, the small kindnesses exchanged out of sight of watchful eyes, the wooden carvings passed between them as comfort during hard times.

For seven years, they had kept their alliance through increasingly careful precautions, knowing that their growing connection was a vulnerability that Blackwell would exploit if discovered. Yet somehow, despite their precautions, their secret communication had been exposed—perhaps through carelessness, perhaps through deliberate betrayal by another household member seeking good treatment.

"I have invested considerable resources in medical training for the boy," Blackwell remarked, his tone suggesting discussion of weather rather than human lives. "Skills development represents significant value improvement for specialized property. Such investment should not be harmed through inappropriate distractions."

He turned to face her directly, his expression showing neither anger nor cruelty but merely calculated business assessment. "Correction is therefore needed to maintain optimal asset functionality."

Before y/n could interpret this clinical declaration, the study door opened to admit two guards escorting a third figure between them. Yeosang's usual composed expression had broken into barely contained fear, his fifteen-year-old frame appearing suddenly younger and more vulnerable between the towering guards.

"Ah, excellent timing," Blackwell noted with the same detachment he might use when discussing furniture delivery.

He gestured for the guards to position Yeosang before his desk, then resumed his seat with the casual confidence of absolute authority. From a drawer, he took out a leather portfolio containing documents arranged with characteristic precision.

"Medical training increases property value considerably," he observed, reviewing the contents with practiced efficiency. "Several captains have expressed interest in acquiring specialized personnel for extended voyages. Captain Severino has offered particularly favorable terms for a ship's doctor with your specific qualifications."

The meaning became terribly clear: Yeosang was being sold. Their punishment for unauthorized friendship wasn't merely separation within the household but permanent division through transfer of ownership. The realization hit y/n with physical force, her carefully maintained composure threatening to break despite years of practiced control.

"The transaction will be completed today," Blackwell continued, directing his comments to Yeosang now. "Captain Severino's ship leaves with evening tide. Your medical supplies have been packed according to inventory requirements, with appropriate checking of controlled substances."

Throughout this clinical explanation, he maintained the same detached tone he might use when discussing crop rotation or equipment maintenance—human life reduced to asset management and inventory control. Only the slight tension in Yeosang's shoulders showed his internal response, years of conditioning preventing visible reaction despite devastating impact.

"The girl will observe transfer of ownership," Blackwell added, his gaze shifting to y/n with sudden sharpness. "Visual demonstration provides more effective behavioral change than theoretical explanation."

The deliberate cruelty of this decision—forcing her to witness Yeosang's removal—revealed the careful calculation behind Blackwell's seemingly dispassionate management. He understood precisely how to maximize psychological impact while maintaining appearance of reasonable business operations.

"You are prohibited from direct communication before departure," he instructed, rising to indicate the meeting's conclusion. "Guards will escort the boy to preparing quarters and the girl to observation position at front entrance. Asset transfer will proceed at four o'clock precisely."

As the guards moved to separate them, y/n’s efforts to fight and maintain her neutral expression crumbled, she turned and with tears hugged Yeosang tightly. "Please don't!" She said.

Yeosang, although grateful for one last interaction, closed his eyes in sadness. That moment of weakness would transform already devastating punishment into something far worse—Blackwell's method always escalated when emotional vulnerability was displayed.

Blackwell's cold and dismissive behavior morphed into an almost delightful smirk at the girl's behavior.

"See to it she is punished for this outburst." Blackwell commanded the guard. "It seems more training is necessary to her daily lessons." He commented to no one in particular.

Yeosang stiffened, and before he could open his mouth to speak as the guards roughly dragged y/n out of the room, Blackwell interrupted him.

"I cannot punish your words or actions any longer, however," He looked at the boy smirking. "Since you and the girl are so close, I'm sure she wouldn't mind taking the punishment of your disobedience in your place."

Yeosang's eyes widened slightly and quickly closed his mouth obeying Blackwell. Years of treating y/n’s wounds, with or without permission, taught him how cruel and gruesome they were with punishing her.

Three hours later, positioned on the mansion's front steps where her supposed "observation" doubled as humiliation before the entire household staff, y/n watched stone-faced as Yeosang was escorted to the waiting carriage. His few possessions—medical reference texts and carefully maintained instruments—had been packed in a single trunk that represented seven years of dedicated study and practice.

Captain Severino, a weathered man with calculating eyes similar to Blackwell's, inspected his new acquisition with the same clinical assessment used for livestock or equipment. His cursory examination included checking Yeosang's teeth and reflexes, testing basic medical knowledge through rapid-fire questions, and verifying physical condition through demonstration of movement and strength.

Throughout this degrading process, Yeosang kept the careful composure that had protected him through years in Blackwell's household—present yet somehow removed, cooperating physically while preserving essential selfhood behind strong walls. Only y/n, who knew him better than anyone else in the world, could read the subtle signs of his internal devastation: the slight tremor in his left hand, the carefully controlled breathing pattern, the small delay before each response.

As final transaction details were completed between Blackwell and Severino, Yeosang was permitted to gather his trunk under guard supervision. In that brief moment, as he knelt to secure the latches, his hand moved with practiced sleight developed through years of passing secret messages within the household. Something small dropped into the ornamental grass bordering the front path—a movement so subtle that even watchful guards failed to notice.

Y/n noted the deliberate placement, memorizing its exact location without shifting her gaze directly toward it. Whatever Yeosang had left behind, he had risked severe punishment to ensure she would find it after his departure—a final communication despite Blackwell's explicit prohibition.

The actual moment of separation passed with anticlimactic efficiency—Yeosang boarding the carriage, Severino completing final documentation, the vehicle departing down the long drive toward Halazia's harbor where ship awaited. No opportunity for goodbye, no acknowledgment of connection being severed, no recognition of human cost behind business transaction.

Only after night fell and household activities quieted did y/n risk retrieving Yeosang's final message. With careful movements honed through years of navigating Blackwell's household undetected, she slipped from her dormitory to the front gardens, locating the exact position where Yeosang had knelt hours earlier.

Buried in the ornamental grass, her searching fingers found familiar shape—a wooden wolf with its distinctive compass marking, not the same shared treasure passed between them for six years whenever one needed comfort or strength, a different one. Perhaps Yeosang made another one? A replica? Or he found another one hidden. This final gift represented both farewell and promise: that connection lasted beyond physical separation, that memory remained despite deliberate division, that hope survived even systematic attempts to destroy it.

Clutched tightly in her twelve-year-old hand, the small carving represented Yeosang's final resistance against Blackwell's calculated control—solid proof that something belonging uniquely to them had survived despite their owner's deliberate intervention. Neither understood its deeper significance: that the compass marking connected them to five boys searching throughout maritime world for a lost girl, that the wooden animal was created by a quiet child named Mingi who continued carving similar messengers during fifteen years of searching.

For y/n, it simply represented proof that genuine connection had existed despite Blackwell's systematic isolation—tangible evidence of the one friendship that had sustained her through seven years of captivity. For three more years, she would keep it carefully hidden within Blackwell's household, until her transfer to his business associate necessitated new hiding strategies.

For eight years, Yeosang would carry the original wolf, a memory through multiple transfers between captains who valued his medical skills without recognizing his humanity, until fate and a black-sailed pirate vessel named ATEEZ stepped in to offer unexpected freedom.

Neither could have imagined that 7 years after their forced separation, they would reunite aboard that same pirate ship—or that its feared officers were the very boys who had once protected a small girl aboard The Crimson Serpent, their fearsome reputation built upon the foundation of childhood oath to find someone both they and Yeosang had deeply loved in different ways.

The ship's bell had just rung midnight watch when Ella jolted awake. The nightmare of one of the three worst days of her life jolting her awake. Ella slipped silently from her cabin. Years of moving through hostile environments after dark had honed her ability to move without sound—a skill developed initially for survival, now used for deliberate purpose rather than desperate necessity.

The ATEEZ ran with skeleton crew during night hours, most sailors sleeping in shifts while essential positions maintained minimal vigilance. Her exploration earlier that day had yielded thorough knowledge of watch patterns and patrol routes—information gathered out of habit despite her apparent freedom aboard ship.

She moved through the darkened hallways with practiced efficiency, avoiding the occasional crewman on night duty through timing rather than hiding. No one had forbidden her movement throughout the vessel; nevertheless, caution remained ingrained after fifteen years of restrictions.

The medical bay's location on the lower deck provided ideal seclusion—positioned away from sleeping quarters and primary operational areas, its specialized ventilation creating sound barriers that would contain conversation. As she approached the partially open door, soft light spilled into the corridor, suggesting Yeosang remained awake despite the late hour.

For a brief moment, Ella hesitated outside the threshold, an unexpected wave of uncertainty washing over her. The boy she had known—gentle hands treating injuries, whispered encouragement during dark moments, the quiet strength that had kept her going through seven years in Blackwell's household—had become a man she recognized yet didn't truly know. How much had fifteen years changed him? How much suffering had he endured after Blackwell separated them?

Taking a steadying breath, she pushed such questions aside and entered the medical bay without announcing herself, slipping through the doorway with the silent movement that had become second nature during captivity.

Yeosang sat at his small desk, back to the door, apparently absorbed in writing notes in a leather-bound journal. The small wooden trinket box she remembered from childhood sat open beside his inkwell, medical supplies arranged with the same careful precision she remembered from their shared past.

He spoke without turning, his keen awareness of surroundings showing training beyond medical practice. "I wondered when you would come."

The voice—deeper than the boy she remembered yet carrying the same measured pace—confirmed what his posture already suggested: he had been waiting for her, perhaps since the moment she had left his medical bay hours earlier.

"You knew I would," she replied, closing the door silently behind her.

At this, he finally turned to face her, the careful composure of their earlier meeting giving way to more genuine expression. The distinctive birthmark near his left eye crinkled slightly as emotion transformed his features from professional detachment to painful recognition.

"Y/n." He spoke her true name as if testing its reality on his tongue. "It really is you."

The sound of her name—her actual name, not the shortened "Ella" she had offered the ATEEZ officers—created strange feeling after years of deliberate anonymity. She found herself momentarily speechless, the planned greeting dissolving under the weight of genuine connection.

Yeosang rose slowly from his desk, keeping careful distance as if uncertain of appropriate boundaries after fifteen years' separation. His movements held the same deliberate grace she remembered, though his frame had matured from teenage slenderness to adult strength. A thin scar traced his jawline—evidence of violence experienced since their forced separation—while his eyes carried shadows of witnessed suffering that hadn't existed in the fifteen-year-old boy she had known.

"Angel," she whispered, the childhood nickname coming unbidden. "I never thought I'd see you again."

Something in his expression cracked at the sound of her private name for him—the one she had given when they'd first connected in Blackwell's household. His careful composure faltered momentarily before he regained control, professional discipline evidently ingrained through years of necessary survival.

"I looked for you," he said quietly. "After I gained my freedom. But Blackwell's records were deliberately hidden, and his associate who purchased you had disappeared from known trading routes."

The admission created conflicting emotion—gratitude that he had tried to find her, pain that neither of them had succeeded in finding the other until now. Ella found herself moving forward almost unconsciously, closing the physical distance that symbolized their years of separation.

"How did you end up here?" she asked, genuine curiosity momentarily overriding the flood of other questions demanding attention. "On this specific ship?"

"The ATEEZ raided the vessel where I was being transferred between captains," he explained, his voice steady despite the difficult subject. "Unlike other pirates who typically claim medical personnel as valuable assets, Hongjoong recognized I was captive rather than crew. He offered freedom without obligation, though I chose to stay as ship's doctor."

He gestured vaguely toward the well-equipped medical bay. "This is the first place I've practiced medicine by choice rather than being forced. The first place my skills have served healing rather than maintaining property value."

The bitterness in his final words revealed wounds that professional composure couldn't fully hide—scars from years serving masters who viewed his healing abilities as tools for profit rather than compassion. Ella recognized the underlying anger; it mirrored her own carefully contained rage at fifteen years of being treated as an object.

"They don't know," she realized suddenly, studying his expression. "The officers—they don't know about our connection."

Yeosang shook his head slightly. "I never speak of my years under Blackwell. The specifics of my captivity remain my own."

His gaze sharpened with sudden intensity. "But they know you. Somehow, they know you—or believe they do. The way Yunho was watching you, the way Wooyoung's mouth moves at a faster rate when he speaks about 'Ella'." Yeosang rolls his eyes with a smirk.

"I was disgusted and surprised at first when I learned the captain had purchased a slave, even more surprised when heard the amount he paid just to turn around and free you." He raised an eyebrow. "I can see there's more to it than that."

"The Crimson Serpent," Ella confirmed, the explanation forming connection between separate pieces. "Before Blackwell bought me at auction, I spent three months aboard that ship with five cabin boys who tried to protect me. They tried to rescue me during stop in Halazia but failed. I was sold while they were recaptured."

Understanding dawned in Yeosang's expression. "The blood oath," he murmured, almost to himself. "The reason they target Blackwell's operations with such specific focus."

He looked at her with renewed intensity. "Y/n, they've been searching for you for fifteen years. It's the foundation of everything they've built—the ATEEZ, their campaign against slave traders, their reputation for precise revenge. All of it began with a promise to find one little girl sold at auction."

The confirmation of Wooyoung's earlier claim—delivered now by someone who had no reason to manipulate her trust—created momentary confusion. The implications seemed too vast, too significant to fully understand immediately.

"You knew they were searching for someone," she realized, studying his expression. "But you didn't know it was me."

Yeosang nodded, his face reflecting the complexity of this revelation. "They speak occasionally of a girl they lost, a promise that drives their mission. But never specific details—not her name, not her connection to Blackwell. I assumed she was someone they met after building their reputation, not its very foundation."

He moved to a cabinet secured with small lock. With practiced motion, he retrieved a key from within his medical bag, opening the cabinet to reveal shelves of specialized equipment. From the bottom drawer, he took out a small wooden box similar to the one on his desk but larger, its surface distinguished by detailed carvings rather than simple utility.

"After joining the ATEEZ," he explained, placing the box on his examination table, "I noticed Mingi's habit of carving small wooden animals—leaving them in ports we visited, sometimes asking me to place them in specific locations when I went ashore for medical supplies."

He opened the box carefully, revealing interior compartments organized with careful precision. "I helped without understanding why—assumed it was some personal ritual or superstition. He never explained, and I never asked."

From a hidden compartment within the box's lid, he withdrew a small object wrapped in protective cloth. With gentle movements that spoke of treasured significance, he unwrapped the bundle to reveal the wooden wolf they had shared during their childhood—worn from years of handling but still recognizable, its compass marking visible on the underside.

"I kept it," he said softly. "Through eight years, four different captains, countless ports. The only thing I managed to take from Blackwell's household that day."

Ella stared at the carving, emotion welling despite her determined control. "I lost the one you left for me that night. When I was transferred to Blackwell's associate. The guards found it during the transfer, destroyed it along with everything else I'd managed to hide."

Yeosang shook his head slightly.

Understanding dawned as she connected memories previously separated. "A second wolf. You carved it for me? The one you left the night Blackwell sold you?"

"No," Yeosang corrected gently. "I never had the skill for such detailed work." He turned the wolf over, indicating the compass mark. "This is Mingi's craftsmanship. All those animals he leaves in ports—they all bear this same mark. He's been creating them for fifteen years, leaving them throughout the maritime world."

The revelation hit with unexpected force—that Mingi, the quietest of the five boys who had protected her aboard The Crimson Serpent, had continued creating tangible connection despite their separation. That the wooden wolf she and Yeosang had treasured during their years in Blackwell's household had been Mingi's creation all along, its compass mark his signature rather than mere decoration.

"He leaves them hoping you might find one and recognize his work," Yeosang continued, his voice softening with newfound understanding. "For two years, I've been helping him distribute these messages without realizing they were meant for you—that you were the lost girl they've searched for all this time."

Ella reached into her pocket and withdrew the small leather pouch she kept hidden on her person at all times. From within, she removed a tiny wooden figure—not a wolf but a sparrow with folded wings, small enough to hide completely within her closed fist.

"I found this in the garden after a storm knocked down part of the wall," she explained, holding it where Yeosang could see. "Two years after you were sold. I didn't realize it was connected to the wolf—thought it was just similar craftsmanship."

Yeosang studied the sparrow, recognition dawning in his expression. "Mingi's work again. The compass mark is identical." He looked up, newfound understanding in his eyes. "They've been closer than we realized all these years—their search and our survival running parallel without crossing until now."

The meeting of these separate paths—five boys who became feared pirates searching for a lost girl, two children who survived Blackwell's household supporting each other through secret connection—created meaning beyond chance. It seemed like more than chance that these paths crossed—five boys turned pirates looking for a lost girl, and two children who had helped each other survive Blackwell's house.

"Do you trust them?" she asked, the question showing vulnerability she rarely displayed.

Yeosang considered this carefully, his natural caution evident in measured response. "I trust their intentions," he said finally. "Their protection of the vulnerable is genuine rather than strategic. Their opposition to the slave trade comes from personal conviction rather than mere profit opportunity."

He studied her thoughtfully. "Seonghwa reminds me of you," she observed suddenly. "The way he organizes everything, his careful movements, how he keeps emotion behind careful thinking."

"He's nothing like me," Yeosang replied, an unusual edge entering his voice. "His control comes from natural preference for order. Mine was beaten into me through eight years serving masters who viewed showing emotion as a fault needing correction."

The raw honesty—expressing personal history he clearly revealed to few—created momentary silence between them. Ella recognized the pain beneath his words; it echoed her own experience of enforced compliance through systematic punishment.

"I'm sorry," she said softly. "I didn't mean—"

"No," he interrupted, regret immediately replacing defensiveness. "You couldn't have known. I've never spoken of those years to anyone aboard the ATEEZ. Not even the captain knows the specifics of my captivity after Blackwell."

The admission—that he had shared his full history with no one else aboard ship—emphasized the importance of their reconnection. Like her, Yeosang had survived through careful compartmentalization, revealing only what circumstances required rather than complete truth.

"Will you tell them?" he asked after a moment, echoing the question from earlier with new context. "That you're y/n? That you remember them from The Crimson Serpent?"

She considered this carefully, weighing factors with careful assessment built through years of calculated survival. "Not yet," she decided. "I need to understand their expectations first. What they believe 'y/n' should be after fifteen years. What they want from her—from me—beyond keeping a childhood promise."

Yeosang nodded acceptance without judgment, his respect for her choice as clear now as it had been during their shared captivity. "Your identity remains yours to reveal or withhold," he affirmed. "I won't betray your trust."

The promise carried weight beyond its simple words—alliance without demand, support without expectation. Unlike potential pressure from others who might discover her secret, Yeosang offered protection for her choice rather than pushing for a particular outcome.

Ella placed the wooden sparrow beside the wolf on the examination table, the two carvings creating tangible evidence of connection kept despite fifteen years' separation. "Everything connects," she said softly. "Paths I thought completely cut somehow coming together against impossible odds."

"Not impossible," Yeosang corrected gently. "Unlikely, certainly. But we always knew connection lasted beyond separation. That's why we passed the wolf between us—solid proof that bonds survive despite deliberate division."

His words echoed their childhood understanding, the philosophy that had kept them going through Blackwell's systematic attempts to isolate and control. Even as children, they had recognized that genuine connection represented resistance against calculated dehumanization—that sharing the wooden wolf created meaning beyond mere comfort.

"I've missed you," Ella admitted, the simple truth emerging without tactical consideration. "Every day since Blackwell sold you. Even after I buried the memory to survive, something remained missing."

The unguarded confession—so different from her carefully measured responses since boarding the ATEEZ—reflected the unique safety Yeosang represented. With him alone, she could express vulnerability without fear of exploitation, reveal emotion without risk of manipulation.

"I searched for you," he responded, matching her honesty with his own. "After the ATEEZ freed me. When Hongjoong offered free movement at port calls, I used that freedom to track Blackwell's operations, hoping to find some record of where he had sent you."

The revelation—that his first use of newfound liberty had been searching for her—created unexpected emotion. After fifteen years believing herself forgotten or abandoned by everyone who had ever shown her kindness, discovering that both Yeosang and the ATEEZ officers had actively sought her challenged core assumptions that had guided her survival.

"But Blackwell erased the trail deliberately," Yeosang continued, frustration evident despite his controlled expression. "His records showed only that you had been transferred to a business associate, with no documentation of identity or location. By then, eight years had passed since our separation—the trail had grown cold before I even began searching."

"He sold me to a man named Calloway," Ella explained, the name still bitter on her tongue despite the years. "A trading partner who specialized in 'premium domestic personnel' for wealthy households. The transfer was deliberately kept from official records—private arrangement between business associates rather than formal sale."

Something darkened in Yeosang's expression at this information—recognition of deliberate concealment designed to prevent exactly the kind of search he had attempted. "Blackwell understood the value of strategic concealment even then," he observed, professional analysis masking deeper emotion. "His operation has only grown more sophisticated in recent years."

"The ATEEZ's campaign has forced adaptation," Ella noted, her own tactical assessment engaging with his. "Their systematic targeting of his ships created operational challenges that required improved security protocols. Blackwell speaks of them with genuine fear disguised as contempt—'The Compass Crew' who appear without warning and disappear before naval response can gather."

Yeosang's expression shifted slightly at this information—pride briefly visible beneath professional composure. "They've earned their reputation through careful precision rather than random violence," he acknowledged. "Each raid specifically designed to disrupt slave trading operations with minimal civilian damage."

"You admire them," Ella observed, studying his reaction carefully.

"I respect what they've built," he corrected, though the distinction seemed mostly semantic. "Their opposition to the slave trade goes beyond mere piracy—they target specific operations with tactical intelligence that military vessels lack. And they treat freed captives with dignity rather than simply alternative utility."

The assessment aligned with her own observations of the ATEEZ's unusual culture, yet hearing it from Yeosang—who had witnessed their operations from within for two years—carried additional weight. Unlike her necessarily limited perspective as recent arrival, his evaluation incorporated extended observation across multiple campaigns.

"And personally?" she prompted, seeking understanding beyond professional assessment. "Beyond their tactical approach and ethical stance?"

Yeosang considered this more carefully, weighing personal opinion against professional evaluation. "They're good men operating within a brutal world," he said finally. "Their methods reflect necessity rather than natural inclination. In another life, they might have been scholars, artists, builders—their intelligence and skills directed toward creation rather than strategic destruction."

The insight revealed deeper understanding than mere tactical alliance—genuine appreciation for the complexity underlying the ATEEZ officers' fearsome reputation. Unlike outsiders who saw only calculated violence, Yeosang recognized the fundamental principles guiding their operations.

"Hongjoong carries the heaviest burden," he continued, his voice softening slightly. "Each decision, each casualty, each compromise weighs on him even when necessity leaves no alternative. Yet he never passes that weight to others—maintains responsibility without giving up despite personal cost."

"And Seonghwa?" Ella asked, curious about his perception of the quartermaster whose controlled precision had reminded her of Yeosang himself.

"The foundation that enables Hongjoong's leadership," he replied without hesitation. "His careful analysis balances the captain's intuitive strategy, creating operational effectiveness that neither could achieve alone." He paused thoughtfully before adding, "Their partnership represents complementary strengths rather than competition—rare in any context, nearly unique among pirates."

"Wooyoung?" she prompted, continuing her exploration of his perspectives on the officers.

A small but genuine smile touched Yeosang's features—rare expression she remembered from their childhood, reserved for moments of authentic pleasure rather than strategic presentation. "Exactly as he appears," he said. "His theatrical energy isn't performance but genuine nature. Yet beneath the constant movement lies remarkable intelligence—he gathers information through casual conversation that formal questioning could never extract."

"Yunho, the heart of their operation," Yeosang answered immediately. "His natural kindness could be mistaken for weakness by those who don't understand its function. But his compassion creates bonds throughout the crew that tactical authority alone could never establish. The men follow Hongjoong's orders out of respect, but they'd die for Yunho out of genuine loyalty."

"And Mingi—" Yeosang stated finally.

Ella leaned forward particularly interested in his assessment of the quiet gunner whose wooden carvings had unknowingly connected all three of them across fifteen years.

Yeosang's expression grew more thoughtful, suggesting deeper consideration than previous responses required. "The most complex despite appearing simplest," he said carefully. "His quiet exterior hides remarkable perception and emotional intelligence. He observes relationships and interactions that others miss entirely, understands motivations beyond surface behavior."

This assessment aligned with Ella's own observations of Mingi's watchful presence, his rare words carrying weight out of proportion to their economy. Yet Yeosang's insight suggested deeper understanding than mere tactical evaluation—genuine appreciation for complexities others might overlook.

"Why did you stay with them?" she asked, the question addressing fundamental choice rather than mere circumstance. "When Hongjoong offered freedom without obligation, why remain aboard a pirate vessel rather than establishing independent practice?"

The question clearly struck deeper territory than previous exchange, Yeosang's expression shifting toward greater reserve before deliberately relaxing into unusual openness. "Because they offered genuine choice rather than merely alternative obligation," he said finally. "And because their mission against slave traders represented purpose beyond mere survival—opportunity to transform personal suffering into constructive resistance."

The explanation revealed philosophical alignment rather than merely practical arrangement—shared principles rather than simple convenience. Unlike her carefully calculated assessment of potential alliance aboard the ATEEZ, Yeosang had found authentic purpose that went beyond tactical advantage.

"And now?" she asked softly. "Knowing who I am—that I'm the girl they've searched for all these years?"

"The choice remains yours," he assured her immediately. "Whether you reveal your identity or maintain your current presentation, my loyalty extends to you directly rather than merely their mission. Whatever you decide, I'll support without qualification or condition."

The promise—alliance without demand, protection without expectation—created emotion beyond tactical assessment. For fifteen years, Ella had navigated captivity through careful calculation of advantage against vulnerability, protection against exploitation. Yeosang's unconditional support represented freedom beyond mere physical liberation—choice without strategic consequence.

"Thank you," she whispered, the simple gratitude encompassing far more than his current assurance.

Without conscious decision, she moved forward and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into an embrace that went beyond tactical consideration. The contact—initiated without calculation or strategic purpose—represented emotional truth rather than rational assessment, genuine connection rather than deliberate action.

For a moment, Yeosang remained perfectly still, his body tense with surprise at this unexpected physical closeness. Then, with careful movements that suggested both unfamiliarity and genuine desire, his arms encircled her in returned embrace—tentative at first, then firmer as emotional response overcame habitual caution.

It was the first genuine human contact either had experienced in fifteen years without tactical purpose or enforced compliance—chosen connection rather than calculated advantage or unwanted imposition. The simple act of embracing contained healing beyond words, tangible proof that something fundamental had survived fifteen years of deliberate dehumanization.

"We made it," she whispered against his shoulder, the words emerging from deep recognition rather than conscious thought. "Despite everything, we survived to find each other again."

His arms tightened briefly, the gesture conveying agreement beyond verbal confirmation. For several moments, they remained in this unexpected connection, neither willing to break physical proof of reunion after fifteen years believing the other forever lost. When they finally separated, Yeosang's carefully controlled expression had softened into genuine emotion—vulnerability he clearly revealed to no one else aboard the ATEEZ.

"I should return to my cabin," Ella said eventually, practical consideration overriding emotional need. "Extended absence might draw unwanted attention."

Yeosang nodded, understanding flowing between them without extensive explanation. "Dawn watch is quietest," he replied, the practical information conveyed in neutral tone that would appear unremarkable to potential observers. "Medical bay remains unoccupied until morning rounds begin."

The invitation for further private conversation registered clearly despite its indirect delivery—evidence that some habits formed under surveillance remained useful aboard pirate vessel despite apparent freedom. Ella nodded understanding, grateful for his continued respect for strategic communication.

"Rest well, Angel," she said softly, the childhood nickname carrying new meaning after fifteen years' separation. "Thank you for keeping our wolf safe all these years."

As she prepared to leave, Yeosang carefully rewrapped the wooden wolf and pressed it into her hands. "Take it," he said quietly. "It's always been meant for moments when either of us needed strength. Tonight, that's you."

The gesture—returning their shared treasure without qualification or condition—echoed their childhood exchanges, when the carved animal had passed between them during difficult periods. Unlike those earlier transfers, conducted through careful concealment to avoid Blackwell's notice, this exchange occurred through deliberate choice rather than desperate necessity.

"Until tomorrow," she promised, securing the wolf within her clothing with practiced movement that spoke of years hiding treasured possessions from hostile discovery.

As she slipped silently from the medical bay, moving through darkened corridors with habitual caution, Ella felt subtle shift in her carefully maintained reality. For fifteen years, survival had required calculated solitude—alliance temporary and limited, connection dangerous beyond immediate advantage. Now, against all probability, genuine recognition had appeared in the most unlikely location: aboard notorious pirate vessel, among men feared throughout maritime world for ruthless efficiency and precise vengeance.

The officers of the ATEEZ had built their fearsome reputation on the foundation of childhood oath to find one lost girl. And now that very girl moved through their ship's passages, carrying knowledge that could fulfill fifteen years' search or shatter carefully maintained alliance. The power of that knowledge—the choice to acknowledge or deny her true identity—represented freedom unlike any she had experienced since childhood.

For the first time in fifteen years, y/n held genuine choice rather than merely strategic options. The realization carried both excitement and terror as she returned to her cabin in the heart of the most feared pirate vessel on the seven seas, its black sails cutting through darkness like shadow given form, its reputation for merciless precision earned through years of calculated violence against slave traders who never understood the personal vendetta driving their destruction.

Clutching the wooden wolf Mingi had carved fifteen years earlier—the tangible connection that had unknowingly linked her to both her past aboard The Crimson Serpent and her seven years with Yeosang under Blackwell's control—she whispered her nightly ritual, the familiar names grounding her amid turbulent revelation: "Joongie, Hwa, Woo, Yuyu, Puppy."

But tonight, she added the sixth name without hesitation, acknowledgment rather than discovery: "Angel."

Tomorrow would bring further navigation of this complex situation—continued assessment of the officers' expectations, strategic planning for potential outcomes, careful balancing of vulnerability against advantage. But tonight, for the first time since childhood, she allowed herself to think about possibility beyond mere survival—connection beyond calculated alliance, protection beyond temporary advantage.

Taglist: @hopeless-lovex0 @frankielou02 @jilxxasu @kur0kki @lezleeferguson-120 @uniquecloudbread @miniverse-zen @symmieangela @monstacheol @ateezswonderland

[seelie-buddy]

enchanted

summary : 'all I know is I was enchanted to meet you...' contains : zhongli x reader ; mutual pining ; fluff ; gn!reader, this drabble is written in second person word count : 725 ꔛ artwork – @ ameriya7

Zhongli who notices how your ears perk up at his words.

The manner in which you keep a keener ear for what he has to say, intrigued and ever curious of what his comments and interjections include. The manner in which you seem to always have the patience for his long tales, his tidbits on history possessed only by the oldest scrolls and records.

Your attentive eyes, your little nods as you follow along his words, you hold onto his every word— mulling them over, absorbing them in a manner a gardener would preen their flower beds: with a gentle patience, with attentice and warm eyes.

Zhongli who notices your reluctance to take spotlight as he easily does.

The manner in which you don't often share your own thoughts, especially amongst a crowd. The parting of your lips, subtle actions showing your disagreement with the discussion; the slight crease of your forehead, the furrow or twitch of your eyebrows— you listened more than you spoke, saw more than you communicated.

Zhongli who notices your faint reactions towards him.

The manner in which the corner of your lips as twitch, raising into the slightest of smiles— a gesture of agreement— and of surprise at how it seemed that he knew what thoughts you had in your head without you needing to voice it out.

Zhongli who notices how your eyes turn his way more times than necessary.

The manner in which, each time, they would return elsewhere just before he could catch you in the act; the manner in which you seemed to hover close enough to pay attention to the discussions others would include him in, yet never close enough to speak with him directly.

Zhongli who begins asking for your opinions during group discussions.

The manner in which he would pay attention to what ideas you seemed to have— each one holding a depth, although the quietness of your voice making it easy for others to not hear you speak.

Zhongli who would notices the contrast between you and himself.

The manner in which his willingness to part his thoughts and knowledge to others with ease; you who allowed your thoughts to remain shrouded in clouds of mystery.

The manner in which you held back your words, kept yourself in a bubble of your own world, filled with your own ideas and dreams, your words only loud enough for a sharp ear as his to catch. Hushed contributions, quiet musings; enchanting.

Zhongli who knew what your slight smiles, attentive eyes meant.

The manner in which your head turned away swiftly the second his eyes almost makes contact with yours; the manner in which you would never take the initiative to reveal the truth of your heart unprompted, least of all to him.

Zhongli who knew why his own eyes would follow your reactions.

The manner in which he paid mind to your quiet contemplation in regards to the discussions you never directly partook in; the manner in which his own attention was quickly grabbed at the hushed tone of your words in the few instances you put yourself forward. The manner in which he knew what was the truth of his own heart.

Zhongli who would turn group discussions into private exchange of thoughts.

The manner in which he would invite you for a cup of tea to hear the wondrous thoughts hidden behind your silence, noticing you appear more at ease outside of a crowd.

The manner in which conversations grow into shared tea breaks during the day, into quiet musings on a long trek around the peaks and valleys of Liyue, and into prolonged walks along the ports at night.

Zhongli who narrates any tale you show interest in.

The manner in which he shares tales lost to time with the backdrop of the sparkling surface of waves that wash the shore. The manner in which he would fall hush at noticing your head drooping in the warm evening sunshine.

The manner in which he would let your head rest against his shoulder, a tender hand brushing back the loose strands of hair that fell forward onto your face. The manner in which he would know, and not hold back from acknowledging, that every hour spent with you was flawless, that your smile had him wonderstruck, that he was enchanted by you.

a/n : this drabble was inspired by taylor swift's song named enchanted!! it's been a while since I've written something, and this is also my first writing of the year (although, yes, it took a while; I had my exams for the end of the semester). hope you enjoyed reading it, and if so, do go through my other drabbles if you're interested !!

[theoppositeofprofound]

How much more deranged would Middle-Earth be if Tolkien was given access to modern scholarship re:the ageless depth of trees?

It’s true that by the end of the Third Age, no trees in Eregion remember the elves that walked there. But there’s an ancient yew in Rivendell that Gil-Galad planted, a clone of one of the old trees of Lindon, that’s still thriving when Elrond leaves his home. It’s seen elven kings and laughing lords and harried messengers. Though trees don’t care about such things, it’s nice to be seen.

There’s a golden aspen grove between Lothlorien and Fangorn. The elves say Nimrodel planted it before her name was Nimrodel, before continents sank, when the forests were home only to a handful who loved them more than paradise.

By the shores of the Mirrormere is another yew. In a little known tradition, kept by one dwarf alone, every Durin plants a few of its seeds, and one of those trees always lives long enough to see his next self.

There’s a cypress in the port of Umbar. Locals say the lord in Mordor planted it the first time he visited (he was still in the habit of planting trees back then). It lived past several of his deaths but faltered, finally, beneath the ashes of his last, worst destruction—more than four thousand years later.

On a tiny island in the sea is a little cluster of spruce trees—some scrap of drowned Beleriand too holy, for one reason or another, to falter. It’s the same tree—when one falters a new coppice comes to take its place, growing out of the same root system. There’s a betting pool among the deep sea fishers of the Falathrin about whose grave lies beneath.

Much is made of the White Tree of Gondor, but on the hillsides in Ithilien, dangerously close to Minas Ithil, are gnarled olive trees that witnessed the Last Alliance. Faramir is inordinately fond of them without knowing the reason why.

Ulmo keeps a garden of sea sponges. The oldest didn’t just see Númenor founded and drowned, it saw the bones of the very first second-comers. (Ossë collects many things.) It’s been… 10,000 years? 12,000? Sponges don’t keep time, they just remember.

Ulmo also keeps a bed of sea grass older than the destruction of the Lamps, but he doesn’t mention that to other people; it’s just for him.

[typewritingyip]

The Arcturus Missions

Part Forty Nine - Unease and Exhaustion

Part Forty Eight

———

Savannah, Georgia, a coastal city, was only separated from South Carolina by the Savannah River. The oldest city in the southern state of Georgia, it had a long and complicated history.

Established in 1733 on the banks of the Savannah River, it quickly became the capital for the British colonial province of Georgia, later the first state capital of Georgia.

Its history is far from clear and pretty, during the American Revolutionary War the British held the city from 1778 until July 1782. It was the sixth most populous city in the Confederacy during the American Civil War, it decided in December of 1864 they’d rather negotiate a peaceful surrender of the city than see its destruction.

Being a major southern port it had a waive variety of trade during the early years and leading up to the civil war, the old buildings and port area are now preserved. 

The Battle of Savannah took place in the summer of 2008, it had ten thousand casualties, the projected growth in population for the next decade. 

During that time, much of the historical districts of Savannah were damaged but not completely destroyed, protected by the MECHA pilots who defended the city. By the main pilots in the region and the assist.

Pilots 2450 and 2451, based in Florida and Georgia respectively, then Pilot 1124 to assist the newer pilots with the major infiltration. Five kaiju were spotted off shore with another two being located within the city. A total of seven for the battle as a whole.

The younger pilots with no major battle under their belts before hand, having only being piloting for a few months. Limited simulator work. 

All three were returned to MECHA headquarters for repairs, further simulation work was recommended for 2450 and 2451, while 1124’s repairs were expedited. 

—

When Jazz had come running into the bathroom, after being gone for hardly a minute, he figured it was an emergency. But no, it was idiocy that dragged him away from his work. 

Sideswipe had decided to remain in the greenhouse, just wanting some space and he couldn’t blame him, though he’d made a mad dash to tuck their homemade liquor out of reach. None of them had really gotten terribly drunk off of it since the first batch, but he still didn’t want Sides falling into bad habits but he could understand why his brother needed the space.

Hiding in the darkness was not exactly his ideal way of winding down after yesterday though, the only relief was knowing that Sideswipe was fine and Bluestreak was sat on Prowl’s bed. 

Breakdown had woken up and apparently had gone back to sleep, his day yesterday had been more physically taxing so it was hard to blame him. He was snoring behind him and Jazz, who were sat on the edge of their space, feet hanging in the space.

Taking off the oxygen mask, Sunny sighs and flips up his visor, “You know, if any of us asked for the apartment to be emptied, it would have basically been a no.” Jazz chuckled and shrugged, “He’s spilling the secret, it’s not like there was anywhere else he could go. It’s not like us, Mr, I only sleep in my boxers.” Shrugging a bit, he was still frowning. 

“So, how did Prowl find out about you then? You haven’t exactly been forthcoming with the story.” Shrugging too, Jazz sighs, “Depends on who you ask really,” Shaking his head a bit, Sunny huffs, “Well, I thought I was asking you.” Even in the dark he could sense Jazz’s wicked grin, “And that’s a story for me to know, and you to find out.” Shifting around, he lays back so only one leg was hanging off their table, the other bent at the knee with his foot flat on the floor.

Rolling his eyes, he sighs and looks to Blue, who is staring, fingers tapping rapidly on his knee. Motioning towards him, it was the que that he could speak. Blue was great about not interrupting humans when they were speaking, something about having more time to speak or some other nonsense. But when his face lights up, his heart melts just a bit.

Shifting on the bed, Blue leans forward to keep his voice relatively quiet, “So, Mirage is going to know?” Nodding a bit, Jazz rests his arm over his eyes, “Yep.” With a slow nod, Bluestreak sighs, “So now, it's a quarter of spec ops and Soundwave?” He didn’t even have to look at Jazz to know the man was grinning still, “Oh yeah, when Red Alert finds out it’s going to be crazy.” Then Bluestreak grinned just as wickedly. 

Sighing, Sunny pushes off the ground and stands, “No, we are not going to torture Red Alert and make the man think he’s crazy.” Shaking his head, he hated being the voice of reason, “Anyone else, sure, but not Red. Red’s been nice.” Jazz and Bluestreak scoffed. 

Rubbing the spot between his eyes, he could feel a headache coming on and it wasn’t from the paint fumes, “I can’t believe that I’m being the sensible one,” the door to the main room opened and closed. They all fell silent, staring at the door between them and the living room. Where Hound and Mirage were about to have a reality changing conversation.

Barley sparing a glance to Blue, he jumped and landed in the mechs hand with a practiced ease, strapping his oxygen mask back on while adjusting the microphone back inside it. Hopefully their conversation would be quick and painless, but if they needed to make a mad dash for their suits, he’d be ready. Pressing his covered ear to the door, same as Bluestreak, he adjusted his audio receiver carefully. Jazz joined them at the door, pressing his ear to it to listen in.

There really wasn’t anything like a private conversation in this apartment, everyone could either hear too well or could at least turn on a translator. 

Staying quiet, the three of them tried to listen to the muffled conversation. He knew this would be awkward for Hound in several ways, if his instincts in this were right and Bluestreak had heard accurate gossip. 

He’d met Hound literally the day his ex-wife was getting remarried. It was his and Side’s first major mission, the battle of Savannah. A beautiful city that Hound had said that Savanah reminded him of San Francisco before the attack in the 90’s, the three of them had never spoken before that day and now they were across the universe together. 

That day was one that haunted his nightmares and stuck with him during waking hours, and he knew because of what he’d learned that day that this conversation with Mirage that Hound was having, wasn’t going to be a fun one. That man was wound so tight when it came to relationships, he’d sooner die for a friend than ever mention how he feels. 

Then again, isn’t that what got him here in the first place?

Sunny glanced down towards Jazz, whose eyes were closed and was clearly trying to listen. 

Sighing slowly, he closes his own eyes and tries to listen. Everything was pretty well muffled. The walls and doors were so thick they could be hollowed out and humans could just barely walk through them. 

They waited, impatiently. 

—

Keeping his forehead against Mirage’s shoulder, he could almost pretend that there was no one else there. That it was just the two of them enjoying the quiet, a nervous hand resting on his back while his were suspended from resting on Mirage’s waist. 

For a moment, he thought about remaining in that position, to ignore that voices were flooding into the living room as if his skin wasn’t alight with an uncomfortable buzzing and his palms weren’t sweating. As if one of the worst conversations of his life hadn’t just happened.

Well, to be fair it was barely in the top five, likely to be knocked back down when it wore off.

His mothers death would always rank first, then losing his father a close second, Sarah deciding on divorce came third, every moment of conversation during compatibility testing came fourth and now this. Just knocking his first human death count out of the running.

God, when they told him that he’d thrown up.

Suppressing a shudder, he pulled back and turned, scowling as everyone seemed to flood back out into the main space. Well, not everyone he guessed, just Jazz, Sunstreaker, and Bluestreak. It was still dark in the bedroom so it was likely the others were either still asleep or attempting to be.

Waving at him, Jazz was wearing a shit eating grin, “Hey Hound, welcome to the club. You going to come out of your suit?” Mirage blinked down at Sunny and Jazz, nodding rather quickly, murmuring, “Yep, knew this was going to happen, I’m fine. It’s fine.” 

Shaking his head a bit, Hound chuckles, “Uh, not yet. Maybe once Sunny is done with everyone else’s suits and has the green set up.” Though Sunny was already waving him off.

”Don’t be like that, I can paint all our suits in an hour. Don’t use me as an excuse.” Bluestreak laughs, Sunny was the only one wearing a helmet with his translator on. The small speaker wasn’t terribly loud, but Hound still scowled, “I’m just going to stay in my suit, alright?” Being waved off did not feel great, but he was thankful when Sunny went back into the bathroom.

Mirage leaned forward and stared at the four empty suits inside, nodding, “Yeah, okay.” Jazz was grinning, “You’re not handling this nearly as well as the others have.” Of course he had to show off, he still didn’t have a fully functional translator, less you counted Prowl. 

His head quickly whipped around to stare at Jazz, “What?” Nodding a bit, Jazz was quick to scramble up onto the couch as Hound eased onto it, sighing, “Well, Prowl had a moment but was fine, Smokescreen found out by accident and doesn’t care, Bluestreak was nearly killed by Sideswipe and sort of ignored the overall happenstance, then Soundwave…”

Blinking down at him, Mirage takes a slow breath, “Soundwave knows?” Nodding, Jazz shrugged, “Yeah, so you make five.” He pauses, “You tell anyone else about this and Prowl has a systematic plan to ensure you don’t share the secret.” Mirage looked to Hound, who honestly wished he could just disappear before nodding, “He’s telling the truth.” Rubbing his face he sighs. 

Unable to help it he sank into the couch, now starting to feel the exhaustion of the day, as the remaining bits of anxiety lightly tugged at his mind. Mirage carefully joined him, frowning and fidgeting as Jazz settled on the coffee table.

Hound didn’t blame him, it was a lot to take in all at once, seeing the organics running around the space as if it were normal to see organics on Cybertron. Not only was the environment inhospitable for them, but so many Cybertronrian’s were xenophobic towards organics. Maybe from lack of experience or just ingrained bias, it just was.

Closing his eyes, he sighs and leans back, head resting against the back of the couch, it was a lot for one day.

He started to doze, sighing while Mirage and Jazz spoke quietly, for a brief second he thought about disconnecting but when Mirage’s hand covered his he couldn’t bring himself to. 

Dreams and memories plagued him. 

It had been only a few weeks that they’d been on Cybertron when they went off world for the first time, Jazz was for the moment showing them the ropes, having the most experience in their new environment. Hound stood just to the left of Jazz, Prowl to his right while the shuttle moved through space.

Not quite like the Odyssey, it was just a glorified missile they’d packed themselves into compared to this. Then again, this was a space faring species, humans could hardly call themselves that.

He was standing there, minding his business, when someone came up to Prowl with a scowl on their face, “Prowl, are we actually going back to the Archa system?” The mech sighed deeply and pinched the bridge of his nose, “Yes Brawn, we are going to the Archa system. Now is not the time to voice your complaints.” The other mech, Brawn huffed.

”I’ve told Prime that I don’t want to go to organic worlds anymore, all their organic-ness gets stuck in my gears.” Pausing, Hound shifted to look at Brawn, “What’s wrong with organic planets?” Brawn looked over and the look of pure disgust made Hound scowl.

The dense mech shifted, “Have you never stepped foot on an organic world?” Shrugging weakly, Jazz took his arm, “Not exactly.” Humming, Brawn nodded, “Then I’m sorry you’ll have to experience it today. It’s the most disgusting, dangerous, and dehumanizing experience.” Prowl growled out, “Brawn!”

Shurgging, Brawn shifted his weight, “If he hasn’t experienced it before, there has to be a fair warning! Look kid,” Hound tried not to grit his teeth, “Organic worlds are disgusting and their gunk is going to get everywhere you don’t want it to. Rust happens and you’ll want to see a medic before it spreads.” Trying to stay calm, he nods slowly.

Brawn took that as a sign to continue, “Then there's the organics themselves, whether the flora or fauna, especially the sentient fauna.” He shudders.

Hound’s chest tightened, “Sentient fauna?” Already nodding, Brawn huffed, “Yeah, the squishies.” His stomach turned, Prowl shifted forwards, “Brawn,” But Brawn was waving him off, “The squishies, organic sentient beings, are nothing but bags of somewhat thinking goo.” He shrugged.

Sharing a glance with Jazz, the. Prowl, Hound sighed and nodded, “Ah,” Brawn nodded, “Yeah, they have their own societies and things, sure, but they are just gunk bags. I mean, they eat other organic things. Excrete the organic things and this so-called cycle starts over again.” He shudders, sighing.

”Before the war, you’d have never seen me off world. I can appreciate the things they make and trade, but the less I have to deal with them, the better.” He nodded, as if what he said wasn’t offensive to not only humans but a large portion of the galaxy.

Humming, Hound nods a bit, scratching lightly at his implants, “I see…” Brawn frown a bit and shifted, ”So kid, what did you do before the war?” Brawn’s forced smile made his stomach curdle, glancing at Jazz he tried to hide his grin before looking back to Brawn, “Studied organic botany. I was a plant enthusiast.” Brawn stared before nodding stiffly, “I see.” Nodding a bit, Hound turned toward Jazz, “Anyways,” And the rest of their conversation faded in the dream.

He slowly came back to a rather uncomfortable position, head tilted back to an uncomfortable angle and his legs stiff tucked up against the couch. Groaning a bit, he shifts back up and stretches slightly. 

Bluestreak and Mirage had moved to the other couch and were speaking quietly, while Jazz, Breakdown, and Sideswipe were sitting on the coffee table. 

Blinking against the lightly, he pushes off the couch and tries not to limp to the bathroom. Thankfully, no one said anything, yet but of course the bathroom lights were even more blinding. He braced a hand on the wall as the door shut behind him.

Sunny glanced up, “Are you ready for me to paint your suit now?” Nodding a bit, he stepped over him and set about to sit the suit down. These things were huge and awkward, especially heavy so he set it down carefully before disconnecting. Groaning painfully as his implants squelched. 

It was hard not to gag at the feeling.

Stepping away from the controls, he opened his cockpit but motioned Sunny back, “I’m gonna change first, get out of this damn suit for now.” Sunny nodded and turned back to Jazz’s plating, spraying it white. He stepped around the piloting seat and over to his makeshift rest area.

Keeping a spare pair of clothes over there was probably the best thing he could have done, for those long days, not unlike today, where he didn’t have the patience to wear his assistance suit out and about. The clothes were nothing special, just some slacks and an Arcturus branded NASA shirt. 

They hadn’t exactly packed their entire wardrobes. He tried not to chuckle at the thought, as he grabbed up his water pouch and some purple dried fruit, it had slowly become a favorite of his. Stepping into the boots from his assistance suit though, he kept on the helmet, carried the gloves, and wore the boots back out. 

Sunny was there, still wearing his helmet plus an oxygen mask, waiting as Hound climbed down and closed up his cockpit, “You doing okay?” Pausing, Hound pushed up the visor on his helmet, “Yeah, you?” Sunny gave a so-so hand gesture and they both grinned.

”Do you want any help here? I know you don’t need it.” Sunny shook his head, “No, thank you though. I’m enjoying the quiet.” Nodding slowly, Hound sighed, “Yeah, I get that.” Clapping Sunny on the shoulder, he walked out of the bathroom.

—

Sideswipe was the one dozing now, leaning against their table while trying to eat something today. Breakdown had joined them before Hound had returned from putting his suit in the line to get repainted. 

If yesterday hadn’t happened, he’d probably be on a shuttle towards his team right now. The two weeks of rest he’d been ordered to have were finally up and now he was having to wait on paint to dry, literally. 

He was only glad to have the time so he could get his head right, to have a moment where he wasn’t relieving the moment.

The building was shaking.

Closing his eyes for a moment, he took a deep breath and let it out slowly, sipping from his water pouch again. Grounding himself. Jazz carefully reached over and patted his leg, nodding a bit, he tried to smile, “I’m fine.” With another pat, Jazz turned back to his quiet conversation with BD.

Resting his head against the table, he took more slow and deep breaths, being careful. Trying to stay grounded.

The bathroom door behind him whooshed back open and then closed, the faint smell of paint drifted into the room, and honestly that grounded him near instantly. The faint sound of boots crossed the room and ascended the ladder to join them all, he glanced up as Hound walked over. 

Hound looked exhausted, but they all did, honestly. He smiled a bit as Hound joined them at the table, sighing, “Alright, well, I’ll let Sunny know the finer details later but I know what all of our next assignments are if you’re able to hear them.” His heart nearly jumped to his throat but an eerily calm fell over him.

Shifting to face Hound, he raised his water pouch, “To the chaos then.” Breakdown chuckles and nods, “Let’s have it.” Nodding a bit, Hound sighed and sat forward, pausing for only a moment to take off his helmet and set it to the side, “We’re all splitting up this time, since the Prime is going to be joining the fight.” The words hung in the air for a moment.

Slowly nodding, Jazz gestured, “Alright, who's going where then?” Hound sighed and pointed to him, “Sideswipe, you're sticking with Elita-One and her unit. She and Ironhide will be splitting time for Joan sitting. Your unit is on their way back to Cybertron as we speak and your first shift will be tomorrow.” Nodding slowly, Sides looks at the table.

It was oddly exactly what he needed to hear, “Sounds great, though I guess that means getting massively hungover is off the table?” Hound cracked a smile, “Only if you think Elita would kill you for it.” He shrugged lightly and chuckled, Hound turned his attention next to Breakdown.

”BD, you're being moved from under Megatron’s command to Optimus’s.” He paused, “First reason being he likes you, finds conversation easy.” If he didn’t know any better, he’d have thought the old man was blushing, “The second being Knockout has requested your assistance, being so heavy-duty makes patient transfer easier and the medic is going to be assigned with Joan.” Breakdown slowly nodded, “Understood.” 

Hound turned to Jazz, who was all smiles, “Jazz, you know you’ll be assigned with Prowl, but we’re going off world before the end of the week. Megatron has requested for most of Spec Ops to be off-world and together, since we’re not sure what the Quints are planning.” Jazz has a firm nod, “Wonderful, I’ll pack my swim trunks.” It almost brought a smile out of Hound. 

His gaze turned back to him though, “Sideswipe, Sunstreaker is still going to be placed with Ironhide. It might be a minute before you two are stationed in the same region again. It might be a while or it might be tomorrow, depending on how protective the Lord Protector is going to be.” Now that got a chuckle out of all of them, Sideswipe grinning for the first time in now days. 

“Yeah, alright. But we’re talking about the same Lord Protector, right?” Hound finally smiled, “Yeah, yeah. Well, Blue might have to be repositioned if that happens and I don’t think the poor mech will take that too kindly.” Sides rolled his eyes, sucking down some water so as to not say something unsavory.

It wasn’t that Bluestreak was a bad person, or even a bad boyfriend to his brother, but he was his brother's boyfriend, and a giant alien at that. Sure, he could understand the appeal to an extent, they spent most of their lives looking more like these things than themselves, but it was the moments like this that regrounded him in reality. 

Hound glanced around at them all again, “What happened yesterday in Iacon, shouldn't happen again. But it might, so we’re going to be on the lookout for it. I was able to get a hard drive from the Quintesson ship yesterday that Soundwave and Prowl are looking at now, we’ll see what it says and the plan of action will go from there.” Houd finally sighed and took a drink from his own pouch, popping some of the dried fruit into his mouth.

That stuff rubbed Sides the wrong way, it was violet in color, felt like dried fruit, was supposed to be fruit by its chemical makeup but tasted far too much like cashews for his tastes.

Shifting on the table, he rests his arms on it and sighs, “Should we include the Cybertronians in the conversation?” Hound glanced over and shook his head lightly, “No, they’ll have a debrief tonight when we’re all asleep. That’s another thing, once our suits are cleared and we’re ready for tomorrow, we all need to eat, hydrate, and get some rest. I don’t know how long it’s going to be between tomorrow morning and the first mission, but I doubt it will be long. So make sure to pack any food and drinks you want into your suit, spare clothes, hygiene products, the works. Even if you think you’ll be stationed in Iacon, I don’t know when we’ll return to the apartment.”

His eyes lit up, just a fraction, “Does that mean we can bring some of the gin with us?” Hound paused, frowning, “I’d rather you didn’t, but I wouldn’t blame you if you did.” Him, Jazz, and Breakdown grinned.

The still would be empty by morning and pouches would be tucked under cots.

Sighing a bit, he nods, “So, we’ve been at one version of war for around a year, is this going to be any different?” He couldn’t help but ask, to wonder, and Jazz was already nodding, “This last year was so different from the last five I was here.” Jazz shifted a bit, shrugging.

”It’s always changing, evolving, but if any of what we think might happen, happens? It’s going to be a lot of yesterdays for a while.” Sighing and hitting his head on the table, Sideswipe groaned, that was not what he wanted to hear. But it was expected. 

Shifting about a bit, Sideswipe finally leaned back on his hands, “And I thought the war on Earth was brutal.” Hound sighed, “No one died yesterday, everyone that lost housing has already been re-housed. It’s just a different kind of brutal Sideswipe.” Glancing at him, he could see the exhaustion that had left him napping on the couch tugging at his features.

Nodding a bit, he stared at the ceiling, “Yeah, I guess you're right.” He scratched at his chin lightly, “So, what exactly happened with you and Mirage then?” Purple dried fruit hit him squarely in the eye and he couldn’t help but laugh. 

———

A/N

So this isn’t technically going up on Friday, at least not for me. But I just finished the chapter 20 minutes after midnight, so, I tried. I don’t know what it is with the chapters just after big events but I struggle with the sometimes.

Though this one I literally didn’t start writing till today, so that is 100% on me. My bad. But there might be a delay to Tuesdays chapter as I have some Law School registration stuff I have to do this week.

We will see.

One more part of Part One of “The Arcturus Missions” Technically the end of Arcturus One which is crazy, but I’ll probably continue to table them 51 and so on.

Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy this part, I know Mirage and Hound don’t really interact but Mirage is dealing with some stuff and asking Blue for some advice.

TAGS

@lunarlei68 @whirlywhirlygig @loop-hole-319 @pixillandjester @alek-the-witch @not-a-moose-in-disguise @goddessofwind8water @neurologicalglitch @dersereblogger @pixel-transformers @mrcrayonofdoom @wireplaces @twilightfreefaller @original-blog-name-2 @devilangel657 @robbin-u @miniartistme @starwold @tea-enthusiasm @valeexpris606 @celticdoggo @bird599 @agentsquirrelsgotrobots @aquaioart @thatwandercat @artdagz @seisha974 @halenhusky309 @leethepiper @cat-cassette @sirassban @cosmique-oddity @garbageenthusiast @xervias @azulabutterfly @fryseem @spring-mc @echo-circuit @aghostsnail @wooblewooble @ask-glory-haddock-and-others @nonsscrapheap @magichats @iminahole247 @omgflyingderpywhale @thetrexartist @naaaafam @elegantmantaray @emichusai @waterlilykitty @diabolichare @ham4ponyo @osqindaxend @sunnyvibesanddoodles @ratatatata248 @ijustneedausernaneplease4444444 @sprook-children @fooolisher 

And once again thank you to @Keferon for this amazing AU

[rwby-encrusted-blog]

There are two types of Mech, the Analog, and the Linked.

Analog mechs are the far, far cheaper of the two. Much less specialized, and infinitely more common, able to be found not just in military use, but in Agricultural and Industrial use as well.

To pilot one, all you need it four limbs (Including prosthetics) and good senses, and to score well in the Simulators to get your license.

Analog is a bit of a misnomer, a holdover word from yesteryear, simply meaning "Less sophisticated."

Analog Mechs work by scanning the Brain Activity of the pilot, comparing it to the physical input of the controls, and deciding what to do from there. They're considered old fashioned and less reliable than Linked Mechs, but they're reliable enough for the work they do. They are more easily replaced and retrofitted for different tasks.

They have simpler AI, and to exit one, you simply take the helmet off and open the hatch.

Linked Mechs are a whole other can of worms.

Each and every Linked Mech is custom built and fitted to their pilot, from the heaviest weapon, to the smallest nut, no one is the same as the other.

Linked Mech are Physically plugged into their pilot's nervous system, and they act as one. It can take hours of Decompression and Disconnection to remove a Linked Pilot.

Linked Mechs are truly nothing without their pilots.

Linked Pilots are the most terrifying people you may ever meet.

Their skin is mottled from the Oxygenator-Coolant that runs in their veins, the plugs and ports too deeply entwined in their flesh and body to be removed without serious disruption to their faculties, hairless and sterile from their conditioning and actions when inside their vessel, and that's only the physical differences.

Depending on how long they've been a Linked Pilot, their mental capabilities are affected in different ways.

'Young' pilots are simply too wary - able to pick up on the most minute details, in all five senses.

Their Mechs are still machine.

'Moderate' pilots have some neurological and mental degradation in addition to what they had before. often confused or forgetful outside of their mech, but still very aware of their surroundings, if not their place in time.

Their Mechs act protective of them, like a dog to it's beloved owner.

'Old' Pilots have all the earlier issues, compounded and worsened, and sometimes confusing themself for their mech, even going so far as to entering refill and Refueling areas of the hangars.

Their Mechs act the same, often trying to reach their pilot's quarters and the Cafeteria.

They may refuse to separate at time, feeling more comfortable together than apart.

and then there are the 'Fused' the oldest and rarest caste of Linked Pilot and Mech.

The Pilot and The Mech fused absolutely, inseparable for Neurological, Psychological, and physical reasons.

They are the same. They are one. A perfect fusion of the Biological and Mechanical, Electrochemical Intelligence and the Fissile-Logic Personality, Mirroring each other with every breath and ventilation protocol.

And they are still people.

The Fused still need social interaction and entertainment. They still need variety and novelty, comfort. All the things anyone else would.

Fused are the least common, but are the least likely to die. Too perfectly combined, Too well accompanied.

The Three times a 'Fused' has been separated, The pilot Died, the Mech 'Bricked' itself, like a Jail-broke phone, no matter how it was done.

Fused are the most loyal, true, and caring of all pilots.

Few ever meet the 'Pilot,' the meat within the metal, but the few that do are those most trusted by the Fused person, as the Fused is showing you their beating heart.

If you earn one's trust, and are given this deep, grand honor, I only have one piece of advice.

Do. Not. Break. That. Trust.

[cecils-dragons]

Caspian has been updated as well as the update of Cliff and Coast(Coast has only been in unposted doodles before this, apologies for that). The three of them are now the Teal brothers, Cliff being the oldest and a half brother to the others while Caspian is the youngest, this can be seen through their sizes and amount of scales on their torsos.

Coast works for Akore, their uncle, along with Caspian, the both of them are working off their debt to him for the enchantments to have legs, but unlike Caspian who got the enchantment for Hana, his daughter, Coast is just doing it for his general interest in surface life after hearing about it from Caspian. Cliff on the other hand is a bit more distant from his brothers and lives further down the coast from Arcane Roost, possibly in Weeping Willow Strand but I'm not sure yet. He works as a fishermen and port guide due to his sea talents, primarily to provide, but also so he can save up for enchantments as well so he can better try and take care of his son Phinn.

My mind has wandered once again but I'm happy to have worked on designs and story again after so long, even if it's just these snippets.

[travelmanposts]

Melbourne CBD, Melbourne, Australia: The Melbourne central business district (colloquially known simply as "the City" or "the CBD" is the city centre and main urban area of the city of Melbourne, Victoria, Australia, centred on the Hoddle Grid, the oldest part of the city laid out in 1837, and includes its fringes. The Melbourne CBD is located mostly in the local government area of the City of Melbourne, which also includes some of inner suburbs adjoining the CBD, while a small section extends into the City of Port Phillip. Wikipedia

[shiny-jr]

map of heartslabyul

Congratulations! You have just acquired a map of Heartslabyul. Heartslabyul is one of the seven nations, and the first in which you will venture into for your search for a way home. It is the nation that worships King Rosehearts, the Pyro Archon and God of Law.

Choose your path carefully.

Ashen Fells is an area located in Heartslabyul. 

This region includes Brunweld Lake, Cradle of Fables, Chesswick, Hobbletide Shore, Mabloch Isle, Pat Port, Tanglewood Shrine, Tatterfell Cliffs. The area consists of shores and cliffs along with rivers and lakes.

   ♥ Brunweld Lake is a subarea located in Ashen Fells, Heartslabyul.

It's said that this lake was formed by a crater left by an ancient god of chaos. A god that had the ability to forge legendary weapons, and in testing one of particularly astounding strength, they created a depression within the earth’s surface that would become Brunweld Lake.

   ♥ Cradle of Fables is a subarea located in Ashen Fells, Heartslabyul.

It is just across the waters from Mabloch Isle and the nearest Heartslabyul settlement is Pat Port. 

A dense forest where no mortals venture and come back from. The shadows and shade cast by the dense foliage create an intense darkness, making it easy for even the most skilled navigators to get lost. 

It is said to be a safe haven for immortal beings, and the birthplace for many entities and deities including the current Archon of Pyro.

   ♥ Chesswick is the capital and a subarea located in Ashen Fells, Heartslabyul.

Located in the central part of Ashen Fells, Chesswick boasts the largest city in the world both by size and population. It’s only five hundred years old, but it showcases castle walls and flowing rivers.

          ❧ Castle of the Court of Hearth is located in Chesswick, Ashen Fells, Heartslabyul.

It is the headquarters of the Court of Hearth and the Knights of the Gavel. Inside are many offices of court members, such as the Head of Investigation and Regent among others. On the same grounds, the castle also houses those loyal to the crown in the Knights of the Gavel. 

It is one of the oldest buildings still standing in Heartslabyul, built even before the Fyrosian Palace. When executions occur, they most always take place here or in the palace.

          ❧ Chesswick’s Market District is located in Chesswick, Ashen Fells, Heartslabyul. 

Located at the gates of the city, it’s a convenient location for merchants and other travelers. The several two story buildings house multiple shops, restaurants, and other establishments but are all strictly kept up to code to avoid punishment by patrolling knights. 

          ❧ Furnace is located in Chesswick, Ashen Fells, Heartslabyul.  

It is an underground fighting rink run by a figure nicknamed the Blue Brawler. The location is a closely guarded secret and only heard in rumors thought to be outlandish. Gambling and brawling are high crimes, so this type of establishment is highly illegal. Despite that, it is a very popular place, as many find thrill and entertainment in these activities that are outlawed. 

          ❧ Fyrosian Palace is located in Chesswick, Ashen Fells, Heartslabyul.

It is the home of the Archon of Pyro, god of law, King Rosehearts. Located in the heart of Chesswick, it is a common stop for travelers to marvel at the sight but never step past the towering gates. Knights of the Gavel patrol the grounds at all hours, and they only allow a select few pass. These select few include council members, knights, emissaries, the occasional guest, or a rule-breaker escorted in cuffs.

          ❧ Monastery of the Divine Flame is located in Chesswick, Ashen Fells, Heartslabyul. 

The monastery is run by the Church of Heart and is used in worshipping the Pyro Archon Rosehearts. It is a holy place managed by the devoted adherents of King Rosehearts who treat his laws as commandments. It is thought by the most zealous believers that sins will be punished by strings of eternal flames which he wields.

          ❧ Pyro Archon Statue is located in Chesswick, Ashen Fells, Heartslabyul. 

It can be found at the plaza in front of the Monastery of the Divine Flame. The statue is in the image of the Pyro Archon, Rosehearts, with a crown and a scepter.

          ❧ The Teapot is located in Cheswick, Ashen Fells, Heartslabyul. 

It is the oldest pub in the nation, even predating Roseheart’s reign, or so they claim. It is one of the best managed establishments, as the distribution of alcohol is carefully regulated by law to prevent misuse. The Teapot has not a single mark tarnishing their perfect record. 

However, recently, it seems as if there are shady dealings and whispers of unrest floating throughout the historic pub. Ask around enough without gaining suspicion, and some tipsy folks may let it slip that the Red Thief apparently frequents the establishment.

   ♥ Hobbletide Shore is a subarea located in Ashen Fells, Heartslabyul. 

A stretch of shorelines along the coast facing east and north toward the unknown. Along these shores there’s some woods, but not much else. 

   ♥ Mabloch Isle is a subarea located in Ashen Fells, Heartslabyul.

An island technically part of Heartslabyul, but it is inhabited mainly by Havfolk and Hydrians, the people of Octavinelle. While they themselves are not an issue, the Pyro Archon is keenly aware of the shady businesses practically encouraged by the Hydro Archon. That is unacceptable. If there are shady dealings taking place, it is only happening because the island is distant. However, every few years, Rosehearts takes it upon himself to travel there and make doubly sure everything is in order while also punishing those that do break the law.

   ♥ Pat Port is a subarea located in Ashen Fells, Heartslabyul. 

A port city where most incoming travelers and goods coming from off the continent arrive. It is said that a feathered minor deity now long passed was once friends with the Pyro Archon. This feathered deity was an expert in ocean voyages while the archon detested the waters due to his element. So, Rosehearts entrusted him with the responsibility to handle ocean-related issues and incoming merchants by boat. When the deity passed, the Archon renamed the location after his companion.

   ♥ Tanglewood Shrine is a subarea located in Ashen Fells, Heartslabyul. 

It is an ancient amphitheater that predates the Roseheart reign, all the way back to the time when the god of chaos ruled. Here is where all sorts of activities took place, such as gambling, drinking, fighting, and even illegal exchanges. It is a dark reminder of the past when the god of chaos allowed forced fights, indentured servitude, and all sorts of other activities.

   ♥ Tatterfell Cliffs is a subarea located in Ashen Fells, Heartslabyul. 

There are a few scattered villages and towns here that specialize in livestock farming.

Brackenreach Highlands is an area located in Heartslabyul. 

This region includes Broken Bridges, Feygrass Springs, Foxglove Glen. The area consists of meadows and ruins, and is a region where many beastfolk outside of Savanaclaw dwell.

   ♥ Broken Bridges is a subarea located in Brackenreach Highlands, Heartslabyul. 

Ruins of an empire lay here. There is hardly anything left, it’s so ancient that it predates not only the Rosehearts reign but also the Age of Chaos. One of the only remaining pieces of the empire whose name is lost to time, is a marble inscription within the floor of an abandoned temple just barely standing. The inscription is oval shaped, and appears to be the side profile of a mysterious entity. The only thing known is that they were a god of black and white.

   ♥ Feygrass Springs is a subarea located in Brackenreach Highlands, Heartslabyul. 

A land of flowers, one of the smaller scenic flora areas. There are many fields here that supply the world with bouquets, honey, and other goods.

   ♥ Foxglove Glen is a subarea located in Brackenreach Highlands, Heartslabyul.  

A city populated heavily by beastfolk of all manner, from both continents and all seven nations.

Butterfly Vale is an area located in Heartslabyul. 

This region includes Crookedspire, Jaws of the Wildwood, Maze of Madness, Tulgey Thicket. The area consists of meadows and dense woods, and is a region where threats and beasts may still lurk, hidden in the wilderness to avoid divine wrath.

   ♥ Crookedspire is a subarea located in Butterfly Vale, Heartslabyul. 

A city established by the Pyro Archon himself. In the early days of the Rosehearts reign, he faced a fresh rebellion that accused him of cruelty and tyranny. These rebels even utilized an uncontrollable beast in an attempt to defeat him. In response, Rosehearts quashed the rebellion and slayed the beast, building a settlement upon the ashes that remained of his enemies.

   ♥ Jaws of the Wildwood is a subarea located in Butterfly Vale, Heartslabyul. 

Here is where many beasts dwell, hidden by the mountains and forests, as they wish to remain hidden to avoid the searing divine flame of the Pyro Archon that would quickly execute them without trial.

   ♥ Maze of Madness is a subarea located in Butterfly Vale, Heartslabyul. 

It is a natural maze of forests, almost meticulously arranged into a confusing and seemingly endless labyrinth. It was thought that one of the God of Chaos’ subordinates was an entity of dendro that made the maze.

   ♥ Tulgey Thicket is a subarea located in Butterfly Vale, Heartslabyul. 

A strange and odd forest home to arcane individual beasts and people. It is a place said to be rich in treasures, but full of dangers. Many mythical entities and monsters dwell in the dark here.

Crown Ridge is an area located in Heartslabyul. 

This region includes Gryphon Spires, Mad Ring of Fire. The area consists of mountain ranges and volcanoes, along with cliffs and ruins. This is the border between Heartslabyul and Savanaclaw.

   ♥ Gryphon Spires is a subarea located in Crown Ridge, Heartslabyul. 

The southern part of the peaks contains the remaining ruins of the city where the God of Chaos dwelled, which was formerly the capital of the nation.

          ❧ Wonderfall Ruins is located in Gryphon Spires, Crown Ridge, Heartslabyul. 

It was once the capital of Old Heartslabyul, ruled by the God of Chaos. After he was executed in an uprising, the rebel who slayed him, Rosehearts, took his place and reshaped the land. It’s been said that Rosehearts gathered all his supporters in Wonderfall during the fall of the Chaos God’s empire, and upon his enemy’s death, Rosehearts rained hellfire upon every settlement that never swore allegiance to him. Only once he burned the enemies to ash, did he lead the people north where they settled to build a new capital called Chesswick. 

It is said that Riddle never burnt Wonderfall to the ground, because he wished for all to see the ruins of the empire he tore down. To see evidence of his past, and never turn traitor unless they wished to meet the same fate the Chaos God and all his followers did.

   ♥ The Mad Ring of Fire is a subarea located in Crown Ridge, Heartslabyul. 

The range of mountains extends from the western most point of the ridge spanning across the entire space and ending only just before the Gryphon Spires. It is speckled with volcanoes that were supposedly formed when there was conflict between the God of Chaos against the God of Strength and God of Intellect.

Fiddlewood Hills is an area located in Heartslabyul. 

This region includes Liddleshire Village, Mimsyford, Puddlebrook Town. The area consists of rolling hills and pastures along scattered towns and villages. 

   ♥ Liddleshire Village is a subarea located in Fiddlewood Hills, Heartslabyul. 

Liddleshire Village is a small community where there are more animals than people. It’s a quaint and quiet little village at the high end of the hills bordering the woods.

   ♥ Mimsyford is a subarea located in Fiddlewood Hills, Heartslabyul. 

Mimsyford is a city where many new travelers arrive, as it’s the closest to the other nations. It is the city with the most diverse magic users, here there is a wielder of every element and all sorts of styles. From here, most make their way to Chesswick.

   ♥ Puddlebrook Town is a subarea located in Fiddlewood Hills, Heartslabyul. 

Puddlebrook Town is a fishing community settled along the shores. When merchants do not arrive at Pat Port, they arrive here.