A/N
I’m still pretty new to writing, so any and all feedback/criticisms (constructive or otherwise) is greatly appreciated. I wrote this at around midnight after putting something in my OC character sheet, then I thought “Hey, I could make a short story out of this.”. This isn’t a masterpiece, I’m still pretty bad.
“Sails up!” The command was shouted, and thus the crew obliged. A deckhand raised the sails, just as the ship drifted next to the dock. The water was still tonight, no waves to crash against the hull, a stark contrast from the usual environment around Palo Town.
Under the moonlight, the cobalt hull of The Otsdarva seemed as dark as the waves themselves, light coming only from the town and the purple candles aboard. The crew of The Otsdarva moved to begin the usual routine - put down the plank, tie ropes, all the like. However, the chatter that would usually be deafening between crewmates was nonexistent, replaced with a solemn silence between them all.
With a creak, the door to the Captain’s quarters swings open. The captain steps out, clad in a dark grey cloak. The crew exchange glances between each other, before gazing at their captain.
“We depart at sunrise. Get some rest for now, tomorrow’s journey will be long.” The Captain’s voice was authoritative and stern, a major shift from his usual softness. Without waiting for his crew to move, he trotted off the ship with a neutral expression on his scarred face.
The town was just as he had remembered it - colorful buildings, a handful of boats docked, the grand navy banner hanging next to the empty shipwright stall. It was all so familiar, even with most lanterns extinguished. As he slowly paced across the docks, he took it all in once more. The bundles of wood, the scattered barrels of Zeus-knows-what, the unattended chests, they remained the same as nearly eleven years ago.
The breeze from the ocean combined with the coldness of night, sending a shiver across his body. Even with a fine cloak, made with the most insulating fabrics available, the cold could still get to him.
He knew he shouldn’t be here. After what he had done, all his crimes, waltzing into a town of the Grand Navy was a ludicrous idea. Yet here he was, possibly sabotaging himself just to visit his birth island just one last time.
As he absentmindedly walked, his movements brought him to the town square - the usually bustling hotspot completely desolate under the cover of night. It was odd, seeing somewhere he remembered so vividly be so different from what he knew. No longer was there a stand for smoothies, nor was there the rock salesman’s small shop. In their place, a bounty board stood, bearing many posters of criminals from all across the Bronze Sea.
He dared not check it for himself - with the crimes he had committed, the innocents he’d slayed for money, he was sure that his face would be there. Instead, he opted to continue moving. He had a purpose for being here other than reminiscing, after all.
The stone path underneath his boots created a clack with every hasty step, the only sound that The Captain heard save for the sparse crackling of a torch that wasn’t extinguished. As he passed through the arch connecting both halves of the town, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of guilt wash over him, for a brief moment.
He remembered playing with a friend here when he was a mere boy, a simple game of tag it was. How happy he was back then, how simple life was back then. For a second, he stopped to contemplate what his life would’ve been like if he never chased his ambitions, never headed to that damned library. His train of thought is disrupted by a crow’s call, snapping him out of his nostalgic trance.
He continued with a brisk pace towards his destination - a small house on the corner of the island. No lights shone in the houses here, another sign that nobody was awake this late. After a minute of walking, he arrived.
The home was generic - cream walls with a scarlet roof, a single window looking out at the sea. It was the stereotypical Palo Town home, and he loved it for that. The Captain begins to rummage in one of the cloak’s internal pockets, trying to find the note he had written. After an embarrassingly drawn out period of checking each pocket, his hand emerged with a folded piece of navy-standard paper. He unfolds the paper, revealing a short note addressed to his parents.
Of all the regrets he had, never telling them anything was his greatest. They were never informed of his hunger for knowledge, or his travel to The Myriad, or his departure from the Bronze Sea. From what they knew, he vanished one night without a trace.
He takes a knee next to the oak door, the cold cobble providing an unpleasant sensation. Gently, tentatively, he slipped the note underneath the door. It would tell them enough - he was sorry, he was alright, he would not return.
Upon the delivery of his note, The Captain no longer wanted to stay. While he was in no hurry to return to the Otsdarva, he needed rest like any other human. Mage or not. Thus, he began a brisk walk back, nearly turning into a jog at times. The risk of being seen was still there, despite the darkness cloaking him.
It took but a few minutes to arrive back at the Otsdarva, the purple glow of the stormsalt candles comforting him as he stepped onto the brig. The deck was empty - clearly the crew had gone below deck to rest, as he had ordered. Good.
The Captain strolled to his quarters, slipping through the door and locking it behind him. His lantern was still lit, casting an orange light across the chamber. He took off his cloak and carelessly tossed it onto a pile of galleons.
Ditching his night routine, he slipped into his bed with the lantern still on. He needed but a brief rest, for his time on the seas would soon come to an end. He shut his eyes slowly, eyelids drooping down as his body relaxed for the second time that night. He’d miss Palo Town, yet the War Seas give no time to look back at the past - only ahead to the future.