Simon Wells, May 1, 521
The compass needle trembled violently in my grip, its brass casing growing uncomfortably warm against my palm. I kept it raised like a weapon between us.
"Who are you?" I demanded, my voice sharper than I'd intended. "And what were you doing in Lira's house?"
The kid—couldn't be older than fifteen—flinched but held his ground. His clothes hung loose on his frame, clearly borrowed, and his sun-bleached hair stuck up in odd directions like he'd just rolled out of bed.
"Isaac," he said, eyes flicking between my face and the humming compass. "I'm, uh... helping with the boiler?" His voice cracked on the lie.
Before I could call him out, the crunch of boots on gravel came from behind me. I turned to see Lira coming up the path, arms laden with cloth bags from the grocer. Seaweed and spices spilled over the tops.
"Simon." Her gaze darted from me to Isaac, then to the still-vibrating compass in my hand. "You're early."
Isaac visibly relaxed at the sight of her. "He was just asking—"
"I know what he was asking." Lira shouldered past me into the house, herding Isaac inside with a subtle hip-check. The groceries hit the counter with a thud as she turned back to me. "He's staying here until the next supply ship, in Jory's old room."
The compass needle finally stilled, though the casing remained warm.
Lira wiped her hands on her apron, giving me that look—the one that said she'd explain when hell froze over. "Boiler's in the back. Try not to scare my guest while you work."
The boiler's steady hum filled the cramped utility room as I packed my tools. Isaac hovered in the doorway, his hands shoved deep in his pockets.
"Sorry about your compass," he muttered, nodding at the device where it lay on the floor, its needle twitching erratically.
I picked it up, the brass casing warm against my palm. "It's not broken."
Isaac shifted his weight. "Yeah, well... things like that tend to act weird around me." He glanced toward the kitchen where Lira was preparing food. "My dad... he worked with thaumic stuff. His tools always went haywire when I was near them."
The compass in my hand suddenly spun wildly, the needle vibrating with such force I nearly dropped it.
From outside, Jory's voice called: "Isaac! Come see the bonfire!"
As he turned to leave, I asked him. "What kind of thaumaturgy did your father—"
"The flashy kind," Isaac cut in, pulling away. "Not the building things like you do." He gave the compass one last look before disappearing down the hall. "Just... don't leave that near me too long, okay?"
The needle snapped straight toward the doorway he'd vanished through, quivering like a hound on the scent.
Time passes.
The boiler room door swung open, revealing Lira with her sleeves rolled up and a smudge of soot on her cheek. Behind her, the clatter of pans and Jory's exaggerated retching sounds signaled Nessa's "cooking" had begun.
"We're off to the Gathering Hub," Lira announced, jerking her thumb toward the kitchen. "Before Nessa renders the entire village incapable of holding down food."
I smirked, tightening a valve on the boiler. "What's the difference? Her stew last winter made Old Man Harlow's beard fall out."
Lira snorted but didn't argue. As she turned to leave, I nodded toward the ceiling where floorboards creaked - Isaac's telltale pacing.
"So who's the boy really?" I asked casually.
Lira paused at the door. "Just what I said - a mainland boy. Washed up on the black sands last week." Her fingers tapped the doorframe. "Needed a roof. We had space."
The explanation was smooth. Too smooth.
"And the way he makes instruments go haywire?"
She shrugged. "Mainland's thaumaturgy is more advanced. You know that." The front door clicked shut behind her before I could press further.
The compass in my pocket gave a sudden, violent spin as a floorboard groaned directly overhead.
Time passes.
The rhythmic hum of the repaired boiler filled the silent house as I wiped my hands on a rag. With Lira and the kids gone to the Gathering Hub, the only sounds were the occasional creak of floorboards from upstairs—Isaac pacing like a caged seabird.
I slung my tool satchel over my shoulder, the compass inside giving an occasional twitch, when the stairs groaned. Isaac stood halfway down, gripping the banister like he was debating something.
"You're heading to the party?" he asked, his voice oddly hesitant for someone usually so blunt.
"Unless you've sabotaged my work and the boiler's about to explode, yes," I said dryly.
"Men, humor isn't really your thing," Isaac said.
He scrubbed a hand through his already messy hair. "I told Lira I wasn't going. Didn't think... well." A shrug. "Turns out staring at the walls is even more boring than being gawked at by strangers."
The compass in my bag gave a slow spin.
"So now you want to go," I deadpanned.
"Only if you're walking that way anyway," he muttered, looking everywhere but at me.
I stared at him—the defensive hunch of his shoulders, the way his fingers tapped an uneven rhythm against his thigh. The compass needle settled, pointing at him like an accusation.
"Fine," I said, turning toward the door. "But if anyone asks, you're my apprentice. And if Nessa offers you food, run."
Isaac's startled laugh followed me out into the salt-tinged evening air.
The gravel path crunched under our boots as we made our way toward the distant glow of the Gathering Hub. The last light of dusk painted the cliffs in gold and shadow, and the salt-heavy wind carried the faint sound of laughter and fiddle music ahead.
I glanced at Isaac, who walked with his hands shoved deep in his pockets, his gaze fixed on the horizon. "So," I said, nudging a pebble with my boot, "how exactly did you end up washed ashore here?"
He shrugged, his expression unreadable. "Got caught in a storm."
"That's it?"
"That's it."
I snorted. "You're a terrible liar."
Isaac's mouth quirked, but he didn't offer anything more.
The silence stretched between us, broken only by the distant crash of waves against the cliffs. Then, out of nowhere, Isaac said, "You ever heard of Meridian?"
I blinked. "The new continent? Yeah, the supply ships talk about it. Why?"
His eyes gleamed in the fading light. "Because that's where I'm going."
"To do what?" I asked him
"To find the Eldrich" Told fith a serious expresion on his face.
I stopped walking. "You want to find the Eldrich?" My voice came out louder than I'd intended. "Are you crazy? In the 521 years we've lived in the new era, no one has found even a single trace of their existence. It might be nothing more than a legend."
Isaac turned to face me, his grin sharp and reckless. "Exactly. A legend destined to an end by none other than..."
Then, before I could respond, he threw his arms wide and shouted to the darkening sky:
"ME, ISAAC—THE MAN WHO WILL REACH THE SUMMIT OF THE WORLD! HE WHOSE NAME SHALL GROW SO VAST THAT AT THE END OF TIME, HE WILL STAND AS THE MOST IMPORTANT MAN TO HAVE EVER SET FOOT IN THIS WORLD!"
His voice rang across the cliffs, bold and unshaken. And for a moment—just a moment—I forgot to doubt him.
The compass in my satchel gave a violent jerk, the needle spinning wildly before going still.
Ahead, the bonfire roared to life, casting Isaac's triumphant silhouette against the night.
Lira's sharp gaze locked onto us as we entered the circle of firelight. "At last you come," she said, arms crossed over her chest. At fifteen, I was used to that look - the one adults gave when they thought you were up to something.
Isaac, who couldn't be more than a year older than me, bounded ahead with energy I'd lost after a full day of repairs. He vaulted onto an empty fish crate with the ease of someone who'd done it a hundred times before.
"Hear ye, hear ye!" he announced, pitching his voice like a town crier. The villagers turned, some smiling already. "I'm Isaac - the fool who thought he could out-sail a storm!"
A chuckle ran through the crowd. I rolled my eyes but couldn't help the corner of my mouth twitching. There was something infectious about his energy, even if it set my compass buzzing in my pocket.
"Now I know what you're thinking," Isaac continued, pointing at Nessa's ominously steaming pot. "We've got to feed the poor castaway. But please - I've survived drowning. Don't finish me off with dinner."
The villagers roared with laughter. Even dour-faced Nessa smirked as she stirred her cauldron with extra vigor.
Old Man Orlen thrust a clay cup into Isaac's hands. "For the brave sailor," he said, eyes twinkling.
Isaac sniffed the contents and made a face. "This is grape juice."
"Aye," Orlen agreed. "For boys who claim to be men but still have baby fat on their cheeks."
I snorted into my own cup. At fifteen, I knew that particular dig well. Isaac did look young - maybe even younger than me, despite his claims of being sixteen. His wrists were skinny beneath his borrowed sweater, his movements still carrying the uncoordinated energy of a kid not quite grown into his limbs.
The compass in my pocket gave a sudden thrum as Isaac raised his cup.
"To your hospitality!" he declared, already spilling juice down his front. "And to Nessa - may her cooking be slightly less deadly than the sea!"
As the villagers cheered, I caught the moment Isaac's shadow stretched too long against the cliffside, its edges gone sharp and jagged before snapping back to normal.
Lira's eyes met mine across the fire, her hand resting on her knife.
The compass grew hot against my thigh.
We might be nearly the same age, but in that moment, I knew with absolute certainty - Isaac Robinson was something far stranger than just another teenager.
The bonfire crackled as I scanned the crowd, my fingers absently tracing the outline of the compass in my pocket. Something felt off—then it hit me.
"Where's Harlow?" I asked Orlen, who was refilling his tankard from the ale barrel.
Orlen wiped foam from his beard. "Beach watch tonight. His turn to keep an eye on the black sands." He took a long swig. "Said he'd come by once the moon's high."
I frowned. The village always posted lookouts during the equinox tides, but usually not during celebrations. My thumb rubbed against the compass casing—still warm from earlier.
Across the fire, Isaac was arm-wrestling Jory to the cheers of fishermen. Grape juice stained his borrowed shirt, his laughter bright and easy. Nothing about him suggested danger.
Except his shadow.
Earlier, I'd seen it stretch too long, its edges sharp as broken glass. Now it flickered normally against the packed earth, matching his movements perfectly.
The compass gave a faint pulse.
"Something wrong, boy?" Orlen followed my gaze to Isaac.
"No," I lied. "Just wondering if Harlow's seen anything unusual down there."
Orlen's eyes narrowed. "Why? You know something?"
Before I could answer, a shout went up from the edge of the party.
Isaac had Jory in a headlock, both of them laughing as the boy pretended to gag. "Mercy!" Jory cried, flailing dramatically. "I yield!"
The villagers cheered. Even Lira cracked a smile.
But as Isaac released Jory, his shadow—just for a heartbeat—didn't move with him. It stayed perfectly still, its hollow eyes fixed on me.
Then the moment passed, and it was just Isaac again, a gangly teenager with grape juice on his chin.
The compass burned hot against my leg.
Harlow, May 1, 521
Damn equinox tides. Of all the nights to pull beach watch, it had to be during the Gathering. The bonfire's glow was barely visible from the back shore as I picked my way across the slippery rocks, lantern swinging.
The fog clung to everything like a wet sail. I was about to turn back when a shape loomed in the mist—
A ship.
Not just any ship. A wreck.
Her hull was splintered like driftwood, masts snapped like kindling. No lights. No movement. Just the groan of rotting timbers.
I raised my lantern higher. Something flapped from the remaining mast—
"Bloody hell! Pirates—"
Cold steel pressed against my throat.
"Today not your lucky day, old man," a voice hissed in my ear. The stench of rotten fish and unwashed flesh made my eyes water.
Five figures emerged from the fog like ghosts. Ragged clothes. Matted hair. Eyes gleaming with hunger. The one holding me was missing half his teeth, his breath hot on my neck.
"Come on, boys!" he barked to the others. "To the town! Easy pickings tonight!"
They whooped like gulls fighting over scraps. My compass spun wildly in my pocket as they dragged me toward their skiff.
The village had no idea what was coming.