Names

Micheal stumbled into the bar, his breath uneven, his mind a whirlwind of disbelief and questions he couldn't begin to answer. The bar spun around him as he pushed forward, his feet moving on instinct. His pulse thundered in his ears, drowning out the muffled conversations of the patrons.

He didn't stop until he reached the storage room, shoving the door open and collapsing against the nearest wall. His body trembled as he curled in on himself, his arms wrapped tightly around his knees. Thoughts crashed into one another, relentless and suffocating.

How did I get here?

Help me—someone, anyone.

What was the last year I remember?

Are all my loved ones dead?

The questions clawed at his mind, each one heavier than the last, pressing down like an unbearable weight. He dug his fingers into his scalp, his breath coming in short, panicked bursts. His body felt too hot, then suddenly too cold, like reality itself was unraveling around him.

The bartender stepped inside, his heavy boots thudding against the wooden floor. He paused for a moment, observing the wreck of a man before him—curled up, shaking, muttering words that barely formed coherent sentences. Micheal didn't even notice him, lost in the storm of his own thoughts.

"Hey, kid!" The bartender's gruff voice cut through the chaos, firm but not unkind. "Talk to me! Are you alright?"

Micheal didn't respond. He rocked slightly, his fingers gripping his hair tighter, his mind spiraling deeper into an almost trance-like panic. A faint chill crept through his veins, spreading slowly, unnaturally.

The bartender narrowed his eyes, concern flickering across his rugged face. "Damn it," he muttered, stepping closer. "You're not losing it on me, are ya?"

But Micheal wasn't listening. He was sinking—further and further into insanity. The bartender hurried out of the storage room, his expression tense, and returned moments later with a worn blanket and a glass of water. He crouched beside Micheal, draping the blanket over his shoulders, its rough fabric warm against his chilled skin.

"Here, kid. Drink this," the bartender urged, lifting the glass toward Micheal's face, his voice firm but laced with concern.

Micheal barely reacted at first, his gaze distant, his body still trembling. The world around him felt unreal, slipping through his grasp like sand.

"Hey, what's your name, kid? C'mon—drink," the bartender pressed, trying to pull him back to reality.

Micheal's fingers twitched, his eyes blinking rapidly as if breaking free from a trance. Then, just as his hands reached for the glass -

A sudden shift.

His vision blurred, colors swirling together, the warmth of the bar vanishing in an instant.

The sound of creaking wood filled his ears. A cold breeze kissed his skin. The salty scent of the sea replaced the musky air of the bar.

And just like that—he was back on the boat.

"Micheal! Micheal, hey! MICHEAL!"

A voice cut through the haze in his mind, sharp and insistent. His eyes snapped open, his breath hitching as he became aware of his surroundings. The scent of saltwater filled his nose, the steady rocking of the boat beneath him grounding him back to reality.

"Yeah—yeah, what—?" he muttered, his voice thick with confusion. His gaze darted around until it landed on the cloaked girl, her grin now gone. Without another word, she turned and strode toward the boat's cabin, her tone sharp and commanding.

"We've been calling your name for ten minutes! Are you ready to go or not?!" she snapped, sounding more like a frustrated parent than a fellow traveler.

Shirley squinted, his brows knitting together as he listened to her voice. There was something eerily familiar about it, something that tugged at the edges of his memory.

Micheal exhaled deeply, shaking off the lingering disorientation. "Yeah… I'm ready. Let's go."

A collective nod passed through the group. The man in khaki shorts made his way to the helm, flipping a few switches before the engine roared to life. With a rumbling start, the boat pulled away from the dock, gliding smoothly into open waters.

Tucker, hands shoved in his pockets, walked along the deck, scanning the horizon with an air of boredom. Meanwhile, Shirley couldn't take his eyes off the cloaked girl. The nagging feeling that he had met her before refused to fade.

After a long moment of hesitation, he gathered the courage to approach. His breaths were steady, but his heart drummed against his ribs.

"Hey, you," he called.

The girl turned, her hood still casting a shadow over her features. "Me?" she replied, an edge of irritation in her voice. "What do you want?"

Tucker, who had been aimlessly wandering, immediately slowed his steps, his ears perking up. He had no shame in eavesdropping.

Shirley took a deep breath. "Who are you?"

A smirk tugged at the girl's lips. "So rude. Not even a 'hello' first?" she teased. With deliberate slowness, she reached up and grasped the edge of her hood, then pulled it back.

The sight made Shirley's breath hitch.

The same brunette girl from the alley. Blue eyes, Bright pink lips that curled into an all-too-familiar smirk.

She had a face you couldn't forget.

"It's… you again," Shirley muttered, his voice a tone of confusion and disbelief. His eyes widened as recognition set in. "The girl from the alley!"

The cloaked girl grinned, her expression playful yet undeniably mischievous. "Name's Madison. Maddie if you're lucky. Nice to meet ya!" she chirped, her tone devious yet oddly cheerful.

"Oh, great. It's the girl from the alley," Tucker chimed in, stepping closer with mild annoyance.

Madison's eyes flicked to him, her smirk widening. "Oh yeah! And you—you're the kid with the white hair!" she declared confidently, her energy practically radiating off her.

Tucker frowned, scratching his head. "My name's Tucker."

Madison waved a hand dismissively. "Yeah, yeah, I remember! You're Tucker." She turned to Shirley, pointing a finger at him. "And you're Shirley-boy."

Shirley blinked, exchanging a look with Tucker before glancing back at her. "Shirley-who?"

"Shirley-boy!" she repeated, as if it were obvious.

Shirley pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "You've gotta be kidding me."

Madison shrugged. "It helps me remember you're a boy and not a girl. Y'know… since your name is kinda girly."

Tucker snorted, barely holding back a laugh. Shirley groaned.

"Oh, so we're doing introductions now?" A lively, grandfatherly voice rang out from above.

Before anyone could react, the man in khaki shorts landed on the deck with a heavy thump, appearing out of nowhere. His energy was infectious, his movements surprisingly quick.

"I know all about scrolls, the world, the sea, the unseen, this ship, choreees, Presence Eyes—and today, I'll be your tour guide! How can I help ya?" he announced in a rapid-fire tone, his small grin filled with enthusiasm.

"That rhymed!" Tucker blurted out, his excitement inexplicably doubling at the realization.

Micheal, leaning against the railing, let out a quiet chuckle, his eyes reflecting memories stirred by the open sea.

The man gave Tucker a playful wink, acknowledging his excitement. Then, with a dramatic flourish, he palmed his straw hat, pressed it to his chest, and declared, "Name's Doug. Pleasure to meet ya, folks!"

Madison and Shirley exchanged bewildered looks, their expressions caught between confusion and mild disgust. Meanwhile, Tucker practically vibrated with excitement, bouncing on the balls of his feet as if Doug were some kind of superhero.

"HI, DOUG!!!" Tucker shouted, his enthusiasm completely unfiltered.