Ashes on the shore

Chapter Six: Ashes on the Shore

The sky over Arcacia wept. A quiet drizzle soaked the weatherworn docks, and grey clouds churned above like an omen. The sea, usually a partner to the humble fishermen of the Gamma District, turned restless—angry, even.

A pair of fishermen stood ankle-deep in the rising tide, pulling in their nets with sluggish hands and damp spirits.

"Bad weather we've got," muttered one, his voice barely rising above the wind.

"Aye," his companion replied, glancing at the dark horizon. "Looks like even the gods are mourning something today."

They chuckled faintly, more out of habit than humor, until the mournful shriek of a lighthouse siren sliced through the storm.

A figure atop the distant tower waved frantically.

"Wait! Don't leave yet!" he called. "There's a boat! Coming in from the south!"

The fishermen exchanged glances. That stretch of water was known for dragging down even the sturdiest vessels. Whatever—or whoever—was coming in now had likely danced with death.

"I see it!" one of them yelled, lifting his rusted spyglass. "Tiny thing. Looks like driftwood."

They rushed to a rowboat and paddled toward the incoming craft, the sea spitting in their faces as if trying to push them back. Waves crashed against the sides, but they reached the drifting boat just before it shattered against the rocks.

A frail wooden skiff, cracked and splintered by the storm, floated aimlessly. Inside, collapsed like a discarded rag doll, was a boy.

His body was curled in on itself. Blood and bruises colored his skin. His soaked braids clung to his neck and face, and gold bracelets clinked faintly against the boat's hull. The storm had stolen the warmth from him—he was barely breathing.

The fishermen dragged the boat ashore, forming a tight circle around the unconscious stranger.

"Gold..." one murmured. "Gold pins. Noble make."

"Looks like royalty. Think of the coin we'd get if we turned him in."

Another scoffed. "You blind? He's dying. The nobles won't give us coin—they'll give us blame. A reason to silence us."

A third voice, colder than the sea, spoke from the shadows of the group.

"Or we throw him back. Storm like this, no one would find the body. Just another noble brat wiped off the map."

They all hesitated. The storm wailed louder, as if urging them to decide.

Then, a calm voice cut through the wind.

"I'll take him."

The group turned and fell into silence. Mr. Owens, the town baker, stood tall at the edge of the circle, rain soaking through his worn coat. His daughter Emma stood beside him, clutching his arm.

"Baker!" one of the men called, trying to sound light-hearted. "Didn't expect to see you out here."

Owens stepped forward, his eyes never leaving the broken figure in the boat. "I came for fish. Heard shouting. Decided to follow."

He looked down at Issac, and something in his expression shifted—like an old scar reopening. He knelt, gently lifting the boy into his arms. Issac groaned faintly, too weak to resist.

"What about the gold, Baker?" a fisherman asked, hesitant. "We found him. Shouldn't we—?"

Owens stopped mid-step and turned. His voice was quiet. Firm. Final.

"You'll get your bread. Like always. The usual bundle. Now, if you'll excuse me... I have a life to save."

He walked into the storm, his boots splashing through the mud. Emma followed closely, frowning.

"Papa... we barely have enough food as it is," she whispered, glancing at Issac. "And now you're bringing home a stranger?"

Owens didn't look at her. His voice was distant, almost fragile beneath its calm.

"Emma, do you remember the day I found you?"

She looked away.

"You were starving. Covered in filth. No name. No home. I couldn't walk away then... and I won't now."

He looked down at Issac, unconscious in his arms. "No child should die with no one left to care."

Emma sighed, tucking wet hair behind her ear. "You always win, old man."

He smiled faintly. "Good girl. Now let's get home."

They vanished into the mist, swallowed by the crooked, rust-stained alleys of Arcacia.

Darkness.

Issac drifted in a sea of nightmares—memories that twisted into horrors.

"Why did you leave us?" Lena's voice echoed.

He turned, and there she stood. But it wasn't Lena. Her eyes were hollow. Worms writhed from her mouth and sockets. Her skin peeled, oozing rot.

"You let Atlas die," she whispered, voice cracking.

A hand clamped on his shoulder.

Klaus.

But not the Klaus he remembered.

His flesh was torn, teeth blackened, eyes empty.

"You did this, Issac."

Shadowy figures crawled from the dark. Dozens. Hundreds. Faces of the dead. Faces he loved. Friends, family, strangers from Atlas.

Their mouths moved, whispering one name.

"Issac. Issac. Issac..."

He screamed, but no sound came.

"NO!"

Issac bolted upright, drenched in sweat, eyes wide and wild.

The room was unfamiliar.

He was no longer at sea. No longer in his dreams. He lay in a small, dim room with stone floors, a hay-stuffed bed, and a weak fire struggling to live in the hearth.

His chest was wrapped in fresh bandages. The smell of herbs clung to the air.

He tried to move but winced at the pain.

A tiny gasp came from the far end of the room.

"You're awake!"

A little girl stood there, holding a tattered doll with missing buttons for eyes. Her blond hair was knotted, and her clothes were torn, but her smile lit up the room.

"I'm Anne! I'm six!" she said proudly, wiping her runny nose. "The baker told me to watch you until you woke up!"

Issac blinked. "The... baker?"

Anne raised her doll. "This is Maya! She was watching you too."

Before Issac could respond, a shadow moved in the doorway.

"Of course you're lost."

Emma stood there, arms folded, gaze cold but curious. She leaned against the doorframe like a sentinel.

Issac shifted, trying to sit up straighter. "Thank you... Miss. But where am I?"

Emma walked in and gently lifted Anne into her arms.

"You're in Arcacia. Gamma District. Where else would you be?"

Issac froze.

His heart slammed against his ribs.

"Arcacia?" he echoed, voice barely above a whisper.

Emma raised a brow. "Yes. Everyone knows that. Unless... you're an outsider."

The air left his lungs.

The name echoed in his head like a curse.

Arcacia.

The kingdom that burned his home. Slaughtered his family. Erased his people.

And now, he had awoken in the belly of the beast.

His breath quickened.

The room began to close in around him.

He was alive—but he was behind enemy lines.

And no one knew who he really was.