Chapter Four: Tidebound Promises

The sea was gentle that morning.

Unusual, for Seabrook.

Waves lapped lazily against the hulls of hundreds of lashed-together vessels — from rust-chewed iron barges to sleek clipper-rafts patched with solar-sails. The whole city groaned and shifted like a breathing creature: driftwood, chain-links, rope tension, and rhythm.

Jonah Redlum stood at the edge of the Tidehorn, coat half-buttoned, scarf snapping in the wind. The rising sun turned his hair copper. His boots were sea-scuffed. His rifle, freshly cleaned, hung across his back like an old friend.

He didn’t smile often.

But today… he tried.

“You’ll write, right?”

A voice behind him. Familiar. Certain.

He turned.

His mother stood in the doorway of their cabin, hand resting on the frame. Her braid was streaked with salt. Her eyes — sharper than any compass — held steady.

A smudge of flour clung to her cheek.

“If you ask,” Jonah said.

“I’m asking.”

He stepped forward and wrapped her in a hug, nearly lifting her off her feet.

“I’ll bring back coin, Ma,” he whispered. “Maybe even that spice blend you like from the Kavessran docks.”

She pulled back, brow furrowing just slightly.

“You’re not gonna shoot someone over cardamom, are you?”

Jonah shrugged.

“Only if they shoot first.”

She sighed, tired and fond. “Don’t forget who you are, Jonah.”

“I don’t,” he said. “That’s the problem.”

She handed him a small cloth bundle. Inside: smoked fish, hardbread, and a folded scarf she’d knitted herself.

“Stay warm,” she murmured, already turning away before he could soften.

He slung his pack over one shoulder and descended the gangplank to the waiting ferry — fast model, built for distance, rigged with magnetic stabilizers and prop-buoys.

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He had a name. He had a debt to collect.

And a gut feeling this trip was going to be more than just business.

But first — loose ends.

Seabrook’s decks creaked beneath him as he moved. Rope-bridges swayed. Salt-lanterns flickered overhead. Kids darted barefoot, tossing real shells as gambling chips. Traders haggled. Deckhands hauled crates of dried squid and engine parts.

The city never held still.

You learned to move with it — or got swallowed whole.

First stop: The Gunwhale — a tavern made of three crashed warships and one man’s bad ideas. He ducked through the netting.

“You really goin’?” drawled a voice behind the bar.

Cassim. Retired pirate. Barkeep. Closest thing Jonah had to a big brother.

“Not running away, if that’s what you mean,” Jonah said. “Just collecting.”

“From Barlow?” Cassim snorted. “Idiot still owes you?”

Jonah nodded. “And I’ve got the aim of a reef-sniper.”

Cassim’s grin was tight. “Watch your back in Kavessra, Red. Ain’t no sea to catch you when you fall.”

Jonah gave him a firm clap on the shoulder.

Then moved on.

Next stop: Dockline Seven.

He found the rookies he’d been training — scrappy orphans and wild-eyed dreamers who thought being captain meant glory instead of late nights and barter negotiations.

Miri — sharpest of the bunch — adjusted a sail-rig.

“You’re in charge now,” he told her.

“For real?”

“Don’t tell the others until I’m gone. They’ll argue. You’ll manage.”

She stood straighter.

“Don’t replace me too fast,” he said with a smirk.

He passed the market on the way back — a chaos of dried octopus, rune-scratched tools, driftglass charms humming with residual spells.

At Maer’s Trinkets, one thing caught his eye: a whalebone pendant carved in the shape of a guardian’s eye.

He bought it.

For luck.

For his mother.

Maybe for himself.

By the time he returned, the final boarding call echoed across the docks — low horn-bells vibrating the planks beneath his boots.

Jonah paused.

Looked back at the only home he'd ever known — a floating kingdom of rust and rope, sails and scaffolding.

His mother stood at the end of the dock, scarf wrapped over her braids, face unreadable.

She didn’t cry.

That was his job.

And he didn’t do it either.

He raised two fingers — the same casual salute he’d given her as a boy sneaking off to fish.

She held his gaze until the mist swallowed her.

“I’ll be back before you can yell at me again, Ma,” he whispered.

The ferry pulled free with a groan — mooring chains clattering, deck rattling like restless bones.

Jonah stood near the prow, arms crossed, coat flapping.

Seabrook blurred into fog behind him.

The sea smelled different now. Not cleaner.

Just lonelier.

The passenger bay wasn’t much — plain steel, lavender incense, crates stacked like half-unpacked stories. But the aetherlines ran clean, and the food didn’t taste like regret.

He nodded to a few travelers, ignoring the stares aimed at the pistols holstered at his thighs.

A crewman glanced up from the manifest.

“You the one with the cabin upgrade?”

“Guess someone thinks I need legroom.”

“Or they want you close when it goes sideways,” the crewman muttered.

Jonah didn’t answer. Just took the key-stone and moved on.

His cabin was small, but clean. Plain walls. One cot. Round window. A shelf with just enough space for a meal or a mistake.

He opened the porthole.

Below, waves churned like black teeth.

Jonah pulled the charm from his neck — the guardian eye — and held it tight.

“Alright, Kavessra,” he said under his breath.

“Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Behind him, the lock clicked shut.