Summer 27th, 512 AV
Dawn.
It had been two nights since the lumbering black clouds of a spent storm had passed. Seven had lived below deck until now: he would nap when his world would be still enough to let him, and when it would not he found union with a wooden pail.
They had dropped anchor off the Cyphrus shoreline to inspect and repair what the storm had chewed away. The Svefra asked little of them; staying out of his way was high on the list. Seven was allowed to settle into old habits, and this time his bird had followed.
The outward stretch of placid Suvan merged into the dull grey of a dying night. The stars were being snuffed out one by one; the smallest and the faintest were the first to give in to the inevitable morning, even long before the sun would peek over the horizon. The brightest—Seven knew them all by name—still burned brazenly above their heads.
Comfortable silence had befallen them, Seven poring over crisp and unread pages near the backend of the Treval Codex, and Victor trying to find interest in what his fool had spent so many hours of his life charting.
Interest found them when a star flashed above the water’s surface, quicker than an eye-blink, but long enough to trace the outline of an approaching ship neither had spotted previous. No, thought Seven, not a star. The book thumped shut between his fingers and he stood, rising to his toes and squinting through the fledgling dawn. Seven’s stomach swelled into his throat, and his nostrils flared over a wide scowl.
Whatever it was, it was coming right for them.
Dawn.
It had been two nights since the lumbering black clouds of a spent storm had passed. Seven had lived below deck until now: he would nap when his world would be still enough to let him, and when it would not he found union with a wooden pail.
They had dropped anchor off the Cyphrus shoreline to inspect and repair what the storm had chewed away. The Svefra asked little of them; staying out of his way was high on the list. Seven was allowed to settle into old habits, and this time his bird had followed.
The outward stretch of placid Suvan merged into the dull grey of a dying night. The stars were being snuffed out one by one; the smallest and the faintest were the first to give in to the inevitable morning, even long before the sun would peek over the horizon. The brightest—Seven knew them all by name—still burned brazenly above their heads.
Comfortable silence had befallen them, Seven poring over crisp and unread pages near the backend of the Treval Codex, and Victor trying to find interest in what his fool had spent so many hours of his life charting.
Interest found them when a star flashed above the water’s surface, quicker than an eye-blink, but long enough to trace the outline of an approaching ship neither had spotted previous. No, thought Seven, not a star. The book thumped shut between his fingers and he stood, rising to his toes and squinting through the fledgling dawn. Seven’s stomach swelled into his throat, and his nostrils flared over a wide scowl.
Whatever it was, it was coming right for them.
