The rim of Jiro's salakot caught the cold early breeze as he made his way to the shore of Kimracka. He walked to the eastern water port where paved boardwalks lined the beach, and fish stalls dominated its market area. Ships and smaller boats docked along the harbor. He had never seen this many vessels in Aradack or Kata, and he marveled at the sight of them.

Big and small, the ships bobbed in the water, loading and unloading trades of various kinds. Many were fishermen's boats carrying the life of the sea—squirming in buckets and tubs, fresh for the market.

Jiro moved towards the smaller boats, where he found a fisherman preparing to sail. The young man had sunburnt skin and dark hair. When he looked up at Jiro, his dark eyes squinted under the sun. He stood in his small boat—a small mast held its only sail—untying a rope from a cleat.

"You want something?" The man asked as he continued to work, but his eyes stayed with Jiro.

Jiro lowered the rim of his salakot over his eyes. "I want to hire you to take me to the island." He pointed at the massive black lump in the ocean.

The fisherman stared at him and shook his head. "You're one of those adventure seekers. It's too dangerous to go to the island. It's sinking," he said, drawing out the last word longer than he should have. "Can't you fly to it?"

Jiro flinched at the suggestion. He hoped to hide his silver eyes from the fisherman, but he raised his head to reveal his face. "I can't fly. I'm a Wingless," Jiro informed the man. "I'll pay you," he said. He lied again. Of course, he could have flown to Bickra, but he opted to stay on his foot if any other Aradacko, especially Mariko, watched nearby. It would be harder to spot him on the ground or in a boat than in the sky.

The fisherman paused for a moment before he asked, "How much?"

"One dar," Jiro offered.

"Two," the man countered.

Two silver coins were too much for a short boat ride, but Jiro agreed anyway. He paid the man and stepped into the boat, and they set sail. The vessel slowly glided over the water, letting the cool but humid wind take them.

As they neared the island, the darkness came alive. "Have you ever been on Bickra after the Brilliance?" Jiro asked, keeping his eyes on their destination.

"Yes, but only once. There's nothing on it," the fisherman answered as he stirred the boat with a paddle.

When they reached the blackened sea, the surroundings gloomed. Jiro could not see anything in the ocean through its darkness, and he wondered if anything could live under there, but everything about it felt dead. It was as if they had entered a different world—a realm of death.

The same darkness came from above them. Jiro craned his neck and saw the swirls in its vortex, moving slowly and hauntingly. The hair on Jiro's arms and the back of his neck rose—a chill wrapped around the small boat. The sky looked like a gateway to the afterlife, and as they neared the island, the sensation of the world collapsing around the small vessel hovered over them.

The air became thin, and Jiro's breath came heavy as if something pressed on his chest. He'd only felt like this when he flew too high from the ground, but this was different. This was tight, cold, and alarming.

The fisherman beside him sighed. "You better be quick about this. I want to leave quickly." Then he whispered to himself. "The things I do for money." When they came near the shore, the fisherman held the boat in the shallow water. "I'll wait for you here," he said.

Jiro hesitated, but he jumped off the boat and into the black sea, letting the cold rise to his knees. He walked to the shore, and when he came out of the water, he was surprised that the darkness did not stain his trousers, only coming away wet.

When he stepped on the land, the ground shuddered under his feet. It swayed, rocked by the ocean's waves as if he was still back on the boat.

The empty shore opened to Jiro—nothing but black sand. Nothing remained, not even ruins. He walked forward, climbing over a hill until the fisherman and his boat disappeared. And he found himself standing in the middle of darkness, the blue horizon seeming too far away.

When he reached another hill, a large hole in the ground appeared. It ate up the entire valley of the island, where the bottom vanished into an inky chasm. Its rim slowly eroded—black grime and dust fell into its abyss.

Jiro couldn't help but wonder if this was the destruction brought by the Brilliance. He'd heard plenty of stories of how Bickra was destroyed—how the war ended—but he never realized how grave the impact was. What kind of human creation could do such a thing? He swallowed, and he tasted the dry devastation surrounding him.

There's nothing here, Jiro told himself. He had come to the island to find clues about the soldier he had been tasked to look for, but there was nothing there.

He turned around and walked quickly to return to the shore, glancing back to ensure nothing followed. Nothing did, but he had an eerie sensation that flooded his thoughts as if death was right behind him.

When he stepped back into the black waters, he rushed to the boat and told the fisherman to return them to Kimracka. The fisherman eagerly stirred them back toward the water port, and only when they passed the boundary between the black and blue waters did Jiro realize that he was shivering with fear.

There is nothing there, he reassured himself, but it felt like a lie. Something lurked on that island, something not quite alive but filled with maddening darkness.

"Did you find what you were looking for?" The fisherman studied Jiro with concern.

Jiro stared back at Bickra as they sailed away. "No, I didn't."

Visiting the island had been a waste of time and money. Two dars—the amount of ten restful nights at a comfortable inn. It was just wasted, and it came not with disappointment but with a rush of horror.

Jiro hadn't learned anything about the soldier, and now he didn't know what to do next.

After the fisherman dropped him off at the water port, Jiro strolled to the east market. It took a long while before the chill left him, and he stayed there, gathering comfort from the city's noise, trying to fight the fear.

Jiro stood at the side of the road for what felt like hours, waiting for his senses to return to this reality. He was in Kimracka now. He forced himself to focus.

I'm looking for a soldier.

The morning went by, and it was past noon when his ability to think properly returned.

I'm looking for a soldier.

He came to stand in the middle of a dirt road lined with stalls that sold vegetables. Then he allowed his instinct to take over as he observed the people around him. His eyes jumped from one girl to another.

Where is the soldier?

A young girl who sold red plump fruits at one of the stalls appeared sickly. Her eyes sunk into the graying sockets of her skull. Not her.

A small girl assisting a merchant had a pretty face. A flirtatious smile curved on her lips. When she spoke, her words described a perfect world where this and that would be good. Not her.

A girl with a basket picked up vegetables from a cart. She scrutinized the greens, turning them over in her hand before adding them to her purchase. Not her.

Another girl had her arm looped around a man's arm, leaning her head on his shoulder. Not her.

Too young. Not her.

Too cuddly. Not her.

Too frail. Not her.

For a long while, Jiro stayed at the center of the market watching. People bumped into him, but he did not move from where he stood. But when the late afternoon came, so did his exasperation.

He had more patience when hunting in the forest—he could wait for days. Tracking animals was never challenging, and he'd considered himself the best in Aradack. But now, his fruitless effort became a frustration that consumed him.

Jiro closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to tune out the noise of the market. When he opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was another girl—the Dakawa tavern maid who had served him the night before.

She strode into the market, wearing slippers and trousers. Her dark shoulder-length hair cascaded over half of her face, hiding her left eye. Green, Jiro remembered the shade—dark specs freckled in her iris.

When she stopped at a stall that displayed knives on the table, she inclined her head at the blades and rubbed the back of her neck before moving on.

Where are you going? Jiro became curious. He followed her, staying far but close enough to keep her in sight.

The tavern maid walked with a relaxed pace, glancing from one stall to another, but when she passed a table of leather and cloth, her steps quickened as if she was suddenly in a hurry.

Jiro matched her pace, walking faster to keep up.

The girl turned to a corner that led away from the market and steered into a street of metal workers. Her strides hastened again, and Jiro started to jog to stay with her rate.

She turned again another corner, around a building and into an empty narrow alley.

Jiro rushed to follow, rounding the same path. But as soon as he entered the walkway, she was gone. He jogged to the other end of the alley, hoping to catch her, but midway through, something moved in the shadow of the building.

Jiro was pushed, and his salakot fell off his head. His back slammed into the hard wall, and the sharp end of a blade pressed to his throat.

"Why are you following me?" the tavern maid snarled and glared at Jiro. Her hand clutched the blade to his skin while her other hand grabbed a fistful of the front of his tunic. Her blue eye scowled with ferocity, and a hint of her green eye did the same through the strands of her hair.

Startled, Jiro spoke. "I... I wasn't following—" the cold knife pressed harder into his skin, "—you." His words came out in stutters.

"Liar!" the girl growled and bared her teeth.

For a moment, Jiro only saw the anger on her face, but a closer look showed something else, something quite familiar. It reminded him of the animals he had hunted, the way their eyes gazed with savage alarm right before they were caught. It was fear. "I'm sorry," he said, breathless. "Alright. I was—I followed you."

"Why?" she said through gritted teeth, pressing the knife harder on his neck.

"I was just curious." Jiro raised his hands, defeated.

"Liar!" the girl said again. Her hand that clutched his vest shoved at him.

"It's true. I only wanted to see where you were going. Please," he pleaded.

Her nostrils flared before she pulled her knife away with a swift movement grazing his skin. She shoved at him again before finally releasing him.

Jiro scrambled to press a hand to his neck, doubling over. When he pulled his hand away and looked, a spot of blood was on his palm. It was only a scratch.

He looked up at the girl, but she was already walking away—knife in her hand. Her slippers were silent on the ground. She strode off quickly without looking back as if she had left a dead body on the floor of an empty alley.

Could it be her?

.