•••

Captain Stormholden wanders the incomplete vastness of the Retelling. It's a graveyard to those who walk among its shapeless corridors, where unfinished stories, abandoned and tossed-aside drafts drift through a thousand lifetimes, never dying, never living. Never leaving.

The captain finds himself a spot among the loose ends and curls into a ball. He rests his head on a mound of nothing, and believes, rest is finally at hand. He desperately wants for rest. It is the least he deserves.

He approaches his relief with caution, as he knows the peace of a moment is easily shattered, but when he allows himself to drift, and his eyes close, it is Matilda whom he sees. He no longer cares if he was written to love her, because it is she he desired still, even after everything, their attachment so strong, his heart summoned her here. 

Stormholden breathes deep, and he is reminded of Matilda's scent. Wildflowers. She was always bathed in wildflowers, whether from her fondness of weaving them into crowns or picking them to gift the grieving widows down the lane, the scent distinctly hers. And then, another scent permeates the air, this one of salt. 

The captain is remiss to open his eyes, afraid to end his sweet dream before it's natural conclusion, but he does so regardless and with caution. The emptiness he was once faced with, has been transformed into the familiar. Matilda stands in the distance, bare feet digging into the sandy beaches outside the cottage where so many of Stormholden's dreams lay in tatters at the hands of a drunken, cruel father. 

Her hem is muddied, her skirts bunched in her tanned fists. She laughs when the tide caresses her ankles. The sensation tickles her. Stormholden recalls it always had.

The captain is intrigued, as Matilda is neither hallucination nor torment. She is real, her laughter, her smile. Her jubilance as she kicks at the water, sun beating upon her back. 

The next thing he knows, she is falling into him, her warmth the only thing to ever strike a fire in his soul. Her hair caresses his neck and he smells wildflowers again. She grips him hard and though he desires nothing more than to hold her, in fact, his heart and soul demand this of him, he finds he cannot. Dream or no, his hands, so tainted with blood, would only serve to crush her. 

Matilda is too precious to risk losing again. 

The tide comes rushing up the beach to splash against their feet. "Ire," Matilda whispers into his chest, her fingers stroking his jaw, "I was not written to be so frail an existence. If you had ever reached out and embraced me like you had all those days in the forest, you would have nurtured the love I already harbored for you. You would have given me the courage and strength of resolve to stand up to my father, and choose my heart."

Guilt swells inside Stormholden. "I should have--"

"You shouldn't have," she presses a finger to his lips, securing his silence. "I loved after you. I had a kind husband, and two adorable children. And when my end came, I looked death in the eyes and smiled. You want to know why?" 

He shakes his head. 

"Because I lived without regret."

She pulls away, eyes the color of fertile soil, staring into his face. "But you," she dips her head low, and plants a kiss on each of his knuckles. "The same can not be said for you. So I implore you, Ire. Wake. Here, in this place, it is not your ending, but a beginning, my love."

She burrows her head into the crook of his neck. "Forgive me for being selfish again, though it is only how I was written, but we have a few minutes to spare while they finish putting your pages in order, and I'd very much like to watch the sun set with you. I realize now, in our time together, we'd never witnessed it together. You wouldn't mind obliging me, one last time, would you?"

His answer is to scoot nearer and place Matilda on his lap. She tosses her arms around with vigor, and he wraps his own around her waist, keeping her close enough he can feel her heart matching his beat for beat.

In all his days, a moment had never tasted as sweet.

• Home By The Sea •

The dream was a powerful one. What else explained why Stormholden could hear the waves lapping against the shore or smell, ever so faintly, the tinge of salt on the air? He felt the warmth of the sun beat down on his face, redden the insides of his eyelids.

The wind rustled his hair and wicked away a bead of sweat that had begun to trek down his cheek. Grass tickled the exposed skin of his wrists. Something hard and rough kept him propped in a sitting position. Gulls mewed overhead.

He dared not open his eyes, for fear the dream would end. He'd find himself back on that scorched, poisonous land, the devil staring him down before he tore his claws into Stormholden's chest. He inhaled his dream. Sweetly scented. He heard it. The scampering of forest creatures, the crunching of leaves. The breaking of waves against rocks.

The wind blew again, whistled through the leaves. He smelled the sea on it stronger. Had he landed on his island? The one he'd envisioned from the top of one of those steel towers? Had he been drifting the entire time only to finally wash ashore. Had his journey finally come to an end?

With trepidation causing his heart to race, Captain Ire Stormholden opened his eyes. The dream did not disappear. It stood steady, solid before him. His mouth fell open as he shot to his feet and took a few steps forward. His gait wobbly at first, but sturdy the further he walked. A step. Another and another, until sand squished underneath his toes. The sand hot from so many hours spent baking under the sun, but he relished in that heat, in the familiarity of its warmth.

Before him, an ocean spread out wide, gleaming like a cerulean gem.

To his left, a single dock stretched into the water. At its base stood someone he instantly recognized. His creator waved him over.

"Captain!" Peneloper called. "I see you're finally awake!"

Her demeanor was chipper, her tone lively. She shuffled from one foot to the other as though she despised remaining still for too long. He could relate. Next to Gideon, he'd been still the entire time, until - he balled his hand into a fist, recalling the exhilaration he felt as it slammed into Gideon's cheek. He smiled and made his way to the girl.

"Are my wits distorted? Am I delirious?" he asked, standing a few handspans away.

She giggled and appeared to be unharmed at first glance. No bruised flesh, or fractured bones. Her eyes carried no sadness, so neither inward or outward harm had come to her. She was strong, his creator, he would give her that. "You're quite fine, good captain."

She turned and eyed the horizon, searching. For what?

"Has the beast been vanquished?" The tunic he now wore smelled of linen and was a crisp white, soft against his flesh. No vomit or dirt or stain of the past days he spent with Gideon. His trousers were pressed and loose fitting.

At the dock's edge, a gull dove into the water with a screech before pulling up, water dripping as a fish struggled in its beak.

The girl nodded. "He's been as vanquished as only something that was never supposed to be can be."

Stormholden cocked his head and narrowed his gaze. "You are as vague of tongue as the rest of your ilk."

She frowned. "I don't mean to be, it's just, hard to explain and tiring." Again, she glimpsed the horizon. Water tickled the captain's toes. He watched the tide come and go, and with it, he felt his exhaust go out to sea along with it.

"And what of Gideon?"

She turned her head and dug her shoes into the sand. "Imprisoned."

The captain's hands clenched at his sides. Cold metal brushed against his knuckles. His gaze fell and there, at his side, in its scabbard, was his sword. He gripped the hilt, feeling each delicate curve, and slid the blade free. It glinted in the sunlight. The girl took a step back as he slashed the air in front of him.

"And this is real?" He sheathed his sword and felt around for his pistol. He found it tucked into his waistband. He pulled it out, felt the weight in his hand, pointed it at the horizon, and sighed. "How can this be real?"

"When Mr. Pale was cleaning up Gideon's mess at his establishment, he found them." Peneloper's gaze flitted to him, then the horizon again. "Thought they should be returned to you."

The captain bowed and put his pistol away. "I'm indebted to him then."

She shook her head. "He said you don't owe him anything." She shrugged. "Just said that he's a big fan of yours and that he looks forward to the next part of your story." Suddenly, her eyes dazzled. "Ah!" She whirled and started down the docks. "They're finally here." She turned and waved him to follow. "Come on, Cap! You won't want to miss this."

Hand on his hilt, Stormholden mounted the old planks, smoothed by water, and slick, he took them all in stride. A few creaked under his weight. The waves made the pier unsteady, but the captain found he didn't mind the movement; solid ground never felt right to him.

As he neared the end, Stormholden finally glimpsed what had caused the girl to brighten - there, on the horizon, a ship, coming their way.

Peneloper turned. She met his gaze, unwavering, stalwart, ready to confront something head-on. He gave her the courtesy of his undivided attention.

"You suffered." She shook her head, bit her lower lip. "Correction," she fingered the front of her dress, "I made you suffer. I used to think suffering made for good character development but, I think I was unduly cruel to you, captain."

The empty eyes of the dead stormed into his mind, the smoke from the pyres buffeted his thoughts. Matilda's funeral, watching on from the fringes. Her weeping children and mourning husband. He nodded silently.

"But that wasn't the only reason, Cap." Her gaze shied away and moved toward the ocean, and its slowly rolling waves. "I was suffering when I wrote you. And you suffered because of it but it wasn't out of malice." She shuffled her feet and shoved her hands into her pockets. "I put you through those things because if you could overcome them than so could I. If you could triumph over your suffering, if you could lose and still find the strength to move on, then I could be strong. I could move on." She paused, inhaled. "If you could lose the love of your life and fend off werewolves, then I knew I'd be okay, even without my father. That my sister and my mother, we'd all regain our footing someday. You gave me a hope I don't think I would have found otherwise."

Stormholden knelt, dipped his fingers into the water. The chill made quick work of cooling him to the bone. Deceptive, the ocean was. Sparkling like a gem in the light, troubled and cold beneath the surface.

"Is this the Retelling?" he asked, shoulders stiff. He removed his hand from the water.

"No," Peneloper said. "We're in Reflection."

He cocked his head. "Why am I here?"

"Because this is what you deserve."

The ship grew larger the closer it got. Stormholden caught sight of the crow's nest and its sails, full of wind. "It's a fine ship."

Peneloper smiled. "It's yours." He started and fell on his back. She giggled and offered her hand. He took it. "If you want it. No tricks, no sorcery or devilry. It's got a full crew and food for a year's journey. No money though," she squeezed the toe of her shoe between a gap in the planks, "but you won't need it. Everything in the layers beyond Reason uses secrets as currency, and since everyone's got a few, I figured you'd be fine. All it needs a captain."

"And why would you do this for me?"

"Because you're not my story anymore, Cap. You stopped being my story the moment I shared you with world. And after everything, I thought you deserved to know the world, as well as it got to know you." A wave splashed over the pier and soaked their feet. "Besides, you're hardly a story anymore. Once Gideon pulled you out of the Retelling, it wasn't me dictating what you did, you were. Just like anyone of flesh and blood."

She paused, chewed on her bottom lip. "The ship's ready to sail wherever it's captain wishes it to go. I've been told there's a lot of unexplored land in the Reflection, the seas especially. It takes a special kind of sailor to confront those perils, but with those perils come-"

"-grand adventure."

She nodded. "You don't have to do this." The girl's eyebrows knitted together. "You can plod back down the pier and leave. You don't have to say goodbye or reveal to me where it is you plan on going. You're free to  do whatever it is you want. I just thought I'd do something nice for you," she kicked at a plank, "as a way of saying thanks. For everything."

Behind the captain, someone yelled. "Ahoy! Does the Dauntless 'ave 'erself a captain?"

Stormholden turned and saw one of those large creatures he'd seen at the Song. The kind with the horns and snout. This one waved a meaty fist into the air, smoke billowing from its nostrils.

Peneloper leaned in. "That's your first mate. Crezz. That is if you agree to take him on."

The captain watched as the ship dropped anchor. "And what of my crew in the Retelling? What fate awaits them? Surely you do not mean to make them wander that nothingness. Death would be kinder if you seek to--"

"I'll finish their stories," she said. Her words strong, loud, determined. A promise, she planned on upholding. "I'll write each of their stories to its natural conclusion and this time, I won't be so cruel." She flashed a half-smile.

"And this can be mine?" He motioned toward the ship as the plank clattered onto the pier. "The ship, the crew, the journey?"

"All yours. It's your life, ought to live it how you want to."

He turned and outstretched his hand. The girl eyed it, then him. Stormholden, knowing full well what he was doing, smoldered, just a bit. Her cheeks flushed immediately as she put her hand in his. "Thank you."

She smiled. "Take care."

Stormholden released her hand and stalked up the plank, walking as though he already owned the ship. He patted the shoulder of his first mate Crezz. "Good to 'ave ye, onboard, Cap."

Stormholden smiled as he felt the ship's deck rock under his feet.

"Good to be here." He straightened and whirled, hands cupped at the small of his back. "Crezz, gather the rest of the crew. I want to meet the men taking this journey with me before we set sail."

"Aye, aye, Captain!" His first mate saluted before lumbering away. The ship shivered under the beastly man's bulk.

The captain turned and headed for the steering wheel, waves lashing the ship's hull. He stood at the wheel's side, running fingers over the worn wood, warmed and warped from days spent under the sun. Smiling, he watched the sun dip below the horizon, a calmness he'd never known in his entire life, washing over him.

This was real. This was his life. This ship, its crew. Stormholden was to man it, sailing them in whatever direction he chose. In a world of devils and madmen, of horned behemoths and steepled buildings, he could journey to its every end.

The choice his, and his alone.