Chapter 25

Chapter 25
Quillan's POV

Night had swallowed the docks whole. The sea wind carried the stench of rotting timber and decomposing kelp, thick enough to taste at the back of the throat.

I stood on the wrecked deck of the Albatross, watching my men tear through the belly of the ship. Moonlight filtered through the cracked skylight overhead, scattering broken reflections across the pooled water below.

"Nothing over here, sir!" one of my men shouted from the stern, his voice dragging with exhaustion and defeat.

I didn't answer. I reached into my coat and pulled out the worn leather document pouch.

I had looked at these yellowed pages more times than I could count. Every crease, every water stain was burned into my memory.

I drew out the top sheet — a page torn from an ancient text, its edges ragged and uneven, the paper so brittle it felt like it might crumble at a touch.

Candlelight danced across the surface. The old words seemed to breathe.

I still remembered the first time I saw this passage in the library. I was young then. I still believed that knowledge could change a man's fate.

In the deepest corner of the attic, dust lay thick as velvet carpet. I had been on my hands and knees, digging through forgotten manuscripts, when my fingers found this page. It felt like being struck by lightning.

"It is said that in ancient times, the Lord of Wind grew weary of eternal wandering and chose to sink into the deep sea and sleep. In the moment of impact, the wind element shattered from the force of the fall, splitting into two fragments — the Shard of Breath and the Shard of Velocity."

The Shard of Breath — I already had that one. It lived inside Celeste now, letting the girl hear the whisper of the wind, letting her read the storms before they came.

But the Shard of Velocity — the fragment that could make its bearer move like lightning, slip through the world like a ghost — where the hell was it?

I carefully slid the page back into the pouch and pulled out a photograph. It had yellowed and curled at the corners, but the image was still clear enough: three figures standing on a deck, masts and rigging stretching behind them. Two young men in sailors' clothes stood side by side, and between them stood a younger version of me in a merchant's long coat — hair still black, eyes still carrying something that might have been light.

I pressed my finger against the face on the left.

"Gideon," I said quietly, my voice rolling through the hollow ship. "Gideon. You think it's funny, hiding from an old friend like this?"

My fingertip traced the shape of his face on the photograph, as if I could reach through it and touch something from that time.

"If you'd just handed over the Shard of Velocity back then, you could've gone to meet Rowan in the underworld. Let him be your captain forever."

But Gideon had chosen silence. He had chosen to vanish with his secret, and left me searching for ten years.

"Sir!" One of my men came jogging over, breathing hard. "We've been through every inch of the hold. Checked every rat hole. There's nothing."

I spun around. The candlelight threw harsh shadows across my face.

"Useless," I said, and my voice came out low and flat in a way that made the men flinch harder than a shout would have. "I spent a fortune pulling this ship up from the bottom of the ocean. Don't you dare stand in front of me and tell me you found nothing."

Every head in the room dropped. Not one of them met my eyes.

"Find me the Shard of Velocity," I said, spacing each word out deliberately. "Pull up every plank. Pry open every seam. I don't believe Gideon took it to his grave."

The search dragged on until the horizon began to pale.

When the first grey light of morning crept into the hull, I knew. Another night gone. Nothing to show for it.

I walked down the gangplank, seagulls screaming overhead in the early quiet.

By the time I reached the lighthouse, the dawn had stained the clouds a deep, burning red.

I pushed open the door to Celeste's room. She was sitting on the bed in stillness, legs folded beneath her, hands resting lightly on her knees. Morning light fell across her through the window and made her look, genuinely, like something divine.

"Father." She opened her eyes and spoke with measured respect.

I crossed the room toward her — and stopped.

There was a smell in the air that didn't belong. Not the incense that always clung to the lighthouse, not the salt of the sea. Something else. Low and human. Sweat and cheap soap, the kind of smell that soaked into people who lived in the slums and never quite washed out.

"Celeste." I held her gaze. "Have you been in contact with anyone recently?"

Her pupils contracted — just slightly. Then she shook her head, almost too quickly. "No. No one. Only the believers during the distribution, like always."

I watched her face.

Was she lying? Or was I getting paranoid?

"When you're among the congregation," I said, "keep your distance from the lower class. You'll pick up their filth if you stand too close."

"Yes, Father." She nodded without hesitation.

I walked a slow circuit of the room, then stopped and looked at her again.

"I had your father's ship brought up," I said. "When you have a free day, you should go see it. The place where your birth father spent his life working."

Something moved behind her eyes — grief, maybe. Or something softer than that.

"I understand," she said quietly. "Thank you."

I turned and left. As I pulled the door shut behind me, one thought surfaced and held.

The ancient texts were clear: the Shard of Breath and the Shard of Velocity were drawn to each other. They could sense one another across any distance. Celeste carried the Shard of Breath inside her. If she set foot on the Albatross, there was a chance she might feel the pull — might lead me straight to what I'd been chasing for a decade.

Yes. That was worth trying.

I descended the stairs. Dawn light came through the stained glass windows and broke apart on the floor in fragments of color.

I stopped at the window and looked out at the sun lifting off the edge of the sea.

"Shard of Velocity," I said under my breath, my fist closing slowly. "Ten years I've been waiting. When are you finally going to show yourself?"

Ten years.

From the night that storm swallowed the Albatross, I had known Gideon would hide it. He knew me too well. He knew I would never stop looking. So he chose to disappear with his secret rather than hand it over.

He underestimated me.

Back in my study, the nautical charts on the wall were covered in my own markings — every possible wreck site, every ocean current, every reef where something might have been concealed. I had worked through every one of them. Ten years. Countless resources. And I had found the Albatross at last.

But the Shard of Velocity was still nowhere.

Ten years, Gideon Donovan. Did you really think you could keep this secret forever?

I would find it. No matter how long it took. No matter what it cost.