"The disaster you speak of spared none, for even we were forced to relocate."
Archbishop Lorenzo, Date Unknown.
After mass ended, Francis found Camila lingering by the chapel steps. He gave her a small, polite bow. "I'll see you later," he said, trying to keep his composure.
"See you," Camila replied with a bright smile, her eyes following him as he walked away.
Francis turned toward the bar, his mind already racing ahead. He needed a new bed—and fast. Luckily, the carpenter, Mr. Juan, was on his way, and he spotted the shop just as he entered the street.
"Morning, Mr. Juan," Francis began, stepping inside. The scent of sawdust and varnish filled the small workshop. "I need a new bed. Big, sturdy, with storage underneath. I want it done as soon as possible."
Mr. Juan wiped his hands on his apron. "Storage, you say? Dimensions?"
Francis rattled off the measurements. "At least two meters long. Enough for two people comfortably. A headboard would be great as well."
"Wood type?" the carpenter asked.
"Sturdy, long-lasting—something that won't squeak or collapse," Francis said.
Mr. Juan nodded. "Very well. That'll cost one silver. Not cheap, but reasonable for what you're asking."
Francis handed over the coin without hesitation.
The carpenter tucked the silver away. "It'll be ready in two days. I'll have it delivered here for you. You won't be disappointed."
Francis exhaled in relief. "Thank you, Mr. Juan. I appreciate it."
"No problem," the man said, already turning back to his workbench, humming softly as he selected lumber for the job.
A while later, Francis pushed open the bar door and was immediately met with the warm, humid air. Maura was behind the counter, humming under her breath as she polished a glass, her sharp eyes catching his movement as he approached.
He swallowed, feeling the familiar tightness in his chest. "Maura," he began, his voice uneven, "I… I wanted to ask you something." He paused, shifting his weight, suddenly aware of the dust on his boots. "I… I need some time off. Two weeks, if possible… for the wedding. And… the honeymoon afterward."
Maura didn't answer immediately. She raised an eyebrow, her smirk twitching at the corner of her mouth. "Two weeks, huh?" she said slowly, her tone teasing but edged with warning. "You know that time off isn't paid, right?"
"Yes," Francis said quickly, nodding, almost too eagerly. He cleared his throat. "I—I just… I need the time."
She leaned back slightly, eyes narrowing as she assessed him. Then she let out a long sigh and set the glass down with a soft clink. "Fine. You can have it. But don't think that means you're skipping today. No one else can cover for you, so you're on shift until dusk."
Francis blinked, processing the words, and felt a strange mixture of relief and resignation. "Of course," he said, keeping his voice steady, though his hands fidgeted at his sides. "I'll… I'll handle it."
Maura gave a small nod, her gaze sharp for a moment before she returned to her work behind the counter. Francis let out a slow breath, the tension in his shoulders easing fractionally as he braced himself for the day ahead.
Wake up at dawn, I shall no longer.
A treasure will unearth, making me stronger.
What am I even talking about?
He noticed the morning pass quietly, almost suspiciously so. The usual chaos of state-sponsored pirates—the clatter of boots, boisterous laughter, and occasional shoving matches—was absent. Even the afternoon brought nothing, leaving the bar in its familiar, almost painfully serene state. The sudden calm threw him off; it felt unnatural.
He allowed himself a moment of wistfulness. The ship might have already left, and with it, Valeria and her crew, whose shenanigans he'd—surprisingly—grown accustomed to. A pang of disappointment hit him.
Then, just as his thoughts teetered between longing and resignation, the door creaked open. Two pirates stepped inside, their casual swagger unmistakable. Relief washed over Francis, quick and warm.
Good. I still have a chance to set sail.
He straightened his back, bracing himself for whatever came next, excitement and nerves mixing.
Francis leaned on the counter, squinting at the two pirates as he asked about their mate's absence. They exchanged a glance, then one shrugged. "Most of us set camp in the middle of the forest," he said casually.
"The captain's orders," the other added, as if that explained everything.
Francis nodded slowly, filing the information away. Probably to keep them safe if another ship shows up, he reasoned. He pressed on, asking about the location. Both pirates shrugged again. "Just follow a crew member once you're done working," one said with a grin.
The invitation felt almost too casual, informal in a way that would have seemed reckless coming from anyone else. Then it hit him—Valeria didn't bother whispering behind closed doors or hiding anything from him. He might've already earned himself the title of the "captain's pet."
Delightful.
***
By the time his shift ended, Francis moved with his usual hurried steps—but instead of heading home or to Camila's, he went the other way. Today, the ring he'd uncovered demanded attention, and he needed privacy to test it.
The forest, once his go-to for seclusion, no longer felt safe. He made for the deserted beach where, not so long ago, he had gotten an unwelcome view of a Valeria flaunting her gifts to the world. Shoving that memory aside as best he could, he pressed further along the sand until the jagged rocks carved out a hidden nook, cutting him off from prying eyes.
For a heartbeat, he hesitated, fingers brushing the ring's smooth surface. Then recklessness—maybe desperation—took over. Fate waited for no one. With a deep inhale, he slid the ring onto the middle finger of his right hand. If it was dangerous… well, so be it. He had to try something now. How else could he hope to stand against men and women who wielded the powers of fire, lightning, and more?
At first, the ring felt ordinary, almost comforting in its simplicity. He flexed his fingers, tilted his hand, and waited. Nothing happened. A normal ring, just a normal ring—maybe he'd been foolish to risk sneaking out here.
He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply, trying to focus. He imagined a currents of lightning running through him, a sharp crackle of energy, a storm in his own veins. Still nothing. His chest tightened. Maybe it wasn't meant for him. Maybe he'd misread every clue and every dream that had led him here.
"So much for fate waiting for no one," he muttered, his voice breaking slightly in the quiet night. Frustration plagued his thoughts, growing more intense with each heartbeat. He yanked at the ring, and it didn't budge. Not an inch.
And then—the dreams.
A Shanty of Dominion you shall hear.
The familiar, maddening whispers, the insistent, conquering murmurs he'd fought to ignore, now roared inside his skull. His palm flared to life. Flames curled around his skin, licking up his fingers in a heat that burned nothing. He froze, eyes wide, every rational thought suspended. Shock. Terror. Excitement. All of it collided in a chaotic mess inside him.
It worked... it worked!
The fire moved almost of its own accord, and instinctively, he directed it toward the rock before him. A blackened scar bloomed across the stone not long after. His pulse thundered in his ears, adrenaline and awe surging together. He tried again to pull the ring free—this time, it slid off smoothly, as if it had only been testing him, probing him, learning him.
Was it… attempting to resonate with my body?
He stared at the faintly glittering ring in his palm, and the magnitude of it crashed over him. He—Francis—held in his hand a power that had been whispered of in legends, a force far beyond the ordinary. He was a wielder now, capable of bending fire to his will, channeling a kind of energy men can only dream of.
The initial thrill ebbed into careful thought. This was dangerous. Someone, anyone, could stumble across him. He imagined the town drunks, the neighbors, Camila, even Valeria if she happened to walk by at the wrong time. The thought made his stomach twist. Best to retreat. Best to keep the world oblivious—for now.
With trembling fingers, he stuffed the ring safely back into his pocket, glancing back at the blackened rock one last time. Then, heart still hammering, he retreated into the shadows of the forest, the familiar smells of saltwater and wet sand anchoring him. He had done it. He had crossed a threshold he'd only dreamed of.
And in that moment, Francis realized something he hadn't allowed himself to think before: he wasn't the same man who had walked into the cave. He wasn't ordinary. He wasn't safe. He was something new, and terrifyingly powerful.
Not yet a master, not yet in control, but no longer ordinary.
Not anymore.