username + number: VoidRinkusu + 889677
kalon name: Arlan
prompt:
Arlan wakes up at midnight, same time as always, no alarm required. Every motion is like clockwork: slipping out of his bunk and throwing on his jacket. He no longer bothers to be as quiet as possible; if the crew can sleep through Hawking’s snores, then they can sleep through a few creaking floorboards.
He meets the captain above boards, who waits for him with a lantern and a cup of coffee. They nod at each other, but neither of them says a word. They don’t need to, and the captain doesn’t look awake enough for conversation, anyway. He never really does, always wearing those furrowed brows and tired eyes, but Arlan has long figured out that the captain isn’t as bitter as he seems.
Even if it means he gets less sleep, Arlan always loves the nights when the Scion is on the sea instead of being docked at whatever island is most convenient. Reading the stars to make sure The Scion was still on the right track is very fulfilling for him. He’s been the navigator on this ship since the crew was first assembled, after all. He learned how to navigate from his father, who was the navigator aboard an old trade ship. Arlan would help on local trips, but he was never allowed on overseas expeditions because of all the storms just outside the archipelago. His dad would tell him that it was far too dangerous, and the point was proven when his entire crew was wiped out in one of those storms. Not a splinter of the ship was found, and the sky was clear as glass when Arlan faced the next morning alone.
He never learned how to be afraid of storms. That’s the one thing his dad forgot to teach him, but he doubts that his dad ever knew how to fear them, either. Both of them found their home in the ocean, their bed in the crow’s nest, and their family in the guiding stars. There was never a doubt that Arlan would follow in his father’s footsteps and go back to the sea, simply because neither of them knew how to live with anything else.
Arlan has seen dozens of storms that threatened to sweep him out of the crow’s nest, but he couldn’t taste a shred of fear over the deafening awe. Clouds, briefly illuminated by a lick of lightning, spiraled above the ship. Arlan felt like he was just inches away from this descending snail’s shell of howling thunder, and it took his breath away. No matter how he was getting tossed about, no matter how much rain he got in his eyes, he couldn’t tear his gaze from the whirlpool in the heavens. He smiled then, a big, manic smile that didn’t belong on that gentle face of his. Arlan couldn’t help but laugh. He knew that this must have been how his father felt on the night he died, enraptured by the storm. At this moment, he knew that he would someday die the same way his father did, but that was no tragedy. They were the same in that way: living for the storm and dying for the gentle waters.
The Scion has a much nicer crew than the one his dad worked with, which is a funny thing to be able to say about a bunch of pirates. He doesn’t think his dad would care about the noble goals that required these means, but he probably wouldn’t care that his son was a criminal, either. Sitting in this crow’s nest, watching mist and clouds dance below him as dawn breaks, he knows his dad would have chosen to be here, too. The clouds and fog introduce each other and erase the horizon where they meet. For a few minutes, the sky and the sea are the same, a whisper of something much larger and gentler than the land ever was. The ship is where he lives, yes, but his home is in the clouds and waves that it carries him to.
extra: aluminum cast of clouds pouring out of a shell (I am very much
not familiar with this medium, but it was a lot of fun!)
and the carved mold, which makes the shapes a little easier to see:
