The sun sank lower over the Sh'lanira Belian Sea, settingthe waves ablaze. A warm breeze stirred the palms, the airthick with salt and light. The tide rolled in, gentle andunchanging, as Othorion sat alone on the shore. Beside him, a brass tray held five drinks, their colorscatching the sun. Today, there were no prayers to whisper,no burdens but his own. Just the sea, the sky, and thethoughts he needed to release. He lifted the pink kiwi strawberry juice first, taking aslow sip. Sweet, smooth, like a memory too distant to holdonto for long. The kind that leaves a warmth in your chest,even as it fades. Othorion was not much for a drink, thoughhe always appreciated a gift, a smile for a while, and therays of the sun on his face.
The Prickly Sultan came next, its bright bite waking hissenses. It lingered, sharp and heady, much like the choiceshe carried. Some good, some reckless, all his own. Some hewould live with, others were up for debate. With the sunit's highest point in the sky, a parchment and a quill, hewould begin to write it down, everything he'd felt.
A gull drifted overhead noisily as he tasted the blackberrylemonade. It would create a small shadow over him, thoughonly for a moment. Dark, tart, a balance of bitterness andlight, much like the past itself. The waves lapped at theshore, always coming, always leaving. Much like the ebbs andflows of life, the everchanging, always so similar but neverthe same.
As time picked up the golden Sultana Sunrise, watching itcatch the light. The first sip was warm, bright, filling himwith a simple kind of joy. Not comfort, not belonging, buthappiness, like the sun's rays on his skin. His thoughts wereheavy on the parchment now, smirks, smiles, mixed emotions,and perhaps regrets, but he bared it all.
His fingers brushed against the parchment before him. A letternever meant to be answered. One he hoped was never found. Somewords needed to be spoken, even if no one ever heard them. Herolled the message and slid it into the glass bottle beside him.With a flick of his wrist, he cast it into the waiting arms ofthe sea. The tide carried it away, small and fragile againstthe vast horizon. As he watched he wondered for a moment, whatif they found it, what would they think?
For a long while, he watched until it was gone. Then, with aquiet breath, he reached for his final drink. The vivid, tangysunset jungle juice. It was bright, alive, electric. It dancedon his tongue, sharp and citrusy, waking him from his thoughts.The sun was falling in the sky, Othorion would find comfortlaying on the beach this night, away from duty, away from theones he cared for, away from the one he cared for most.
The night would come, the world would keep turning. But fornow, he simply sat, drinking in the last light of the sun.
The stars blinked overhead, scattered like spilled diamondsacross the sky. The waves murmured against the shore,whispering secrets to no one at all. A warm breeze rustledthe palms, carrying the scent of salt and bad decisions.
Othorion slouched in the sand, the brass tray beside himnearly empty. The last sip of tangy sunset jungle juicelingered on his lips, mocking him. The bottle... the damnedbottle.... it was gone.
At the time, it had felt poetic, letting the letter driftinto the unknown. Now, through the comforting haze of alcohol,a new thought hit him hard. No one could ever read that letter.No one.
His stomach twisted, the kind of dread that sobered a maninstantly. What if someone found it? What if they read it?What if they kept it? He could already hear some fishermanlaughing over his heartfelt ramblings.
"Nope. No. Absolutely not," he muttered, wobbling to his feet.The ocean stretched before him, dark, endless, taunting him.With zero hesitation, and even less planning, he ran straightfor the waves.
The first steps were easy, the water cool against his legs.Further in, the surf tugged at him, rising higher, getting alittle too bold. He was still fine. Still in control. He wasa priest, not a fool.
Then he tried to swim.
The sea did not cooperate. His robes tangled around his legs.Salt stung his eyes, his limbs felt like lead, and the waveshad opinions. Somewhere, the bottle bobbed along happily, justout of reach.
"Oh, come on!" he gasped, flailing toward where he thought ithad gone. Then a wave, an unnecessarily large wave, hit him squarein the divinity of his jawline. For a moment, the world was justcold, dark, and deeply regrettable. He surfaced, sputtering, eyes wild, hair plastered to his face.The shore looked suspiciously farther away than he remembered.The bottle was gone. Gone to the depths. Gone to the currents. Gone to laugh at himforever. He floated there, panting, the weight of his choicessinking in. The ocean had won this round. With an exhausted sigh, he turned back, limbs burning with everystroke. The waves, sensing victory, shoved him onto the shore likea beached fish. He lay there, soaking, gasping, absolutely donewith the entire situation. The stars twinkled down at him, unimpressed. Somewhere, an owlhooted. His secret was gone, lost to the sea, beyond any mortalreach. At least, he thought grimly, no one would ever know hostupid he'd been.
Othorion had not intended to board The Golden Koi in such a condition.Wet, angry, and a little bit buzzed, he stumbled up the gangplank likea man whose dignity had just jumped off the ship and sailed away withouthim. The crew didn't even flinch as he boarded. They'd seen worse. Mostly ondrunken Thursdays when the ship's cook tried to "experiment" with fishstew and rum. But today was special. Today was Othorion's turn. Dripping like a broken fountain, he found himself a barrel to collapseon. "Ah, the mighty war priest," a deckhand joked, giving him anamused once-over. "Looks like you've fought the sea and lost. Badly." "Sea's overrated," Othorion muttered waggling a finger at the deckhand,then glaring out at the waves. He was still thinking about that blastedbottle, the one he couldn't retrieve. Gone to the depths. Gone to the fishes.Gone to whoever else would have it.
"I can't believe I swam after it," he said aloud, regretting itinstantly. His hair was still stuck to his face like it was an accessoryhe didn't want. A different sailor handed him a flask, clearly interestedin his misery.
"Long night?" the sailor asked with a grin that said he already knew.Othorion stared at the flask, weighing his options. He remembered beingtold before, a drink would kill his hangover, he most definitely trustedthe source. Then he grimaced and drank. The burn was like a reminder fromthe universe that he'd screwed up twice.
"You know," Othorion muttered, "I always thought the sea would be more...glamorous. Like, more 'glowy waves and sea monsters.' Instead, it's justwet."
The sailor laughed, "Yeah, it's all fun and games until you're soaked tothe bone."
"That's an understatement," Othorion sighed, now noticing the barrel he'dbeen leaning on smelled like fish and regret. "I might just live here now.Maybe the sea can keep me." As the ship swayed, Othorion felt his stomach swaying in a differentdirection. Not from the sea, big fat nope, he was still woozy fromwhatever strange mix of jungle juice, prickly Sultans, sunrising, whatwas it again? oh, bad decisions he'd drowned in last night. The sailor eyed him suspiciously. "You... are you sure you're a priest?" Othorion blinked, then blinked again. "I mean, sure, I'm technically aNovitiate. But today? Today I'm more like... a soggy mess who doesn'twant to swim anymore.... ever." The sailor snorted, a little too loudly. Othorion shot him a glare that was probably less threatening and moredefeated priest. "I'm serious," he grumbled, wiping his face."Zandreya's grace? Could really use some of that now." The ship picked up speed as they left the Sh'lanira Belian sea behind.Althainia awaited, and with it, the Vallenwoods, home of trees, andhopefully, a much more sober Othorion who would definitely not begetting into any more swimming-related adventures. He'd return to duty today, return to his studies, return as ifnothing had happened, but a headache. A throbbing headache, a memoryof the beach, his smiles, and the remaining thoughts, left on parchment,lost at sea. He had chuckled as he found his way home, he who alwaysconfessed to not be a strong swimmer, may have lost the battle withthe sea, but he did not drown, he survived to tell the tale... somethinghe would never admit.. other things he should have admitted... If she had ever heard this story, she'd never let him live it down. Was it time for another message out to sea?