CHAPTER SIXTEEN
❛ 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙶𝙸𝚁𝙻 𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙳𝙴𝙼𝙾𝙽 ❜

( TRIGGER WARNING: this chapter
deals with torture, violence, racism, death,
war and other mature contents.

check the disclaimer on the first part of this book for a more comprehensive list )

         A GIRL IS ON A SHIP.

Her skin is dirty with grime and slowly turning a paler, sicker shade of brown. Her hair is tied in what was once a braid, but is now a pitiful remnant that is slowly falling apart. The girl's hollow body sways with the waves, the chains around her hands creaking with her weight.

The underbelly of the ship reeks of death. It clings to the molding floorboards, to the ropes and irons, to the prisoners and the corpses.

The girl has never believed in monsters before. Her father always warned her against superstition; that those monsters she hears locals talking about are Shu and Ravkan creations— fabrications that do not concern their people. The girl has never believed in monsters before. And yet, with the sighing of chains and voices above, the girl has come to the conclusion that this place has ghosts. Ghosts that have embedded themselves into her irons, into the floorboards, into the masts and wooden beams.

This place has ghosts. She finds it she prefers them to the demons that laugh upstairs.

"Kima."

The girl shudders at that. The voice feels hoarse and frayed at its edges. Is it a ghost, whispering in her ear, ready to take her? Would it be so bad? The thought sends a cold chill down her spine. Stay with the demons or be taken by the wraiths that linger. Which is worse? The evil she knows, or the evil she does not?

She does not decide when the ghost speaks again, harsher this time. "Kima," it hisses. Chains creak somewhere around her, just barely out of her sight. "Kima— you need to keep your eyes open."

The girl's head lolls to the side, leaning against her hanging arms. Not a ghost, she thinks. Not a ghost. She can't find it in herself to realize she hadn't even managed to recognize Adjala's voice.

Even at the ripe age of thirteen, the girl knows to be thankful she can no longer feel her whole body. The parts she does feel, however, ache like cracks and splinters along her bones and muscles. The one thing that reminds her she is alive is the ache that has long since burrowed in her gut. Like flames that lick at her insides; like an animal with razor sharp teeth that has found its home gnawing at her stomach.

"Kima," Adjala says again, and the girl tries— she does. But something as simple as keeping her two eyes open feels so demanding. So wasteful. So impossible.

The ship creaks as it tips to the side. The groans of ghosts echo around them.

Her throat is dry and scratchy like sandpaper. Her bottom lip quivers. "I miss Karim," she finally says, her voice hoarse and unrecognizable.

Adjala doesn't respond for a moment. "Me too."

The silence lingers for longer this time. Kima doesn't mean to disobey her sister— she really doesn't. But as soon as she closes her eyes, she can try to imagine this is over.

During their first days, after realizing that crying and sniffling wouldn't do her any favors, she found it easier to picture herself somewhere far away from this place. She liked to think of Karim, of Adjala, of her Amma and Appa. To imagine all of them back home, her parents tight embrace around her. She imagined the food they would give her once she returned— roasted vegetables, kutya with honey and poppy seeds— no. No, once she got back, she would have roasted pork from the market; roasted pork with peppers and parsley and bay leaves and anything her mother would feel content with adding. She would imagine them back home, sitting together while Nisha practiced her landings alongside Karim.

Lately, as she closes her eyes, it's getting harder and harder to envision some place else. Lately, she feels as if the world starts and ends within the underbelly of the ship. Lately, the image of her mother's cooking feels like a faraway dream she once had. It all feels like a distant dream. Something that never existed in the first place— like hanging with sore wrists and aching bones was the reality she was always meant to wake up to.

"Kima." Adjala's voice no longer startles her. It's sterner this time— less worn, finally brandishing the iron she has known her to have. "Your eyes."

"They're open," she murmurs, her words clumsy and slow.

"No, they're not. Open them."

"I don't want to." She feels a cold chill pass through the room, and her whole body tries to curl in on itself, before she lets out a pained groan.

One of the worst parts of this is that her bindings are metal. The type of metal that Grisha —real Grisha— could bend with a flick of their wrists. The type of metal that First Army Fabrikators don't even bat an eye to. And Kima has tried— she did try. And with that, she learned that tears of frustration are useless. That tears will spare her no pity from anyone, and they will only earn her a dry throat. Eventually, she lost all feeling in her fingers, and she gave up trying.

The woman chained besides Adjala mutters something in Ravkan that is too quick, too ragged for Kima to understand. She doesn't manage to catch any of it— except for one word.

Beznako. A lost cause.

         The woman's chains creak, and her voice echoes like wind against cave walls. She speaks loud enough for Kima to hear.

"Dying here is a mercy," she says in Ravkan.

Kima decides she doesn't like her. None of the women here speak much, not anymore. The woman besides Kima was the only one that ever spoke to her. She is not sure where she's from, but her Suli was stunted, and at times barely comprehensible. She wonders why she hasn't heard her speak lately. She raises her head slightly, only to realize she's sleeping. Kima wants to sleep too. She wants to close her eyes and forget this nightmare. But Adjala won't let her.

Adjala responds a few quick sentences in Ravkan, but it all feels like cotton inside Kima's ears. Before she can help it, her eyes are closed again, and she can't bring herself to open them. Her eyelids weigh more than before, and it hurts to try and pry them open.

The stale air shifts as wood creaks, and the sudden smell of food makes her stomach rumble. The flames in her gut burn harder, stronger, and she doesn't know just how much longer she can bare it.

"Kima—"

"Quiet," the older woman hisses.

         The sound of boots is unmistakable. Her heart skips a beat, before it starts hammering away at her ribcage like a rattled bird. This time is different. Kima knows it is. Because, unlike other days, it's not just one demon coming down.

With upturned noses and unforgiving scowls, five demons enter the underbelly of the ship, footsteps following each other's paces like an echo. The one closest to her speaks words she doesn't understand, followed by another string of words with a different lilt to them, but still incomprehensible to her.

         Then, he speaks in jagged Ravkan, "Due to unforseen circumstances, we will be docking in Arkesk. From there, you will be taken to Djelholm to await trial for your crimes." His scowl seems to deepen. Those blue eyes flick over Kima, discarding her just as quickly as they found her. "Anyone who attempts to flee or use drüsjeserij will be deemed guilty of crimes against Djel and executed."

         "Drüsjeserij," Kima murmurs absentmindedly, or perhaps she merely thinks it. That is a word she has grown to understand— witchcraft.

The demon focuses on Kima again, and the bird in her ribcage freezes, nearly dropping dead. Their words hammer against her eardrums. Drüsje. Drüsje. Drüsje. His eyes travel over to the woman besides her. He turns to his superior, pointing at her sleeping frame. The other demon, the one wearing larger furs and medals on his chest, waves his hands dismissively, before they both leave.

         Adjala waits until they close the hatch to speak. "Kima—"

         "They're open."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━

         ARKESK IS NOTHING LIKE RAVKA. It's cold, but a different kind of cold than that of the western coast. It's the type of cold that burrows underneath your skin, that seeps into your veins and hides in your blood.

The type of cold you can't outrun.

Before docking, the demons gave them food so they could walk. It was tough bread, hard enough to chip a tooth, and Kima nearly threw it up from eating it too quickly. Adjala warned her to pace herself but, in the end, she couldn't help it even if she tried.

The bread wasn't enough to satiate her hunger, but leaving the underbelly of the ship gave her a pause. A brief, fragile respite.

And now, they tread through the freezing forest of Arkesk. Her hands are bound in front of her, with another demon in furs striding besides her. He's meaner than others, so much so Kima doesn't dare to look him in the eye. Not when, just moments ago, she saw him beating a Ravkan woman with his the rifle in the back of her skull. And so, she stares ahead. Ahead, where she finally catches a glimpse of her brother's hair.

She nearly cries out his name— but the fear of the demon besides her is sharper than her relief. She's certain it's Karim, too. Kima would know that head of unruly hair until the ends of the world. The demons kept the men separated from the women— and, all Saints, she wouldn't allow herself to even think it. She couldn't— but the idea that she'd never see Karim again was eating her alive. Thinking that he could be, that he could be—

He looks ill, with hollow cheeks and grime on his face— but he's alive. Kima's vision blurs for a moment, and something wet falls on her cheeks.

"Sankta Margaretha," she whispers quietly with a trembling voice, her whole soul shivering as she thanking her. The demon besides her doesn't hear her.

Karim's curls are matted and tangled— and, other than the time they both caught a fever, she's never seen him look so sick. Besides Karim stands a taller man. He's well-built, his eyes narrow and dark, his skin a golden color. The Shu man seems to be twice the size of the demons— and, even then, he couldn't escape them.

         Her tears of relief turn into a bottomless grief. You never stood a chance.

         The forests of Arkesk feel dead. Kima has known countless places— from the woods of Os Kervo to the meadows of Bhez Ju. And yet none of them feel quite as wrong as this one does. The trees hold little to no leaves, making for a greenless forest. The trunks and branches are dry and brittle— she can tell from the way the harsh winds whistle against them. And yet, the demons don't seem fazed or even remotely surprised.

They feel at home, Kima realizes. Among the dead trees, the unforgiving ice, the colorless leaves... they feel at home.

Kima misses the colors of Ravka. The purples of their caravans, the greens of the forests, the yellows and golds of the sunsets. Does Arkesk even have sunsets? Or does the sky act just like the trees around them, drained of all shades?

A flicker of copper flashes ahead of her, and Kima does a double take. For a moment, she's certain she's caught sight of the only orange leaf in all of the dead forest. She follows it with naïve hope, before another leaf turns that tangerine shade. Kima still feels dizzy from the ship, and it takes her eyes a moment to focus. The leaves quickly start brandishing wild shades of orange and red, and Kima makes the mistake of stopping to watch. The woman behind her bumps into her, sending Kima stumbling onto the snow.

It doesn't take the demon more than a second to smell her mistake. He bares his teeth at her, like he cannot wait to unlock his jaw and take a bite out of her skin. The demon shoves his rifle against her face, barking out words that she doesn't understand. She doesn't need to.

Get up. Get up. Get up.

And she tries, she really does— but the snow is cold beneath her knees and she doesn't think she can feel them anymore. But the demon is not patient— and, instead, his words get louder and angrier. Kima feels the press of metal against the back of her head.

Get up.

And now, it's not just the demon besides her that is yelling. She soon hears all their voices rising over the winds, growing louder and wilder. But they don't sound angry. They sound—

She doesn't feel the metal of his rifle against her anymore. And, when Kima looks up, she sees that the whole forest is glowing with red and orange leaves. She furrows her brows, and the ground beneath her feels unsteady. Is it autumn already?

The sounds of screaming make her flinch. They're not leaves.

The fire spreads over the forest in the blink of an eye, eating away at everything in its path. Flames blossom on the branches like Shu flowers, quickly unfurling over the trunks of the trees. Ahead, Kima hears a demon scream.

It all devolves into chaos too quickly for her to understand. Both men and women in chains make a run for it in different directions, before a few of their bodies topple over with the deafening sound of gunfire.

Ahead of her, Kima spots the Shu man that had been next to Karim with flames dancing around his hand. He snarls as two demons try to approach him, casting a wild tangle of fire in their direction. Gunshots echo in her ears.

Another woman bumps against her, running in the opposite direction— almost sending her stumbling again. Kima nearly trips over herself as she stands up from the snow. Her words tear from her throat. "Karim! Adjala!" she shouts, her own voice sounding foreign in her ears. "Karim!"

People are running around her, and the echo of gunfire hammers against her eardrums. A hand seizes her wrist, and Kima screams.

Brown eyes meet brown as Adjala yanks her forward. Her sister's other hand is curled around Karim's arm.

"Run," Adjala whispers, or yells, or maybe she doesn't even say it in the first place. All she knows is that Kima is running— no, not running, but something close to it.

Her feet hurt and she can't feel her legs— but the fire is swallowing whole the entire forest, and the demons don't intend to let them leave alive. Ahead of her, she watches as a man collapses onto the floor, blood painting the snow beneath him a crimson color.

Adjala lets go of their arms as the three of them run through the trees, the smoke of the fire burning against Kima's lungs.

         She doesn't look back. She doesn't dare to— not when she can hear the demons approaching. But she's not fast enough, and one of them latches onto what remains of her father's braid. He yanks back her hair, and Kima lets out a blood-curdling scream.

In the distance, she hears Karim crying out her name, and Kima struggles with all that's left in her. The demon pulls her back again with her hair, and Kima barely manages to break free from his hold. She falls back against the snow, willing her two legs to carry her away from it.

The demon's white skin is red with anger as he snarls at her. He grabs her leg with an iron grip. He reaches for his knife. Her fingers claw at the ground, in search for something— anything.

         Kima's fist tightens against the snow. As the demon reaches for his weapon, there is an overwhelming certainty in her mind.

The demon has made a mistake. The demon has made a mistake. Because, in robbing her of her home, of her brother, of her life, he has taught her one thing.

         The demon has taught her to hate.

         She kicks his face with her free leg, and in a blink, smashes the rock against his skull— she smashes it until she is certain he will not wake up again.

Blood spills onto the snow. It's over. His hand feels limp around her leg.

         "Kima." She looks up, disoriented. Karim reaches out for her hand, his face pale and wet with tears. For a moment, he seems out of focus, before Kima feels matching tears starting to roll down her cheeks. "We have to go."

He's dead. The man is dead.

         "Izvinite," she sobs in Ravkan, and the words feel odd. She's never spoken them before. She never will again. She's not even sure to whom she's saying it to. The dead man on the ground, or her Saints listening to her from above?

         I'm sorry.

         But his body is cold, and they are not safe yet. Kima grabs Karim's hand. And they run.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━

         THEY WERE STILL IN FJERDA BY THE time Kima and Karim's birthday came around. They didn't know— not at first. Not until they caught a glimpse of a calendar inside a tavern in a nameless village by the coast. It didn't matter to them— not really. None of them felt in any mood to celebrate anything.

         "Why can't we just walk to Ravka?" Karim asks one morning, and Adjala barely stirs at his voice. With the weeks they have spent in Fjerda, they still flinch to loud noises, to the sounds of loud footsteps. Still, these days Adjala only looks tired.

The place they're in offers some semblance of warmth against the brutal Fjerdan cold. It didn't help either that they were all in their pajamas when they were taken. They all thanked their Saints when they found a rack of pelts and clothes, hanging to dry behind a house.

         Adjala looks out the window with a lost expression in her eyes. Kima decides to answer for her. "Because of the war," she says quietly.

Militärkampanj. A word she's been hearing more and more often. Military campaign. They think it's coming soon— or maybe it has already started.

         "We can't go through land," Adjala finally says, and her voice is still not quite what it used to be. She doesn't look away from the window when she adds, "We need to book passage on a ship."

         Karim and Kima share brief a look, but neither of them dare to say it out loud. Getting something as simple as a plate of food as been complicated enough. Most places won't serve women at certain hours, when the roads are emptier— and those that do, often refuse to serve Ravkans. Kima protested time and time again that they weren't Ravkan, but all that landed her was threats and insults. And so, the first phrase Adjala taught them in Fjerdan was simple: Nej Ravkan. Jeg er Zemeni.

         Adjala tried to joke that, in the eyes of Fjerdans, any color that wasn't a shade of snow could pass as Zemeni. She was right. Kima memorized those words until she thought she could still hear them in her ears. Nej Ravkan. Jeg er Zemeni. Not Ravkan. I am Zemeni.

         The place they are eating at isn't good. Everything tastes bland and salty, with the occasional fish bone as a surprise treat. Adjala never lets them linger on the taste, distracting them instead by making up stories of the other few visitors the tavern has.

There, she would say. That fisherman is actually a dancer. See how he moves?

Adjala never questioned where the little money the twins had gathered came from. She wouldn't question why they would fall asleep with nothing to their name, but she would wake up with a few coins under their shared pillow, while Kima and Karim's faces seemed to glow their faces the next day.

         Karim tried to convince Adjala to use her gifts, saying that she would feel better if she did. But Adjala would only smile and say that she was fine.

         She always says she is fine.

         By the time the twins finish their plates of bland mush, Adjala's focus has shifted away from the window and towards a group of newcomers sitting by the bar. None of them sound Fjerdan.

         "Wait here," Adjala says, getting off her seat as she brushes away her hair, striding towards the group.

         As soon as Adjala is out of earshot, Kima takes this as a chance to confront Karim. "You're being difficult," she accuses.

         "What?" Karim blinks, before his face twists into a defensive expression. "No, I'm not."

         "Yes, you are," she retorts.

         "No, I'm not."

         "Say it, then."

         "Say what?"

         "Nej Ravkan. Jeg er Zemeni," Kima says slowly, and he scowls. "It's not hard, Karim. Jeg er Zemeni."

         "I don't want to be Zemeni," he protests, looking away. He looks terribly irritated, but Kima doesn't miss the faintest tremor in his voice. "I'm Suli."

         Kima's hand tightens around her spoon. Now she's annoyed too. "It's just pretend, Karim."

         "No, it's not."

         "Yes, it is."

         "No, it's not," Karim says, and his voice cracks. "No. Names have power, sora." This time, when he meets her brown gaze, he doesn't look mad— he looks embarrassed. "How long are we gonna be Zemeni for? How long until we forget who we were in the first place?"

         "You're being dumb," she tells him, but his words burrow into her ribcage, somewhere below her heart. Jeg er Zemeni. Jeg er Zemeni. Jeg er Zemeni. How long until she forgets who she used to be?

         Adjala comes back to their table looking happier and brighter than she has in weeks. "We are leaving."

         Kima furrows his brows in confusion. "What? Why?"

         Karim frowns, tilting his head. "Where are we going?"

         Adjala only smiles, wrapping her arms around them as she brings them closer with her embrace. Her hands are pale around them, thinner. She plants a series of kisses in the crowns of their heads. She exhales in relief, and Kima can hear Adjala's heart skipping one too many beats inside her chest.

         "Home."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━

         THEY SNEAKED ONTO THE SCHOONER BEFORE THE FIRST LIGHT. They got inside unseen— just three shadows underneath the moonlight. Phantoms hidden by the sounds of the waves and the wind. The Kerch deckhand was already waiting for them on the docks as he had agreed with Adjala. Kima doesn't understand how she did it. How, despite not having a dime to her name, Adjala managed to convince a stranger to grant them passage on his ship.

         She'll ask her once they reach land.

         Even as he guides them belowdecks, Kima can't help the wariness that seeps into her body, like electricity crackling against her spine. The man— Mees, if she's not misremembering— looks kind enough, with light brown hair, a crooked nose and a gap between his teeth. Still, she keeps one of the knives from the tavern in her pocket.

         Just in case, she told herself. Just in case. She squeezes her eyes shut, praying that she won't have to use it. No one is taking them again.

         "I will try to... um, to bring down— to bring food and water," Mees says to Adjala, his Kerch accent thick over his words. "But Kapitein... he not know."

         Kima parts her lips to remind him that he's the one who said he had a ship. Nevertheless, Adjala beats her to it with one of those sweet, honeyed smiles of hers. "Thank you. Truly," she says in Ravkan, and Kima swears Mees blushes. He doesn't realize Adjala's smile is frayed at its edges, worn, exhausted. It makes Kima feel unreasonably mad at him.

         Adjala has always been pretty— even Kima can tell. No matter which city, which country they were traveling through, Adjala never failed to catch the eyes of both boys and girls across the continent. Kima particularly recalls a boy who would visit their shows in Shu Han— a boy who once gave Adjala a handful of pretty pink flowers. Adjala was clearly embarrassed, but accepted them nonetheless— and even went as far as to keep them in their caravan. She remembers the sweet, floral smell that lingered inside for weeks. Kima wonders what ever happened to the Shu boy— if he still thinks of the brown-skinned gymnast with the honeyed smile.

         "Okay, come on," Adjala whispers to them as Mees closes the hatch behind him. The darkness that engulfs them makes Kima shudder.

         They're belowdecks— but not quite the same as they were with the Fjerdans. This is somewhere smaller, tucked away between the floorboards and the bottom of the schooner. As Kima lies down between Karim and Adjala, she realizes she wouldn't be able to stand even if she wanted to. The floorboards are too close to her face, to the point she barely has enough room to turn her head.

         "Are we going to Ravka?" Karim asks, his fingers curling against Kima's. She tightens her hand around his.

         "We'll be okay," Adjala promises, and it is only because of their closeness that Kima realizes just how much raspier and hoarser her voice has gotten. She inhales, then exhales. "Just one last effort, okay?"

         Kima nods. She closes her eyes, trying her best to feel comfortable with the little space she has. You're Suli, she thinks to herself, you were born living in close quarters. You'll survive this.

Kima licks her lips. "One last effort," she whispers, more to herself than to anyone else.

Time on the schooner passes slowly. It all blends together into one long, eternal stretch of nothingness. Occasionally, Mees will sneak belowdecks with bread and water for them to share— but it's not before long that they have to return to their tight hiding spot and continue on.

Adjala started by thanking Mees each time, but the past few times she's simply offered a small smile, or sometimes just a nod of acknowledgment. The exhaustion has been getting to all three of them. And, as they hide underneath the floorboards, there's a silence between them that wasn't there before. Every once in a while, a different crew mate will go belowdecks to fetch something, and none of them will dare to breathe until the deckhand is gone.

Today is different. Kima feels it in her bones.

By the time Kima wakes up, she realizes the schooner is no longer moving. There are voices— more voices, louder voices coming from outside. Kima opens her eyes slowly, disoriented. She shifts uncomfortably. The air feels warmer, sticky against her skin. Why does it—

         The revelation comes to her with the startle of a lightning strike. No more snow. No more ice. No more cold.

         "We're out," she whispers, and her lips hurt from the smile that starts to spread on her lips. Disbelief flutters inside her chest, a canary eager to set flight. A laugh of pure, utter joy sparks from deep within her chest. "We're out— Karim, Adjala, we're out."

They're out of Fjerda. They're home.

         When Kima turns, her sister does not respond.

         "Adjala." Her eyes are closed, but Kima has gone to bed next to her enough times to know she's not sleeping. She tries to move her arm to rouse her sister. "Adjala. Open your eyes, we're out. We're here."

The faintest rays of sunlight seep through the cracks of the wooden planks. It's enough for Kima to be able to tell that Adjala is not shifting. She's not moving. Why isn't she moving?

Kima tries to pull at her arm again. The unbridled relief and joy from a second ago bleeds away into a newfound sense of urgency. "Adjala."

         Karim lets out a grumble besides her, slowly waking up. He shifts by Kima's side, his voice hoarse with sleep. "What's wrong?"

         "Nothing," she answers sharply, even when her heart starts to climb up her throat, even when it starts beating faster and louder, calling her a liar, liar, liar. She shakes her shoulder. "Adjala, come on," Kima says, her tone turning pleading. Please, please, please. "Adjala."

         When Kima reaches for Adjala's hand, it feels cold. She flinches back. Why does it feel cold? It's warm outside— they're out of Fjerda. She's supposed to be warm. Why is she cold?

Some part of her knows it before she sees it. She pushes the thought away— away, away, away. But as she pulls at her arm again, Adjala's head lolls limply to the side. Framed by her darker curls, a pair of blank eyes stare back at Kima.

She wants to scream— she tries to, but she can't find her voice. Her chest tightens, stones lodge against her throat, and she can't breathe. She can't breathe— why can't she breathe?

"Kima?" Karim asks, sounding more alert than he did a moment ago.

Her chest rises and falls unevenly, and she can't breathe— she can't breathe, because Adjala's face is an inch away from hers, and she's not breathing. She can't— she can't breathe. She needs to get out. She needs to get out, but her voice has abandoned her and she can't move.

The walls feel impossibly tighter around her.

Suddenly, light floods their little crevice of the schooner as Mees opens the hatch with a wide grin, showing off the gap between his two front teeth.

         "Welcome to Kerch!"

Kima throws up on his shoes.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━

A/N.

hello hello!!

i had to get in a very dark mental headspace for this chapter so it took a while to finish!!! if you think this is tragic you should've seen some of the first drafts of marya's backstory. the first version i was close to completing i had to go back and edit because i realized it was getting way too dark and had to pull the chord. spoiler alert (though not really): adjala's death was gonna be MUCH worse and with a lot more repercussions for both karim and marya

also?? name reveal????? i was actually planning on revealing it halfway through act one but i felt it was fitting to leave it here. i am SO happy that u guys get to finally know marya's birth name :))) i think its lowkey funny that during the first chapters of this fic i struggled to write her as "marya" as opposed to "kima" (mostly because her original/official name was gonna be kima sankar) and now i had to constantly double back and stop myself from writing "marya".

kima thakkar aka captain marya of the repentance <3 you'll get your happy ending eventually i promise

also!!!! little tidbit!!! that scene where marya thanks sankta margaretha actually has a double meaning there that i don't think anyone will pick up on so!!! i'll lay it out!!!! basically, sankta margaretha was a saint who was a kerch durast that (other than being the patron saint of lost children and thieves) is also known for defeating a demon ;) i gotta say that i was originally very hesitant with making marya a believer of the saints but i am really enjoying creating parallels between her and others saints <3

anyways!!!!! thoughts, comments? the next chapters of this act will probably take a little longer to get out, but i thought it was important to get this one finished as soon as possible :) i promise next chapter will continue on with our beloved captain and her prince but for now..... pain.

[ Started: Oct 25th, 2023 ]
[ Posted: Dec 2nd, 2023 ]

( word count: 5.3k )