words: 2k
summary: A chance encounter on the Dareia gives Mar a chance to test herself against the sea once more.
It hurts, sometimes.
In the cold, or when she pushes herself too hard while training, her knee reminds her of rocks sharp as teeth, riptide currents, and the deep taste of ocean water; brine and blood both swirling within her, tempering some internal fire that sputters and burns at her core, refusing to be put out.
It happens. She's accustomed to it.
Discreet as ever, Mar shifts her weight from one leg to another, easing up on the painful knee.
Discreet as ever, Aeran offers a brief touch to her shoulder, and raises a brow.
All good?
The salty air lifts a strand of hair off her face. Marinadonna nods.
.
Being aboard the Dareia feels familiar and unfamiliar at once. Mar is comfortable aboard, given her seafaring childhood, certainly; but the ship is a wonder unlike anything she’s ever seen. It has a character and a personality that demand respect. Dareia gives an impression like a stately old woman, a matriarch not to be underestimated. In that sense, Mar likes her a lot. Silly to anthropomorphize a ship, but she does.
Mar thinks of this idly as she stands at the bow of the ship, eyes fixed on the unmarred blue sea. Then she spots something.
A fraction of a second passes before realization sinks in. Mar focuses, her black eyes widening, her figure jolting forward to grip the handrails. She stares, brows furrowed. There, near the horizon. No mistaking it.
“Aeran!” she calls, and turns away with a purpose.
Striding toward midship, she finds him on the deck, along with Nova and Marsala.
“We are being approached by a hostile vessel,” Mar says matter of factly, before turning to Marsala and Nova. “They must have an accomplished illusionist aboard, seeing as I am the one alerting you of this, rather than anyone on your crew.”
Her tone is calm, but holds just enough tension to impress the fact that this is an emergency. Aeran, who knows her better than anyone, picks up on this right away; he sets his mouth and Mar glimpses the part of him that sparks under pressure.
“Where?” he asks simply.
“Off starboard,” she says, utterly thankful for him. And with that, they’re off.
Aeran springs into action, alerting the captain who sounds an alarm throughout the ship. Xanael’s voice fills the air, magically dispersed throughout all decks as Malsara quickly sets off to Zenaida’s side. It is something of a relief, not being challenged or ignored; Mar feels anticipation rising within her, but also a sense of satisfaction at being taken seriously, without anyone questioning her judgment. Only she and Aeran could have seen this threat coming, and only she could have assessed it so quickly.
Nova lingers beside her, eyes searching her for a moment.
“Did you recognize the ship?” she asks.
Mar looks at her, unblinking. She nods. “Faran pirates.”
A low sound escapes Nova. “And thanks to you we won’t be caught off guard by them. I dare say we owe you a debt of gratitude.”
“We can talk about debts,” Mar says grimly, “after we’ve dealt with this.”
Dareia is fast and her crew is seasoned; Mar watches as sails are tacked throughout the vessel to make use of the wind and magic of those aboard, channeling haste into every bit of wood, every bulkhead, as the ship cuts across the water. It’s a valiant effort, but she tugs her goggles on and restlessly grips Longclaw at her side.
Aeran returns soon after. Together, they watch as the Faran pirate ship gains on them. It is still far enough away that the whole thing feels like a drama played out in slow motion.
“They know, don’t they?” Aeran says after a moment, dusky blue eyes fixed on the approaching vessel. “They’ve realized we’re trying to outpace them.”
“It won’t work,” Mar remarks. She taps her boot against his calf, half-playful in the face of what’s coming. “Ready for this, Ranran? It’s not unheard of for pirates to make use of illusion magic. There are plenty of tales about enemies that ambush ships out at sea, and then vanish without a trace, leaving empty vessels behind.”
Mar secures her pigtails and steels her heart as the ship draws nearer. “Always.”
.
It's a laborious game of cat and mouse, but sure enough, the distance between the two vessels decreases. As dusk falls, the enemy ship is near enough for Mar to clearly see the name on the hull. BITTER ENDS it reads, and Mar guides Captain Xanael, who cannot make an assessment of the situation without her feedback.
“Moving up quick on us,” Mar says. “Ship is alee and readying harpoons. We have a few minutes at most before they strike.”
“We’ve got defenses, but without a clear look at them we’re just blindly lashing out,” Xanael says. “Until we can actually see our blasted enemy... Wayfarer Bertolini, can you get over there?” he asks suddenly. “Find that illusionist and incapacitate them?”
Mar’s heart quickens. She looks at Xanael, then at Aeran, who scowls at the suggestion.
“I can do it,” she says. “But I’ll have to go alone. Strike hard and fast so as to have the element of surprise. If I am doing this, I have to do it now.”
“I’ll cover you,” Aeran says. “But gods... just be careful, Mar.”
Mar holds back a frown. That hesitation—that fear in his voice—it’ll seep into her if she lets it. She’s too close to him, and what she needs now is for him to recklessly believe in her invulnerability.
“When am I not?” she asks, trying to maintain levity.
Catching her meaning, Aeran forces a grin and clasps her shoulder.
They make a striking pair together; dressed all in black, with the new armor Zenaida has bequeathed them. Mar thinks with some irony that it is fitting that it should be put to the test so soon.
She readies her grappling hook and waits for the ship to come near enough. It is far away, but she is confident in her throw. She pitches it in a smooth motion—it flies overhead, and she can see shock dawning on the faces of the nearest pirates, so she takes off running before they can react.
Things happen quickly.
Aeran shoots two arrows into the fray, knocking back the first enemies to rush at her, giving her ample chance to get herself over. For a moment she is airborne, swinging aboard from the Dareia onto Bitter Ends, where Aeran has shot down another enemy in her wake.
Now her fight or flight response drives her forward. She’s awash with adrenaline; she draws her sword and stomps through the deck, looking for the mage behind the ship-wide illusion. It must look curious to the onlookers; as if she is standing on thin air, high above the choppy waves. Meanwhile Aeran follows along from the Dareia, never losing sight of her.
“Drop the ruse!”
Mar hears a voice call out over the waves, a sharp and keen growl, and she senses a nearly imperceptible shift in the air as the magic ceases. She knows from a raucous call from the ship over that this is now a fair fight. The Dareia’s crew can see their assailants before they’ve made a first strike.
In a way, it’s a relief. She no longer has to hunt for the illusionist, whose identity remains a mystery—but now she’s on an enemy ship, surrounded. One problem at a time, she thinks.
“We have a guest.”
That voice comes again, loud without being forceful, projected with ease and confidence, as the speaker comes into view from the mast above her.
She is half-melusine, like her, with a shock of white hair and blue-grey skin. Curious skull-like markings overlap both her eyes, standing out eerily against her complexion, which is almost metallic. Her frame is strikingly tall and looming, her smile sharp-toothed, and an ouroboros tattoo snakes around her neck.
“Clever little fighter,” she says. “How did you see us coming? Spotted the wake behind our ship, did you? Not many could.”
“Were you the one casting the illusion?” Mar asks.
The woman grins. “What do you think?”
“Mar!”
Aeran’s voice sounds from a distance. The woman does not react, simply deflecting an expertly shot arrow with a swipe of her sword.
Mar does not answer. She can sense a fight when it’s coming, so she is not surprised when the woman drops from her perch and starts towards her.
.
Xanael shouts commands as warriors from Zenaida’s crew come aboard, clambering over on boat hooks and ropes, and there are fights and skirmishes happening throughout the deck.
Mar recalls years of training at the Spire, and wields Longclaw like an extension of herself. But her foe is surprisingly adept. With a broadsword of her own, she parries and counters her at every step, pushing her back against the railing.
Mar braces herself against the wooden frame. She feints, then pushes off and manages to land a heavy kick against her chest.
“Oh, stronger than you look, are you?” Slightly breathless, the woman chuckles and sweeps her hair back. She gives her sword a little flourish before diving in again. “You’re quite troublesome, you know? I ought to chop your little pigtails off.”
“If you are trying to get a rise out of me, it won’t work,” Mar says. “But since you asked: Yes, I am stronger than I look.”
Spotting her chance, Mar drives the hilt of Longclaw forward, making use of its sharpened edge. Pinning the enemy’s sword in place she makes to disarm her—the broadsword clatters onto the wooden deck—but Mar is surprised when the woman recklessly flings herself forward and grips her by her dominant arm.
Mar freezes. She can see the reason behind the tactic now: most people would falter at the sensation of their magic being dampened. But for her, it just feels familiar. She sees the same recognition in the woman’s face, which goes still for a moment, a curious look in her eyes.
“You...” she breathes, and then lets out a laugh. “You, too. No wonder.”
“PITERAQ! We’re being swamped!”
A crewmate’s call draws her attention away, distracting her for a moment. It’s all the time Aeran needs; in an instant he’s landed an arrow, sharp and true, right in Piteraq’s chest. Mar can hear it strike through layers of armor: not enough to kill, but enough to wound, and Piteraq releases her with a strangled cry of pain.
“You’re magianis,” Mar says, shocked. A half-melusine magianis like herself—she’s never met another.
“Just one of my many charming qualities,” Piteraq says sardonically, blood seeping through her leather waistcoat. “Good match, little fighter. But we know how to pick our battles, don’t we?” She takes a breath and addresses the others. “FALL BACK!” she shouts. “They have Wayfarers aboard! Not worth the headache!”
And without further ado, she lifts Mar as easily as if she were a ragdoll.
That’s cheating, Mar thinks indignantly, before she is tossed overboard.
.
Mar is again met by the deep taste of ocean water. Brine and blood still swirl around her—but this time it isn’t her blood, it is the privateer captain’s. This time she feels herself being tossed in the ship’s wake for only a moment, before coming to her senses and fighting the powerful currents. She kicks hard, and swims up towards the surface, towards the diminishing sunlight above.
The sky is beginning to twinkle with stars. The fight ended before it truly began. As the Dareia regroups, Bitter Ends shrouds herself in illusion once more, and speeds off into the sunset.
Captain Xanael directs his crew to check for injuries, assess potential damage, and, using magic, they calm the waters surrounding the ship while Mar and a few others make their way onboard.
Aeran is there waiting. Pulling her up, he draws her into a tight embrace.
“Are you hurt?” he asks.
“I’m fine,” Mar replies with a chuckle. “Like I said. I’m always careful.”
An argument starts up in the background, as Zenaida insists to Xanael that they do not have the time nor the resources to pursue the enemy ship. They must not be distracted from their ongoing mission or the journey to Velantis. Their voices fade away, though, as Aeran gives her an inscrutable look, nods, and steps back after a long moment.
The facts are this: injuries were minimal and fatalities none. Thanks to Mar.
.
Mar considers this encounter for days, thinking about the crew of Bitter Ends and their magianis captain. Stronger than you look, she’d said. Mar smiles.
With weeks of sailing ahead of them yet, the crew falls back into routine, but with newfound respect for the Wayfarers aboard. Meanwhile that fire inside Mar burns and grows, brighter than ever. Refusing to be put out.
Berikut adalah 10 emoji ekspresif, unik, dan relevan untuk merepresentasikan “kebahagiaan” beserta deskripsi, nuansa, dan contoh percakapannya:
☀️🤸♂️🎈
Deskripsi: Matahari, orang bersalto, balon.
Nuansa: Merepresentasikan kebahagiaan yang meluap-luap, penuh energi dan semangat, seperti seseorang yang sedang bersalto karena sangat gembira dan ringan seperti balon.
Contoh Percakapan: “Akhirnya…
Fokus tidak pernah tersurat secara langsung dalam Alkitab, baik di Perjanjian Baru apalagi di Perjanjian Lama. Ini adalah istilah yang baru-baru populer di saat kita sudah dewasa muda. Kami sendiri mendengarnya diumur ¼ abad usia manusia, itupun hanya sekedar tahu saja tetapi belum faham betul tentang apa artinya. Mungkin saja, saat masih kecil hal-hal itu pernah kami dengarkan, namun daya…
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