Magical Soul Parade

Chapter 230: The Long Voyage

Althea…

The name still resounded in his mind as he busied himself with pre-voyage checks. He would deal with the implications later. For now, they had roles to play.

The dock continued filling with crew and well-wishers. Some workers who’d helped with the restoration came to see the Tidebreaker off. Others were simply drawn by the spectacle, afterall it was a notable vessel setting out on what was rumored to be an ambitious trading expedition.

And standing apart from the crowd, near the entrance to the main dock office, Boss Murdo watched in silence.

He had tried everything to stop this.

Over the past two weeks, he’d employed every argument and every trick he could think of to stop Vara from going ahead with her audacious attempt at adventure. He’d pointed out the dangers. He’d questioned her preparedness. He’d even tried ordering her outright, though that had gone about as well as expected with a daughter who’d inherited his own stubborn streak multiplied by her mother’s steel will.

Nothing had worked.

And now, as dawn light shone gold on the Tidebreaker’s hull, he could only watch as his daughter commanded the final preparations for a voyage he knew in his bones was more than she’d told him.

“It’s just a trading expedition,” she’d said. “Ambitious, yes. But we’ll chart new routes, establish new markets. It’s what great-grandfather would have wanted.”

But the look in her eyes told him that was bullshit.

Murdo’s gaze drifted to the ship itself. The Tidebreaker. His grandfather’s legacy. The vessel that had accomplished the impossible, crossing oceans that no other ships could.

He’d never told Vara the full story. How his grandfather had returned changed from that voyage. How he’d been said to have spoken in his final days of things that made no sense… of secrets that should remain buried.

When his own father had told him of it, Murdo had written it off as nonsense.

But watching Vara now, standing at the helm with that same determined set to her shoulders, the same fire in her eyes that his grandfather’s portraits captured…

A grim certainty that he hoped wasn’t true filled his mind: He wouldn’t see her again. At least, not this version of her. Not the daughter he knew.

Around him, dock workers had gathered to watch. They cheered. They waved. They called out blessings and good fortune.

To them, this was spectacle. Symbolic in a way no other ship was. The Tidebreaker sailing again, just like in the old stories.

But Murdo stood silent, his weathered hands clenched at his sides, watching his daughter command ropes to be cast off, anchors to be raised.

Then the ship began to move…

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On deck, Finn felt the shift as the Tidebreaker caught the tide. The vessel responded smoothly, decades of masterful construction evident in how it moved through the water. Around him, sailors worked efficiently , adjusting sails and checking rigging.

Vara stood at the helm, one hand on the wheel, her gaze fixed forward. Slick Jones stood nearby, ready to relay orders. The whole crew moved like a well-oiled machine, and slowly the city of Hoshin Bay began to shrink behind them. The docks. The warehouses. The sprawling markets. The Shadow Temple’s dark spires. All of it grew smaller with each passing second.

Finn found himself at the rail, watching the distance grow. Somewhere in that city, Jon was probably already at work, pulling hemp fibers in the oakum shed, perhaps pausing occasionally to perform that ridiculous hand gesture and think about his absent friend.

The first believer in a God that didn’t exist yet.

“Magnificent, isn’t she?”

Finn turned to find Marylene beside him, also watching the city recede. The red-haired woman’s expression was wistful.

“The city?” Finn asked.

“The ship.” Marylene patted the rail affectionately. “Twenty years I’ve worked in the docks. Seen hundreds of vessels come and go. But the Tidebreaker…” She shook her head. “There’s something different about her. Always has been.”

“Different how?”

Marylene squinted, as if trying to find words for something she felt but couldn’t explain. “Like she’s… alive, somehow. Like she knows where she’s meant to go.” She laughed self-consciously. “I know that sounds mad.”

“Not at all,” Finn said quietly, thinking of the divine essence thrumming through the ship. “I think you’re more right than you know.”

The journey continued and soon, Hoshin Bay became a smudge on the horizon. Then even that faded, leaving only open water in every direction.

The crew’s energy shifted. The dock workers and well-wishers were gone. The city’s safety was gone. Now there was only the sea, the ship, and each other.

Finn watched as sailors adjusted to the change. Some grew quieter, more focused. Others became more boisterous, as if noise could fill the sudden vastness. It was a transition he’d read about but never experienced, that moment when sailors truly committed to the voyage, when turning back stopped being an option in their minds.

Vara called out orders, adjusting their heading. Finn moved to his navigation station, a small desk near the helm where charts and instruments waited. He began the motions he’d learned — checking their bearing against the sun’s position, noting wind direction, marking their departure point and planned route.

It was all for show at this stage. They weren’t truly navigating yet, as they were still following well-charted coastal routes. But the performance was necessary.

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The first week passed calmly.

Finn threw himself into his role, working with Vara on route planning, ensuring they were on track. The two of them bent over charts in her cabin while Slick Jones stood watchful guard.

During this time, Finn was surprised to hear Ailin speak.

The Blessed rarely contributed to conversations, content to observe in unsettling silence. But during one navigation planning session, as Vara and Finn debated the safest route around a notorious reef system, Ailin’s voice cut through their discussion.

“Storm approaches from the northeast. Three days. Adjust course south.”

Both Vara and Finn froze. Slick Jones’s hand moved to his blade instinctively before recognizing no threat existed.

Ailin stood in the corner where she’d been observing, those black-abyss eyes fixed on some point beyond the cabin walls. Beyond reality itself.

“You’re certain?” Vara asked carefully.

The Mnemosyne didn’t respond. She’d delivered her message and returned to silence.

Finn checked his charts and instruments, running calculations. By conventional navigation, there was no indication of incoming weather. But he knew he should definitely trust Ailin’s insights, even if they came from sources he couldn’t comprehend.

“We should adjust course,” he said to Vara. “Better cautious than caught unprepared.”

Vara studied him, then nodded. “Agreed.”

They changed heading. Three days later, exactly as predicted, they saw signs of a vicious storm that had torn through the area they would have been crossing.

Wreckages of ships that could have been them floated on the surface of the ocean while the Tidebreaker sailed on, untouched.

After that, Vara treated the Blessed’s pronouncements as absolute. Whenever Ailin spoke, predicting weather, suggesting routes, warning of hidden dangers, it was treated with utmost urgency. Her insights, combined with Vara’s charts and Finn’s calculations, gave them an almost supernatural edge in navigation.

The crew noticed. Whispers spread about the Blessed’s gifts, about the divine favor she represented. Finn saw it in how sailors touched charms before passing her cabin, how they murmured thanks when her warnings saved them from disaster.

Althea, meanwhile, kept mostly to the Blessed’s side. She was polite but distant with the crew, speaking only when necessary.

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The second week brought their first real test.

Pirates.