In a world full of floating islands, sky pirates, exiled magicians, and Pokémon, peace is difficult to maintain.
Shaymin, kind Pokémon who'd guided travelers once man learned how to fly, were hunted to extinction for their Gracideas: magical flowers...
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It took ten days to deliver the soldiers to a coastal Rubre village. August didn't face them once. Her distraught mind couldn't bear it. She left her sister and her comrades to Omar's care, switching roles with him to be the captain of the ship.
August did everything she could think of to compress her feelings. Emotions weakened her. She couldn't be weak. Not on the Zoroark's Deceit, not on White Lightning. Manual labor halted those emotions. Focus on the task at hand, ignore the problems within. Mop the deck. Forget she'd realized her insecurities. Sew torn sails. Forget she'd laid down her guard and expressed herself. Check the maps. Forget Ves' death. Recount the supplies. Forget Ves' death.
She loathed how much her Vespiquen's death mirrored Wes'. Both of their demises could've been prevented had she chosen different courses of action. She could've taken Ves with her aboard the Zoroark's Deceit. She could've helped Wes defeat Patel. Yet here she stood above ground while the both of them were six feet under. The alternatives haunted her, plaguing her conscience.
She supposed there'd been but one positive outcome to come out of her conflict with Shannon: Gracie had forgiven her. The Shaymin would trek her footsteps and help her with her chores, not wanting to leave the pirate alone. August appreciated it.
On the sixth day of their rocky voyage during one of the rare few occasions Gracie left her side, Cyryl had approached her. The teen had climbed to the helm and shifted foot to foot, holding onto a bowl of fruit. August had ignored zir at first, zoned in on scanning the horizon. She'd endured five minutes of zir staring and fidgeting before speaking up.
"What is it?" she'd asked, not sparing zir a glance.
Cyryl had hesitated. "I brought you a snack. Since you weren't at breakfast this morning, I'd thought you'd be hungry."
"I'm fine."
"I-I doubt that."
August's eyes had narrowed at the Normal-magician. Zie had then swallowed thickly, visibly gathering zir courage.
"You haven't been your normal self since your sister boarded the ship," Cyryl had said, worry lacing zir words. "When I was delivering meals to the soldiers, Shannon mentioned that you and she had a, um, a conflicting conversation. And that conversation upset you deeply, by the looks of it. Do you want to talk—"
"No," she'd cut off sharply, her knuckles turning bone-white as she'd tightened her grip on the wheel. "It's best forgotten, so that's what I'm doing." She set her jaw. "Forgetting."
Cyryl had pressed zir lips in a thin line. "There's more to this situation than you're letting on. I'm certain of it."
"Leave it be."
"I don't think I can, not when you're as distressed as this. It's very worrying."
"My problems are my own. There's no need fo' you to worry."
