POV: Beth
We dock by noon. The port is bustling—vendors shouting prices, fish guts on cobblestone, perfume mixing with rot, sailors singing crude songs. Life pulses everywhere—color, chaos, greed.
Inside me? Only storm.
I step off the ship without waiting for anyone, feeling eyes burn into my back. The moment my boots hit land, I breathe—salt & freedom, bittersweet. Alaric follows behind silently. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t look at me. Pride keeps us both cold.
I walk faster.
Kaine and Clove exchange looks. Karn whistles low. Mira descends like a queen dressed in red. The contrast stings.
I head straight into the market, weaving through crowds, wanting distance. But footsteps follow. Predictable ones.
Alaric.
I ignore him.
He doesn’t talk. Instead, he begins buying things. Silently. Aggressively.
“You.” He tosses a pouch of gold at a merchant. “That dress. And the boots. And the leather corset. In her size.”
The vendor stammers, staring at me. I blink.
“Alaric—”
“And the sword.” He gestures to a wall where blades gleam. “Not that weak scrap—the obsidian-handled one.”
Coins spill. Merchants scramble. Alaric walks like a storm knocking down shelves, buying anything shiny, expensive, impractical.
People stare. Gold rains like spilled sun.
“Take the earrings too,” he orders, not meeting my eyes. “And the coat. And the damned hat.”
Merchants cheer. Pirates watch with awe. Mira watches with fury.
I stand frozen. “What are you doing?”
He doesn’t answer. He throws another handful of gold like it means nothing. Like I mean nothing. Like he’s trying to fix a bleeding wound with diamonds.
The sword is placed into my hands—black metal, heavy, beautiful. I hold it, stunned.
“You can’t just throw money at me instead of apologizing,” I say quietly.
His body tenses.
Good.
“Is this what you do?” My voice trembles with hurt. “When you break someone, you buy them shiny things to forget?”
He finally meets my eyes—raw guilt flickering like a dying flame. “I’m trying.”
“Try with words,” I snap. “Not swords and gold.”
He swallows—jaw clenching. “I don’t know how.”
Silence. Thick. Trembling.
“You could start with ‘I’m sorry.’”
He goes still.
Then—softer than sea foam —
“…I am.”
My heart stops.
I almost drop the sword. The world quiets—market noise fading like waves pulling back.
He steps closer, voice low. “I shouldn’t have laughed. Or let her touch me. Or said what I did.”
I breathe shakily. “Then why—?”
His eyes burn. “Because you terrify me.”
My pulse stutters. “I terrify everyone.”
“No,” he says darkly. “You terrify me because I care.”
Lightning inside ribs. My throat tightens.
“But I’m still angry,” I admit, voice breaking.
“I know,” he replies. “So am I.”
We stand there—two storms staring, swords and pride between us.
Crowds move around like waves parting.
He gestures to the clothes, the sword. “They’re yours. Not payment. Not apology. Just… mine to give.”
I grip the sword harder, torn.
“We’re a disaster,” I whisper.
His mouth twitches—hurt and fondness mixed. “We are.”
Kaine yells from the ship, calling for supplies. Mira watches with poison sugar eyes.
I look at Alaric again. “I’m not done being angry.”
“I wouldn’t respect you if you were.”
Something loosens inside me. A knot unties—not healed, but breathing.
“We still have war ahead,” I remind quietly.
He nods. “And a sword to claim for you.”
For me.
The words root somewhere deep.
I turn toward the ship, new sword on my hip, new clothes slung over my arm. I don’t look back, but I hear his steps behind me.
Not touching. Not apologizing more. But following. And for now—that’s enough.