Rowan had seen plenty of strange things since leaving Zyranth.
He had explored ancient ruins, crossed mysterious shimmers, battled a giant Burlok, and watched a Frost Phoenix freeze an entire mountainside.
But nothing had prepared him for the smell of Larkshore.
“Whoa!”
He stopped in the middle of the trail, his nose twitching.
Bjorn nearly walked into him.
“What now?”
Rowan sniffed the air.
“Do you smell that?”
Bjorn took a deep breath.
His eyes widened.
“Food.”
Lyra laughed.
“Aye, that be Larkshore for ye.”
The trail wound down a grassy hillside toward a sprawling harbor town nestled along the shore of the Never Ending Lark. Colorful buildings crowded the coastline, their roofs painted in shades of red, yellow, and blue. Tall palm trees swayed between narrow streets, while wooden balconies overflowed with flowers and hanging lanterns.
Beyond the town, hundreds of ships bobbed in the harbor.
Some were small fishing boats with patched sails. Others were enormous vessels with towering masts and billowing canvas. Bright flags fluttered from their rigging, and sailors shouted to one another as they hauled crates across crowded docks.
Rowan stared.
“That’s… a lot of ships.”
Bjorn nodded.
“That’s a lot of food.”
Rowan turned toward him.
“Are you even looking at the harbor?”
Bjorn pointed toward a nearby stall where a woman was grilling something over an open flame.
“I’m looking at lunch.”
Lyra shook her head.
“By the tides, I’ve joined a crew o’ bottomless stomachs.”
Harvey chirped from Bjorn’s shoulder.
Bjorn grinned.
“Four bottomless stomachs.”
The Frost Phoenix puffed his feathers proudly.
They continued down the hillside, following a wide stone road toward the town’s entrance.
As they drew closer, the sounds of Larkshore grew louder.
Bells rang from distant towers.
Seabirds cried overhead.
Wagons rattled across cobblestones.
Somewhere near the docks, a group of sailors sang a lively tune accompanied by the rhythmic thumping of drums.
Rowan couldn’t help smiling.
Everything felt alive.
Even the wind seemed different here.
It carried the sharp scent of salt, the sweetness of tropical flowers, and the smoky aroma of roasting fish. It rushed between the buildings, tugging at colorful banners and setting hundreds of little wind chimes ringing beneath the balconies.
Rowan tilted his face toward the breeze.
For a moment, he simply listened.
Then—
“WATCH OUT!”
A wooden cart came rattling around the corner.
Rowan jumped.
“WHOA!”
He stumbled backward, tripped over a loose stone, and landed flat on his backside.
THUD!
The cart rolled past, its driver shouting an apology over his shoulder.
Bjorn looked down at him.
Lyra looked down at him.
Harvey tilted his head.
Rowan sighed.
“…I’m okay.”
Bjorn grinned.
“Good. For a second there, I thought we’d lost our King.”
Lyra offered him a hand.
“Ye know, wind-boy, most folks use their feet to walk.”
Rowan accepted her hand and scrambled upright.
“Yeah, well, mine like to surprise me.”
Lyra laughed.
“Aye. That they do.”
They entered Larkshore beneath a towering wooden arch decorated with seashells, ropes, and carved waves.
A weathered sign hung overhead.
WELCOME TO LARKSHORE
Beneath it, smaller letters read:
Where Every Tide Brings a New Adventure.
Rowan smiled.
“I like this place already.”
Bjorn’s stomach growled.
Loudly.
Lyra raised an eyebrow.
“Sounds like someone’s ready for an adventure of his own.”
Bjorn rubbed his stomach.
“An adventure involving lunch.”
They followed the main road into the heart of town.
The streets were packed.
Merchants shouted from colorful stalls, waving strange fruits and glittering trinkets at passing travelers. Children darted between wagons, laughing as they chased one another with wooden swords. Sailors carried barrels toward the docks, while musicians played beneath the shade of enormous palm trees.
Rowan turned his head in every direction.
There was so much to see.
One stall displayed necklaces made from polished shells that shimmered like moonlight. Another sold tiny glass bottles filled with swirling colored liquids. A third offered maps covered in strange symbols and curling lines.
Rowan stopped beside a merchant selling carved wooden ships.
“Whoa! Look at these!”
He picked up a tiny vessel with three delicate sails.
The merchant smiled.
“Fine craftsmanship, lad. Hand-carved from stormwood.”
Rowan turned it over in his hands.
“Does it float?”
“Of course!”
“Does it actually sail?”
“With a good breeze.”
Rowan grinned.
“I can do that!”
He placed the little ship on a nearby barrel filled with water.
Then he raised one finger.
A tiny gust curled around his hand.
FWIP!
The ship shot across the barrel.
SPLASH!
Water sprayed the merchant directly in the face.
Rowan froze.
The merchant slowly wiped his eyes.
Bjorn covered his mouth.
Lyra turned away, shoulders shaking.
Rowan smiled sheepishly.
“…Sorry.”
The merchant stared at him.
Then burst out laughing.
“Ha! Haven’t seen one move that fast in years!”
Rowan relaxed.
“Really?”
“Aye! But next time, warn a man before ye summon a storm in his washbasin!”
Rowan laughed and carefully returned the little ship.
They continued through the market.
Lyra seemed completely at home.
She greeted passing sailors with cheerful nods, recognized unfamiliar spices by smell alone, and occasionally stopped to examine bundles of herbs hanging from merchants’ stalls.
Rowan watched her curiously.
“You really know your way around places like this.”
Lyra grinned.
“Spent me childhood wanderin’ ports just like it.”
“Were they all this busy?”
“Busier, sometimes. Depends on the tide, the season, and how many captains have lost their minds.”
Bjorn chuckled.
“So… always busy?”
“Aye.”
They passed a group of sailors gathered around a wooden table.
One man slammed his fist against the surface.
“I’m tellin’ ye, the storm came out of nowhere!”
Another shook his head.
“Storms don’t come from nowhere.”
“This one did!”
The first sailor leaned closer.
“Sky was clear. Water was calm. Then the whole sea started turnin’.”
Rowan slowed.
Lyra noticed.
“Something catch yer ear?”
Rowan nodded toward the sailors.
“They’re talking about the storms.”
Bjorn glanced at the table.
“Same thing we heard in Windmere?”
“Maybe.”
Before Rowan could approach, a loud voice erupted from the opposite side of the street.
“FRESH LEAF-O-NADE!”
Rowan stopped.
His eyes narrowed.
“…No.”
“THE FINEST REFRESHMENT IN ALL OF LARKSHORE!”
Bjorn slowly turned.
A familiar feathered hat rose above the crowd.
Lyra sighed.
“Oh, ye’ve got to be kiddin’ me.”
Across the street stood a crooked wooden stall decorated with palm leaves and seashells.
A brightly painted sign read:
LEAF-O-NADE
Refreshing! Delicious! Mostly Liquid!
Behind the counter stood Snatch, Thorncoat, and Crumble.
Snatch wore an enormous captain’s hat with a feather sticking out the side. Thorncoat had wrapped seaweed around his shoulders like a cloak. Crumble sat on an overturned barrel, happily drinking from a wooden cup.
Snatch threw his arms wide.
“Step right up, thirsty travelers! Experience the refreshing taste of the sea!”
Rowan stared.
“You guys again?!”
Snatch froze.
His smile vanished.
“…You.”
Bjorn crossed his arms.
“Business must be booming.”
Thorncoat squeaked.
“It’s the wind boy!”
Crumble looked up from his drink.
“Oh. Hi.”
Rowan blinked.
“Hi, Crumble.”
Snatch slammed both hands onto the counter.
“Enough! We have abandoned our previous business ventures and entered the exciting world of beverages!”
Lyra eyed the cloudy green liquid inside a large wooden barrel.
“What exactly be in that?”
Snatch lifted his chin proudly.
“Only the finest ingredients!”
Thorncoat leaned toward him.
“Should we tell them about the pond water?”
Snatch’s smile twitched.
“Thorncoat.”
“And the leaves?”
“Thorncoat.”
“And the frog?”
“THORNCOAT!”
Rowan slowly lowered the cup he had picked up.
“…There’s a frog in this?”
Crumble glanced into his own cup.
“Not anymore.”
Everyone stared at him.
Crumble blinked.
“What?”
A small green frog suddenly leapt from the barrel.
RIBBIT!
It landed directly on Snatch’s hat.
Snatch screamed.
“GET IT OFF!”
He spun wildly.
Thorncoat shrieked and ducked beneath the counter.
Crumble continued drinking.
The frog jumped.
Snatch stumbled backward.
CRASH!
The entire stall collapsed in a shower of wooden planks and green liquid.
Rowan stepped aside just in time.
Bjorn burst out laughing.
Lyra shook her head.
“By the tides, those three couldn’t sell water to a fish.”
From beneath the wreckage, Snatch’s muffled voice rang out.
“THIS IS NOT OVER!”
Rowan waved.
“Good luck!”
They hurried away before Snatch could crawl free.
By the time they reached the waterfront, the afternoon sun had begun its slow descent.
The harbor stretched before them in a dazzling maze of docks, ropes, sails, and wooden walkways.
Rowan stopped at the edge of a wide pier.
The Never Ending Lark rolled gently beneath him.
Up close, the water was even more beautiful.
Sunlight danced across its surface, turning the waves into ribbons of gold and blue. Schools of tiny silver fish darted beneath the docks, while larger shadows moved lazily farther out.
A warm breeze swept across the harbor.
Rowan closed his eyes.
He could hear the creaking of ships.
The distant calls of sailors.
The gentle slap of water against wooden hulls.
And beneath it all…
Something else.
He opened his eyes.
“Huh?”
Bjorn was busy examining a nearby fishing boat.
Lyra leaned against a wooden post, watching the harbor with a thoughtful smile.
Rowan stepped closer to the water.
The breeze brushed his face again.
But this time, something felt strange.
The wind wasn’t coming from the sea.
It was coming from below.
Rowan frowned.
He held out one hand.
A faint current curled around his fingers.
Then another.
The breeze seemed to rise from beneath the dock, slipping between the wooden planks like a whisper.
Rowan looked down.
The water beneath him was perfectly calm.
Yet he could feel something moving.
Something deep.
“That’s weird…”
He crouched beside the edge of the pier.
The compass in his pocket began to tremble.
Rowan pulled it out.
The brass felt strangely warm.
Inside, the needle spun once.
Then twice.
Then stopped.
Pointing west.
Straight across the Lark.
Rowan swallowed.
He leaned closer to the water.
For one brief moment, the surface shimmered.
And beneath the waves, far deeper than he could see, a faint green light flickered.
His eyes widened.
“Whoa…”
The glow vanished.
Rowan blinked.
“Did I just…?”
“Rowan?”
He turned.
Lyra stood a few steps behind him.
“Ye alright, lad?”
Rowan looked back toward the water.
The surface rippled gently.
Nothing glowed.
Nothing moved.
But the strange breeze remained.
He slowly stood.
“Lyra…”
She tilted her head.
“Aye?”
“Can wind come from underwater?”
Lyra’s smile faded slightly.
“Underwater?”
Rowan nodded.
“I felt something. Like a breeze, but it was coming up through the water.”
Bjorn joined them.
“Maybe it’s just the waves.”
Rowan shook his head.
“No. It felt different.”
Lyra studied the water.
For several seconds, she said nothing.
Then she looked toward the distant horizon.
The dark clouds they had seen near Windmere still lingered far beyond the harbor.
“Aye,” she murmured. “The Lark’s been actin’ strange.”
Rowan glanced at her.
“You think it means something?”
Lyra smiled faintly.
“On the Lark, lad, everything means somethin’.”
Bjorn folded his arms.
“Well, whatever it means, we still need a ship.”
Rowan looked toward the hundreds of vessels filling the harbor.
He grinned.
“Then let’s find one!”
Lyra laughed.
“Easy there, wind-boy. A captain doesn’t hand over his ship just because ye ask nicely.”
Rowan’s smile faltered.
“Oh.”
Bjorn chuckled.
“Guess we’ll have to find someone willing to take us.”
Lyra nodded toward the bustling streets behind them.
“Then tomorrow, we visit the market. Every captain worth his salt passes through there sooner or later.”
Rowan glanced once more toward the endless water.
Somewhere beyond the horizon waited another Unity Koro.
Somewhere beneath those waves, something ancient was stirring.
And for reasons he couldn’t explain, the wind seemed determined to lead him straight toward it.
He slipped the compass back into his pocket.
“Alright,” he said with a smile. “Tomorrow, we find a ship.”