Rowan had a question.
Actually, he had several questions.
But there was one that bothered him more than the others.
“What’s gambling?”
Bjorn stopped walking.
Lyra slowly turned around.
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Bjorn grinned.
“Oh, this is gonna be good.”
Rowan frowned.
“What?”
Lyra folded her arms.
“Ye’ve never gambled before?”
Rowan shook his head.
“Nope.”
“Never played cards for coin?”
“No.”
“Never wagered on a race?”
Rowan thought for a moment.
“Does betting Bjorn couldn’t eat twelve potatoes count?”
Bjorn raised one finger.
“Thirteen.”
Rowan looked at him.
“You got sick.”
“Still won.”
Lyra burst out laughing.
“Aye, lad. I suppose that counts.”
They continued through the bustling streets of Larkshore.
The evening sun had disappeared beyond the Never Ending Lark, leaving the harbor glowing beneath hundreds of colorful lanterns. Music drifted from nearby taverns, and the warm air smelled of roasted fish, sweet pastries, and salty ocean breezes.
Rowan walked beside Lyra, studying the faded parchment she’d stolen from the coral caves.
“So we’re going to find Mirella?”
“Aye.”
“And she’s going to help us read this?”
“Hopefully.”
“And she likes gambling?”
Lyra grinned.
“More than most folks like breathin’.”
Bjorn chuckled.
“Sounds like my kind of person.”
Rowan glanced at him.
“You like gambling?”
Bjorn shrugged.
“I like winning.”
Lyra raised an eyebrow.
“Those ain’t always the same thing.”
They rounded a corner.
Ahead stood an enormous building with purple banners hanging from its balconies. Golden lanterns illuminated its polished wooden doors, and a crowd of sailors, merchants, and travelers gathered outside.
Above the entrance, a brightly painted sign read:
THE GOLDEN GULL
Fortune Favors the Fearless.
Rowan stared.
“Whoa…”
Bjorn grinned.
“Now that’s a place.”
Lyra smiled.
“Aye. And somewhere inside, we’ll find our Dicewitch.”
Rowan blinked.
“Dicewitch?”
Lyra pushed open the door.
“Ye’ll see.”
The Golden Gull was unlike any tavern Rowan had ever entered.
Instead of long dining tables, the enormous room was filled with circular gaming tables covered in green cloth.
Sailors tossed dice.
Merchants shuffled colorful cards.
Crowds gathered around spinning wheels decorated with numbers and strange symbols.
Coins clattered across wooden surfaces.
Laughter erupted from every corner.
And somewhere near the back, a man shouted—
“I’VE LOST EVERYTHING!”
Rowan froze.
Bjorn glanced toward the voice.
A sailor stood beside a gaming table, staring at an empty coin pouch.
Then he shrugged.
“Ah, well. Another round!”
Rowan blinked.
“…Is that normal?”
Lyra sighed.
“Unfortunately.”
They made their way through the crowd.
Harvey perched on Bjorn’s shoulder, his icy feathers drawing curious glances from passing gamblers.
One man pointed.
“Is that a Frost Phoenix?”
Bjorn nodded proudly.
“Yep.”
The man leaned closer.
“Can he predict dice?”
Harvey tilted his head.
Bjorn grinned.
“Only when he’s hungry.”
The man frowned.
“…What?”
Bjorn shrugged.
“Don’t know. Never tried.”
Rowan laughed.
They continued deeper into the hall until Lyra suddenly stopped.
“There.”
Rowan followed her gaze.
At the far end of the room stood a raised wooden platform surrounded by velvet curtains.
A single round table rested beneath a chandelier of purple glass.
And sitting behind it—
Was a woman.
She wore a dark violet coat embroidered with silver stars, and her long black hair fell over one shoulder in a thick braid.
Several tiny dice hung from silver chains around her neck.
Her eyes were bright amber.
And she was smiling.
Not a friendly smile.
Not an unfriendly smile.
The sort of smile someone wore when they already knew the ending of a story.
Rowan swallowed.
“That’s Mirella?”
Lyra nodded.
“Aye.”
Bjorn crossed his arms.
“She doesn’t look that scary.”
At that moment, the woman tossed three dice into the air.
They spun.
Glittered.
Then stopped.
In midair.
Rowan’s jaw dropped.
“WHOA!”
The dice hovered for a moment.
Then fell onto the table.
CLICK!
CLICK!
CLICK!
All three displayed sixes.
The crowd erupted.
“IMPOSSIBLE!”
“SHE’S DONE IT AGAIN!”
“THAT’S THE FIFTH TIME!”
Mirella leaned back in her chair.
Her smile widened.
“Gentlemen,” she said smoothly, “luck is a wonderful thing.”
A large sailor across from her stared at the dice.
Then at his empty coin pouch.
Then at the ceiling.
“…I hate luck.”
Mirella laughed.
“Most people do when it leaves them.”
Lyra grinned.
“That’s her.”
Rowan looked at the table.
“Those dice floated.”
“Aye.”
“How?”
“Magic.”
Rowan blinked.
“…Right.”
Bjorn smiled.
“Let’s go say hello.”
Mirella noticed them before they reached the platform.
Her amber eyes moved from Bjorn’s axe to Harvey’s icy feathers.
Then to Rowan’s emerald cloak.
Finally, they settled on Lyra.
“Well, well.”
She leaned forward.
“If it isn’t a little storm-hopper.”
Lyra smiled.
“Evenin’, Mirella.”
The Dicewitch tilted her head.
“Do I know you?”
“Not personally.”
“Then how do you know my name?”
Lyra shrugged.
“Ye’ve got a reputation.”
Mirella laughed softly.
“Ah. One of those.”
Bjorn stepped forward.
“We need some information.”
Mirella glanced at him.
“Do you?”
“Yep.”
“How unfortunate.”
Bjorn frowned.
“Why?”
“Because information,” Mirella replied, “is expensive.”
Rowan reached into his pocket.
“We have some coins.”
Mirella smiled.
“Oh, sweet boy. I’m not interested in your coins.”
Rowan blinked.
“Then what do you want?”
She lifted three small dice.
“A game.”
Lyra’s grin widened.
“Thought ye might say that.”
Mirella studied her.
“Do you know how to play?”
“Aye.”
“Do you know how to lose?”
Lyra chuckled.
“Wouldn’t know. Never tried.”
Mirella’s eyes sparkled.
“Oh, I like you.”
She gestured toward the empty chair.
“Sit.”
Lyra sat.
Rowan and Bjorn stood behind her.
Harvey fluttered onto the back of Rowan’s chair.
Mirella placed three dice on the table.
“Three rounds. Highest total wins each round. Best of three takes the game.”
Rowan leaned closer.
“That sounds easy.”
Mirella smiled.
“Most dangerous things do.”
Lyra folded her arms.
“And the stakes?”
Mirella glanced toward her satchel.
“Whatever you’ve brought that you think is worth my attention.”
Lyra’s smile faded slightly.
Rowan noticed.
Mirella had seen the parchment.
Somehow.
Lyra slowly removed the folded map and placed it on the table.
Mirella’s expression changed.
Only for a moment.
But Rowan saw it.
Her eyes widened.
Then narrowed.
“Where did you get that?”
Lyra smiled.
“Won it.”
Bjorn coughed.
Rowan looked away.
Mirella studied the parchment.
“Interesting.”
She leaned forward.
“Very interesting.”
Lyra tapped the table.
“Ye help us read it if I win.”
“And if you lose?”
Lyra hesitated.
Mirella smiled.
“The parchment stays with me.”
Rowan’s eyes widened.
“Wait!”
Lyra raised one hand.
“Easy, wind-boy.”
He leaned closer.
“But that’s our only clue!”
“Aye.”
“What if you lose?”
Lyra looked at him.
Then winked.
“Then we’ll have a problem.”
Bjorn grinned.
“I like those odds.”
Rowan stared.
“WHAT ODDS?!”
Mirella laughed.
“Shall we begin?”
The first round started with a flick of Mirella’s wrist.
Three dice rolled across the table.
CLICK!
CLICK!
CLICK!
They stopped.
Five.
Five.
Six.
The crowd murmured.
“Sixteen!”
“That’s a strong roll!”
Mirella smiled.
“Your turn.”
Lyra picked up the dice.
She studied them carefully.
Then rolled.
CLICK!
CLICK!
CLICK!
Two.
Four.
Six.
Rowan frowned.
“Twelve.”
Bjorn nodded.
“Not great.”
Lyra shrugged.
“First round.”
Mirella leaned back.
“One for me.”
The crowd cheered.
Rowan swallowed.
He leaned toward Lyra.
“Are you sure about this?”
Lyra smiled.
“Trust me.”
Rowan hesitated.
Then nodded.
“Okay.”
Mirella lifted the dice again.
“Second round.”
She tossed them.
The dice spun across the green cloth.
CLICK!
CLICK!
CLICK!
Six.
Six.
Five.
The crowd erupted.
“SEVENTEEN!”
“UNBELIEVABLE!”
Bjorn frowned.
“Okay. That’s suspicious.”
Mirella smiled.
“Luck, my dear warrior.”
Lyra studied the dice.
Then slowly reached for them.
Rowan noticed something.
A faint purple shimmer curled around the edges.
He blinked.
“Uh…”
Lyra glanced at him.
Rowan leaned closer.
“Those dice are glowing.”
Mirella smiled.
“Of course they are.”
Bjorn crossed his arms.
“Why?”
“Because they’re enchanted.”
Rowan’s eyes widened.
“WHAT?!”
Mirella laughed.
“Did you think they floated because of the weather?”
Lyra chuckled.
“Aye. Figured as much.”
She lifted the dice.
For a moment, she held them between her fingers.
Then she smiled.
“Magic dice, eh?”
Mirella tilted her head.
“Does that trouble you?”
Lyra shook her head.
“Not at all.”
She rolled.
CLICK!
CLICK!
CLICK!
Six.
Six.
Six.
Silence.
Then—
“EIGHTEEN!”
The crowd exploded.
Rowan jumped.
“YES!”
Bjorn threw both hands into the air.
“HA!”
Harvey chirped excitedly.
Mirella stared at the dice.
For the first time, her smile disappeared.
Lyra leaned back.
“Luck’s a wonderful thing, ain’t it?”
Mirella slowly smiled again.
“Oh, you’re clever.”
Lyra winked.
“Been told that.”
The Dicewitch studied her.
Then laughed.
“Very well.”
She gathered the dice.
“One round each.”
Rowan grinned.
“So whoever wins the next one wins everything?”
Mirella nodded.
“Exactly.”
Bjorn cracked his knuckles.
“Now this is getting good.”
By the third round, half the Golden Gull had gathered around the table.
Sailors crowded the platform.
Merchants climbed onto chairs.
Someone began taking bets.
Someone else started arguing about the bets.
And a very confused man accidentally wagered his left boot.
Rowan looked around nervously.
“This is a lot of people.”
Lyra grinned.
“Aye.”
“What if something goes wrong?”
Bjorn smiled.
“Then we run.”
Rowan sighed.
“Why is that always the plan?”
Mirella lifted the dice.
Her amber eyes shimmered.
“Final round.”
The crowd fell silent.
She rolled.
The dice bounced across the table.
CLICK!
CLICK!
CLICK!
Six.
Six.
Six.
The room erupted.
“EIGHTEEN!”
“PERFECT ROLL!”
“IT’S OVER!”
Rowan stared.
“Oh no…”
Bjorn frowned.
“That’s not fair.”
Mirella smiled.
“Luck rarely is.”
Lyra studied the dice.
Then slowly reached for them.
Rowan leaned closer.
“Lyra…”
She glanced at him.
“Aye?”
“Can you beat eighteen?”
Lyra smiled.
“Can’t beat it.”
Rowan’s face fell.
“But…”
She winked.
“Can match it.”
Rowan blinked.
“Oh.”
Lyra picked up the dice.
She held them in her palm.
Then closed her eyes.
For a moment, everything seemed strangely quiet.
The music faded beneath the murmur of the crowd.
The lanterns flickered.
And the dice began to glow.
Rowan felt a faint breeze brush his cheek.
He glanced toward the windows.
They were closed.
Then he looked at Lyra.
She opened her eyes.
And rolled.
CLICK!
CLICK!
CLICK!
The dice spun.
One stopped.
Six.
The crowd murmured.
The second stopped.
Six.
Rowan held his breath.
The third die wobbled.
Turned.
Balanced on one corner.
Then—
CLICK!
Six.
Silence.
Absolute silence.
Then the Golden Gull erupted.
“EIGHTEEN!”
“ANOTHER PERFECT ROLL!”
“IT’S A TIE!”
Rowan jumped.
“YES!”
Bjorn roared.
“HA!”
Harvey spread his wings, sending tiny snowflakes fluttering over the crowd.
Mirella stared at the dice.
Then she began to laugh.
Softly at first.
Then louder.
Until she was laughing so hard she had to wipe tears from her eyes.
“Oh, marvelous!”
Lyra grinned.
“Good game.”
Mirella leaned forward.
“Not quite.”
Rowan froze.
“What?”
Mirella tapped the table.
“A tie requires a tiebreaker.”
Bjorn groaned.
“Of course it does.”
Lyra smiled.
“What’s the rule?”
Mirella lifted a single die.
“One roll each.”
She placed it between them.
“Highest number wins.”
Rowan swallowed.
Mirella rolled first.
The die bounced.
Spun.
Then stopped.
Six.
Bjorn stared.
“You’ve gotta be kidding.”
Mirella smiled.
“Your turn.”
Lyra picked up the die.
She studied it.
Then looked toward Rowan.
“Wind-boy.”
Rowan blinked.
“Yeah?”
“Do ye trust me?”
Rowan nodded.
“Of course.”
Lyra smiled.
“Good.”
She turned back toward Mirella.
Then rolled.
The die bounced once.
Twice.
Then—
It stopped.
Balanced perfectly on one corner.
Rowan stared.
“…Uh.”
Bjorn leaned forward.
“Is that allowed?”
The die trembled.
A faint purple glow shimmered around it.
Then it slowly tilted.
And landed.
Six.
The crowd erupted again.
Mirella stared.
Lyra smiled.
“Another tie.”
Mirella slowly leaned back.
Then laughed.
“Oh, this is delightful.”
She folded her arms.
“Very well. You win.”
Rowan blinked.
“Wait. Really?”
Mirella nodded.
“Anyone who can match my luck three times deserves the prize.”
Bjorn grinned.
“Finally!”
Lyra smiled.
“Pleasure doin’ business.”
Mirella held out her hand.
“The parchment.”
Lyra hesitated.
Then passed it across the table.
Mirella unfolded it.
Her smile faded.
She studied the markings carefully.
For several seconds, she said nothing.
Then she looked up.
“Where did you find this?”
Lyra shrugged.
“Coral caves.”
Mirella’s eyes narrowed.
“Ah.”
Rowan leaned forward.
“You know what it is?”
Mirella nodded slowly.
“A Depthcaller chart.”
Lyra’s expression sharpened.
“Aye?”
“An old one.”
Mirella traced the strange symbols.
“These markings aren’t directions in the ordinary sense. They’re currents.”
Rowan frowned.
“Currents?”
“Paths beneath the water. Ancient routes that sailors once believed could carry ships across the Lark without wind.”
Bjorn raised an eyebrow.
“Without wind?”
Mirella nodded.
“Indeed.”
Rowan glanced toward his compass.
He remembered the strange breeze rising from beneath the harbor.
The water moving against the current.
The green light.
“Could they lead to the ruins?”
Mirella studied him.
“Perhaps.”
She pointed toward a symbol near the edge of the parchment.
Three curling waves surrounding a hollow circle.
“This is the mark of the Depthcallers.”
Lyra nodded.
“We found it carved on a stone too.”
Mirella’s expression changed.
“A stone?”
Lyra reached into her satchel and removed the dark relic.
She placed it on the table.
Mirella stared.
Then slowly reached for it.
Her fingers trembled.
“By the tides…”
Rowan leaned closer.
“What?”
Mirella turned the stone over.
The carved whistle shimmered beneath the lantern light.
“This is a guide.”
Lyra frowned.
“A guide?”
Mirella nodded.
“Not to the ruins themselves.”
She traced the carving.
“But to something that can lead you there.”
Rowan’s eyes widened.
“What?”
Mirella looked toward the dark windows.
Beyond them, the Never Ending Lark stretched into the night.
“A Depthcaller Whistle.”
Lyra swallowed.
“The stories…”
Mirella nodded.
“Are older than you know.”
Bjorn crossed his arms.
“So where do we find one?”
Mirella studied the chart again.
Then pointed toward a cluster of markings far beyond the familiar coastline.
“Here.”
Rowan leaned forward.
“What is that?”
“An island.”
Lyra frowned.
“There’s no island marked there on any chart I’ve seen.”
Mirella smiled faintly.
“That’s because it isn’t always there.”
Rowan blinked.
“…What?”
Mirella folded the parchment.
“The Isle of Forgotten Waves.”
A strange silence settled over the table.
Rowan looked toward Lyra.
She looked thoughtful.
Bjorn grinned.
“Sounds fun.”
Mirella’s smile faded.
“Fun is not the word I would use.”
She returned the parchment.
“Listen carefully. If you truly intend to follow this chart, you’ll need more than a sturdy ship.”
Rowan swallowed.
“What else?”
Mirella looked directly at him.
“Courage.”
Bjorn grinned.
“Got that.”
“Wisdom.”
Lyra nodded.
“Aye.”
“And luck.”
Rowan smiled.
“Guess we’ve got that too.”
Mirella studied him.
Then smiled faintly.
“Perhaps.”
She leaned closer.
“But remember this, Windnaru.”
Rowan froze.
“…How do you know what I am?”
Mirella’s amber eyes shimmered.
“Some things are written in the dice.”
Rowan stared.
Mirella continued.
“The sea does not give up its secrets willingly.”
She glanced toward the parchment.
“And some doors are better left closed.”
By the time they left the Golden Gull, the streets of Larkshore had grown quiet.
The moon hung high above the harbor.
Lanterns swayed gently in the breeze.
Rowan walked beside Lyra, studying the parchment.
“So we need to find the Isle of Forgotten Waves.”
Lyra nodded.
“Aye.”
“And the Depthcaller Whistle.”
“Aye.”
“And then the ruins.”
“Aye.”
Bjorn grinned.
“Sounds easy.”
Lyra laughed.
“Ye’ve never sailed the Lark, have ye?”
Bjorn shrugged.
“Nope.”
“Then ye’ve got no idea what we’re gettin’ into.”
Rowan smiled.
“That’s what makes it an adventure.”
Lyra looked at him.
For a moment, she said nothing.
Then she laughed softly.
“Aye, wind-boy.”
She glanced toward the endless water.
“I suppose it does.”
They continued toward their inn.
Behind them, the Golden Gull glowed beneath the moonlight.
And far beyond the harbor, somewhere beneath the dark waters of the Never Ending Lark, an ancient current twisted through the depths.
A faint blue light shimmered across forgotten stones.
Then faded.
And somewhere in the darkness, something enormous opened one ancient eye.