---
The little boat drifted over the slow swell of the ocean, Autumnvale already a smudge on the horizon. Hunter sat at the helm with his legs kicked up, grinning like he'd mastered sailing in a day.
"Left, Hunter. Left!" Emily barked, clutching her map.
Hunter twisted the tiller the wrong way, nearly capsizing them. "I am going left. Just… the left of destiny."
The boat lurched, Ryder clutched his goats, and Emily slapped her forehead.
Ryder muttered from his corner, "This isn't a crew. It's a disaster."
"Wrong," Hunter shot back. "It's a Shader disaster."
Ryder flushed. "I'm not a Shader! I'm just keeping my goats alive!"
Vince leaned back against the mast, arms folded, eyes closed, ignoring them all. The sound of waves dulled, and slowly the noise fell away.
In sleep, memory always returned with rain.
---
He was sixteen again, barefoot in the mud, holding a dull blade that shook in his hands. The ring of bandits around him laughed like wolves.
"Look at him tremble! Won't last a second."
The axe came down. Vince froze.
Then lightning split the night.
A man stepped between them, coat patched and frayed, a wide-brimmed hat sagging from the downpour. His twin blades crackled with arcs of stormlight. In a handful of steps, the bandits were scattered like ash.
The man turned, grinning under his crooked hat. "Still breathing, kid?"
Vince swallowed hard. "…Y-yeah."
"Good." The man rested the blades on his shoulders. "Name's Charles D. Hatter. You've got the look of someone who needs a teacher."
---
The outskirts of Autumnvale became their home. Crumbling towers, moss-eaten mills, empty fields where no one cared if swords clashed—that was their world.
Training was merciless. Charles fought like the storm itself, fast and unrelenting, and Vince chased that speed until his body ached.
"You're all fire and no chimney," Charles said once, flicking Vince's sword from his hand and sending him sprawling. "Burning up without a way to hold the heat. Breathe, boy. Flow."
Vince clenched his fists. "If I slow down, I'll lose."
Charles knelt, pressing Vince's blade back into his hands. His grin softened. "You'll lose if you fight scared of losing. Trust your hands. Trust the fight. The storm doesn't rush—it arrives."
Evenings by the fire softened the edges of training. Charles cooked meat until it charred, called it "perfectly seasoned," and cackled when Vince grimaced through every bite.
"Better than starving," Charles said proudly, tossing him another piece.
Vince muttered, "Barely."
When storms rolled through, Charles would set his hat on Vince's head and laugh at how it covered half his face. "See? Fits you better already."
For every scar Vince carried, Charles had an answer. When Vince admitted he couldn't tell one color from another, Charles only shrugged. "So what? The world's brighter when you stop worrying about shades and see its shape instead. You've got eyes made for more important things."
Slowly, the fear that had once kept Vince's hands shaking began to fade. In its place, the calm of Charles's voice, steady as thunder.
One night, Vince finally asked, "Why me? Why take me in at all?"
Charles stared at the fire for a long time. The shadows made his smile gentler than Vince had ever seen.
"Because once, someone pulled me out of a place I couldn't escape. I swore I'd never let the chain break. You're part of that chain now, boy. And someday… you'll pull someone else out too."
The words sank into Vince's bones.
---
It ended in fire.
The Miners came without warning, torches cutting through the trees, steel flashing. Charles's blades sang arcs of lightning, scattering men like kindling, but there were too many. Vince fought at his side, every lesson, every bruise, every word echoing in his movements.
"You've gotten sharper," Charles said, slashing another man down. "But don't chase. Listen. Flow."
They were holding ground until Charles stumbled. Vince's breath froze as he saw the blade punch through his teacher's side.
"Charles!"
He cut down the attacker and caught him, blood soaking into his hands. Charles's grip, though weak, closed over Vince's trembling fingers on the sword hilt. Sparks danced from his mentor's body, leaping into the blade, searing into Vince's veins.
"Don't waste your eyes on colors you can't see," Charles whispered. "See what's right in front of you. Carve your own path."
The stormlight blazed, pouring into Vince's hands. The enchantment settled in him, hot and alive. Charles smiled faintly, hat slipping from his head.
"Make it yours."
His voice faded with the rain.
Vince knelt in the mud, clutching the twin blades that still hummed with his teacher's lightning, the fire of his lessons burning in his chest. For the first time, he had no one to steady him.
---
A hand shook him awake. Hunter's face loomed way too close, grinning.
"VINCE! You sleep like a grandpa! I was about to draw on your face!"
Vince shoved him back with a scowl. "Touch me again and I'll cut off that hand."
Hunter pouted. "You're no fun."
Emily, still hunched over her map, sighed. "For once, I agree with Vince."
Vince straightened against the mast, calm settling back over his face, but the echo of Charles's words lingered. Carve your own path.
Hunter leaned close again, smirking. "You're looking real serious. Thinking about food?"
"…I'm thinking about throwing you overboard."
Hunter exploded with laughter. Emily groaned. Ryder muttered about lunatics and goats.
And the boat drifted on, carrying four strangers, a chain unbroken, into the horizon.
---