The officer's gaze hardened.
"What are the names of your adoptive parents—and where do they stay?"
Time slowed. Kyle felt a single bead of cold sweat trace a jagged path down the curve of his spine. His heart pounded in his ears like war drums.
This was it.
If he hesitated even a moment too long—if he stuttered, misspoke, or gave some obviously fabricated name—everything would unravel. A single wrong syllable and the game was over.
Damn it, Claudia, he cursed inwardly. Where are you when I need your lying little tongue?
His mind darted frantically through what he knew of the Blue Pearl Isles—names, towns, dialects, culture, geography. He recalled the faded parchment maps Emil obsessed over. A coastal township… calm, remote, yet real.
Kor-Azu. That was the name.
His tongue moved before his nerves could betray him.
"Marin and Lysara Velmari," he said, voice just shy of shaky. "They live in Kor-Azu… not far from the Temple of the Southern Tide."
There was a faint flicker in his tone—barely perceptible tension curling around the words like seaweed around a reef. But not enough to prove deceit.
The officer said nothing, his eyes unreadable as he regarded the two "brothers."
Kyle kept his expression humble and broken, like a tired soul longing for a place to rest. Emil remained dead silent, praying the officer didn't ask him to repeat any of it.
Seconds passed like eons.
And the story… for now… held.
The officer's gaze swept slowly across the length of the battered vessel, lips curled in silent disdain.
"Do you have any other passengers or items that you will need to declare aboard this…" —his voice trailed off as his eyes lingered on a cracked railing and the haphazard patchwork of the hull— "…ship?"
The word left his mouth like it tasted foul, steeped in disbelief that such a thing had floated, let alone made port.
Kyle flinched.
He nearly snarled in defense of his beloved, weather-beaten vessel—The Sea Star, or as Emil once mockingly dubbed it, The Dying Gnat. But instead of snapping back, Kyle took a breath, clenched his jaw, and smiled—tight and wounded.
A master of the long con knew when to bleed humility.
"Of course not, officer," he said, voice soft with just the right mix of pride and sorrow. "It's only me and my brother. We… traded everything just to see our parents again." He cast his eyes downward, letting the silence draw for just a moment before looking back up.
"You're welcome to inspect the ship yourself," he added with a tone of surrender that was, in truth, deeply smug.
Because the truth was—let them come. Let the whole damn port authority ransack every plank and barrel. He'd hidden those relics and trade goods with such devilish precision that even a sorcerer sniffing for contraband would find nothing but the ship's rotting dreams.
He smiled.
Let them look.
*****
The officer gave a sharp whistle and raised a hand, signaling a cluster of dock patrol to approach. One by one, the soldiers clambered aboard the creaking vessel, their boots thudding against the weathered wood with the grim efficiency of men well-used to discovering trouble where none should be.
Kyle and Emil stood still on the dock, the sea breeze tousling their hair as the officer remained firmly planted in front of them—stone-faced, arms crossed, and eyes sharp.
Then he spoke.
"According to the report filed," he began, his tone level but heavy with authority, "your vessel has been seen drifting up and down the harbor… for nearly two hours."
Emil's jaw clenched.
The officer continued, pacing a slow half-circle around them. "It then came to rest at the far edge of the tide harbor—an unauthorized zone, I might add—where, according to my men, you appeared to try and abandon your vessel entirely."
He paused, eyes boring into Kyle with the weight of expectation.
"Would you care," he said, the words low and deliberate, "to explain this, Mister… Petersone?"
Kyle's breath hitched for the briefest moment.
He could feel Emil's glare stabbing into the side of his skull like a dagger forged from pure regret.
He smiled tightly, already bracing for the next round of mental gymnastics.
*****
Kyle placed a hand to his chest, his expression shifting from startled to softly wounded—like a child accused of stealing from the temple shrine.
"Officer, I assure you, we meant no harm," he began, voice low and earnest. "We've been away from these lands for so long… our childhood days were spent swimming in waters like these, watching the sun set behind the pearl-stone cliffs. We've been on the road for months now—storms, pirates, hunger—you name it. All we wanted…" he gestured faintly toward the open water, eyes softening, "was a moment of peace."
He gave a tired chuckle. "We weren't lurking or scheming, sir. Just drifting… appreciating the beauty of the harbor. It's hard to let go of something you've missed for so long."
The officer narrowed his eyes but said nothing.
Kyle continued, adjusting his tone as if ashamed. "And as for… abandoning the ship, well—my brother and I only meant to swim ashore. We had no idea that wasn't permitted. Honestly, we just thought it might be… a bit of fun. A way to stretch our legs and feel the water again."
He looked to Emil for support. Emil, though thoroughly unimpressed, offered the stiffest of nods—just enough to keep the story from unraveling.
As if on cue, the patrolmen who had boarded the ship returned one by one, giving the officer small, wordless shakes of their heads—nothing suspicious found. Not even a hint of smuggled goods or illicit stowaways. Just dust, patched sails, and the musky scent of stubborn dreams.
The officer stared at Kyle for a long, quiet moment.
Finally, his stance relaxed a fraction. "Very well," he said with a sigh, reaching into his coat and pulling out a scroll to sign their clearance. "I'll chalk this up to ignorance… but be warned: there won't be a second time. Do anything even slightly out of line again, and you'll be swimming in shackles."
Kyle gave a respectful bow, though he was grinning ear to ear.
"Understood, sir. Thank you."
The officer rolled up the scroll, stamped it with a seal, and handed it to one of the clerks nearby.
"Very well then," he said at last, turning back to them with an expectant look. "All that's left is for you to pay the entry tax."