Rowan rocked back and forth in the small vessel as it cut through the gentle swells, threading its way toward the floating castle.
His eyes remained fixed on that impossible structure the entire journey, drawn to it despite the tumult of doubt churning in his gut.
Why am I even here? The question repeated itself with each roll of the waves. Should I turn around? Is any of this worth it?
"Large lot of ya this time, eh."
Ernesto's gravelly voice carried from the helm of his weathered wooden boat. The canvas sails snapped and billowed in the gentle wind, and the summer sun danced off the water's surface. Beads of sweat had already begun to form on his brow as the season's warmth settled over them.
Rowan's gaze shifted from the castle to the old ferryman. "What?"
Ernesto laughed, a rough bark of amusement. "Clean out them ears of yours, boy. I said there's quite a lot of you this year, stormwatch applicants, I mean." He yawned and leaned back in his chair, propping his weathered boots carelessly atop the helm as if the vessel could navigate itself.
"Is that so?" Rowan asked, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Ernesto tilted his head back to study the cloudless sky. "Aye. Seems the new generation of stormborn are coming in flush."
Rowan scoffed. "All the good that'll do us."
The old man stretched like a waking cat before rising with a grunt that spoke of aging joints. "Grim little fucker, aren't you?" He ambled toward Rowan, who offered only a casual shrug in response. "Alright, come on, get up. Time to get a move on to your new grand life as a stormwatcher." Sarcasm dripped from every word as Ernesto began dropping the anchor.
Rowan glanced upward, and his breath caught.
The floating castle loomed above them, a monument to power that defied every law of nature. Massive chunks of earth and rock formed its foundation, as if some ancient god had simply ripped it from the ground and suspended it in the sky. The sheer scale of it made his throat tighten.
"How does it float?"
The question escaped before he could stop it, wonder and disbelief mingling in his voice.
Ernesto shrugged with indifference. "Fuck if I know." He hawked and spat into the sea. "I hear many things. Some say it's some magic artifact found in the storms. Others tell me the Gods blessed us with the castle, but I have a hard time believing that…"
His expression soured.
"The gods haven't gifted us with shit in quite some time."
Another stream of spittle hit the water as Ernesto looked up, shielding his eyes. "Well, much as I adore your sparkling company, boy, looks like your ride's here."
Rowan followed his gaze and watched as a large metal platform descended on creaking chain pulleys, sliding down from the castle's underside. It settled just above the waterline beside the boat, swaying gently with the motion of the waves.
Rowan eyed the contraption warily. "That's how I get up there?"
Ernesto's laughter was sharp and mocking. "Well, did you think they'd fly you up?"
Rowan shot him a dark look before turning back to the lift, releasing a resigned sigh. "Hurry up now, you're late as it stands."
Stepping onto the metal platform, Rowan immediately regretted it.
The lift shook and swayed violently under his weight, groaning in protest. "Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Panic edged into his voice as he lunged for the sides, gripping the railings with white-knuckled desperation.
The lift lurched into motion. Metal ground against metal with an ear-splitting shriek as the swaying platform began its ascent. Below him, Ernesto and his boat shrank rapidly, the old ferryman gazing up with that infuriating smirk, raising one hand in a lazy wave.
Rowan licked the dryness from his lips, his heart hammering.
Within moments, he was higher than he'd ever been in his life. The initial unsteadiness gradually began to fade as wonder took its place. His grip on the lift loosened, and he turned to stare ahead.
The city of Tidehaven sprawled beneath him like a living map. The famous sea wall, two hundred feet of reinforced stone, now lay far below. The sprawling capital of Stanor grew smaller with each passing second, and the grand Queen's castle, tucked into the city's elevated back quarter, became clearer than he'd ever seen it. The outer wall that encircled the entire city came into view, and beyond it, the patchwork of farmlands and the dark smudge of distant forests.
Finally, the pulleys clinked in finality as the lift reached the summit.
Rowan remained turned away, still staring at the view, when an aggressive throat-clearing shattered his reverie.
He whirled around to find an elderly man with pale skin and receding black-and-gray hair standing before him. The man wore the distinctive stormwatcher cloak, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, his expression carved from pure irritation. One finger tapped impatiently against his sleeve.
"Well, Mr. Valdros, we're waiting on you to start the ceremony." The man's voice came rapid-fire, clipped with annoyance.
Rowan ignored him.
His attention was stolen by something even grander than the view he'd just left behind: the Stormwatchers' castle itself. Spires and towers of weathered stone thrust skyward like the fingers of giants, their peaks lost in wisps of cloud. Sprawling gardens spread before him, lush with manicured grass and flowering plants, all framed by a massive gate that led to the inner courtyards. The structure easily rivaled the Queen's castle in size, perhaps even surpassed it.
Rowan swallowed hard.
The old man cleared his throat again, louder this time, the sound sharp with impatience.
Rowan breathed heavily through his nose, finally allowing his eyes to drop to the irritated guide. "Alright, alright. Let's go." He rolled his eyes and followed along.