Dawn broke over Coral Spit beneath a thin veil of cloud, painting the boardwalks in muted gray. Kano stood on the edge of the pier, gazing out at low tides creeping over the sand. His pulse throbbed in his ears. After a sleepless night of hiding Brannis's scroll-tube, he could barely quiet the mixture of excitement and dread roiling in his chest. Today we face the council, he reminded himself. Today, we show them proof that could save us—or doom us.
Behind him, the cramped huts of the village stirred with cautious activity. Traders hustled to organize catch baskets and shell crates, while night-watch patrols finished their rounds. Whispers flew in tight circles: The tarnished boy…that wounded stranger…some hush-hush business with the council. Even from a distance, Kano sensed the weight of suspicious eyes.
A sharp crunch of footsteps drew his attention. Marro, his father, approached with a tight expression. Beside him stood Reina, clutching a small sack with the morning's ration of bread and fruit. Both wore worry like a second skin.
"He's ready," Marro said in a low voice. "A bit feverish, but steady enough to walk. We'll escort him to the meeting place."
Kano forced a nod. Brannis had insisted on presenting the Stormrún documents himself—despite the risk of worsening his injuries. It was a gamble, but the weight of a former master-at-arms speaking for a legendary House might carry more authority than any broken-named youth ever could.
As they crossed the boardwalk toward the lean-to hut, Kano spotted two village watchmen posted nearby. Their presence was unnerving; the council had likely stationed them to ensure Brannis couldn't slip away before the hearing. Well, we won't be running now, Kano thought with a grim set to his jaw.
Inside the shelter, Brannis rose shakily to his feet. His face was drawn, eyes ringed by deep shadows. Still, there was a spark of resolve in his gaze. "I can walk," he said, voice hoarse but firm. Clutched in his hand was the iron scroll-tube—sealed documents that bore the crest of House Stormrún. Reina offered her arm, and he leaned on it, taking slow, determined steps.
A hush swept the village as the group moved toward the central square, where the council had convened many times to decide local disputes. Today, a semi-circle of wooden benches and a makeshift podium stood ready under the weak morning light. Elder Hani Okoro waited with folded arms and a cold look, flanked by lesser officials who murmured amongst themselves. Several villagers pressed in at a cautious distance, clearly curious but wary of crossing the council's authority.
Marro cleared his throat and announced, "We bring the traveler as requested. He has something to show you…a matter concerning Stormrún." His voice held a faint tremor, and Kano's stomach twisted. If this went badly, the family might lose more than their paltry home—they could lose their freedom altogether.
Elder Hani's gaze flicked from Brannis's bandaged wounds to Kano's tense features. "Speak, then. But do so plainly. The council grows weary of secrets."
Brannis drew a shaking breath and tightened his grip on the scroll-tube. The village watchmen took a step forward, as if anticipating he might flee or cause trouble. But Brannis only lifted the iron cylinder, the Stormrún crest faintly visible in the morning light.
"Elder," he began, voice rough with pain, "and good people of Coral Spit. I stand here…on behalf of the House Stormrún. These documents"—he tilted the scroll-tube for all to see—"contain the truth of how the fortress fell to an enemy who enslaves dragons and breaks Names. A threat that grows even now, beyond your shores."
A ripple of unease stirred the onlookers. Kano's heart thundered. For a long, taut moment, Elder Hani said nothing. Then she gestured curtly. "We shall see," she said, tone edged with skepticism. "Open it."
With trembling fingers, Brannis cracked the wax seal. Kano felt his breath catch. This is it. Everything they'd risked—stealing the scroll in the night, daring to speak truth in a place that had only scorn for the broken-named—would now be laid bare before the council. Whether it inspired salvation or punishment lay in the next few moments.
A hush settled over the gathered villagers as Brannis drew out the bundled parchments from the iron scroll-tube. The wax seal cracked under his fingertips, exposing water-stained edges and the faint sigil of Stormrún. All eyes shifted between the documents and Elder Hani Okoro, who stood with her cane braced in the mud of the square.
Kano's pulse pounded in his ears. To his right, Marro kept a guarded stance, while Reina hovered at Brannis's side in case his injuries robbed him of balance. Two watchmen shifted uneasily, their hands resting on spear shafts. The dawn's weak light made every face look drawn and anxious.
Brannis cleared his throat, holding the parchment so Hani and the lesser councilors could see the crest pressed into the top margin—a swirling emblem that once symbolized Stormrún's dual might. "I stand as witness to the fall of Stormrún," he began, voice ragged. "These records detail the siege, the enemy's Name-breaking sorcery, and how House Stormrún was overrun."
A councilor on Hani's left, a stooped man with hawkish eyes, let out a skeptical sniff. "Why should we trust some battered stranger—and a tarnished youth?" His gaze flicked toward Kano, heavy with mistrust.
Kano's hands balled into fists. He bit back the urge to retort, reminding himself that lashing out would only confirm their worst beliefs about broken-named families. Instead, he forced a respectful nod. "If you read these scrolls, you'll see they bear official Stormrún seals…ones that can't be easily forged."
Hani's cane tapped the ground. "Bring them forward." Her voice was controlled, but tension crackled beneath. "We shall see how genuine they are."
Brannis handed the parchments to Reina, who moved carefully toward Hani. The elder councilwoman's expression remained unreadable as she unfurled the top sheet. A few heartbeats stretched into a thick silence while she studied the spidery script. Behind her, other officials edged closer, peering over her shoulder.
The hush broke as Hani began to read aloud:
"…Tariq Stormrún, Lord of the Great Tree's storms and runes, bearing witness to the incursion of Warlord Valrakan's armies. Their Name-breakers twist the essences of dragons, forcing them to obey. Many knights, with or without their Names intact, fell before these enslaved beasts…"
Shocked murmurs rippled through the crowd. Dozens of villagers exchanged wide-eyed looks. The stooped councilor paled, lips parted in disbelief. Even the watchmen glanced at each other uncertainly.
Brannis exhaled, relief mingling with dread. At least they know I didn't fabricate this. Kano felt a surge of validation, but it warred with a fresh spike of alarm—if the council recognized the threat, they might also see Brannis and Kano as a magnet for trouble.
Elder Hani skimmed further, her brow knitting. "This speaks of monstrous war beasts, entire regiments of Name-breakers… How do we know the enemy hasn't been defeated already? Stormrún is a distant place. Coral Spit has no reason to invite such conflict here."
A bristling murmur ran through the onlookers; many nodded, unwilling to face the possibility that a conquering army might land on their shores. Marro stepped forward. "The council asked for proof that Brannis's warnings weren't empty. Here it is, in Stormrún's own records. Valrakan's threat still looms—he's not one to abandon conquest."
Hani's gaze cut toward Kano. "And the boy? We've heard rumors of him 'seeing visions.' What of that?"
Kano stiffened, consciousness prickling as if a thousand eyes bored into him. He sensed Tariq Stormrún's echo stir in his mind. He'd tried to keep the illusions and dreams private, but rumors spread fast in a village this small. "I…sometimes dream of the siege," he admitted, voice tight. "The fires, the dragons shackled, the fortress walls falling. I didn't understand why—until I met Brannis."
Skeptical mutterings arose. Hani's lips pressed into a thin line. "Dreams are but dreams, child. Coral Spit can't bend its entire policy on the nightmares of a tarnished boy."
Brannis clenched his jaw. "Perhaps not. But these scrolls bear more than a crest. There are accounts from other survivors, details of the warlord's next moves. If left unchecked, Valrakan will continue crushing every vulnerable island he finds, taking their Names and enslaving dragons."
Hani's cane rapped the ground again, silencing the crowd. "The council must deliberate. We will examine these papers further. Until then, the traveler is to remain under watch—no more hiding in huts or secret visits."
"But he needs rest!" Reina protested, voice trembling with concern. "He can barely stand!"
A flicker of hesitation crossed Hani's face. "He will have a proper cot in the storehouse. That should suffice until we decide how to proceed. As for you—" Her gaze hardened on Kano and his parents. "Do not leave the village without permission. Should we find these claims to be exaggerations or tricks, your entire family will answer for it."
Kano's throat tightened. The weight of the council's threat felt as crushing as the memory of Stormrún's downfall. But he forced a nod. At least they haven't thrown us all in chains—yet.
With a gesture from Hani, two watchmen stepped forward to escort Brannis away. Before they could move, Brannis caught Kano's eye. A silent message passed between them: Stay alert, do not lose heart. Kano nodded, his heart pounding with a strange mix of fear and resolve.
The council began to disperse, documents clutched protectively in Elder Hani's hands. Villagers murmured in tight clusters, glancing warily at Kano and his family. Some held fear in their eyes, others fascination at the hints of a world beyond their shores—where men tamed dragons and warlords shattered Names.
Kano exhaled shakily. This is only the beginning, he reminded himself. If the council truly understood the danger, they might band together. But if they dismissed the threat or—worse—blamed Kano and Brannis for stirring turmoil, the fate of Stormrún's legacy would hang by a thread.
A muggy haze settled over Coral Spit in the wake of the hearing, as if the tropical humidity clung to everyone's unease. Kano stood in the narrow walkway behind his family's lean-to hut, gazing down the boardwalk where Brannis and a pair of watchmen had vanished minutes earlier. The dull ache in Kano's chest wouldn't lift.
"We should follow," he said softly, half to himself.
Marro glanced at him with a wary frown. "And defy the council's order to stay put?" He shook his head. "The moment we step out of line, they'll lock us up alongside him."
Kano pressed his lips together. He knew his father was right; one wrong move, and the entire Sea-Glass family risked punishment—or worse, they'd lose any chance to prove Stormrún's warning wasn't just a desperate fairy tale. Yet every instinct in him said Brannis needed someone watching his back. The storehouse might be a step up from a dingy lean-to, but it was still a cage of sorts.
"We don't have many friends here," Reina added, her voice gentle yet taut. "We can't risk antagonizing the few who might still be swayed by the evidence in those scrolls."
Kano managed a curt nod, though the frustration gnawed at him. Keeping still felt like betraying Brannis's trust. He lifted his gaze to the rickety huts perched along the shore, where small knots of villagers watched him. Whispers from doorways carried just far enough to send an icy prickle across his skin. They're all scared. Of Valrakan's rumored conquest. Of the drowned fortress of Stormrún. And maybe, he thought, they're scared of him, the tarnished nobody who brought upheaval to their quiet cove.
Clenching his fists, Kano stepped back into the hut. Inside, Reina busied herself tidying the space, though her constant darting glances toward him gave away her worry. Marro was hunched over a small wooden table, absently flipping a short blade he used to cut fishing nets. The cramped air felt heavier than ever.
At last, Kano spoke. "We need to know what happens in that council meeting," he said. "If they decide Brannis lied—or that the scrolls threaten the village—they'll punish him. Or they'll expel him before he recovers."
Marro set the blade down with a thump. "He's not our blood," he said grimly, "but he risked everything to warn us." A beat passed, and a hint of regret tugged at his mouth. "Let me go see if there's a chance to talk to the watchmen…or to Elder Hani herself. If I can find out how they're leaning, it might buy us time."
Hope fluttered in Kano's chest. "I should come with you."
Marro's eyes narrowed. "No. If they see both of us snooping around, they'll call it collusion—or worse. Stay with your mother."
The command stung, but Kano bit his tongue and nodded. "Fine. Just…be careful."
Marro gathered a small pouch of coins and headed for the doorway. Reina stood by Kano's side, silently gripping his hand. They both listened to Marro's footsteps fade into the hubbub outside. Soon, the cramped hut felt stifling again. Kano could almost hear the ocean wind mocking his helplessness.
Hours slipped by without word. The smell of salt and fish guts mingled in the humid air. Kano tried distracting himself with menial tasks—patching a frayed net or sweeping sand off the floor—but his thoughts kept drifting to Brannis, alone in a dim storehouse.
Finally, as the sky reached the pale gold of late afternoon, the door creaked. Marro entered, exhaustion etched into his face.
"Well?" Reina pressed.
Marro sank onto a stool. "Elder Hani's reviewing the scrolls—likely cross-referencing the Stormrún seal with records from travelers. She's no fool; she knows forging such a seal would be difficult." He ran a hand through his hair. "I overheard a few councilors mention outside threats and how the village can't afford to entangle itself in a distant war. They fear Valrakan might notice us if we intervene."
Kano's heart twisted. "But if Valrakan's as relentless as Brannis claims, staying neutral won't save them. He could come anyway."
Marro exhaled, leaning forward. "I tried telling that to one of the lesser councilors, but he shrugged me off. They'd rather take their chances. Coral Spit is small—easy to miss."
Before Kano could respond, a soft rapping came at the doorframe. All three tensed, expecting watchmen or a council messenger. But in stepped a stooped figure with warm brown eyes: Aila—a midwife and one of the quieter villagers who'd sometimes shown Reina kindness.
Aila dipped her head in greeting. "Forgive me for intruding. The guards keep a close watch, but I thought you should know…they just took Brannis to the storehouse's upper loft, locked in with two watchmen."
Reina pressed a hand to her mouth in alarm. "He's still weak."
Kano lurched forward. "Is he all right?"
Aila shook her head. "I can't say, boy. I only saw him from across the lane. But…he was still on his feet." She hesitated, glancing behind her as if worried about eavesdroppers. "Listen. The council is known to move slowly, but Hani is no fool. If your documents are real, she'll see the truth. Until then, be patient. This village has never faced such decisions before."
Marro inclined his head. "Thank you, Aila."
She offered them a sympathetic look, then slipped away as quietly as she'd come.
A heavy silence reigned in the hut once more. Kano's thoughts swirled. Brannis on his feet—maybe that's good. At least he's stable. Yet the idea of him trapped in a loft under constant guard made anger boil in Kano's veins. The rest of Stormrún's old vassals and allies—where were they? Would they come to rescue him? Or was he alone in this backwater?
Reina's voice broke the hush. "We can do nothing but wait." It wasn't a question so much as a resigned statement.
Kano nodded, jaw clenched. Wait for the council's verdict. Wait to see if they labeled Brannis a liar and him a delusional fool with cursed dreams. Wait while a warlord somewhere out there gathered enslaved dragons, growing stronger by the day.
Stepping outside again, he watched dusk tinge the horizon in rust-colored stripes. The sea lapped gently beneath the boardwalk. Villagers in small boats poled through shallow waters, returning with the day's meager catch. Everything looked normal. But it's all about to change, Kano thought. And no one here is ready.
With the last of the sunlight clinging to the sky, Kano let out a slow breath. He could feel Tariq Stormrún's echo stirring in the back of his mind, as if restless from these forced inactions. Yet he couldn't risk open defiance. For now, this was their cage: a precarious moment between the council's doubt and the possibility of a larger storm looming offshore.
All they could do was endure—and hope that, when the moment came, they would be the ones to act.