Chayne's composure completely shattered. He waved his massive hands frantically at Damurah, as if trying to push the name back into his mouth. "Shh shh shh, I'm sorry I asked!" he said, his voice panicked.
He leaned forward, motioning for Damurah's full attention, while Tylus and Westleh stared in wide-eyed silence.
"Forget your family name, son. That name is dead."
Damurah was stunned to say the least. He wasn't sure what exactly to say. "So just Damurah?" he asked, genuinely confused by the sudden urgency.
"Make something up. Hell, Damurah Blaze! Something, anything, other than that name. That name will put a target on your back faster than killing the king." Chayne gripped the table edge, his knuckles white. "It's not just about a family, boy. Out here, you get a new life and a new name. Take it. Mercer means death."
Damurah's eyes narrowed, the resentment and suspicion from his past instantly resurfacing. "What do you know about my family?" he demanded, leaning over the table, his face halfway in his mug.
Chayne didn't flinch. Instead, a genuine, powerful grin stretched across his face, his eyes distant as he recalled a memory. "Your father was Sophron," he confirmed. "Him and I led a ship to flank the northern point of Frozetria. You should have seen it, the man created fog around the whole island, and he used the water to move our ship so the sails wouldn't make any noise." He chuckled, the sound deep in his chest. "That man..." Chayne slammed his massive fist down on the table in sheer admiration. "And I got the chance to serve with his kid."
"Did he die?" Damurah asked, his face flat, every trace of fire and resentment momentarily replaced by a cold, aching void.
Chayne shook his head slowly, taking a long, deep pull of his ale before answering. "Aye, no one knows, son. That's the thing about your old man. Sophron vanished." Chayne leaned in, his voice dropping to a low, reverent whisper. "We were pinned down, fighting through a blizzard the Frozetrians had conjured. He stepped out onto the ice, faced the whole damned line of them, and he unleashed something I've never seen since. It was a blinding flash, a wall of pure elemental chaos that erupted out of the sea. The ship was shielded, but when the light and the mist cleared, he was gone. Not a body, not a drop of blood. Just gone. Like he walked off the edge of the world and took the whole elemental balance with him."
He paused, looking Damurah straight in the eye. "That's why the name Mercer is so dangerous. People don't know if he's dead or just hiding. And what he disappeared with, boy... they'll kill anyone to get close to that."
"Close to what?" Damurah scoffed, leaning back in his chair, seemingly oblivious to the danger. "The Powerhart?"
Chayne exploded into frantic motion, waving his massive hands around the table, his eyes wide and bulging. "My goodness, boy, are you trying to get us killed?! Yes, you dunce!" he hissed, his voice a low, terrifying growl. He shot a nervous glance around the tavern, though thankfully, the constant noise of the miscreants seemed to have drowned out the forbidden word.
Chayne immediately grabbed the edge of the table. "We are done here. Now," he commanded, his voice switching from panic to urgent authority. "We need to get somewhere we can talk, and we need to do it without turning any heads."
The four men rose as one, the chairs scraping loudly on the wooden floor—a sound that, thankfully, was instantly swallowed by the tavern's din. Chayne moved with a tense urgency, leaving a handful of coins on the table to cover the rounds of ale.
They slipped out the crooked door and onto the chaotic, unforgiving streets of Repudi. The night air was cooler, but the tension was immediate and absolute. Chayne, his massive frame now moving with a predatory caution, led them into a narrow, shadowed alleyway, forcing Damurah, Tylus, and Westleh to follow.
Once the roar of the tavern was safely muffled by the surrounding buildings, Chayne spun around, his blue eyes blazing.
"That word.. you never say it again, not here, not on the ship, not anywhere near another living soul," Chayne demanded, his voice a fierce growl. "We need to get somewhere safe, somewhere quiet. Your name is too much of a risk to be whispering about in a place like this."
Chayne's face was inches from Damurah's, his breath coming out in short, angry huffs. "From this moment on, those words are no longer part of your vocabulary," he demanded, his voice a furious whisper. "The Powerhart and Mercer are gone."
He stepped back, running a hand over his thick red hair, the rage in his eyes softening into a grim certainty. "Your father was amazing, he was a legend, but between the war and who he was before the war, it's better to just leave it all in the past."
The command was given without any stray. Damurah was being told to bury his own identity for the sake of survival.
Chayne stepped back from Damurah, running his large hands over his stubbled chin. The sheer danger of the Mercer name had replaced his hunger, but only for a moment.
"We can't plan on empty bellies, but we sure as hell can't talk here," Chayne muttered, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "The Shadow Kraken is out; too exposed. We need a secure bolthole, and I know just the place that caters to discreet folk. It's not as loud as that dung heap we just left."
He pointed them down a narrow, mud-slicked lane that smelled strongly of spices and coal smoke. "It's called The Quiet Hook. It's small, it's run by a friend, and they only take coin and silence. We eat, we talk, and we figure out what in the damn sea you're going to do next."
The four men, moving with controlled urgency, followed Chayne down the hidden lane. They quickly pushed through a thick canvas curtain and into The Quiet Hook. The place was small, warm, and thankfully, only half-full. Low, oil lanterns cast deep shadows, and the few patrons, mostly solitary figures, kept their eyes on their bowls.
They claimed a tight booth in the darkest corner. A small, weary server wordlessly brought four bowls of thick, savory stew and a fresh round of ale. As soon as the food was on the table, Chayne dug in, but his eyes never left Damurah's.
"Alright, Damurah," Chayne said, his voice low and steady. "We're safe for now. We know your father was Sophron. Now, you tell us everything you know about that… thing. And who else knows you are a Mercer?"
Damurah took a deep breath, the savory steam of the stew warming his face. "No one," he answered, his voice barely a whisper. "I don't even think I told the captain."
Chayne froze, a spoonful of stew halfway to his mouth. His blue eyes widened, not with panic, but with deep, solemn realization. "You mean to tell me Captain Maurzer Espadar, the man who would risk hanging to protect a member of his crew, doesn't know about that... that thing?"
Damurah nodded once. "Just the four of us."
Chayne slowly lowered his spoon, his gaze intense. Tylus and Westleh leaned in, their interest now far surpassing their hunger.
"Then the world's most dangerous secret is sitting at this table," Chayne murmured. "Alright, Damurah. You're clearly not going to tell us everything at once. But you have to tell us what it is. What exactly is the Powerhart?"
Damurah kept his voice low, his eyes scanning the quiet room even as he spoke. "From what I understand, you can control all six elements." He paused, taking a slow sip of ale. "But that's all I know."
Tylus stared, his mouth slightly agape. "Six elements? Not just one? That's... that's like being a god," he breathed, his friendly enthusiasm replaced by awe.
Chayne's expression remained grim, his hand resting near his hip, a familiar movement of caution. "A god, a king, and a fool's errand," he muttered, picking up his spoon but making no move to eat. "Alright, so it grants total power. We already assumed the stakes were high. But why the name Mercer? Why is your family name the key? Did your father have the Powerhart when he vanished?"
"My father had one, yes," Damurah confirmed, his voice barely audible above the low murmur of the tavern. He leaned further across the table, his eyes locking with Chayne's.
"And it's not something you get," he added, the cold pride in his voice returning. "Mercers are born with it. That's what the Powerhart is. My younger brother, Doren, he has one—it's there, but he can't even call a flame yet." He shook his head.
Chayne pushed his bowl of stew away, the hunger completely forgotten. He looked from Damurah to the two silent, watching crewmates. "If it's a birthright, and your little brother has one, then your father—Sophron—he had one too, didn't he?" Chayne asked, even though Damurah had already answered, it was to solidify that his old war buddy was just that powerful. "That's why he was so legendary. That's why he vanished." He shook his head in disbelief.
"And now for the only question that matters," Chayne continued, his gaze intense. "You said Doren has one, and you confirmed your father did. What about you, Damurah? Is that Fire of yours just a regular element, or is that thing in you too?"
Damurah took another slow breath, his voice becoming a confessional whisper. He was sharing the most dangerous truths of his life, and the solemn attention of the pirates made the air thick and heavy.
"My father showed most of the world he was a Water elementalist," he said, nodding toward the mystery Chayne had witnessed in the war. "But he had more power than anyone could imagine." He stopped, swallowing hard. "And no. I only use fire."
The statement hung in the air: Damurah was a Mercer by name, a target by association, but he was missing the very power that defined his family and explained his brother's "special" status.
Chayne didn't need any further explanation about the sibling rivalry. He understood now. He pushed his empty bowl aside and leaned his massive elbows on the table, his eyes full of questions. His brain was wiring a plan together.
"Alright," Chayne said, his voice a definitive command. "Sophron was a legend who went out in a blaze of glory and now his name is a curse. His son, Damurah, is a Fire elementalist who's mad at his brother for winning the birthright lottery." He gave a sharp look to Tylus and Westleh, who nodded in silent agreement. "The secret is with us. Your problem is now our problem. But… We can't stay here," Chayne continued, glancing around the dimly lit corner. "We're pirates, and we have a job. But we can't ignore this. Your old life is what drove you to the sea, and now that sea life has to protect you from it."
"We're going to use this ship and this crew to figure out what the hell happened to your father, and who out there is looking for your family," Chayne stated, laying out the new course. "But first, you need to shed the skin of that old life."
Tylus, whose face had been focused, suddenly snapped his fingers, startling the two men across the table. He pointed across the table at Damurah.
"Wait a minute," Tylus burst out, his voice loud enough to draw a brief, annoyed glance from a patron across the room. "Chayne is right. You're trying to hide from the past, so why don't you just... Not claim the Mercer name. Figure out a new place you came from?"
"Yeah, but where?" Damurah asked, still reeling from the weight of Chayne's commitment.
Westleh calmly pushed his glasses up his nose. "It needs to be a place far from Erenia, but not so obscure that it invites too many questions. A place where a simple Fire elementalist wouldn't be out of the ordinary. And you need a surname."
"Like Damurah Ash from Embania!" Tylus roared, his excitement bubbling over. "That makes sense! Embania is known for Fire elementals! You just tell people you're an exile from there! That sounds cool! Like you're some kind of wild-man fire-fugitive!"
Chayne shook his head at Tylus, but a small smirk touched his beard. "We'll stick with Damurah for now, but Tylus has the right idea. A plain name is weak. A good alias is armor. It has to be simple and true enough to make any simple inspection stop dead, and being an Embanian Fire elementalist is a story that fits you perfectly."
Damurah gripped his mug, frustration etched on his face. "You guys don't go by your surnames. Why can't I just... Metaphorically toss my name into the ocean? I'm Damurah. That's it."
Chayne shook his head, pushing his finished bowl away. "We don't go by them because we don't need them, boy," he clarified, his voice firm but patient. "We've earned our names. Everyone on this coast knows Chayne is the giant air elemental on the Kraken. Tylus is the brute with the club and hammer. Westleh is the sniper."
Westleh nodded, adjusting his glasses. "It's a matter of reputation. We have established aliases that speak to our worth and our danger. You, Damurah, are unknown. And 'unknown' only works when your given name isn't attached to a ghost story that gets people killed. You need a simple, believable new marker until you earn a proper pirate title."
"It's like an empty hole where a dangerous bomb used to be," Tylus added, trying to be helpful. "People will stop and stare at the hole, wondering what fell out. Give them a nice, boring flower instead!"
"We need a name that makes sense with you being a Fire elementalist from Embania," Chayne concluded. "Something simple. Now, you just need to pick one."
Damurah quietly ate his stew, the rich, savory broth helping to calm his frantic thoughts. He finished most of the bowl, chewing slowly as he wrestled with the idea of abandoning his name. Finally, with a sigh, he looked up.
"Damurah Mortar," he said, testing the name on his tongue. He looked around the table, seeking an approving nod from his new crew.
Chayne took a moment, letting the name settle. "Damurah Mortar," he repeated, a slow grin spreading across his face. "Solid. Unassuming, but gives the sense of something heavy and hard to break. I like it. Does that name belong to anyone we should worry about, Westleh?"
The man with the glasses shook his head. "No significant names in the archives from Embania that I know of. It's safe."
Tylus slammed his fist lightly on the table. "I love it! Damurah Mortar! It's like you're going to build a fortress or just blow one up! It's flexible!"
Chayne raised his ale in a silent toast. "Then it's settled. The Mercer name is in the deep water. You are Damurah Mortar, a Fire elementalist from Embania." He drained his mug, his expression turning serious once more. "Now that we have your alias locked down, we need to focus on the reality of the secret you've shared."
Chayne leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "You said you left home to get out from under your brother's shadow. Well, you've found a life free of him, but you brought the danger with you. We're pirates, but your secret changes things. We're going to use the Shadow Kraken to figure out what happened to Sophron and who's hunting the Powerhart."
Damurah's face hardened, the brief relief of having a new name replaced by the heavy reality of the mission. "How, without putting myself out there?" he asked, his voice low with suspicion. "The whole point of this new name is to hide."
Chayne nodded, taking a slow sip of his ale. "That's why we go out there, not you." he explained, resting a massive hand on the table.
"First, you stick to the Mortar name, no slip-ups. You are an Embanian Fire elementalist on the Shadow Kraken, nothing more. Second, you stay close to the ship when we're in port. If you leave, you go with one of us."
Westleh calmly added, "We will use the pirate network. Rumors travel faster than ships. We can put out feelers for information without ever mentioning real names. I can start compiling records here in Repudi."
Tylus grinned. "And I'll ask around the rougher taverns! They talk a lot about big secrets when they're drunk. No one will suspect 'Tylus the brute' is doing actual research."
Chayne finished his ale. "The ship leaves at sunrise, Damurah. Let's get you back to the Shadow Kraken so we can figure out some information."
The four men split their separate ways outside The Quiet Hook. Tylus, his massive form already radiating eagerness, clapped Chayne on the shoulder and headed with a purposeful stride toward the louder taverns lining the docks, ready to party his way into any useful gossip.
Westleh, meanwhile, adjusted his glasses and disappeared down a side street toward a dilapidated structure that must have been the port's "beaten-down library," the single-minded scholar already focused on dusty records and forgotten histories.
Chayne and Damurah Mortar walked back toward the Shadow Kraken. The docks were still active, full of men finishing their trips of revelry or dockworkers moving boxes of goods and treasure to staging areas, but the big pirate moved with an unhurried confidence that dared no one to approach.
Once on board the Kraken, the ship felt like an immense, silent beast, a stark contrast to the noise of the port. The anchor was ready, the sails were mostly furled, and the deck was a quiet platform for a lone sentry. Captain Maurzer Espadar was nowhere to be seen, likely finishing his own evening business ashore.
Chayne stopped by the entrance to the crew quarters. "Get some rest, Damurah," he ordered, his voice low. "Sleep. We leave at sunrise."
Chayne left and Damurah was now practically alone. He sat with his own thoughts, the evening growing lonely and his mind growing loud. A sigh escaped his lips as he lay on his cot.
"I wonder how everyone is doing back home.." he said in a quiet reminiscence of his family he had left. Although he conveyed anger while he was home, their absence was still an agonizing stab into his heart.