The storm struck on their third day out from Port Cray.
Dust had been enjoying the routine of shipboard life—the steady work, the camaraderie of the crew, the sense of purpose that came from being part of something larger than himself. The weather had been fair, with steady winds that kept the Sea Witch making good time toward Northport.
Then the sky began to change.
"All hands on deck!" Captain Aldrich's voice cut through the morning calm like a blade. "Storm coming in fast from the southwest!"
Dust looked up from the rope he'd been splicing to see dark clouds building on the horizon with unnatural speed. The air itself felt different—charged with electricity that made his skin prickle and the hair on his arms stand up.
"Move, lad!" Korvain shouted, rushing past with an armload of canvas. "This isn't a gentle rain shower—that's a proper storm, and she's got teeth!"
The next hour was controlled chaos as the crew prepared for what was clearly going to be a brutal fight. Sails were reefed down to storm canvas, loose gear was secured or stowed below, and hatches were battened down tight. Every man worked with the efficiency of long practice, but Dust could see tension in their faces.
"First real storm?" Erikson asked, securing a line near where Dust was working.
"On a ship, yes." Dust had to shout to be heard over the rising wind. "How bad will it be?"
"Bad enough. But the Sea Witch is a good ship, and Aldrich is a good captain. We'll ride it out." Erikson's confidence was reassuring, though Dust noticed the older sailor was double-checking every knot he tied.
The storm hit like a physical blow.
One moment they were working under cloudy skies with strong but manageable winds. The next, the world turned into a chaos of driving rain, howling wind, and waves that seemed to reach toward the heavens themselves.
The Sea Witch pitched and rolled like a child's toy, her hull groaning under stresses that made Dust wonder how any ship could survive such punishment. Water cascaded over the deck with each wave, turning simple movement into a desperate struggle for survival.
"Hold fast!" Captain Aldrich commanded from the wheel, his voice barely audible over the storm's roar. "She'll ride it out if we don't give her reason to quit!"
Dust found himself assigned to a team working to keep the storm sail properly set—backbreaking work that required perfect timing and absolute trust in his crewmates. One wrong move, one moment of hesitation, and the sail could tear free entirely, leaving them at the mercy of wind and wave.
The work was terrifying and exhausting in equal measure. Dust's world narrowed to the rope in his hands, the commands shouted by Korvain, and the desperate need to maintain his footing on the slippery deck. Time became meaningless—there was only the next wave, the next gust of wind, the next crisis that required immediate action.
"Dust!" Tam's voice cut through the chaos. "The forward hatch! The lashing's come loose!"
Looking toward the bow, Dust could see the problem immediately. One of the cargo hatches was working loose from its securing ropes, threatening to tear free and flood the forward hold. If that happened, the ship could founder.
"I'll get it!" Dust called back, though the words were almost lost in the wind.
The journey to the forward hatch was like crossing a battlefield. Waves crashed over the deck with bone-jarring force, and the ship's violent motion made every step treacherous. Twice Dust was nearly washed overboard, saved only by grabbing rigging lines at the last moment.
But his years of climbing and scrambling through Lower Ashmark's dangerous streets served him well. He could read the ship's motion, anticipate when the next wave would strike, time his movements to work with the vessel rather than against her.
The hatch was indeed working loose, its heavy wooden cover straining against ropes that had stretched and weakened under the storm's assault. Dust could see that one line had already parted completely, while two others were fraying badly.
Working by feel as much as sight in the driving rain, he began retying the failed lashing. His hands, now properly callused from weeks of rope work, moved with practiced efficiency even as the deck bucked and rolled beneath him.
A massive wave struck just as he was completing the repair, slamming him against the hatch cover and driving the breath from his lungs. For a moment, the world went black around the edges, and he felt his grip loosening.
Then strong hands grabbed his shoulders, hauling him back from the edge of the deck.
"Stupid brave fool!" Korvain shouted in his ear. "That hatch isn't worth your life!"
"Ship needs it secure!" Dust gasped back, spitting out seawater.
"Ship needs crew alive more!" But even as he scolded, Korvain was helping Dust finish the repair, his experienced hands making quick work of the remaining loose lines.
Together, they fought their way back to the relative safety of the main mast area, where Captain Aldrich continued his battle to keep the Sea Witch pointed into the storm. The man looked like he'd aged years in the past few hours, his weathered face grim with concentration.
"How much longer?" Dust asked Erikson during a brief lull in the wind.
"Could be hours yet," the tattooed sailor replied, checking the lashing on a water barrel. "Storms like this don't give up easy. But look—" He pointed toward a section of sky that seemed fractionally lighter. "She's starting to break up. We might see clear sky by evening."
The prediction proved optimistic. The storm raged through the afternoon and into the night, testing every timber of the Sea Witch and every skill of her crew. But gradually, almost imperceptibly, its fury began to wane.
By dawn, they were sailing under partly cloudy skies with moderate seas, though the ship still rolled heavily in the storm's aftermath. The crew moved about their duties with the careful deliberation of men who'd been pushed to their limits and survived.
"Damage report," Captain Aldrich called as the sun climbed higher.
The list was significant but not catastrophic. Several sails needed repair, some rigging required replacement, and the galley had taken water that ruined part of their food stores. But the hull was sound, the masts intact, and no one had been seriously injured.
"Could have been much worse," Korvain observed as he surveyed the torn canvas of the main topsail. "I've seen storms like that break ships in half."
"What made the difference?" Dust asked, genuinely curious.
"Good ship, experienced crew, and a captain who knows when to fight the sea and when to work with her," Erikson replied. "Also luck—can't sail without a measure of that."
As the crew began the process of cleaning up and making repairs, Dust found himself thinking about the night's lessons. The storm had been terrifying, but it had also shown him something important about himself. When crisis struck, he hadn't frozen or panicked. He'd found a way to help, to contribute meaningfully to their survival.
"You did well last night," Captain Aldrich said, joining him at the rail where Dust was watching dolphins play in the ship's wake. "That hatch could have been trouble if you hadn't secured it."
"Korvain did most of the work."
"Korvain's been sailing for twenty years. You've been aboard for two weeks, and you went forward into that mess without being ordered." Aldrich studied him appraisingly. "That takes either courage or stupidity. In your case, I think it was courage."
"I just did what needed doing."
"Exactly. That's what makes a real sailor—someone who sees what needs doing and does it, regardless of personal risk." The captain paused. "We'll reach Northport in two days. I know you signed on just to get away from Lower Ashmark, but if you're interested, I could use another permanent crew member. The pay's fair, and you'd see more of the world than most people dream of."
The offer was tempting. Life aboard the Sea Witch was hard but honest work, with good companions and the promise of adventure. It would be easy to say yes, to let the sea carry him away from all his past troubles.
But something held him back. Elena's words echoed in his memory: You're not the same person who fled Lower Ashmark. You're stronger now, more capable.
"I'm honored by the offer, Captain," Dust said carefully. "Can I give you an answer in Northport? I'd like to think about it properly."
"Of course. Just remember—the sea has a way of calling to certain people. If you're one of them, you'll know soon enough."
As the Sea Witch continued her journey north, Dust pondered his choices. The storm had tested him and found him capable, but it had also reminded him that he was still learning, still growing into whatever he was meant to become.
The question was: what exactly was that?