"In the beginning, we intended to select Sardinia as our refuge. Alas, it lay too close to the rot. Thus, we chose to avoid such unnecessary risk."
Archbishop Lorenzo, Date Unknown.
After what felt like hours of rowing—though dawn was still a long way off—Francis finally reached the shores of Logreef.
The stretch he'd drifted into was clearly the uninhabited side, as there were no traces of the few families said to live here. Only a wall of dense greenery, hiding whatever moved inside it.
He took a slow breath, steadying himself. The cave was supposed to lie somewhere near the island's center—at least, that was the impression he'd pieced together from the old man's cryptic paper. The lie he'd fed Camila's and her mother about his parents' notes was easier to swallow than the truth. So he kept it.
Either way, the result was the same: it didn't matter where he landed. Pick a direction, walk straight, hope nothing decided to tear him apart on the way. That was the plan.
Still, he couldn't help thinking it would've been nice to come ashore near people—any people—if he weren't carrying secrets.
As he stepped closer to the wall of green, a knot curled in his stomach. The distant howling didn't help, it only made the hairs on his neck rise.
He stopped just short of the treeline and reconsidered his approach. This was stupid. Bravado wouldn't get him through a wolf pack, not with nothing but a dagger and wishful thinking.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the ruby ring. He slid it onto the middle finger of his right hand.
If it works, I go. If it doesn't, I turn back. Simple as that.
He focused. The response came almost immediately—far quicker than last time. Heat pulsed through his hand like the ring had been waiting for him.
"It appears it's bonded to me," he murmured.
He raised his arm toward a nearby trunk and pushed, willing the fire outward. A sharp burst shot from his hand and slammed into the bark, leaving a burn mark exactly where he'd aimed.
That settled it.
He drew a breath, tightened his grip on his nerves, and stepped into the trees.
***
Valeria waded into the cold dawn waters, the ritualistic bath already familiar. Yet today, something felt… off. The Shanty she'd heard echoing through the town in the dead of night had cut off abruptly. That was worrying.
"Either the one near their Descension skipped town… or they're dead," she muttered. Neither option was good. She had to investigate—and fast.
***
Tonight's walk wasn't much different from the last one, even if the vegetation looked nearly identical. Then again, Logreef sat so close to his own island that expecting any real diversity had always been wishful thinking.
As the canopies thickened overhead, he slowed and pulled a torch from his pack. One flick of his hand and the flame caught instantly.
"Handy," he muttered, almost impressed with himself.
The deeper he went, the more the noises seemed to sharpen. For a moment, he could've sworn both wind and howls grew louder, but he forced himself to breathe through it. Probably just nerves.
After all, who else from his quiet little town would try something this reckless? Who would row alone to a half-abandoned island because an old scrap of parchment whispered about treasure? The very idea of it—of crossing that unseen line between ordinary and divine—sent a faint thrill through him.
It was enough to keep his feet moving forward.
As if the island itself were conspiring against him, a viper dropped from the branches above with a sharp, angry hiss. Francis jerked back, nearly losing his grip on the torch. His heart slammed against his ribs—and then something steadier substituted the panic.
He wasn't the same defenseless boy he'd been days ago.
He raised his free hand. A column of fire roared out before the viper could strike. The serpent didn't stand a chance; it vanished in a sudden bloom of heat, along with the leaves and bark around it. Flames crawled outward, devouring whatever came its way.
"No no no no no—"
He backed away fast. The fire spread quicker than he'd expected, but the cool wind and heavy humidity quickly smothered it, confining the burn to a single patch in the dark.
Francis stared at the scorched ground, chest still rising and falling.
"That was… the first animal I've ever killed," he said under his breath, half awe, half disbelief.
Guilt crept in a moment later. The viper hadn't been evil—just startled, acting on instinct.
Then again… so was he.
Another stretch of quiet walking, the distant howls of wolves keeping pace with him, gave Francis time to think. He didn't strictly have to choose between sailing and Camila—there was room for both, if he didn't stray too far.
Havana, Dominica, Grenada… all just around the corner, at least in comparison to Europe. A month or two at sea, and he could be back in her arms.
There was always the other option, too: Camila sailing with him. That would erase the waiting entirely. But the seas weren't safe, and putting her in danger was the last thing he would risk. If that meant seeing her only once—or twice—a year, so be it. He'd pay that price to keep her alive.
The quiet, safer option—staying put—nagged at him, lingering in the back of his mind, especially after that night with Camila. What man would give up such moments for uncertainty and pain?
"One that doesn't want to slowly rot to death," he muttered, the words half to himself, half a vow.
Eventually, the suffocating canopy gave way, and moonlight spilled across the ground. The reprieve was brief—serenity never lasted in places like this. The howling Francis had heard wasn't illusory. It grew louder, now accompanied by the sound of sprinting feet. The predators had caught his scent, and they were closing in fast.
His muscles tensed. Instinct screamed to run, to put as much distance as possible between him and the approaching pack. But the faint hum thrumming through his body reminded him that he wasn't defenseless—not anymore. He had the means to fight back, even if the odds were stacked against him.
"Besides, running away would only make me seem like prey," he reminded himself, recalling the advice in the old book. Every fiber of his being wanted to flee, but he clenched his jaw and planted his feet firmly on the soil. Standing his ground wasn't easy; each step of the wolves pushed him to the edge.
Then, breaking through the trees, the pack emerged. Eyes glinting, teeth bared, bodies low and ready to strike—they moved as one. Francis felt a jolt of adrenaline spike through him.
He instantly extended his hand. A pillar of fire erupted, searing through the air and striking the lead wolf dead on. Its howl cut through the clearing, and the others faltered, snarling and circling him, reassessing their opponent. The forest had turned into a battlefield, and Francis had just made the first move.
The wolf that had taken the brunt of the fire screamed, its fur igniting as it bolted in frantic, erratic circles. Francis gritted his teeth and let out guttural sounds of his own, a primal attempt to assert dominance over the pack.
Then, without hesitation, he thrust his hand forward and hurled another ball of fire into the center of the group. The flames ignited the grass, illuminating the snarling faces of the wolves.
The effect was immediate. The pack froze, uncertainty flashing in their golden eyes. They didn't linger. Understanding instinctively—or perhaps sensing the unnatural power before them—they turned and fled into the darkness.
The first wolf, still ablaze, finally collapsed, rolling onto the scorched ground in a pitiful heap. Smoke curled into the air, and the forest fell silent again, leaving Francis alone with the aftermath of his swift victory.
After the dust settled, Francis could hear nothing but his own heartbeat thundering in his ears, and a sharp ringing that made the world feel illusory. Yet, despite the terror, he pressed forward. It was uncharted territory for someone as passive as he'd always been, and the realization made the moment feel even more monumental.
"The bar drunks would never believe me," he muttered, a shaky laugh escaping.
"And I must say… thinking out loud like this is fun. Too bad I can't do it most of the time," he added, forcing a smirk as he continued forward, the cave looming ever closer with each step.