Brendon stood near the edge of his bunk, the old wood creaking beneath his feet. The gentle swaying of The Wayward Star had become oddly soothing, but his mind was anything but calm.
Kellan had left him some dry clothes and a meal of roasted fish and flatbread—simple but warm. The salty air clung to everything, seeping into skin and thought alike. He could hear the low murmur of waves and the occasional shouts of crew members overhead.
He stepped out of the cramped cabin, squinting against the glare of the sun reflecting off the water. A new horizon stretched endlessly in every direction. The air was brisk, the wind tugging at his hair. The scent of sea salt mixed with the musk of rope, sweat, and iron.
Kellan stood near the wheel, speaking with another crewman. Brendon approached, still sore but upright.
Kellan noticed and nodded. "Didn't expect you up so soon."
Brendon gave a faint smile. "I actually recovers fast, I guess."
He looked around at the ship—its blackened sails, patched in places, flapped rhythmically. The ship wasn't grand, but it was sturdy. The crew, most of whom were anthros, worked diligently. Muscular wolves, a towering bear, a jaguar with a compass slung over his shoulder. One even looked like a crocodile with an eye-patch. Yet none of them seemed hostile. Their movements were precise, calm. Professional.
"How... how do you even manage to operate here?" Brendon asked, turning back to Kellan. "This is the English Channel, right? Shouldn't the Coast Guard be all over you guys?"
Kellan gave a dry chuckle. "They are. Which is why we don't linger. We've learned how to ride the old sea currents... ones most people forgot even exist."
Brendon raised an eyebrow.
Kellan pointed to the sea. "There's a deep current, runs like a ghost trail beneath the surface. Pulls you faster than most ships can track, if you know how to catch it. Risky as hell. But if you're good with your timing—and we are—you can slip in and out without setting off any alarms."
"That sounds… insane."
"Welcome to the life of an outlaw," Kellan smirked. "Insanity's our specialty."
Brendon looked out over the water, trying to imagine what kind of life this was—one of dodging radar, braving storms, living in the cracks between society's rules. He felt a strange mixture of admiration and unease.
"Come on," Kellan said, giving him a pat on the back. "You should meet the captain."
Brendon followed him up to the quarterdeck. The crew glanced at him occasionally—some curious, some indifferent—but no one showed hostility.
At the helm stood a broad-shouldered figure, hunched slightly over the wheel. As Brendon got closer, he realized the captain was a massive anthro walrus. His gray whiskers drooped down past his mouth, and small tusks poked out from beneath his leathery upper lip. A long navy-blue coat, once fine but now weather-beaten, hung over his stocky frame.
He turned slowly as they approached.
"Captain Mordell," Kellan said. "The lad's awake."
The captain's small eyes narrowed on Brendon. "You the one who leapt into the sea, aye?"
Brendon nodded. "Thanks for pulling me out."
Mordell grunted. "Wasn't my idea. Kellan's soft for strays."
Brendon didn't flinch. "Still. I owe you."
The walrus chewed his words slowly. "Oaths are worth little at sea, boy. But survival? That's coin enough."
There was a silence, broken only by the wind in the sails.
Brendon stepped closer. "Captain… I need your help. I have to get back to Lagooncrest Isle."
The captain's face changed. Not dramatically—but enough for Brendon to catch the slight tension in his jaw. The twitch of an eye. He turned back toward the sea.
"No."
Brendon blinked. "What?"
"No," Mordell repeated, flatly. "We don't go near that cursed rock."
"But there are people in danger—"
"Then they best say their prayers," the captain snapped.
Brendon took a step forward, frustrated. "Why? Why won't you go back?"
The walrus slowly turned around again. This time, his eyes weren't cold—but filled with something deeper. Older. Pain that had settled like rot in old wood.
"You want to know why, pup?" he said, voice quieter. "Fine. I'll tell you."
He leaned on the wheel, his tusks shining slightly in the sun. The ship creaked gently beneath them, as if bracing for the weight of his tale.
"Fifteen years ago, I lived on Lagooncrest. Born there. Served as a sea officer. Helped maintain the eastern docks. That was before your time—before the island got swallowed by secrets."
Brendon stayed silent, the hair on his arms rising.
"One day, I heard rumors. Whispers of a lab up in the northern cliffside woods. Government-run, they said. Quiet. Restricted. But not abandoned. I didn't believe it until I saw things myself. Not through open doors—but glimpses through shattered windows. Shadows of things not meant to exist. Machines meant to twist nature. Anthros being... changed."
Brendon's stomach twisted.
"They were experimenting on my kind," Mordell growled. "Trying to unlock our 'potential'—trying to understand why some of us were born and others made. We were specimens. Not people."
Kellan stood quietly behind Brendon, his expression grim.
"I went to the authorities. Reported everything. Brought what little proof I had."
"And?"
"They called me a traitor. Said I was fabricating stories to destabilize the island. My rank was stripped. My home was burned. And I was told never to return."
Mordell turned away again, his whiskers fluttering in the wind.
"So, no—I will not take this ship anywhere near that cursed island. Whatever's there now... let it stay buried."
Brendon's throat felt dry.
He wanted to argue. He wanted to plead.
But how could he? This man had been through hell, and survived it by staying away.
Still…
Brendon clenched his fists. "They're doing it again," he said quietly.
The captain didn't turn around.
"There are hybrids now," Brendon went on. "People—humans and anthros—being changed or hunted. Someone's orchestrating it. Maybe even continuing those same experiments you saw. That place—it's not done yet."
Mordell said nothing.
Brendon's voice dropped to a near-whisper. "If you really want to stop the nightmare… you have to help me go back."
The walrus was still for a long time. The sails groaned above them, the wind sighing like a ghost across the sea.
Then he spoke—soft, gravelly.
"I'm sorry, lad. But I've lost too many good souls already."
He turned and walked slowly back into his quarters, leaving Brendon alone with the cold truth.
Lagooncrest would not be easy to reach.
And it looked like he'd be finding his own way back—no matter what it takes.