"Alas, my brothers and sisters deem me a malevolent witch for heeding the ravings."
Saint LeFay's Journal, 2 P.C.
Camila didn't look at him when she finally spoke.
"How much of it was your own doing?" Camila asked, tone impossible to pin down.
Not long ago, she used to sit in that corner in excitement, waiting eagerly for every word he read. Now, it was where their relationship might come apart.
"What do you mean?" Francis replied, not daring to sit beside her.
"I'm not stupid, Francis. The town might've bought the possession story, but I know better. Most of your actions were in-character."
That's what I get for underestimating her.
Maybe it was their closeness all along, but Camila really was the most likely person to see through the lie—even if only partially.
Francis had planned for this moment for the better part of a week, cycling through every excuse he could muster. Balancing Camila and his aspirations was something he would've sacrificed plenty for.
But that was before he drowned.
Now it was clearer than ever how childish that notion had been. The sea didn't just hold men who breathed fire and summoned lightning. It held monsters that could sense him from an island away, divine his thoughts, and ignite ships with a snap of their fingers. And if those were the ones hiding, then far worse things were lurking in the dark.
A dark he would never subject her to.
"You've been the most loving and supportive person I've met in a long time," he said with a sigh. "So it's only fair that I come clean."
"Then why lie in the first place, Francis? Do you really think that little of me?" she asked, tears slipping down her cheeks.
"No—no, it's not that," he said quickly.
"Then what is it?" she snapped, sadness clearly giving way to frustration. "What do I need to do to be good enough for you? Become a pirate captain? Is that what it takes?"
"Camila, please. It's not about you. I'm the problem."
His words only served to amplify her frustration, but to her credit, she composed herself shortly after.
"Explain," she finally said.
Easier said than done. He could have offered a half-truth that would suffice for now, but that would only delay the inevitable. No—if Francis wanted to fix this, he had to face the cold, hard truth.
"There was no possession," he said calmly, immediately drawing a sad expression from Camila. "I'm sorry for not mentioning it earlier. I didn't want to risk offending Valeria. You know how unpredictable pirates can be."
"I was… I came across something you wouldn't understand," he added, hoping that would be the end of it.
"Try me," Camila said defiantly.
"Huh?"
"You said I wouldn't understand. Well, try me," she repeated, her gaze unwavering.
For a moment, he considered making yet another lie. He could've blamed it on pirates, on the Marines, or even on another spirit. But again, that wasn't a solution—nor was it what Camila deserved.
"Are you sure?" Francis asked, hoping for even a hint of reluctance.
"Yes."
Telling her the whole story would not only take time, it would force him onto the defensive, explaining every lie, every omission. That would only shatter their bond further. He needed something quick. Something undeniable.
With most Stanzas either passive or purely utilitarian, Francis had only one real option.
He opened his palm and summoned a fist-sized ball of flame, the sudden burst of light casting wild shadows across the room and sending Camila stumbling back with a startled gasp.
For a moment, she was at a loss for words, chest rising and falling in erratic breaths. Then, slowly, she composed herself.
"What even are you anymore?" Camila asked, grief threading through every syllable.
"I'm still Francis. Bartender Francis. Your betrothed."
"How can I know that for sure?" she replied, her voice growing shakier by the second.
"Camila," he said as he stepped toward her.
"Don't—" she blurted, startled. "Please. Stay away for now."
That's what you get for your idiocy, Francis.
Had he not already braced himself for this reaction, he might've broken down on the spot. But the last few days had taught him a simple lesson: people like him were met with reluctance—if not outright fear. So of course his own betrothed would treat him no differently.
"I had no choice in the matter," Francis said quietly. "It appears the sea chose me for this."
"Is that another one of your lies?" she said with a brittle, mocking laugh. "First an evil spirit, now the sea itself. What's next? Lucifer?"
"I'm genuine—"
"How can I possibly believe you when you've been lying to me your whole life, Francis?" she shot back, tears streaking down her cheeks. "And you know what's especially cruel? That I was stupid enough to believe you changed all of a sudden."
"I know I've been far from honest these last—"
"There you go again with your flowery language. I bet you think that makes your words more believable." She cut him off, only to break into sobs again.
"I died, Camila. Died. The only reason I'm back is because of the sea," he said, trying to defend himself—though he knew instantly it would only make things worse.
"So you worship the sea now? Is that it?"
"No. I didn't say—"
"Doesn't matter. You accepted its gift. You're no different from the heathens the priests warn us about."
It took a long, painful moment for the truth to land. There was no fixing things with Camila. She had loved him unconditionally—yes—but only the version of him she recognized. And even he wasn't sure how much of that man still existed.
"You're right," Francis said at last, resignation hollowing out his words. "Maybe I am a heretic now. You have every right to leave me."
"You're acting as if this brings me joy," she hissed.
"I didn't say that."
"No matter." Another wave of tears overtook her.
For a while, they stayed like that—Francis standing there with nothing left to offer, Camila sobbing into her hands. Eventually, she rose.
"I'm sorry, Francis. As much as I loved the man you were, I can't choose you over my own salvation," she said, tears hardening into resolve. "Farewell. I'll keep you in my prayers."
She opened the door and stepped out of his cramped apartment, leaving him behind.
"This is good, actually," he mumbled. "It's for the best. I saved her."
He sat on his new, uselessly large bed, elbows on his knees, palms cupping his head.
"Camila deserves better. She always did," he said. "It's good for me too. I can finally focus on sailing without the emotional baggage of leaving her behind."
Logical words. Cruel words. True words. None of them softened the blow.
Sorrow curdled into anger, and Francis let it loose—an unfocused wave of Intimidation thrown out into the night. He didn't care who felt it. No one on the island mattered anymore. Not to him.
The surge went on for a while, simmering, pulsing, until he heard a loud knock.
"Quit it, moron!" Valeria shouted from the other side, freezing him mid-surge. She shoved the door open a moment later—permission clearly a foreign concept to her.
"You knocked down half my men," she said, unimpressed.
"Sorry. I had an… argument."
"Boohoo, poor you." She facepalmed. "That still doesn't give you the right to use your powers like an idiot. Do you want to attract a Saint?"
The word hit him like a bucket of ice water.
"I'm sorry. It won't happen again."
"It better not. I didn't risk laying low this long just for your recklessness to get me killed." Only then did she seem to register how bleak the room felt. "Want to talk about it?" she asked, sinking down beside him.
"Just a breakup," he sighed. He didn't trust himself to recount more without cracking again.
"You told her the truth, didn't you?"
"I figured she deserved as much," he said flatly.
"Happens to the best of us, I suppose."
What is she talking about?
"I had a similar incident back home," she continued, her expression softening. "His name was Nigel. Nicest guy I ever met."
"What happened?" Francis asked despite himself.
"Well, one day he saw me regrow an arm and never came back," she said wistfully. "Point is, people like us are bound to be misunderstood. Hated. Maybe even persecuted."
Francis was stunned. Valeria—genuinely sincere. Opening up. He wasn't sure if it was a good sign or something to fear, but right now he'd take whatever support he could get.
"But you know what?" she added, her smug grin returning. "That just means we shine brighter than the rest. And that's… beautiful. In a morbid way."
It was painfully cliché, but it didn't matter. She was trying.
"Thank you," he said, leaning in. She returned the hug without hesitation.
"For the record, you're still carrying out the mission I assigned you, crew mate," she said, promptly ruining the moment like only Valeria could.
"Ugh… noted, captain."