The Light
The light was everywhere.
Not the cold light of the ship’s lanterns. Not the warm light of the sun. A different light. Soft and golden, like the first light of dawn after a long night.
Elara floated in it, weightless, timeless, endless. She could feel the heart of the ship pulsing around her, through her, inside her. She could feel the thousands of passengers, their hopes and fears and dreams. She could feel her mother. Her father. The first captain.
She could feel everything.
And then —
She opened her eyes.
She was standing on the deck of the Morning Star.
The ship was different. The wood was warm beneath her feet, the sails were bright, the lanterns burned with golden light. The fog was gone. The darkness was gone. The hunger was gone.
The first captain stood beside her.
“You did it,” the old woman said.
“We did it.”
“No. You. I just watched.”
“You showed me the way.”
“You walked it.”
Elara looked at the sea.
The water was blue — bright and clear, full of fish and light. The sky was blue — wide and open, full of birds and clouds and sun.
“The heart,” Elara said. “It’s still beating.”
The first captain nodded.
“The heart will always beat. The ship will always sail. But the prison is open. The passengers are free.”
“Where will they go?”
The first captain looked at the horizon.
“Home. Wherever that is.”
Elara’s parents were on the deck.
Her mother stood at the railing, her silver eyes fixed on the sea. Her father stood beside her, his brown eyes wet.
They turned when Elara approached.
“Elara,” her mother whispered.
“Mom.”
“You saved us.”
“We saved each other.”
Her mother pulled her into a hug.
Her body was warm.
“I’m sorry,” her mother said. “I’m sorry for leaving. I’m sorry for the letter. I’m sorry for everything.”
“You don’t have to be sorry. You did what you had to do.”
“I should have protected you.”
“You did. You sent me the letter. You gave me the choice. You trusted me to make the right one.”
Her mother pulled back.
Her silver eyes were wet.
“I’m proud of you.”
“Thank you, Mom.”