The Vigil of the Lost
The days turned into weeks.
The weeks turned into months.
The months turned into years.
Elara sailed the Morning Star alone. The first captain appeared less often, her visits shorter, her words fewer.
The passengers came and went.
The doors opened and closed.
The lost found their way home.
But Elara felt the weight.
The endless, beautiful, terrible weight.
One night, she dreamed.
She was standing on the shore of Port Morning, the blue water lapping at her feet. The sky was full of stars, the air was warm, the wind was gentle.
And standing in the water, waiting for her, was the first captain.
“Hello, Elara,” she said. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
“You’re not real.”
“I’m as real as your hope. As real as your love. As real as your dreams.”
“Why are you here?”
The first captain stepped closer.
“To tell you that it’s time.”
Elara’s heart stopped.
“Time for what?”
The first captain took her hands.
“Time for you to rest.”
“I can’t rest. The ship needs me.”
“The ship will always need you. But you need to rest.”
“What about the lost souls? What about the passengers?”
The first captain smiled.
“They will find their own way. The world is changing. The lost are not as lost as they used to be.”
“How do you know?”
The first captain reached out and touched her face.
“Because I was lost. And I found my way home. Because of you.”
Elara opened her eyes.
She was on the deck of the Morning Star.
The sea was blue.
The sky was bright.
The ship was quiet.
The first captain was gone.