The Glimpse: A Project Wardens Short Story

Alvin’s eyes peeled themselves open to the clatter and convulsions of cannon fire as wind and water welcomed themselves into the Breacher. Had he the time for musings, the young sailor would have laughed at the irony of the ship suffering “breaches” of its own, or perhaps the fact that he was woken by the things that knocked him out in the first time. Instead, his optimism would have to settle for gratitude that he was still alive.

The swelling, swashing water brushed against his back, emerging from the completely submerged lower decks—as clear an indication as any that the ship’s doom was not only inevitable, and approaching fast. Alvin tried to push himself up so that he might join the rest of the ship’s crew, but his only reward for the attempt was a painful, splashing return to the floor as his whole right leg, shattered like glass by artillery, folded and crumpled like a twig.

With no other recourse, Alvin settled for crawling. His eyes rinsed by the salty water, stinging alongside the rest of his wounds, were quickly rendered untrustworthy on their own. Instead, he relied on the shouting of his shipmates and the unmistakable voice of Captain Gildertide to guide him up the Breacher’s steps.

Another flock of booms rang out in the distance, bringing yet another tirade of concussions about the ship. Above and below, behind and ahead, the indigo glow of the outside poured in while broken planks flew at lightning speeds. With his race against the ocean becoming even more dire, Alvin inched up and away from the rising waters as fast as he could while his hands and belly were poked and stabbed by sharp splinters.

Creeping debris and fallen comrades alike, Alvin finally reached the Breacher’s main deck, Alvin where the last of the survivors scrambled hopelessly for their lives. Some rushed to the edges of the ship and dove into the sea in search of flotsam to cling to. Others, either too loyal or too confused to follow suit, simply ran and ran, like rats in search of their heads. Others still were much like Alvin: crippled by the attack, barely able, if at all, to pull themselves up and be useful.

Only one man among them stood still and stern, even as the boat’s bow slanted upwards before its final descent. Captain Gildertide barked and pointed as though his men still had their wits about them, as though hoping that his own iron will would bring the dying ship back from the brink. Unfortunately, he had as much of a chance with them as he did with the metal spheres that, once again, came in for their attack, the impact of just one blasting him into an unrecognizable mist.

Sailing across the Mainland seas, never mind raiding them, had always been seen as a suicidal endeavor—until Captain Gildertide entered the piracy business. With innovation, leadership, and the courage and drive to sail beyond just the shallow rivers and coastlines of the Anarchies, Captain Gildertide revolutionized and reinvigorated the spirit of the Seathen people. Alas, for better or worse, it seemed the old captain finally found his limit.

Alvin mourned the loss of the one man in all the Western Anarchies who ever bothered to look him in the eye, but his failure bothered him little. Every foul inch of land the Western Anarchies offered nothing but famine and disappointment; were it not for Gildertide’s generosity, it would have killed him long ago.

But there was more to admire about Gildertide than just his second chance. The captain’s dream of dominion over Mainland waters gave Alvin a chance to not only find purpose upon the Breacher, but also bring Alvin as close to his dream as a wretch’s life like his could allow: to see the Mainlands for himself.

As water bubbled up from the depths of the ship, the ocean’s grip finally began to drag it into its maw, but it was far too late to stop Alvin. Across the ship’s starboard side, like a mirage, appeared a coastline, draped in morning fog and sprinkled in star-like glimmers of bright light, breaking the casting darkness of the night’s end to reveal her houses and towers. In reach of her majestic ports swam tiny boats and gallant galleons, the bells upon their masts singing softly to their waltz across the waves. No Seathen port in a thousand years could even dream to contest its beauty.

The view lasted for but a few seconds as Alvin’s ground finally dipped below the waves. He could grab no floating remains of his vessel as his broken body slid into the ocean’s black void to die a sailor’s death. The last sight his salt-damaged eyes ever saw were the bottoms of ships coming to encircle what was left of the Breacher and its crew. Maybe they were kind hearts, coming to spare them the fate he was resigning himself to. More likely, however, they were there to clean up their mess with vicious proficiency, as the keepers of the Mainlands were said to do against Anarchies folk.

It didn’t matter at all to Alvin. A life without Captain Gildertide, without the Breacher or its crew, or without the life-liberating bliss of voyaging into stranger’s waters, was not worth living. Instead, Alvin spent his end clinging to that lone glimpse of untouchable land, for it was all the salvation he could have ever asked for.