The Magic Book

Sophia turned to Justin. “And for you.”

Tomas brought forward a bow—a longbow, medieval in design with a graceful curve that looked both elegant and deadly. The wood was dark and polished, clearly well-crafted, the grain running smooth under layers of oil. A quiver of twenty arrows accompanied it, each one straight and true, the fletching tipped with distinctive red that looked almost like dried blood.

Robin glanced at his sword, then at Justin’s bow. Heat crept up his neck. “You get to fight from a distance. I have to get close enough to be stabbed. How is that fair?”

Justin grinned. “Maybe next time don’t get shot.”

“Too soon,” Robin muttered.

“You fought a hunter hand-to-hand and won,” Sophia said to Justin. “You’ve proven your courage. But courage without wisdom leads to unnecessary wounds.” She gestured to Justin’s wrapped knee. “Learn to fight from a distance. Distance is sometimes wiser than proximity. A sword requires you to be close enough to be struck. An arrow does not.”

Justin took the bow, and something shifted in his posture. Straightened. Settled. Like pieces clicking into place. He tested the draw, checking the tension, examining the craftsmanship with an expert’s eye—fingers running along the wood, checking the string, testing the weight. Then he selected an arrow, nocked it smoothly, drew back—not fully, just testing—and eased it down again.

The movements were fluid. Practiced. Natural.

Like breathing.

Margaret’s eyebrows rose. “You’ve done this before.”

Robin stared at him, his stomach doing something odd. “Wait. You’ve been trained in combat? Like, actually trained?”

“My dad,” Justin said. “Ex-military. Taught me hunting, archery, hand-to-hand from the time I was ten. Said you never know when you’ll need to survive without modern tools.” He smiled slightly. “Guess he was right.”

Robin’s mind raced back through the weeks. The way Justin had moved in the darkness when the hunter attacked. The precision. The confidence. “That’s how you disarmed the hunter,” Robin breathed. “You actually knew what you were doing. I thought you just... got lucky.”

“Muscle memory,” Justin admitted, his voice quiet. “Hadn’t held a weapon in years. But when he came at me in the dark, my body just... remembered.”

Justin slung the bow and quiver across his back with the ease of long practice, the movements automatic, efficient. Despite his healing knee, he suddenly looked far more dangerous than the analytical corporate traveler Robin had thought he knew. Like someone had peeled back a layer and revealed something harder underneath.

Robin shook his head slowly. “And here I thought you were just a corporate tech guy.”

“I was trying to be,” Justin said quietly, his eyes on the bow in his hands. “Spent years trying to forget that part of my life. Wanted to be the analytical guy, not the soldier’s son. Thought that world was behind me.” He looked down at the bow. “Guess it followed me here.”

Robin felt a strange mix of relief and... something else. Something that sat cold in his stomach. Relief that his partner knew how to fight. But also—

Why hadn’t Justin mentioned this before? What else didn’t Robin know about him?

He pushed the thought away. They were partners. Justin had been there that morning in the animal pen when Robin’s shoulder had seized without warning—had taken the weight instantly, guided him to sit, gone for Margaret without being asked. Small thing maybe. But when you were hurting and someone just showed up without making a fuss about it, that meant something.

Justin had helped him. Possibly saved him from doing real damage to his healing shoulder.

That was what mattered.

Wasn’t it?

Finally, Sophia handed them each a small leather pouch. The weight told Robin immediately what was inside: coins. The leather was soft and warm, the pouches heavy in his palm.

He opened it. Silver glinted in the morning light. Sixty pieces, each one stamped with symbols he didn’t recognize but understood had value in this land—the kind of understanding that came from the soul rather than the mind.

“From the Sanctuary’s coffers,” Margaret explained, her warm eyes crinkling with a smile. “Payment for your work in the correspondence room, with the animals, tending the gardens—seven weeks of service. You earned this.” Her expression softened. “And it’s our way of saying thank you. You helped us as much as we helped you.”

“This is too much,” Robin protested, the words tumbling out before he could stop them.

“It’s exactly right,” Sophia corrected firmly. “You’ll need capital for your journey. The paths ahead aren’t free. You’ll need to eat, to trade, to pay for passage. But guard it wisely, both of you.” Her expression grew serious, her kaleidoscope eyes darkening. “Money attracts those who would take it. And there are many in this land who’ve grown skilled at separating travelers from their coin.”

Robin thought of the forty programs he’d bought. Of every scam and scheme and “opportunity” that had emptied his wallet back home. Jennifer’s smiling face promising success. The upsells. The empty traffic exchanges. Ten thousand dollars gone like water through his fingers.

“We’ll be careful,” he promised.

“Will you?” Sophia asked, and something in her tone made Robin’s chest tighten. He looked up sharply. But her expression was unreadable, her shifting eyes giving nothing away.

She was quiet for a moment, then continued. “The Magic Book will show you four paths. You must walk each one to reach the Mentor’s Path. Each will teach you something you need to learn. Some lessons are harder than others.”

“What will the Simple Path teach us?” Justin asked.

Sophia was quiet for a moment, as if choosing her words carefully, weighing each one before speaking. “That simple and easy are not the same thing. That the path which looks straightforward is often the most deceptive. And that sometimes the greatest dangers wear the most welcoming faces.”

A chill ran down Robin’s spine despite the morning sun warming his back.

“But you’ll survive it,” Sophia added, her voice gentle. Then she paused, and when she spoke again, her words carried weight—as if they were being carved into stone, echoing across the courtyard. “You’ve both proven you have what matters most. Not intelligence or strength or luck, but the willingness to continue after failure. That’s the only quality that truly separates those who reach Time Freedom from those who turn back.”

Robin felt the words settle into his chest like truth taking root. He’d continue. No matter what. He wouldn’t quit. Not this time, not ever.

Beside him, Justin shifted slightly. Something flickered across his face—too quick to read. Pain? Determination? Something else? Then it was gone, and Justin was nodding in agreement.

Sophia stepped forward and placed one shimmering hand on Robin’s shoulder, then on Justin’s. Her touch felt like warm sunlight and cool water simultaneously—impossible to describe but unmistakably real, like touching something that existed between worlds.

“Remember what you’ve learned here,” she said. “Desire must be clear. Faith must be strong. But above all, you must learn to discern truth from lies. Many will offer you shortcuts. Many will promise easy paths. But ask yourself always: does this person profit from my success, or from my payment?”

Robin thought of Jennifer. The program that cost $250. The upsells that appeared the moment he’d paid. The traffic exchanges that went nowhere, just endless clicking for nothing. She’d profited from his payment, not his success. Never his success.

“I’ll remember,” Robin said quietly.

Sophia’s eyes held his. “Will you? Even when the offer sounds good? Even when someone seems trustworthy? Even when you want desperately to believe?”

Robin wanted to say yes. But he’d been fooled before. So many times. Forty times.

“I’ll try,” he said honestly.

“That’s all I ask,” Sophia replied. “Just try.”

Ariana stepped forward, her eyes bright with unshed tears that caught the morning light. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “Both of you. For helping me find where I belong.”

“You helped us too,” Robin said, his throat tight. “You showed us that not everyone has to climb the mountain. That there are different kinds of success.”

“And you showed me it’s okay to want what I actually want,” Ariana said, her voice trembling slightly. “Not what sounds impressive.”

She hugged Robin carefully, mindful of his healing shoulder, her arms warm despite the frost. Then Justin.

“I’ll keep this place safe,” she promised. “For when you come back.”

“When we come back,” Robin confirmed. Not if. When.

“Bring me stories,” Ariana said. “Of the islands. Of Time Freedom. Of everything you see out there.”

“We will,” Justin promised.

Sophia raised one hand toward the garden wall. Stones began to grind and shift, the sound echoing across the courtyard like thunder rolling through mountains. Not the dark passage they’d entered through, but something else entirely.

Bright light poured through the opening. Not the golden light of the sanctuary, but harsh white daylight that made Robin squint.

And beyond it—

Robin and Justin stepped through the passage.

The Sanctuary fell away behind them—the beautiful house, the frost-covered gardens, the kind faces of the workers. Ariana raised one hand in farewell, and Robin raised his in return, his chest aching with something he couldn’t name.

They walked forward through a corridor of light that seemed to bend and shift around them, the air thick and strange.

The stone walls of the passage dissolved, replaced by something that wasn’t quite solid—more like walking through fog that had weight. And then they emerged into a room.

At first, Robin couldn’t make sense of what he was seeing. His brain stuttered. The walls were broken—crumbling stone, gaps where masonry had fallen away like missing teeth, ceiling beams rotted and collapsed. It looked like the ruins they’d first entered seven weeks ago.

But even as he watched, the room began to change.

Stones lifted themselves back into place, moving with impossible grace. Cracks sealed. Broken beams became whole, darkened wood returning to rich, polished glory. Elegant wooden floors materialized beneath their feet, warm and solid. Windows reformed in the walls, letting in golden light that had no obvious source.

Within moments, the ruined room had transformed into breathtaking perfection—a circular chamber with walls lined with carved bookshelves, a domed ceiling painted with constellations that seemed to move, and polished floors that reflected light like still water.

Robin’s breath caught.

The carved bookshelves. The golden light with no obvious source. The sense that this room existed between worlds—between breaths.

He’d felt this before.

The library Behind the Veil.

But this was bigger. More powerful. More...final. Like the difference between a candle and the sun that candle was trying to become.

“What just happened?” Justin breathed, looking around at the transformed room, his voice echoing slightly.

Robin didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Because the room felt both completely real and utterly impossible. As if they’d stepped outside time, into a space that existed between moments. Between breaths.

Justin had never been Behind the Veil. He had no frame of reference for this feeling.

But Robin did.

And in the center, on a pedestal of white marble, sat the Magic Book.

It rested there as if it had always been waiting. For them.

He approached the book slowly, his heart hammering against his ribs.

Wow. It was magnificent. Maybe eighteen inches tall and a foot wide, bound in leather that shifted colors in the light—silver, gold, deep brown, midnight blue, colors that shouldn’t exist together but somehow did. The covers were embossed with intricate patterns that seemed to move when he wasn’t looking directly at them, like watching something from the corner of his eye.

Silver clasps held it closed, gleaming like captured moonlight.

Robin reached out, hesitant. His fingers trembling. The moment his fingers touched the clasps, they sprang open with a soft click.

The cover fell away.

And the pages began to turn.

Fast. Really fast. Like someone was flipping through looking for something specific, fingers flying across paper.

Robin tried to focus on individual pages but couldn’t. They moved too quickly, images and words flowing past in a torrent—islands, ships, faces, symbols, maps, trade routes, dangers, opportunities—all of it bleeding together into a river of information.

And then something crazy happened.

The information began flowing directly into his mind.

Not through his eyes. Not through reading. It was as if the words were being etched onto his consciousness, bypassing normal learning entirely.

And he couldn’t slow it down.

Images flashed past faster than thought — maps, routes, coastlines, faces — each one landing before he’d finished catching the last. He saw islands and understood their geography. He saw dangers and recognized their patterns. He didn’t choose any of it. It simply arrived, flash after flash after flash, and all he could do was stand there and let it come.

For a moment the pressure built behind his eyes, tight and swelling, the way a headache announces itself just before it breaks. His brain felt too full — like a cup already at the brim with the pitcher still pouring, knowledge rising and rising until he thought, dimly, that he might actually burst.

Then the pressure tipped over into something else. Not pain. Just... weird. A strange, buzzing fullness, like his whole mind had pins and needles.

This wasn’t reading. This was transmission — pure knowledge flowing from the book into his soul.

Robin’s breath caught. His vision blurred. The room tilted gently, then righted itself. Beside him Justin swayed too, one hand drifting up toward his temple and then stopping, as if he’d expected it to hurt and was surprised to find it didn’t.

It was the weirdest, most peculiar sensation Robin had ever experienced. And considering he was standing on a floating island inside an impossible land, that was saying something.

They saw the Western Isles—forests thick with ancient trees whose trunks were wider than houses, merchants calling out prices in crowded markets where the air smelled of sawdust and pine, timber being loaded onto ships with dragon-headed prows.

They saw the Eastern Isles—fertile farmland stretching to horizons painted gold with wheat, fishing villages along endless coastlines where nets dried in the sun, farmers bringing crops to market in carts pulled by oxen.

They saw the Northern Isles—snow-covered peaks rising into clouds like white towers, fur trappers working in frozen wilderness where their breath hung in the air like ghosts, mines dug deep into iron-rich mountains where forges burned day and night.

They saw the Southern Isles—volcanic soil producing exotic spices that made the air shimmer with heat and scent, silk workshops where delicate fabric was woven on looms that clicked like insects, warm markets filled with luxury goods that gleamed like treasure.

And between them all—the floating trade routes. Strange ships sailing through open sky, their sails catching winds that had no business existing. Stone bridges connecting islands, arching through clouds. Merchants moving goods from scarcity to abundance, fortunes rising and falling with the wind.

But they also saw the dangers.

Lord Malthus’s Dark Tower—storm clouds swirling like angry beasts, lightning flashing constantly, hunters patrolling in black armor, travelers captured and broken in dungeons where screams echoed.

Scammers on every path—welcoming faces hiding greedy hearts, smiles too wide, eyes that calculated worth, opportunities that promised wealth but delivered ruin.

The cost of failure—travelers who gave up, who ran back to the arch, who chose comfort over freedom and lived with regret forever, their dreams dying with them.

And finally, the pages slowed, settling open to a single spread.

Four paths stretched across the page, each one glowing with its own distinct color:

THE SIMPLE PATH — pale blue like morning sky. A Viking longship sailed between islands, its sail full of wind. Markets bustled with activity. Everything looked welcoming, prosperous, easy. Safe.

THE PAID PATH — deep gold like sunset. Three magnificent castles on three islands, their towers reaching toward clouds. Mentors waiting at the gates. Knowledge offered for a price. But the book whispered warnings about discernment, about questions to ask, about truth versus lies.

THE GUIDED PATH — soft silver like moonlight. Shadowy figures moving through darkness, hidden routes only the initiated could find, danger and protection intertwined like braided rope. The Watchers protecting those worthy of protection.

THE PATH OF HARD WORK — steady red like forge-fire. A master teaching apprentices who earned knowledge through service, day after day, year after year. No shortcuts. No easy victories. Just daily, consistent effort toward mastery.

And beyond them all, shrouded in mist at the edge of the page:

THE MENTOR’S PATH — barely visible, glowing faintly with white light. The destination. Time Freedom itself. So close Robin could almost touch it. So far it might as well be another world.

The pages stopped moving.

The transmission ended.

Robin staggered, his mind reeling from the flood of information, legs weak.

Beside him, Justin gripped the pedestal for support, knuckles white, eyes wide with wonder.

“Did you...” Robin started, his voice coming out hoarse.

“See it all?” Justin finished. “Yes. Every island. Every route. Every danger. It’s all... it’s all in my head now. Like I’ve studied maps for years.”

“Photographic memory,” Robin breathed. “But more than that. I don’t just remember seeing it. I understand it. Like the knowledge went straight into my soul.”

A shimmer of light drew their attention.

Sophia stood in the doorway—or had she been there all along? Her form was brighter here, more solid, as if this room strengthened her presence.

“The Magic Book grants understanding to those worthy of its wisdom,” she said gently. “What you’ve received is a gift few travelers earn. Guard it well. Use it wisely.”

She moved forward, reaching into her shimmering robes. “But knowledge alone is not enough. You’ll need a way to communicate, to seek guidance, to call for help when darkness closes in.”

She withdrew something small—a leather pouch, intricately woven with silver thread that caught the light.

“This,” Sophia said, “is a Seeing Stone.”

Robin took the pouch carefully, his fingers trembling. Inside lay a stone unlike anything he’d ever seen—smooth, black, but strangely translucent like dark glass. Swirling patterns moved within it, as if smoke or liquid flowed beneath the surface, alive somehow.

“A communication device,” Sophia explained. “It bridges distance and time. When you touch it with intention, it will show you what you need to see—messages from the Watchers, warnings of danger, guidance when you’re lost.”

Robin turned the stone over slowly in his hands.

The swirling patterns inside reminded him of something—the way the garden shifted when wisdom was about to appear. The way the Great Tree’s leaves moved just before the mysterious figure arrived.

“Is this connected to...” he hesitated, searching for words. “To the place between worlds? The garden?”

Sophia’s kaleidoscope eyes warmed. “Everything is connected, Robin. The principles you learned there prepared you to use this wisely.”

Justin watched quietly from beside Robin.

“Will I receive one?” he asked.

Sophia turned to him, her expression gentle but direct. “The stone chooses its bearer. When you are ready to receive what it offers, you will know.”

Justin nodded once.

His jaw tightened.

Just slightly.

Robin noticed.

He didn’t say anything.

But he noticed very much.

“Now,” Sophia said, turning back to the Magic Book, “you must choose your path.”

The four paths glowed on the page, waiting. Pulsing softly like heartbeats.

“The Simple Path,” Robin said, looking at Justin. “That’s what we agreed, right?”

“Makes sense to start with simple,” Justin confirmed, his voice steady. “We’ve both tried complicated. We’ve both spent money on expensive courses. Maybe simple is what we actually need.”

Robin studied the pale blue illustration. The Viking ship looked solid and real, its dragon prow fierce and protective. The islands were beautiful. The markets were full of opportunity. Everything about it looked... right.

Simple and easy are not the same thing,

Sophia’s voice echoed in his mind.

Robin’s hand went to the necklace at his throat.

Elena’s necklace. Warm from his skin.

“Remember me,” she’d said in the garden. “Learn what you need to learn. Come back to me.”

He was trying, Elena. He really was.

Lord, guide us. Help us choose right. Please.

But they had to start somewhere.

Robin reached out and touched the glowing words: THE SIMPLE PATH.

The world dissolved.

His stomach dropped as if he’d stepped off a cliff. Darkness swallowed everything—the room, the Magic Book itself, even the floor beneath his feet. Nothing. Nowhere. Falling through space that wasn’t space.

He tried to scream, but no sound came. His lungs seized. His heart hammered.

Justin’s hand grabbed his arm—or maybe Robin grabbed Justin’s—and they fell together through nothing and nowhere and—

The sensation of falling became the sensation of spinning became the sensation of being torn apart and reassembled and—

SPLASH!

Cold water engulfed them. Shock stole Robin’s breath. His lungs burned. He was sinking, the surface far above, light filtering down through murky water that tasted of minerals and mud.

His sword dragged him down like an anchor. His boots filled with water, heavy as stones. Panic seized his chest with iron fingers.

Swim! his mind screamed. Swim or die!

He kicked hard, arms windmilling, fighting the weight of his gear. Beside him, Justin struggled too, his bow and quiver working against him, tangling in his clothes.

Robin’s head broke the surface, and he gasped, choking, lungs desperate for air. Water burned his throat.

Justin surfaced beside him, coughing violently, face red.

They were in a river. A massive river, wider than any Robin had ever seen, with a current that pulled at them like invisible hands trying to drag them under. Mountains rose on either side—green and tall, their peaks lost in clouds that looked close enough to touch.

And ahead—the roar of water. Growing louder. Closer.

Something cold settled in Robin’s chest.

“Swim for shore!” Robin shouted, his voice barely carrying over the roar. “We have to—”

The current grabbed them again and yanked them under.

Robin tumbled, completely disoriented. Which way was up? Where was the surface? His lungs screamed for air. Pressure built in his chest. His vision darkened at the edges.

Then his foot caught on something—submerged branch? Old rope? He couldn’t see through the murky water. Whatever it was held him tight, tangled around his boot while the current pulled the rest of his body downstream like a fish on a line.

Panic exploded in his chest. Ice in his veins. Fire in his lungs.

He yanked his leg, kicked frantically, but couldn’t break free. The current pulled harder. His lungs were on fire. Burning. Dying.

This is it, he thought with terrible clarity. I survived the hunter just to drown trapped in a river. This is how it ends.

God, please! The thought flashed through his mind like lightning. Please don’t let me die like this! Not here! Not now!

Then Sophia’s voice rang clear and strong, cutting through the water and the panic: “You can do it! Just hold on a little longer!”

Robin reached down, fingers finding the tangle around his boot. Rope—old, thick, slimy with algae that slipped through his fingers. He pulled at it desperately, felt it start to give—

SNAP.

The rope broke free and Robin shot toward the surface like a cork released underwater.

His head burst into air and he gasped, coughing, choking, gulping oxygen like he’d never tasted anything so sweet. Like breathing for the first time.

Justin was twenty feet ahead, being swept downstream, barely keeping his head above water, one arm flailing weakly.

And then Robin saw it.

A ship.

Not a modern ship—a Viking longship, its dragon-headed prow cutting through the water with amazing grace. A huge square sail billowed above it, painted with red and white stripes that snapped in the wind. Oars beat the water in perfect rhythm, like the heartbeat of some massive beast.

The ship was heading straight for them.

“Help!” Robin tried to shout, but water filled his mouth. He choked, spit, tried again.

Justin was slipping under again, his strength failing, his movements weaker.

“HEAVE TO!” rough voices shouted from the ship. “NETS IN THE WATER!”

A man with a braided beard leaned over the side. “GRAB THE ROPE!”

A thick hemp rope snaked through the air, landing in the water near Robin with a splash. He lunged for it, fingers closing on the rough fibers. Thank God. Thank God.

With his other hand, he reached for Justin—but the current had pulled them apart. Ten feet. Twenty. Too far.

“Justin!” Robin shouted, his voice raw. “GRAB IT!”

Justin’s hand shot out, caught the rope ten feet behind Robin, his fingers white with the strength of his grip.

They both gripped it with everything they had.

The crew hauled them in with surprising strength, pulling them through the water like fish on a line, then up the wooden side of the ship. Robin’s hands burned on the rope, the rough hemp tearing at his palms. Splinters caught on his clothes, in his skin. And then strong hands grabbed his arms and dragged him over the rail.

He landed hard on the deck, water streaming from his clothes, lungs heaving, heart hammering. Alive.

Somehow alive.

Justin collapsed beside him a moment later, coughing violently, water pouring from his mouth.

“Well, well,” a deep voice said, amused. “Two birds who thought they were fish.”

Robin looked up, vision blurry with river water.

The crew surrounded them—ten men and women who looked like they’d stepped out of a history book. Vikings, but not quite. Their clothes were leather and wool, salt-stained and worn. Their faces were burned by sun and wind, weathered like old wood. Their hands were callused from rope and oar, scarred and strong. They wore axes and knives at their belts, weapons as casual as jewelry. And their expressions ranged from amused to suspicious, studying Robin and Justin like interesting specimens.

The man with the braided beard crouched down. His eyes were sharp and calculating, missing nothing, but his smile seemed genuine enough. Warm, even.

“You’re lucky we saw you,” he said. “Another minute and the river would’ve had you. Fed you to the fish.”

“Thank you,” Robin managed between gasps, his throat raw. “Thank you so much.”

The man’s smile widened—just a bit too much, showing too many teeth. Like a wolf trying to look friendly. “I’m Bjorn, captain of this fine vessel. And you’ve just boarded the Stormbreaker.”

He stood, offering his hand. Robin took it and was pulled to his feet. Bjorn’s grip was strong. Very strong. Almost... possessive? Like shaking hands with someone who was already calculating your worth.

Robin shook off the thought. The man had just saved their lives. He was being paranoid.

Bjorn helped Justin to his feet as well, his eyes moving from Robin’s sword to Justin’s bow to the leather pouches at their belts.

“Welcome,” Bjorn said, his gaze lingering on those pouches for just a moment longer than necessary. Just a heartbeat too long. “Welcome aboard our ship.”

And Robin noticed—just for a moment—how Bjorn’s eyes had stopped on the coin pouches.

The ones filled with silver.

Something cold whispered through Robin’s mind. But he pushed it away.

They were safe. Rescued. Everything was fine.

Wasn’t it?

Robin sat on the deck after they’d caught their breath, water still dripping from his clothes, forming small puddles on the worn wood. His hands shook slightly—from cold or adrenaline, he wasn’t sure. He tried to make sense of what just happened.

The Magic Book had transported them. Dropped them into a river. Nearly drowned them. And now they were on a Viking ship heading... where?

Where even are we? he thought, looking at the massive river, the mountains on either side rising like walls.

And then the Magic Book’s knowledge flooded back—not words, but images, understanding flowing from memory into consciousness like water finding its level.

He saw rivers in his mind. Dozens of them, crisscrossing the islands like veins. But one in particular stood out—wide, powerful, cutting through mountains just like these. The Western Isles. The timber trade route.

Is this that river? Robin wondered. Or a different one?

He couldn’t be sure. The knowledge from the Magic Book was vast but not complete—more like having seen a map once than having it memorized perfectly. He could remember general geography, trade routes, major landmarks. But specific details? Those were blurrier. Like trying to recall a dream after waking.

Still, it was more knowledge than he’d ever had of any place. And it felt... reliable. True. Like the information had been carved into his mind by someone who actually knew these lands.

Robin looked at the mountains, at the current’s strength, at the direction the ship was sailing.

Maybe the captain has a map, he thought. Maybe he can show us where we actually are.

But for now, they were alive. Rescued. Aboard a ship heading somewhere.

That would have to be enough.