The System Seas

There was nothing overtly magical about the house. And yet, if it had been a ship, Marco thought, he would have thought twice before tangling with it. The house looked like it could have shrugged off a hurricane without the people inside ever hearing a peep of what was happening outside.

"A lot of people react that way," Riv said quietly. "Remember, my parents are builders."

"I do," Marco said. "But this feels like it goes beyond that."

Riv nodded. "Sometimes they went a long time between big jobs. And when they weren’t working, they tended to fiddle."

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"You know. They'd mess with the house. They’d reinforce things, rebuild them. Sometimes they’d pull down a beam just to work it over and set it back stronger. They’d patch the foundation, fix drafts, and redo what didn’t really need doing. Over the years I think they reworked every piece of this house a dozen times."

Elisa tilted her head. "Are your parents high-level? Tatric liked to fiddle with the docks, but they didn't end up looking like this. I feel like if a mountain fell on this house, the house would still win."

Riv was quiet for a moment. When she asked again, he finally shook his head. "They didn’t like to talk much about that. And I never pressed. To me, they were just parents."

Riv's just-parents chose that moment to make their appearance. Marco's impression of the house being soundproof was proved wrong as a high-pitched squeal pierced through the windows, the door flew open, and a slim, practically dressed woman practically catapulted out of the house towards his friend.

"Riv!" the woman, who must have been Riv's mother, squealed. "Where in the world have you been?"

"Oh, you know," Riv said. "Here and there."

"Don't think you can get away that cheap, Riv." A man every bit as thin as Riv's mother came to the door and stepped through. "I sure haven't. Your mother has spent at least an hour a day wondering where you were. She's going to want details. Lots of them."

Riv's mother was apparently content for the moment to have just buried her son in a hug that, despite her small size, somehow still made the big man look small. Riv not only didn't fight it, he seemed to welcome it, like he had needed it for a long time and had just been making do until he could get back here, to this place. Riv's father shook his head at them, left them to it, and turned to Marco.

"You're his friends?"

"Yes. And his crew. It's sort of my fault he's been away, in a sense." Marco held out his hand, and Riv's father shook it. "I'm Marco. The captain of The Foolish Endeavor."

"Oh, are you? I've seen those words on wanted posters, but they said they were looking for a boy, not…" Riv's father looked at Marco piercingly. "Not someone higher-level than me. You must have some story about where my boy has been."

"If he does, he'll give it to us." Riv's mother had finally shaken herself loose from the hug and stood with a single hand on Riv's sleeve, like she was afraid the wind might blow him away. "Come inside, children. We'll feed you. It's high time I knew where my son has been."

She glanced up at Riv, giving him a withering sort of look of judgment he all but melted under.

"And, I think, an explanation as to why he never sent me a single letter."

—

Riv’s parents ushered them inside, the little house displaying a kind of quiet strength that matched its exterior. The front door opened on a narrow hall that gave way to a sitting room, its furniture plain but so well-built Marco found himself staring again. Chairs of solid wood, a table that looked as though it might survive a broadside from Frisk's ship, and even the shelves carried the same air of durability. It wasn’t luxury in any conventional sense, but it was still powerful stuff, as furniture went, as stable as a continent.

Riv’s mother led them on with the brisk energy of someone proud to show off her home. It didn't appear to be an impulse she was able to resist. She pointed out the kitchen with its wide hearth and her fully stocked cellar before parading them through the entire house. The dining room was small, its table scarred by years of use and rowdy children, but repaired and lovingly repolished. A bathroom off the hall sported stone basins carved with such precision that Marco found himself running a hand along their edge, taking in the impossible smoothness. Everywhere he looked, the workmanship was meticulous, almost intimidating in its stability.

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Last of all, she led them up a narrow staircase to Riv’s old bedroom. Marco stopped in the doorway, surrounded by chaos that he didn't dare disrupt. The space was crowded with planks of wood stacked against walls, hammers of every size, chisels, saws, and various kinds of nails sorted into dozens of jars. It had a feeling less of a boy’s room and more of a workshop that had barely avoided overflowing its boundaries and spilling out into the hall. Riv shifted awkwardly behind them, ears reddening.

“He was always playing with them,” his mother said, fond exasperation in her tone. “Right up until he got his class and dove headfirst into Sturdy work. His father and I always did planning, supervising, and design. You know. The detailed parts of the trade. Riv was different. He just wanted to pick up heavy things and hit them with hammers.”

She glanced at her son’s shoulders, which were almost as broad as the doorway. “Judging by the size of him, Captain, you must have been letting him do plenty of that.”

Marco smiled, not daring to disagree.

Dinner came sooner than Marco expected. Riv’s mother excused herself briefly, stepping out onto the porch. She raised her hand in some subtle signal Marco didn’t catch, and within minutes a neighbor arrived bearing trays of hot food. Stews fragrant with herbs, loaves of fresh bread, and roasted vegetables. It was far more than enough for Riv’s parents, their son, and his guests, all courtesy of some mysterious neighborhood caterer.

As they settled around the heavy dining table, Riv’s mother fixed him with the kind of look that brooked no further excuses.

“Tell me the whole story,” she said. “Start to finish.”

Riv did. Between bites of stew, he began with the dungeon. He spoke of how he had met Marco and Elisa in the Palmar village, and how danger had hemmed him in on every side. He admitted, under his mother's thorough scrutiny, how close he had come to never walking out of that place. Marco watched as his mother’s sternness softened. Whatever traces of judgment she had carried at his long absence evaporated the moment she realized the truth that her son had been rescued from death in some illusory cage via the efforts of two of the three people sitting at her table.

Her eyes shone as Riv spoke, and she reached out to clasp his arm, pride and relief mingling on her face. Some of that relief abandoned her as Riv began to describe the rest of their adventures, but she never quite returned to the same level of subtly angry tension she had before.

Riv told her all of it. From fleeing the island after not being able to make it safely home, to hidden seas, destroying pirates, fleeing to outer seas, and everything they found there, he left nothing out. Every bit of danger, and every last time they didn't think they would make it was presented with a brutal, complete sort of frankness. Marco didn't know if Riv thought he owed it to his mother or if she simply wasn't the kind of person it was safe to lie to, but he pulled not a single punch the entire time, all the way to the present.

In the end, that also included a sort of explanation for why they were there. His parents listened with mounting alarm as Riv explained that something was going very wrong in this inner sea, even if he didn't quite know what it was yet or how to stop it.

"Well, that's quite the tale. Even if it doesn't include a part where you explain why you didn't send me a letter before you left."

"I just forgot." Riv said, looking truly ashamed. "Sorry."

"Well, I at least believe you. On both points. You are forgiven." Riv's mother reached out and mussed his hair. “And I'm very glad to see you, even if I don't quite understand why you stopped here.”

“Because, mom, it’s possible this island was going to get attacked. We are here to fight off anyone who tries it. Elisa worked out some sort of schedule with Captain Frisk, and we have to stay here a few days before we move on so he can get in position to cover the island from the other side.”

“You’d protect us? A whole island?” Riv’s mother said. “That’s ridiculous.”

Riv’s father coughed, awkwardly. He apparently wasn’t much in the habit of disagreeing with his wife, but she knew the signal for when he wanted to. She turned to him.

“No, not really. It couldn’t be.” She looked at her son with new eyes. “Riv, just how strong did you get?”

“It’s not my fault, Mom. It’s him.” Riv pointed at Marco. “He’s in the system’s clutches, or something. A child of destiny. Anyone who sticks around him for more than five minutes gets sucked into ghost ships and fights with giant squids until they can break holes in ships with their bare hands.”

It took a while, but Riv’s mother eventually let herself be convinced that her son had somehow acquired the ability and support needed to do what dozens of ships, guards, and strategically placed cannons couldn’t do. She looked an odd mixture of mortified, terrified, and proud when she finally gave up and accepted it.

“So, then. I’ve decided to stop thinking about all this.” After dinner, over tea, his mother yawned and waved off the whole conversation, dismissing all of Riv’s recent history as if it had never happened. “I’m just going to be glad my son is home, like a normal mother.”

“Like a tired mother,” Riv said. “Mom, you are nodding off. We need to get out of here.”

“No, please. Sleep here,” she said. “You can stay in your old room.”

“I can, but my friends can’t. We need to stay together in case there really is an attack. By the way, could you do something about that, Dad? Someone in charge needs to know why we are here, in case something really does happen.”

His dad nodded thoughtfully. “I’ll go have a word with some people. Where are you planning on staying?”

“Somewhere close to the docks.”

“Then go here.” His dad scribbled down a few lines on a piece of paper and handed it over. “We just rebuilt this place last year. It should be more than comfortable enough.”

“Thanks, Dad.” Riv held out his hand for a handshake. “I appreciate it.”

Riv’s father ignored the offer of a handshake entirely, instead opting to wrap his son up in a hug that looked like it would have broken a good, sturdy tree in half. “You appreciate it. You know what I appreciate, Riv? My son. My son who is lost has returned.”

Riv’s father put him down, finally, and the crew walked back towards the docks with new purpose.