Private Tales Dark Reunions

[Mako]

Asherah Ocean - The Crimson Sphinx - Headed North

The world was a dangerous place.

That had been Redic's first lesson. From the moment he'd left the Bayou, the Pirate Captain had been clear about just what sort of life Mako was stepping into. It was an ugly, dark, and brutal existence that they eeked out. A dozen times over his 'Da had tried to warn him, told him that staying with the Crimson Crew would be the death of him eventually.

He'd warned even more when Mako had asked for the Reckoner's Mark.

The world was a dangerous place, and being a Reckoner made it so danger couldn't be avoided. Mako had known that. Mako had known it every step of the way. He'd never shied away from the facts of who he was, what he had become. It would have been a lie to say he'd never regretted it, and yet it was the only life he knew.

That was why, a week ago, when the mark on his shoulder began to burn there had been not a hint of worry within him.

Reckoners died all the time. There weren't many of them left, but the feeling of the Mark's incessant push was hardly unfamiliar. Feeling it again hadn't been surprising, but when the burn had worsened...when the Mark told him of a second death, that was when he'd started to worry.

Then, not a week later, two had turned to three and for the first time Mako began to panic.

Someone was going after them. Someone was hunting them, and that meant someone was hunting her. The realization had sent a chill up Mako's spine, and within the span of a few minutes he'd convinced his Uncle to turn the Crimson Sphinx due north. Sending it on the path towards the Allir Reach, the closest place to where all three Reckoners had died.

He could only hope that none of them had been Emilie.

 

[Emilie]

The past year aboard the Stormchaser with Amara and her crew had been a balm to Emilie's soul. She had embraced the life of a pirate, throwing herself into every task with the determination of a woman trying to outrun her pain. She had learned the thrill of the open sea, how to read the stars, and the art of charting a course through uncharted waters. The salt air helped slowly stitched her shattered heart back together, the crew becoming a family she hadn’t realised she needed. Yet, even amidst the calm, a shadow of longing lingered—a whisper of dark hair, golden eyes, and the weight of all the words left unsaid.

His face was the first to flash in her mind as a searing agony shot through her shoulder, and she crumpled to her knees. The rune burned as if molten iron had been pressed into her flesh. A Reckoner had fallen. Her breaths came in ragged gasps as she gripped her shoulder, the pain mingling with a rising dread. Through clenched teeth, she begged Amara to turn the ship, her voice trembling with desperation. The captain, though not terribly fond of the idea, ordered the helm to follow the pull of the mark. Emilie let the pain guide them, but the gnawing question haunted her: What if it had been Mako?

The torment did not end there. Days later, another Reckoner fell, and then another, the fiery pain returning each time with greater intensity. Her world narrowed to the white-hot agony and the dreaded probability that someone was hunting them. Three Reckoners had been slain, and the vow etched into her very skin screamed for vengeance. Fear gripped her, not just for herself, but for him. What if Mako had been among them? The thought clawed at her, sending her heart spiraling into turmoil.

Emilie’s resolve hardened with every wave of pain. The mark burned with a purpose she could no longer ignore.

It was another week of feverish pain before she heard the call for dry land. She had only endured this once before. For her father. How Mako had stood in the same room as she and her father both without opening their throats, she had no idea. If it had been Amara herself who had killed another reckoner, Emilie might just have driven a dagger into the woman's chest right now to end this.

She was half drunk, half delirious when she staggered off the gangplank and onto the docks, finding the nearest empty barrel to vomit into.

"Someone find me a shitting horse."