Page 7 of Isle of Beasts and Shadows

“No! It can’t be... I—I’m alive!”

Jonathan’s heart raced as he sprinted towards the soldier who stood beside his lifeless body. Desperation filled him as he reached out to touch the soldier’s shoulder, only to watch his hand pass through the man’s transparent form.

Wide-eyed with disbelief, Jonathan gazed at his own hand, realizing the surreal nature of his surroundings. A dark shadow swept towards him, engulfing everything in its path—the realm of Limbo, the in-between.

“I refuse to die!” Jonathan’s voice echoed with defiance as he clenched his fists, a surge of determination coursingthrough him. Just as the soldier cast a last glance at Jonathan’s motionless body, reality shifted.

Cough after cough wracked Jonathan’s body, each painful hack a reminder of the harsh reality he now faced. Gasping for breath, he mustered the strength to lift his gaze, meeting the cold, calculating eyes of the unfamiliar figures looming over him. These were not just strangers; they were the very embodiment of his nightmares—the ones responsible for the unspeakable tragedy that had befallen his village, leaving nothing but devastation in its wake.

However, one soldier stood out from the rest. He wore intricate black armor and sat on horseback, towering over all others. The man with strange eyes reached out his gloved hand to the child. Although the young boy found a great hatred for these people, his hand somehow met that of the stranger.

Chapter 4

Jonathan now stared into those same multi-colored eyes that resembled those of Lysander Devereaux. The girl, Airella, was cautious, and being the only woman on a boat full of men, she was smart to be. Her wariness was a shield in this volatile environment. However, no man would be courageous enough to approach her, since they knew who her father was.

Whathe was.

Lysander Devereaux commanded a fearsome reputation that even the most reckless soldier wouldn’t dare challenge.

“Can I help you?”

Airella kept a hand on the door to her private cabin held within the confines of the lower deck of the ship. Her posture was defensive, eyes narrowing slightly as a strand of blonde hair fell into her face.

Jonathan felt a magnetic pull towards her. He wasn’t afraid. He had grown up learning to be her father’s shadow, navigating the complexities of loyalty and danger that came with it.

“I just wanted to see how you were holding up. I haven’t seen you around much the last couple of days,” Jonathan gave her a soft smile, his eyes searching hers for a sign of how she wastruly feeling. The only times he had seen her mostly was when everyone lined up to get their meals on one of the upper decks of the ship, where the sea breeze mingled with the scent of salt and cooked food.

“I’m good, thanks,” she began to close the door, but Jonathan was fast enough to reach out and stop her before it could shut. She looked at him in confusion, her brows knitting together as she tried to read his intentions.

“Sorry, I, uh…” Jonathan couldn’t make out his words. He didn’t want to sound like he was pitying her, but he also couldn’t ignore the fact that she was alone on this journey. And after all her father had done for him, he felt like he owed it to him to aid her in any way he could. Her solitude on this voyage weighed on him—she seemed so strong, yet so isolated.

“Listen, Airella... do you know how to use that?” He pointed at Dawnbreaker, which she had kept strapped to her side the entire journey. The axe’s hilt gleamed in the dim light, a symbol of protection and power.

She had thought little of it, but it’d probably be best if she knew how. It’d be hard to determine when she may need the skill to fight with a weapon, especially on a journey filled with unknown perils. Her eyes followed his gesture to the weapon, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her face before hardening into resolve.

“No, not really. I suppose I have a lot more training to do,” Airella took a glance down at the floorboards, her mind already racing with the daunting task ahead. The ship rocked gently, the creaking of the wood a constant reminder of their precarious journey.

“Well, if you’re up for it, I could help train you when we have the time. I mean, how much different could a sword be from an axe?” He chuckled, gesturing to his sheathed blade. Airella’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Really? You would do that for me?” After everything that had gone down since being stripped from her family, it was a breath of fresh air to find kindness in someone.

Jonathan nodded, a small smile on his face.

“Yeah, I think it’d be good for both of us. Gives us something to do during this long journey,” he replied. He had trained recruits in the past. “Are you free right now?”

She gave him a nod and stepped out of her cabin and into the hallway, her heart pounding with a mix of excitement and nervousness.

As they made their way to the deck, Airella felt a flutter of anticipation mixed with trepidation while the sun began its descent, casting long shadows and bathing the ship in a golden hue. Amid their training session, hues of orange and pink painted the sky, creating a breathtaking backdrop. The constant, rhythmic reminder of their solitude at sea accompanied their endeavor—the sound of the waves crashing against the hull, and the salty breeze added a sense of freedom to it.

Jonathan led her to an open space, where they would have enough room to spar without the risk of knocking over anything or anyone. The deck was mostly vacant, except for a few crew members who were too engrossed in their tasks to pay much attention.

“First things first,” Jonathan said, unsheathing his sword with a practiced ease. The metal caught the dying light,reflecting it with a sharp gleam. “Let’s see how you handle Dawnbreaker.”

“You know its name?” Airella grasped the hilt of her weapon and drew it from its sheath. The gold metal gleamed in the fading light, and she could feel its weight, not just physically but emotionally. It was more than just a weapon; it was a connection to her past and a symbol of what she had lost and hoped to regain.

“I’d recognize Lysander Devereaux’s axe anywhere. He won many battles with that at his side. It was forged in the fires of Mount Vorel, tempered by the hands of master smiths who infused it with their skill and dedication. It has a soul of its own, a searing purpose that burns as brightly as the morning sun. Now, keep a firm grip,” Jonathan instructed, positioning himself opposite her. His stance was steady and confident, a testament to his experience. “And remember, it’s not just about strength. It’s about balance and precision.”

Airella took a deep breath, trying to steady her racing heart. She mirrored Jonathan’s posture, feeling the cool metal of the hilt under her fingers. She recalled all the times her father would show her Dawnbreaker, memories that had been etched into her mind. It was his most prized possession, and she was far too young to understand why at the time.

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