Chapter Text
Gagharv. It didn't even sound like a word from any language of this world. The man who spoke it to me - a fellow traveller, albeit with better luck around boats than him, or maybe just a better boat - had claimed it to be a rift between worlds, a great crevasse leaving into the endless darkness of the interdimensional void. He'd been odd enough to have come from another world, one like our own enough for me to recognise a fellow human, maybe, but somehow essentially different. Those strangely immaculate, brightly coloured travelling clothes, his youthful face with eyes that, while pleasant, spoke of so much experience and knowledge, several times more than even my own adventures. He had that aura of powerful magic around him that I've grown accustomed to, except I couldn't tell you from which House of Ys he might be a descendant of - he behaved a little like a Gemma, full of raw curiosity and questions about every little facet of this world - but with the raw power of a Fact - leaving me to conclude that this was yet another type of arcane power I haven't found the source of yet, although they all inevitably lead back to the same thing. He had none of the ascetic frailness of many mages, having been on the open road at least as long as I had. He steered that ship like a master sailor, being able to navigate to any location in this world that was unfamiliar to him without mistake, though I still couldn't tell you how that vessel actually worked. We went together to seas I've ran aground in many a time, from hidden sharp rocks or fearsome beasts or raging currents, and yet that sparkling, smooth, dark-wood hull never seemed to get a spot on it, nor lose paint from its intricately carved figurehead of a beast I'd never seen.
I told him of my own interesting luck when it came to sea voyages - something I'm so used to that I'm happy to laugh about it with strangers, despite how close it comes to killing me sometimes - and marvelled at how well his boat had survived the curse of its benighted passenger up until now. He joked that he'd have thrown me overboard long ago if he'd been told straight away the full extent of my curse - at least, he claimed it was a joke after I narrowed my eyes and placed my hand on my sword hilt, aware that many a sailor who'd heard the rumours might really be tempted to such violence towards me by now. Then he admitted that he saw it as a challenge, as his boat was something of a new model, commissioned by him using all the latest developments in shipbuilding, enchantments that could be woven into wood, and up-to-date information on how to navigate Ghagarv, something nobody else had ever succeeded in. Something of a wandering scholar and expert in many subjects, he had overseen the project, of course, but it had been a group effort of many skilled artisans, and he had felt honoured to be the one to first test it. My curse, if it were true, sounded like the perfect challenge. I replied that I would welcome the opportunity to travel on board a ship that might just be immune to me, truly the first of its kind, and that of course I was quite curious to see this Ghagarv of which he spoke.
I think it was this novelty of so many genuinely peaceful nights on the open wave, the sea's lullaby rocking me to sleep, or allowing me to stand on the deck and gaze out at the stars, that led me to start having such vivid dreams all of a sudden. I hadn't experienced such clarity and purpose in my nocturnal visions since those days on the Isle of Seiren. Maybe my mind was wandering rather a lot more, too, having none of the preoccupation that came with constant threats to your life that you expected to see over the horizon with every new ebb and flow of the tide. Dogi - of course he was there - had picked up on my mood as well, at first remarking how quiet and calm it had been lately, how much time we'd had just to sit and drunk rum under the stars and reminisce on our ever interesting lives. Later, I began to remark more and more how quiet it had become to the point of ridiculousness, not even the unnerving quiet that my adventurer's instincts knew meant something was about to happen. Dogi replied that I was getting jumpy, that I wasn't used to this much peace and quiet, that I needed something to occupy myself, like maybe finding out as much as I could from this Mr. Mitchell lap Haven about wherever it was that we were going.
But then I started having no dreams except the same few, experiencing them in earnest, with the exact same lucidity as that time in Seiren.
I had reached Ghagarv, this vast gulf in space, through which the stars shone and a demon wind howled, and now the small but invincible ship was drifting slowly towards it. Without warning, the sea began to churn, the ground beneath it rumble. Checking that my sword was strapped to my back and my notebook was very firmly tucked away in my clothes, protected by several layers of oilskins, I threw myself to the deck and waited for my luck to turn. Mitchell cried out in utter astonishment as the mountains making up the rift itself began to rumble, then great forks of flame roared forth from it, straight upwards into the air, in a way that was different from any kind of volcano I'd ever seen. A voice rang out in my head, speaking in an incomprehensible but somehow familiar language, ancient and too close to something demonic for my liking. I seemed to understand at least its tone, its emotions and intent, though. There was the air of something massively important about to happen, of extreme urgency that I be involved.
(Yet again. It's the same wherever I go. I'm either dragged towards it or flung away from it and it's equally important either way that I still manage to tackle it with a clear head on my shoulders. Usually while at least one giant demonic beast tries to separate the two from each other.)
As I looked on, quite aware that the ship was now unpiloted, what with lap Haven's utter distraction, and heading straight towards the rift, more flames rose from the darkness, sending out a blinding light. Then there was just darkness and stars and a column of light, and I thought that maybe we'd already fallen in, except that, once again, something had kept me from death. I was floating in the darkness, somewhere closer to the light and the voices, and in front of me was a sword.
I was always a talented swordsman, even before I became an explorer in earnest, and I've always kept up with the training that keeps me alive in so many dangerous situations, so I was always relieved that fate kept finding me new swords to replace the ones it later stole whenever I fell overboard for its entertainment. This one felt like one of the most beautiful, sacred, mystical, superbly crafted I had ever seen. Made of pure orihalcon, its handle wrapped in purple spellweave cord with a glittering carnelian gem set into the hilt, it truly sang to me. Exultation raced through my mind as I closed my hand over it...