The merchant ship The Gilded Gull was not a luxury vessel. It was a cargo runner hauling salted pork and cheap wine to the Southern Archipelago. It smelled of tar, unwashed sailors, and fish guts.
In the dark, cramped hold beneath the main deck, nestled behind a stack of crates labeled "Spicy Peppers," two figures were arguing.
"I am a creature of infinite cosmic power," Revas hissed, his voice vibrating in the dark. "I have eaten stars. I have wrestled gods. I refuse to wear burlap."
"It's not burlap, Revas," Mirabelle whispered back, trying to suppress a giggle. "It's... rustic linen."
"It's a potato sack," Revas corrected. "And it scratches in places I didn't know I had."
Mirabelle leaned back against a crate. It had been four weeks since the tunnel collapse. Four weeks of crawling through sewers, stealing rides on carts, and finally stowing away on this ship.
