Archer scrambled to a sitting position. Immediately, his head tore open with pain. His stitches had pulled out on his head and his finger was rebroken. There were burns on the left side of his body, dressed in dry clothes that were absorbing the fluid.

He swallowed, recognizing where he was: his captain's quarters. He took a moment to think before he stood. He was fuzzy. There had been the chest, the explosion, there had been a hand.

He stumbled to his feet. He'd gone back for Silta. He'd been knocked out by the falling rocks. The crew of the Myriad must've pulled him back out.

He limped over to the door, pain radiating from the left side of his body and circling around his head. He moved through the captain's quarters, the familiar dark furniture in the empty room haunting him. He raced out to the balcony, as fast as his broken body would let him.

The sky was dark, and a light rain tapped against the dark blue wood. He caught sight of Miller disappearing into the navigation room. He stumbled after her, calling out her name.

She turned quickly, face breaking into a frown. "You shouldn't be up, Kingsley—or Captain, rather, guess we're on your ship now. Anyway. You've got serious burns."

"Did you find her?" He knew the doctor would know who she was talking about. The ocean—around him for as far as he could see—was dark blue, the colour of Myria. It had to have been days.

Miller opened her mouth, but Lyra interrupted her, coming from Archer's right.

"Captain! You're up?"

"Did you find her?" He knew he should ask how the ship was. If the crew was all okay. He should be asking if Pincho, Bickie, Marquis and Alli had been found.

Lyra's face softened. Her brown-green eyes regarded him carefully. "We found her," she said, to which Archer's heart immediately stopped its terrifying spiral into terror.

"We found her," Lyra repeated, "and she's alive. Mostly uninjured—she has burns like you and a broken shoulder. Other than that, she's fine."

Archer allowed himself to breathe.

Lyra took a deep breath too. "But she's not...She's not normal, Archer. She hasn't spoken. She just stares at the wall."

Archer closed his eyes. "Where is she? Navigation?"

Lyra nodded. Then, when Archer made the move to head there, she grabbed his arm.

"It looks bad, Captain. If you go to her first. She's fine for now."

She was right. She'd said Silta was fine, so she could wait. He needed to dissect this. He needed to make sure his crew were okay.

He headed to the common room, following Lyra, who was giving an update as she walked. The crew of the Myriad had done fine the last couple of weeks. Nelson had directed them the right way after his initial refusal, and they'd avoided creatures by staying close to the Avourienne.

"The crew is fine for the most part, we noticed we were missing Shuri, and we figured out what probably happened. But Captain—" Lyra turned to face him. "Rodriguez is also gone."

"Gone?"

"Gone. One morning she was on the ship, the next she wasn't. Never stopped at a port or planked with another ship. She disappeared completely."

Archer shook his head. Peculiar, of course, but a mystery for another day.

Miller pushed open the door to the common room, which had been turned into a makeshift hospital.

"We managed to find everyone," Lyra told him as Archer ran his eyes over the room. "Most of them were knocked unconscious because they were thrown into the rock on either side of the ship. A lot of them were already in the water—they must've jumped ship before the chest exploded."

Silta's doing, Archer knew.

"A lot of head injuries," Miller said. "But other than that, the majority of the crews will be fine."

Archer took a deep breath. "Majority?" he asked.

Miller glanced at Lyra. "Two dead, Cap. Starle and Bickie."

Archer had known Starle for a long time. The happy man who had grinned at him and shook his hand in the navigation room the first day Archer boarded the Avourienne. Although his death hurt Archer, it was the death of his scout that truly pained him. He'd explained the risks to his crew members before boarding the Avourienne with them, but that had been in a rush to leave. He shouldn't have taken his crew with him at all. He should've gone alone. That would've been the right decision.

He ran a hand through his hair, walking down the makeshift isle. He found Alli, her cheeks stained with tears. Her blonde hair had dried blood in it and her hands clasped one of Britter's, who was lying down on the floor, his forehead rimmed with sweat.

"Kingsley," came Britter's rasp, his blue eyes the only thing recognizable thing on his dirt-stained face.

Alli seemed completely uninjured. "You're okay, Laurier?" Archer asked.

Alli nodded. "Silta tossed me over the side. I didn't know what was going to happen."

"Nobody did," Britter told her, his voice cracking again.

"Silta did," Archer said quickly, not bothering to kneel next to them. "She figured it out. Nobody wanted to wait for her. The crew that's so hellbent on loyalty could've avoided this shitshow if they'd given her an extra second."

He knew it was true, but he could be the only one that had seen that look of recognition on her face. She'd figured it out. Last minute, but figured it out nonetheless.

Britter leaned his head back on the wall, his torso covered by a sheet. "You're calling it my fault, Kingsley?" he asked, his eyes tortured. Sweat beaded down his forehead.

Archer shook his head and finally kneeled. "No. Of course not."

Britter coughed for a moment, then recovered. "If it makes you feel better," he said, "I paid for it." He pulled out his other arm—the one Alli wasn't holding—and lifted it above the sheet.

Where there should have been one of Britter's nimble, skilled hands, there was nothing. Just a stump below the wrist.

"Plenty of pirates loose limbs," Alli was saying, her voice wavering. "We'll get you a hook. You won't even notice the difference."

Britter didn't seem to hear her. He kept his eyes on Archer. "I'm a fighter, Kingsley. I can't fight without a hand."

"You can," Alli insisted.

Britter ignored her, and Archer wasn't sure what to say. He understood the frustration completely. Britter could not be Britter without both hands.

"It's not your life, Liam," Archer said as calmly as he could. "Alli's right. You'll learn to live without it."

"And our ship?" Britter snapped. "Our ship is gone, Archer. That ship was everything to us."

Archer glanced out to the room. "You'll find a new ship."

"There aren't ships out there like that," Britter said, his tone increasingly frustrated. "I went from being the first mate of the Avourienne to a straggler without a hand."

Archer searched his face, desperately trying to find the words to make it better. He didn't have much. "You'll find a new ship," he repeated. "The Avourienne was beautiful and special but she was not the reason this crew was anything."

"Not true, Archer," Britter told him, softening his voice. "Bardarian was the reason that ship was anything. His boldness, his audacity. And after him, it was Silta. They're both gone."

"Silta's fine. I've been told she's fine."

"She's not dead, Archer, but she might as well be. She stares at the wall and hates herself. She walked right into Everson's trap, and she knows it. She ruined the most beautiful gift Bardarian could give her. She places the blame for this entire thing solely on her."

"She shouldn't. Any normal captain wouldn't have been able to win as many times as she already did. Bardarian wouldn't have."

"I know that, Archer, and the crew of the Avourienne knows that, but she refuses to accept that. She's Novari Silta, Champion of the Sea. She doesn't make mistakes like that."

Archer got to his feet. "She'll learn to. She'll get over it. She has to."

"I don't think you get it, Kingsley."

Archer didn't care to answer that. He couldn't believe that. He wished him luck with his hand and continued on. What happened had happened. Everson had played a brilliant card, and Silta would recover. That was life. She would learn to adapt.

Pincho and Marquis were beside each other, both with burns over their faces but otherwise okay. Sweat trickled over them as well, leaving Pincho's pale face and Marquis' dark one wet.

"You hear about Bickie, Captain?" Marquis asked, his face stony. His voice ground as he spoke.

Archer sat down beside them. He nodded, barely trusting himself to say the right words. Bickie had been a good person with a light sense of humour, a good man with a long life in front of him. This death was different from all the others Archer had experienced. Bickie hadn't pledged allegiance to a deadly crew or killed his sister as Denver had. He hadn't been evil like Bardarian or a schemer like Farley. He hadn't been a murderer like King Kain or a brutal mastermind like Silta. He'd just been a person with not a single drop of blood on his hands. He'd just been someone innocent, who had jumped for joy when he found out he'd be sailing under Archer. Someone who had been unapologetically themselves despite what society asked of him.

He couldn't quite find a way to say all that; he couldn't find the words to describe the feeling of losing someone who had done nothing to deserve death. So instead of saying something heartfelt and meaningful, he said all that he could say.

"It's not fair."

Pincho nodded and lifted his water cup. "Best way I've heard it put, sir."

Archer sighed, running his eyes over their injuries. He was sure he looked equally damaged. Everson had done everything in his power to make the crew of the Avourienne suffer, and Archer's had been caught in the crossfire. Because he'd allowed them to be there.

As he continued to catch himself up with the injuries and the living, he found his mind wondering to the details that still didn't make sense. He pushed them out of his head to speak with Rusher. Last he'd seen the navigator, he'd been mumbling about Bardarian's face.

"Alexander," Archer said cautiously. "You're good?"

"I voted to stay. I know he never came back but I voted to stay. I would've stayed. But then I saw the hand and it was Silta. But I voted to stay."

Archer waved a hand in front of the blonde boy's hazy gaze. "Rusher? You're not making any sense."

"I just wanted him to know that. So he doesn't come for me."

"Who?" Archer's mind was exhausted.

"You know who. You saw him."

Archer shook his head, leaving the navigator to his ramblings. He was talking like Silta, and Archer couldn't deal with that now.

After spending an appropriate amount of time in the common room comforting his crew and assuring the Avourienne survivors weren't going to kill them, he slipped away to the navigation room.

She was silent when he walked in, black hair brushed out and her golden eyes focused on the wall. She sat on the ground, her back to the wall and her knees pulled up. He sat down next to her.

They stayed there for a moment. Archer watched her watch the wall.

"Brilliant move on his part," he said, his voice loud in the silence. "To destroy the Avourienne."

"That wasn't his move."

Archer turned to look at her. "What does that mean?" he asked slowly. His heart began to beat harder, knowing something he didn't.

"The Avourienne was collateral," she said, not taking her eyes off of the wall. Her gaze was simple and focused.

"I don't get it," Archer said. "He and Jeanne took their hearts out before we got there and filled it up with gunpowder."

She didn't look at him. He wished she would. He wished he could read her, but her face was stony.

"I told you, Kingsley. I know he's going to do it but I don't know how. I know now."

Archer watched her carefully. "Give me a bit more, Novari."

"I know he's going to do it, but I don't know how," she repeated.

"Do what?" Archer asked, but his throat was closing and his heart was speeding up. It knew. His heart knew.

"Myria's chest," she said. "The divide between the living and the dead."

Archer heard her say it, felt his own realization of it all.

"Break the chest." She finally looked at him, golden eyes rimmed with tears and terror. "Break the divide."

Archer wasn't sure if he said something. The room was spinning, dizziness taking a hold of him.

Silta kept her eyes on him. "The dead aren't dead anymore; they're coming back. And you know something, Kingsley?" she asked, her eyes still and her expression deadly calm.

He knew it before she said it.

They don't come back the same.

Chaos, he thought. That's what this was.