To Fly the Soaring Tides

It was mutually understood that Cira was only the Empress of all pirates within this small stretch of the Boreal for the express purpose of making those who lived here untouchable by threat of a mysterious new faction with the power to burn holes through witches and summon the wrath of the sun god.

She wasn’t too happy about it.

“What sun god?!” were her exact words. She found common ground with Ripley in that people kept coming up with absurd names for her actions. The pillars of light were just a byproduct of her spatial array. The grandest one she’d ever carved, sure, but still. They weren’t even gold, and neither was the sun that sat above Hangman’s cove for two and a half months.

She ended up apologizing profusely before the council for that one, but Prismagora was ready to dump a thousand suns on someone at her word, so it was difficult to get her sincerity across.

In any case, Cira didn’t feel like an empress at all. More like a flashy magician. Now, her father took her to something of a festival once inside the city and that’s where she met her first magician. At first his showmanship dazzled her—the lights and pyrotechnics could excite any child—but it only took a few seconds and a modicum of spatial sight to realize he was a phony.

Sleight of hand had its place in incredibly specific scenarios and in hand-to-hand sorcery, and perhaps other places, but to pretend to be casting magic while simply flicking a card up your sleeve? Old man Gazen laughed, but Cira found it quite offensive. She was a little girl who took her sorcery very seriously.

The moment she saw a dove inside the magician’s other sleeve, she knew something was off. Just because he shot balls of intangible flames in every color of the rainbow from his little, portable, foldout stage didn’t mean she wasn’t also intently observing the magician’s movements in space.

Her dad had sold it as something similar to a sorcerer, but they prided themselves on their tricks being indecipherable. This was of course a challenge to Cira who was in training.

The magician threw out his hand and a dove flew into the air, drawing everyone’s gaze as it weaved between the flames to make its escape. Cira remembered being even more upset that he was subjecting an innocent bird to such a frightful experience.

By then, everyone was dazzled when he called out into the crowd for everyone to check their pockets.

“What?! Impossible!” One man cried. From within his pocket, he pulled the same card out.

“Dad, is this a joke?” Cira pulled at his sleeve to carry on to the next attraction. “That man had a card in his pocket the whole time. The magician still has his—”

“Shshshshshhhh” Gazen shushed his daughter and quickly let her drag him away to save the poor man’s pride.

Later in life, once Cira learned magicians were in fact similar to sorcerers but with a much heavier focus on academics, their prestigious image was perhaps forever tarnished in her mind from that single childhood memory of the phony street performer.

But that’s how she felt, standing before the people of Plackelo and presumably their leader. She was a stout young woman who for some reason had her hand on the holster of a pistol as Cira gently lowered herself onto the dock within a beam of holy light.

It’s all about the image, right? Cira decided to bother whichever council members were present to the only extent at which she could by lowering extremely slowly—far slower than they asked for. That’s what gave her so much time to reminisce, and stew on her lack of control over the Dreadheart brand.

“Don’t move!” The woman’s pistol went from her hip to aimed at Cira’s face faster than she could blink.

“Impressive dexterity.” Cira said with a slight grin, “I can respect that.”

“What…?”

“You must be the leader here, no?” She put her hands on her hips and made a show of looking over the town as if she’d just stuffed the deed in her pocket. “Beautiful city, really. I’d love if you could show me around sometime.”

Cira didn’t have time today, unfortunately, but Plackelo garnered her interest a great deal. It took nearly two years by her count to find the Boreal after she stumbled upon that dragon in the Dead Skies, and it had been since her dad was alive that she’d seen an island so well-developed.

“As far as you’re concerned, yes. I am this island’s leader.” Her tone remained standoffish, and she didn’t even agree to show Cira around.

What the hell is that supposed to mean?

“Okay…” Her phrasing threw Cira for a loop, “You can put your gun down. There will be no fighting here today, whether you like it or not.”

“Any tyrant who can take Wick down will only spell trouble for Plackelo…” She notably did not lower her gun. The cold glare in her hazy brown eyes “I don’t care if you’re here to take taxes early or take my citizens away. Plackelo is through putting up with it.”

It was frustrating, but Cira couldn’t really blame her. “James! Get over here! What’s all this stuff about taxes and kidnapping? Just what did Wick do to this place while I was asleep?”

“I don’t know… but he’s always extorted them.” He put on a friendly smile and looked at the young woman, “Miss, please don’t misunderstand us. I am James of the… Mortal Council. Let me start off by saying, the Dreadheart Empire has no intention of collecting taxes any longer from islands inside our territory.”

“The… Mortal Council?” She looked between James and Cira, focusing on the latter with increasing concern. “Are you… the real Captain Cirina Dreadheart?”

She though it was obvious but, “Yeah.”

“What is… the Eternal Empress supposed to mean…?” Her trigger finger shook with nerves. There was hardly enough mana in this woman’s aura to light a lamp, and she pointed her pistol at Cira’s face after watching her grueling ascent of holy light. Even if she hadn’t done anything cool yet, it was no secret between the two that Cira could level the town if she were so sadistically inclined, but this town’s leader stood up to her regardless. If not dexterity, that was enough to earn Cira’s respect.

“It means those who live within my skies shall know peace… forever… Or else.” Cira was instructed to wear a halo and flex her holy mana, but she made an executive decision not to, actually toning her presence down and paraphrasing the script. “Those who wish to defy my order of prosperity will be removed from power. Call it divine will if you wish.” She waved her off like it was an unimportant matter.

“I… I don’t understand.” The guards of Plackelo in their finely crafted leather armor had all assembled at the ends of the docks with their sights trained on Cira by now, but the young leader’s hand shook. She could hear the revolver’s mechanisms click as the girl trembled.

Kuja’s execution flashed through Cira’s mind, and she found herself weakening her pressure over the island even further.

“I’m telling you I come bearing good news,” Cira conjured two chairs and sat in one, gesturing for the other. One of these days, that sorcery was going to end up as developed as Lamplight. But the young woman still didn’t sit. “When I say King Wick’s reign has ended, I mean it. Look.” She pointed to James, Jimbo, and Dutchy who had tagged along to identify the treasure. “I even split up his crown among my eight… chosen mortals.”

Never mind the fact that I only chose a few and approved just a couple more. Cira had actually vetoed Captain Shores personally. He had James’ vote because of how reliable he was in getting results, which Cira acknowledged easily, but he and Jimbo agreed his faith towards Cira was a little overbearing.

After dealing with it so much, Cira felt bad denying their goodwill so frequently, even if it came from a place of reverence which made her a little uncomfortable. Despite this, she knew that if Reverend Shores made it onto the council, he would inevitably drive others to worship Cira as the Final Sky’s prophetic child, even if he didn’t try.

The compromise was placing Yotan on the council, as his faith was more contemporary and less in your face. He was happy to revere, not to sway others to do the same. As he put it, he was but a witness. Any role he could play would be his life’s greatest treasure.

The young leader looked at the three she pointed out and her eyes went wide, “That’s… that’s really it. Why are they wearing it?”

“’Cause we’re the mortal council!” Jimbo slurred, “We do all eight jobs Wick forgot about, and none of those other ones you don’t like.”

“And… why are you here today?” Her arms suddenly went stiff—no, it steadied. Trained again on Cira like she had a target painted on her forehead.

“To tell you, I guess.” Cira shrugged, “Oh, and we’re here for Captain Cloud’s treasure.”

“We don’t have anything like that…” She spoke in a low, hateful growl.

Damn, I get it, but come on. I’m not Captain Wick!

Wick had one manor, three empty lots, and two storehouses on Plackelo, one of which still held items because that’s all it ever held. Shores’ rescue raid on the night of the heist never needed to search there. Luckily, he kept his hostages away from the city so her crew didn’t have to lay siege upon the city, but it was quite possible they saw it regardless.

In any case, the actual storehouse lay inland, toward the east side, and that’s where Cira had been casting her search ever since landing.

“No, but Wick had something like that. It’s fine though. I think I already found it.” The girl furrowed her brow as a small, translucent crystal orb fell from the sky into Cira’s palm. “Is this this really it though?”

She cast her doubtful gaze to Dutchy, who had apparently seen it described in a book once. “That—that has to be it! No one knows how it works, but that’s what led Captain Cloud to Lost Clou—I mean Acher.”

“You’re joking…” Cira turned the orb around in her hand, letting the sunlight hit it from different angles. “This is a solar compass.”

Crates and barrels proceeded to fall from the sky and land on Cira’s flagship. The ancient orb was covered in dust, buried in a crate with silverware and dish towels.

“You liar! You’re just a thief!” The young woman tried very hard to pull the trigger, but Cira didn’t let her. It would turn into a huge deal and everyone else would start shooting too. This, of course, caused the leader of Plackelo’s expression to devolve into fear.

To nip that in the bud, Cira held up two hands in innocence, “Worry not! I’m just clearing out Wick’s storage. You can have the land he owned as well. I heard there were a few parcels.”

“You sayin’ you can read that?!” Jimbo pointed with his flask hand at the crystal ball. “Ain’t never seen a compass like that.”

“It’s quite simple. Depending on the sun’s position, it will point you towards a preestablished place. They’re a little obsolete, honestly. Weather conditions and of course night make them difficult to read sometimes, and the medium was abandoned long ago for a simplified spatial reference design. If you want my opinion, I think they have their own charm.”

She smiled absently as light trailed through the orb when the young woman cleared her throat, “Excuse me!” Cira turned her grin to her. “You’re saying you’re just here to take Wick’s shit and leave?”

“Yeah, that’s exactly it.” She had it in her hand and everything else was loaded up. “In fact, I suppose this is farewell for today. It was a pleasure meeting you, Nameless Leader.” Cira turned around and started walking down the dock, spurring her crew to do the same. She turned her head and waved, “but I will return for that tour.”

Cira left the baffled young woman to gawk in ambiguity and rose from the dock as soon as her men got the idea. She had said plenty, she figured. It was time to follow the treasure.