Cove of Shadows ━━ Will Turner

𝐗𝐈𝐈 ━━ Heart Confabulate

AFTER THE SECESSION OF THE FIGHTING, the crew was tired; exhausted from having played with such zeal. Some slept in their cabin, while others dozed gently in steerage.

The boat was no longer advancing, and had come dangerously close to Earth, for no apparent reason for some. We wondered where the famous Captain Jack Sparrow had gone: the one who went up to defy the devil, and not the one who floated like a bottomless buoy.

The days were calm and mundane, and all seemed to be alike. Near the Isla Cruces, they had come so close to opening the chest, and Jack was still biting his fingers with guilt.

At night, no one wandered on the boat, the winter cold still residing in the air despite the arrival of spring. Asteria shuddered. Sitting on the steps leading to the helm, she admired what was given to her to see. She had missed the whole show terribly, and she couldn't help but take a deep breath.

Inspire.

And exhale.

Her lungs were stuffed with air, as she had been suffocated for so long back in her mansion. She knew that going back there was in no way a desired choice, but rather an opposite that she had grieved in order to escape her too pestilential nature. It wasn't that she was descended from pirates, no: she had even begun to like them, if she had ever despised them.

She could not accept the atrocity committed by her blood, and wished by all possible providence the end of a dynasty that would carry this gene.

But after all, she knew she was capable of killing, as she had done in the battle. Kill, for a good reason; for a good person.

She and Will hadn't spoken a word since, and the blame lay heavily on her shoulders. At that thought, she released the weight of her head, which hit the wet planks of the ship.

"Ouch."

She chuckled silently at her stupidity, and breathed again. Renewal. It was kind of what she was looking for here. The news, she had already had a cast. No, she was trying to rebuild herself, like nations torn apart in the aftermath of a war.

For his part, Will had had a deep thought and headed towards Gibbs' hammock. He had pondered back to his distant words, echoing in the resonance of a few months ago. This space of time, Will had felt it, inside and outside. He had changed, matured – maybe, and felt more ready than ever to face anything.

Finding his father with Sparrow's help had upset him, for good and bad, and it had marked a new chapter in his life. Asteria wasn't part of it, and while he was grateful that she had saved his life days before, he hadn't forgotten. Bitter and harsh, their relationship, which had never actually begun or been materialized, was no more. It was only the unsaid, the smiles, and the feelings that Will knew the unique way round.

He had appreciated Asteria dearly, and didn't think he would ever stop, only the cold between them helped him to turn the page more easily. He hadn't expected her to come back, but she always had a tendency to surprise him.

Arrived at Gibbs' mattress, the young man heard the sage's words again, at Tia Dalma's.

"Aye, come back to me when you will know who you want to be."

Will pretended to drop an old book, which woke the sailor.

"Stop! Who is here?" Gibbs uttered, half asleep, eyes closed.

"Gibbs, it's me, Will," the latter whispered.

"Oh! Boy, if you want rum, it's in the holds," Gibbs muttered before falling back to sleep.

"Hey, Gibbs. Gibbs?"

No answer.

Will laughed tenderly, but quietly so as not to wake the others. He took that same book and tore out a page. Taking out a quill and ink found on the way, he wrote copiously on the page: