The Queen of Golden Flame

20. Atlas

The crew found their places in their usual seats, but before Atlas could utter a word, Ember asked, "Are you sure you're feeling okay? Maybe you should sit down, you look pale. Is your concussion still bothering you?"

"Em, I'm fine. Just sit down," Atlas reassured, and although his head hadn't bothered him since the morning after the attack, his legs felt strangely weak and his head felt foggy.

He glanced around at the crew. His crew, something he still hadn't quite gotten used to. Ilya sat across from Amelia, arms crossed over his chest, a smug look on his face. Meanwhile, the Solivia was talking animatedly to Aurelia, looking anywhere but at her crewmate.

Atlas brushed them off the best he could, running a hand through his hair. "Need to get started."

"You can tell me if something's wrong," Ember said in his ear, as if the others weren't already staring at them, "Is there anything I can do?"

With her words, Atlas was brought back to a time when he'd learned the first lesson he'd ever gotten as a captain, and one he would never forget. At a dock on the outskirts of Otheria, he had run into an old man that called himself Captain Carrie. He spoke with a thick Southern Otherian accent that Atlas could barely understand. His back was shaped like a hook and his skin was like worn leather, his eyes beady daggers, and his long beard stark white.

"Yer young to be a Cap'n," Carrie had said with a brutal laugh, like salt in a seastorm.

The Captain had had the courtesy to speak to Atlas in his native tongue, although his pronunciation was not any better than it had been in Terrian. He must've not been the best at masking his strain, because Carrie laughed and clapped a hand against Atlas's back. He braced himself from his touch and hoped that the Captain had not seen any hint of discomfort.

"Yes, but wise beyond my years," Atlas had said in an attempt at sarcasm, but Carrie only laughed mockingly at him.

"Wise? He says 'wise.' How old are ya, kid?"

"Uh- Um- Sixteen sir-"

"Uh um- What are ya stutterin' for? Just say yer sixteen."

Atlas cleared his throat and straightened his back, although he still was much taller than the old man. "I'm sixteen, sir."

Carrie smiled, revealing a couple of missing teeth. "See? 'Ts not so hard. Now stop with this sir thing. Jus' cause yer young don't mean ya need to act like it. People will never take ya seriously if yer formal like that out here."

"Yes s- Yeah, okay."

Carrie eyed him. "That's what I thought."

The Captain hobbled across the sandy beach and over to his boat, anchored at the end of the dock. "That's a nice little sloop ya have. Good first ship. Needs a lil' work, but she's good. But jus' one crewmate?"

"Ilya and I manage fine, thanks."

"Relax kid, 'm not sayin' anything bad 'bout him. 'M sure he's fine. Good to see some of yer fire, though. Better than 'sir.' I coulda seen ya shakin' in yer boots from a mile away."

"Well I'm just a boy, aren't I," Atlas pouted dramatically, "I don't know any better."

To Atlas's surprise, the Captain laughed harshly. "I like ya, kid. Least I like ya when yer talkin' to me like that. That's the only way you'll stay alive out here. Ya keep up the nervous yes sir talk then you'll get stomped all over. They'll either think yer weak and use that, or think yer mockin' them and cut you up into pieces."