Page 10 of Unravelled
Mira laughed, the sound soft but genuine. She glanced up from her book, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “That’s actually pretty good,” she said, amusement flickering in her eyes. “You’ve clearly spent too much time eavesdropping on altar sermons.”
Ren gave a mock bow from his chair. She could have buried him in theological history of The Navigators, quoted passages, recited the sacred texts, lectured him until his eyes glazed over. But that would’ve been too easy. Too expected.
Mira closed her book with quiet purpose and set it aside. “They’re far more than stories to scare children,” she said evenly, her voice steady but edged with something warmer, even reverent. “The Navigators aren’t just names carved into shrines. They were visionaries. Thinkers. Leaders. They were classically, unapologetically human.” She met his gaze, calm and unwavering.“And that’s what makes them worth remembering.”
Ren leaned forward, resting his chin on his palm. His eyes lit up with amusement. “Alright, then. Who’s your favorite?”
“Bharas,” she said without hesitation.
“Of course it’s Bharas.” Ren leaned back in his chair. “Everyone loves Bharas here. He's the kingdom’s namesake.”
She shook her head, brushing off his dismissal. “It’s not because of that. Pass me your book, I’ll show you.”
He raised an eyebrow but handed over the well-worn copy of the kingdom’s shared mythos. Mira flipped through the pages with practiced ease until she found what she was looking for.
“Bharas wasn’t like the others,” she began, her voice softening as her fingers brushed the illustration on the page.
“He was the only Navigator who was royalty. Everyone else was a slave or servant.”
She turned the book toward Ren, revealing the image of a young man, Bharas, standing high on a hill, his royal robes billowing in the wind as workers toiled in the fields below.
“But he didn’t rule from a throne,” she continued. “He helped our ancestors build their boats, gave them food, shelter, and protection.”
She flipped to another page, showing Bharas hauling heavy timbers into the hull of a ship, his royal finery replaced with simple work clothes.
“And when it came time to leave,” she said, her voice lowering as if the words themselves carried weight, “Bharas had to make a choice. He could stay and keepeverything he’d ever known, including the woman he loved. Or he could sacrifice it all, his crown, his home, his heart, to do what was right.
Mira’s hand lingered on the last page, her gaze fixed on the image of Bharas kneeling on the shore, one hand resting on the edge of a boat. The illustration showed his heart as a blazing flame, illuminating the surrounding night. In the background, a shadowy figure stood on the hill. Her face turned toward him as he departed.
Ren touched the book, thumb trailing over the woman, “Why didn’t he stay for her? Shouldn’t love be the right choice?”
“That’s why he’s my favorite." Her voice held a weight as she confessed. "Because he didn’t just give up a crown or a place. He gave up his entire life, the person he loved. All for something greater than himself.”
A deeply thoughtful silence settled between them. As if some ancient presence had subtly altered the atmosphere. Ren looked up at her, it wasn’t his usual smirk or the teasing grin he so often wore. It was a real, warm, unguarded smile. As though she had pulled something genuine from him without even trying.
He leaned back and tilted his head. “For someone with so many hidden memories, you’re surprisingly sentimental.” She rolled her eyes and he continued, “But he’s not my favorite.”
She tilted her head in interest, “Who is yours then?”.
“Myrran,” he breathed.
She raised an eyebrow, surprised. “The Seer?”
Ren brushed a hand through his hair, that effortlessly casual gesture he always seemed to make when he knew he had an audience. It made him seem confident, almost careless, but Mira was starting to see through him. The way his fingers lingered just a moment too long, the slight shift in his posture. He was nervous. He hid it well, but not well enough to fool her.
“Myrran wasn’t a fighter, a leader, or a builder." His voice was low and thoughtful, "She was a dreamer. Looking beyond what was, to what could be. And while the others focused on the storms, the stars, the ships… Myrran saw something else entirely. She saw the world they were sailing toward before we knew it existed.”
He reached for the book lying between them, his fingers brushing lightly against hers. The touch was brief, barely more than a whisper of contact, but it sent a jolt through her, sudden and sharp. Her heart skipped. She froze.
Across from her, Ren said nothing. If he’d noticed, he gave no sign. He opened the book to a page worn thin at the edges, the paper soft from countless turnings. Withcare, he turned it, revealing an illustration, still vibrant despite the age of the book, of Myrran standing at the bow of a ship, arms outstretched into the darkness, her white hair streaming behind her like silk caught in the wind. He slid the book closer to her.
“Some called her foolish,” he continued, his eyes lingering on the image. “Said her head was too full of fantasies. But Myrran didn’t care. She didn’t just believe in the dream of a new land. She made everyone else believe in it too. Myrran had this way of reaching people. She’d look at you, and you’d swear she could see everything you were hiding. Every fear, every doubt and somehow, she’d make you feel like all of it didn’t matter. Like you could still be something more.”
Mira glanced up at him. He was caught somewhere between the story and this moment. There was a softness in his expression, an attentiveness in his eyes that felt dangerously close to affection.
Her fingers drifted along the edge of the book’s cover, the motion slow, thoughtful. She wasn’t entirely focused on the story. It was the weight of his focus. The quiet hush of his eyes on hers.
Ren whispered, “You know how it ends, right?”
