Chapter 31

  Eastern Shores

  The sun rose over the Eastern Shores like it had all the time in the world.

  Dalan, what was left of it, looked almost peaceful in the golden light. The harbour walls caught the glow and softened the rough edges of stone and salt. Waves rolled in and smashed against the breakwater with steady rhythm, as if the ocean refused to care about wars and prophecies. Fishing boats slipped out of port one by one, sails snapping, hulls creaking, men calling to each other over gull-cries.

  Tyron sat on a cargo crate near the edge of the dock, watching it all with a restless kind of stillness. He looked up at the clock tower nearby, then back at the harbour, then up at the clock again.

  His foot tapped.

  His stomach answered with a long, miserable growl.

  Tyron frowned at it like it had betrayed him. He couldn’t remember the last real meal he’d had. Everything since the base had blurred into adrenaline and smoke and running on sheer stubbornness. He glanced toward a tavern down the dock as its doors swung open, spilling warmth and the faint scent of grease into the morning air.

  He checked the clock tower again.

  “I have time for food surely?” he muttered, mostly to himself, mostly to the hollow ache in his ribs.

  He stood, stretching the stiffness from his shoulders, and walked into the tavern.

  The inside was dim compared to the bright dock outside, lit by small lamps and a strip of morning sun that fell across the floorboards. It smelled like bacon and charred herbs and old wood soaked in years of spilled drink. Tyron didn’t waste time.

  “Plate of whatever is good,” he called, voice sharp with hunger.

  “Comin’ right up!” answered a sweet, angelic voice from behind the counter.

  Tyron took a seat and drummed his fingers on the table while his foot kept tapping under it, like his body refused to fully stop moving.

  “Can I get you anythin’ to drink?” the voice called again.

  “Emberbrew please! Traveller’s style!” Tyron called back, thicker, stronger, brewed for people who lived on the road and armies who couldn’t afford to feel tired.

  “Of course.”

  A few moments later the girl appeared with a mug that steamed like it was alive. Tyron set a spoon in the middle and watched it slowly tip sideways, sinking with satisfying resistance.

  “Perfect consistency,” he said, and slurped it down like it was medicine.

  He’d barely set the mug down when a plate landed in front of him, bacon, sausage, and roasted vegetables piled high, still sizzling.

  “Thank you,” Tyron said, looking up.

  The server was young, with long blonde hair and bright blue eyes, wearing a flowing dress that looked too clean for dock work. Tyron smiled awkwardly, more reflex than charm—and immediately attacked his food like a starving wolf.

  Instead of walking away, the girl sat opposite him, elbows light on the table, curious without being pushy.

  “You aren’t from ’ere, are you?” she asked.

  Tyron shook his head with a strip of bacon hanging out of his mouth.

  “If you don’t mind me askin’, where are you from? We don’t see many well-dressed fellas around these parts.”

  Tyron swallowed, washed it down with emberbrew, and kept his voice casual. “Vallerium. Just up on the north coast. Not too far from Lumenhaven.”

  “You ’ave travelled far, ’aven’t you?” she said, eyes narrowing slightly in interest.

  Tyron chuckled to himself. You have no idea. But he’d learned, quickly, that attention was dangerous now. Too many people had suffered because The Chosen had existed in the same place at the same time.

  “Are ’ere for long?” she asked.

  Tyron shook his head again. “I’m actually meant to be meeting someone this morning before heading off to another continent.”

  He kept it vague. Kept it small. Kept it safe.

  “Well,” the girl said, standing, “it was nice to talk a little. The mornings are quite quiet ’ere, so you get conversation where you can.”

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  She picked up his empty plate with practiced ease. “Anythin’ else for you?”

  “Another emberbrew would be great,” Tyron said, the edge of a smile returning.

  “Nice and thick?” she teased.

  “Absolutely!” Tyron chuckled, watching her walk back to the bar.

  He leaned back, finally letting himself breathe, only to glance up and catch a figure in the doorway.

  Green cloak. Hood up. Standing still like they owned the room.

  Tyron’s mouth twisted into a grin. “You can time travel, and somehow you are still late?”

  The figure pulled down her hood and laughed.

  Future Samantha stepped into the tavern like she’d always belonged there, older, steadier, her eyes carrying the weight of things Tyron didn’t want to imagine.

  “I think using my abilities to make meetings on time is kind of using them in the wrong way?” she said, amused.

  Tyron gestured at the seat opposite. “What is this about anyway?”

  She sat, leaning forward slightly, voice dropping even as the tavern murmured around them. “After I saved you, I had a vision. It was cloudy, but I could make out some details, It doesn’t usually happen like that,” Her fingers tapped once against the table, controlled. “It was present-day me… and Zara. We had a fall out. And I was killed.”

  Tyron’s expression tightened, attention snapping fully into place. “Present-day you… killed?” The word killed lodged in his chest like a shard of ice, not fear for himself, but a sudden, unwanted image of Zara’s laugh going silent forever.

  “Like present-day me,” Samantha confirmed quietly. “But I was there, watching it all.”

  The blonde server returned with Tyron’s second emberbrew just then, setting it down with a soft clunk.

  “Can I get you anythin’, mam?” she asked, turning her smile to Samantha.

  “Emberbrew please, tra—”

  “Traveller’s style?” the girl interrupted with a wink, already turning. “Comin’ right up.”

  Samantha smiled politely and nodded as the girl disappeared again.

  Tyron waited until they were alone before speaking. “Why are you telling me this?” His tone sharpened. “I thought I wasn’t supposed to know any of the future?”

  Samantha didn’t flinch. “Look, it’s your team. It’s not mine.” Her gaze held his. “My past has already happened. But you can change yours before it happens. You have the chance to change Zara. You’ll have more hope fixing it now before it goes too far.”

  Tyron’s hands curled around his mug. “Okay. I get that. Why did she turn in the first place?”

  Samantha’s expression shifted, regret, apology, something careful. “That I can’t tell you.”

  Tyron exhaled hard. “By the peaks… you just get to choose what you can and can’t tell me.”

  “I’m sorry, Tyron,” she said, voice genuinely apologetic. “It has to be this way. I can tell you the outcome, but I can’t tell you the cause.”

  He stared at her a beat longer, then looked away. “It’s fine. I get it. You have your missions, I have mine.” His jaw tightened. “It’s just frustrating being in the middle and told to fix something I don’t even understand. So what do I do? Just wait?”

  “You rally them,” Samantha said. “As best you can.” Her voice softened just slightly. “In my past we didn’t have you. We were a team of si—” She caught herself. “Five. We were a team of five.”

  Tyron’s eyes narrowed, but he let it pass. Something about that pause scraped at the back of his mind, like a door he wasn’t meant to open yet.

  “Yeah,” he said slowly. “We’re a team of six. We can do this.” He rubbed his thumb along the edge of his mug, thinking. “I just need to keep an eye on Zara. I don’t even know where she is though.”

  Samantha’s mouth curved. “Well, my dear Tyron, it’s a good job you have me.” She leaned back, smug now. “She’s in Nduja. Just north of Melnock.”

  Tyron’s head snapped up. “How do you—”

  “I have a steamship ready to go in the harbour,” Samantha added, like it explained everything and nothing. “Hence why I was late.”

  Tyron blinked. “Why don’t we take one of the High Council crafts?”

  “Because the time of using those transports is over,” Samantha said. “Too obvious. Too easy for the Shoven to track.” She pointed vaguely toward the docks beyond the tavern walls. “Now is the time to keep under the radar. You are not The Chosen. You are just people travelling together.”

  Tyron held her gaze, then nodded once. “I understand. Let’s head off then.”

  They set their mugs down.

  Tyron smirked. “Am I getting this or are you?”

  Samantha’s expression went awkward. “My aurins have future dates on them…”

  “Of course it does,” Tyron muttered, shaking his head as he pulled out his money and dropped it on the table.

  He waved to the blonde server as they left. She waved back, smiling like she had no idea she’d just served breakfast to a man trying to stop the world from falling apart.

  Outside, the docks were brighter now. People paused to stare at the steamship moored there, green and silver, sleek and shapely, the metal polished enough to catch the sun. Two large wings sat folded at the back, built to unfurl into sails.

  Tyron stopped short and stared at it.

  “This is discreet?” he asked, laughing.

  Samantha lifted her chin, pleased with herself. “I didn’t say you can’t travel in style. Just not with High Council ships.”

  Tyron stepped closer, eyeing the craftsmanship. “Where did you even get this from?”

  “You ask too many questions, Tyron.” Samantha climbed aboard and glanced back with a grin. “I wonder if my Tyron would have been this annoying.”

  Tyron followed her up the ramp, rolling his eyes as he went. Inside, the cockpit was packed with controls—levers, gauges, glowing dials. Samantha dropped into the pilot chair, which swivelled smoothly as if it had been waiting for her.

  Tyron sat beside her, still looking around in impressed disbelief.

  “This is… impressive,” he admitted. “How long will it take?”

  “Not too long,” Samantha said, thinking. “Several hours.”

  Tyron frowned. “Why can’t we just use your abilities?”

  Samantha’s smile softened, turning strangely honest. “Where is the fun in that?” She glanced sideways at him. “Besides… I like spending time with you. I never got to in my timeline.”

  “…before everything fell apart.”

  Tyron’s teasing expression faltered for half a second, then he looked away, pretending he hadn’t felt that land somewhere tender.

  Samantha’s hands moved over the controls with familiar confidence. “Anyway, we won’t be long. Put your feet up and enjoy the views.” Her grin returned, playful again. “We’ll be there before you know it.”

  The steamship shuddered, then hummed, and the harbour began to drift away beneath them as Dalan’s golden morning fell behind, leaving Tyron with a full stomach, a heavier mind, and a destination that suddenly mattered a destination that suddenly carried the weight of everything he was trying to protect.

  Thanks for reading!

  Every time someone spends a few minutes in the world of Shahero, it honestly means more than I can properly put into words. Seeing people follow the journey of Tyron, Samantha, Lazarus, Freya, Cid, and Zara makes all the hours of writing worth it.

  If you enjoyed the chapter, feel free to leave a comment or follow the story. I read every comment, and it genuinely helps the story reach more readers here on Royal Road.

  A few people have also asked how they can support the project as I work toward eventually publishing the book. If that’s something you’d like to help with, there’s a support link below that goes toward editing and preparing the story for print.

  No pressure at all though—reading the story is already huge support.

  Question for readers:What moment in this chapter stood out to you the most?

  See you in the next chapter.

  — Matthew Cooke-Sumner