Not once had it crossed my mind that the Alifalon could sink. Objectively, she had been a modest ship. When she was guided into the ports of Antiva Bay, her sun-faded sails looked worn compared to the fleets owned by the wealthy Merchant Prince houses. With nary a scratch on their freshly painted hulls, it had been hard to grasp that they traveled to every port in Thedas. How was it possible that the Alifalon only saw the ports of Rivain and Antiva, yet each journey was etched like a record into her weather-worn decks?

The answer lay within the purses of those who lived their lives so comfortably that cosmetic imperfections were considered worthy of repair. So comfortably, they probably couldn’t tell a mizzenmast from a mainmast, much less rig one.

But that didn’t concern me back then.

Truth be told, her imperfections brought me comfort. She was alive under my feet, a living, breathing entity that had weathered countless storms. On those stormy nights, my hands would trace her scuffs and creases, the little memories engraved into her walls. They were battle scars that guided my dreams, reminding me of who she was and what she could endure. She was our protector, her masts and decks the towers and battlements of an impenetrable fortress that not even the many Gods of babae could shake.

And better yet, within her walls dinner was a statement, not a question.

Hunger gnawed at my stomach, breaking my thoughts. Shining like a beacon through the comically tall stacks of numbered trunks, the metal trunks called to me, seducing me with sweet, sweet promises of taming the beast- at least until dinner. Frost runes were socketed beneath the lip, mamae’s idea but placed by yours truly once upon a time. Tedious, but oh so worth it.

Vines of jasmine and weaved between each trunk like a shelf. It was genius, really. Not only did they provide stability and order to the cargo bay, but they made great perfumes and hair oils for trade. While we couldn’t exactly recreate a sun, it seemed to like the obnoxiously large glowstone that hung from the ceiling well enough. Belraj’s idea, apparently she “saw it in the fade” a thousand million trillion years ago or whatever. The vines led to the base of the “shelf,” where a holding container held earth that was maintained by babae and yours truly. My nose wrinkled. Forget spirits, apparently the smell of the “compost tea” we used to make literally haunted my dreams.

I pulled bits of the fade, pushing it into the vines. A stray vine uncoiled, twisting the trunk away from mamae’s “sticky” glyphs. The air filled with jasmine as it opened the trunk at my feet. Only the best for babaela’s Halla cheese. My mouth watered, taking a large bite and savoring the salty yet buttery flavor as it melted in my mouth. There was something about the tangy flavor that made my taste buds sing. It was a love affair between me and cheese, ‘til death do us part. And probably after too.

The sound of the waves slamming against the hull drowned out any noise made by my footsteps as I mademy way up the stairs towards the main deck. Captain Archer’s eyes softened as she patted the top of her old oversized tricorn hat, swallowing my tiny leaf-shaped ears. While time had long faded the edges of my waking memory, in dreams, my ears rang with the crystal clear laughter of the crew as they jumped in to teach me the ways of the sea. Captain Archer’s stern brow gave way into fits of laughter as my lungs filled with the smoke of Elfroot from Ravi’s pipe.

“Don’t tell your mamae,” they’d say.

Kelsier’s cider, the taste of Zarv’s favorite biscuits made fresh with love. It all felt so real. Memories flooded my mind.

I let myself get lost in their tides, caugh but t up in the currents of moments long gone.

Tiny hands reached out, calling their names as their forms fused and whirled into the shape of mamae. My throat caught. As a kid, all I saw during moments like these was the fire behind her amber eyes and not the love that fueled its flames. It’s funny how your perspective shifts when everyone you love is dead.

The familiar chime of bracelets announced her presence as she glided towards me, sighing as she tucked a strand of black hair behind her ear. A golden ruby amulet she enchanted to bind and protect her spirit guide lay on top of an emerald silk dress. Mamae was tall for an elf, further emphasized by her favorite pair of Antivian leather heeled boots. When she spoke, heads snapped, sometimes literally. Mamae’s presence commanded respect. As far as I was concerned, even the renowned beauty of the Queen of Antiva paled in comparison to her memory.

“Tuanuelanain, thank the spirits you were born in Rivain,” she said as her brow creased in that special way reserved for my mischief. She licked her finger and rubbed a smudge off my nose, frowning as I squirmed away like the child I once was.

“Clever girl, but not wise,” a deeper voice agreed as Mamae’s eyes flared white. Blink and you’d miss it, people often did.

They weren’t wrong; creative uses of the magic they had taught me gave me the ability to slip away from their lessons like an eel escaping a fisherman’s spear into coral. Yet, none of my tricks mattered. Where the crew gathered my dumbass was often not far behind.

Dreams are peculiar. In the waking world, anyone that would even think about touching my ear would soon meet the tip of my blade. After all, it’s my ear they can fuck right off. But here I was, reliving the sharp pain of being tugged back to my Seer training by the ear like years past.

There are plenty of wild tales told about the infamous “barbaric Rivaini she-witches.” According to many a drunken idiot, the Seers “feasted on the flesh of babies while possessed.” Andrastians sure do have wild imaginations, and the pseudo mystics claiming to be Seers peddling their wares to tourists probably only added fuel. As is with many things in life, the truth is…much less exciting. While technically mamae did share her body with her spirit guide, Belraj, the reality of being a Seer was to be burred alive in small town bureaucracy - assuming you didn’t have the connections to land a flashier seat of power. Each Seer was a leader of a different aspect of their community, and mamae’s was commerce for our small town of Atish.