To Fly the Soaring Tides

"I am relieved you're all so open to work together on this," As a witch of the High Coven, these pirates' predilections were not something I was used to, "But I don't think we need to spend this much time on the name. Doesn't the 'Hidden Witch Faction' work just fine?"

I could confidently say these were the strangest negotiations I had ever partaken in.

"That's where you're wrong, girlie." The man with a curled mustache waved around what appeared to be a rudimentary wooden prosthetic leg, gesturing out each point he made until the blonde girl in the next seat over jabbed him with an elbow.

"Don't call her girlie, stupid. She's like a thousand years old." She scoffed.

"I-I'm hardly two hundred!" Something deep compelled me to argue back at this young woman. I was alright with being old, but not that old. "And I do not mind being called whatever you prefer. I am the guest, and you are my benefactors here."

I thought I cleared it up, but the girl just glared at the man. I could practically feel him crack under the pressure.

"Fine, uh, Lady Quartz, I guess. You see," He made the so-called 'Mortal Council' and hundreds of onlookers, including myself, wait while he drank more than his flask should be able to carry before dipping it into the miraculous river of ale between us. "It's not us who cares about the name. But I assure you it's important."

"I suggest the Saint's Schism," A young man behind Captain Shores shouted.

"All in favor—Gyah!" What appeared to be a primitive wooden prosthetic leg flew through the air and it hit my new friend squarely in the chin. Shores spat blood onto the golden table and stood up looking quite upset, but the drunk man beat him to the punch.

"This is why you're not on the Council, Shores. We aren't a church. Get that through your head." The blonde woman calmed him down and deftly took the flask away.

"Calm down or shut up. Preferably both but you can't do neither." The girl gave Shores a meaningful nod as he decided against throwing the leg back. I don't know what expression I was making, but she gave me an apologetic smile, "Jimbo has a point though. The name's gotta be good. There's something to it, I don't know… First impressions, and all that. Also posterity, gravitas, and such. So I've heard, anyway… Does anyone else have a suggestion?"

It seemed many of the spectators had suggestions, but their words didn't reach us clearly. Everyone at the table seemed deep in thought, however. It was bizarre. All I could do was admire the scenery while I waited--which was incredible. It seemed the audience could collect ale at any one of the pillars holding up this massive structure, and what appeared to by a geyser of more ale forming a misty shroud around the area.

This was clearly a place for official meetings, but it was a little gaudy for my tastes. That said, everything was made of solid gold, as was the town below and the entire landscape until the horizon. As a proficient earth witch, I checked many times for the gold's authenticity, and it was purer than anything on the market. One hundred percent. The only time you saw that was in conjuration—something this island was evidently not.

The fact that this faction who seemingly sprung out of the aether could have such indeterminable power and wealth was unbelievable. For one, I didn't even know where I was, but I appeared in an instant. On Prophet's Peak the sun was just setting forth from its apex, but here it was high noon. The sun hadn't even moved since we arrived, not to mention the irregular mana density in this place. I didn't know what to make of any of it, and here I was, trying to rebel against the mighty Silver Witch while these pirates argued nomenclature over a literal river of ale beset within a table made of more gold than many nobles would see in a lifetime.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

I heard a crack and bright tears in space opened up behind the man known as Jimbo.

"Ahh, they've returned—"

"Io, you have to save her!" My eyes went wide as eight women clad in gold manifested carrying what appeared to be their friend's burning body.

"What the hell happened—shit!" A staff made of… colors appeared in his hand as a silhouette. It gave off no light, almost as if it were a constantly shifting painting. The general shape of a jewel appeared at the top and mana flowed from it into the body fast enough for space to distort. I instinctively called on my aura to defend against it and much of the audience was brought to their knees. I watched Jimbo shout, but no words came out.

Not even the wind blew. It was completely silent and my attention was drawn back to the Hidden Witch's uncle. Magic circles appeared around him and mana of every color swirled into the body. Like paint drips, his staff gradually pushed mana her way and I watched him curse in frustration every few seconds. Countless orbs appeared over the girl's body and faded away as they grew. No matter how much mana he poured in, the girl's caved in chest didn't even try to heave.

Slowly though, the flames started to die down. The unfathomably powerful mage was seething with rage, turning his eye to the group of girls that appeared, "So you failed, and you let your comrade die."

"We didn't fail, you old fuck!" A spritely young woman with more blonde hair appeared to have a mouth on her, somehow fearless before someone infinitely more powerful than her. "Ember made sure of that. She—she can't be dead! Why won't you heal her?!"

"Because I can't, you insolent child. I swear that no-good successor of mine has gotten in your heads. You idiots fail to take proper preparations then go on to treat your souls like a second aura to be burned up on a whim."

A different girl with silver hair spoke up, "Is she… is she really dead?"

"Her body is long dead, but once these flames die, Ember will not even return to the cycle. There is nothing I can do." I could feel the regret in his voice. He sincerely wished he could do something for her. I for one hadn't the faintest clue toward any school of healing witchcraft.

The girls erupted in cries, and it seemed Io wanted them to steep in it for a moment before clearing his throat, "There is only one person in these skies who could even hope to heal Ember… and she is absent."

"No…" A heartbreaking sound came from a darkhaired girl. Daggers appear around Io's throat, "Heal her! Y-you have to heal her!"

Everyone was in shock, the entire Mortal Council frozen in place.

"I don't know who you are," Io replied coldly as the daggers turned to dust, "But I told no lie. I am incapable of saving Ember myself."

"Then who is?!" She shouted through a river of tears.

Io looked around, then at me, then at the Council, "James, you're on point. Take shores and this witch back to wherever they came from and iron out the details. I will attempt to keep Ember's soul stable."

"Wait, hang on—"

"There is no time—" My surroundings changed, and I was once again in front of Overpriest Sheffield shouting prayers from his knees.

"Hey, Asshole." James spit on the ground within Sheffield's vision, "Get up. The Saint hate's that."

___

This foolish little girl really thought she could throw me off with a little bit of gold and a spatial vacuum. Any witch a thousand years my junior could spot this trap from a mile away. Not many witches my age may notice the trap's curse, however.

While it felt like wading through liquid gold, this was something of a pocket realm—but more like a consistent area of super-condensed space. I could diffuse it in an instant with my silver, but that would likely cause the entire island to explode. There was no fun in that.

Unlucky for the so-called Hidden Witch, I have surpassed witches far more ancient than myself. I could see her cursed smoke trickle through the gold on its way to me, and surprisingly, I did not recognize it from among those still living. I daresay it's darker than Kazali's own.

As it reached my domain the saffron flame of tranquility turned it to ash.

I couldn't help but laugh. The arrogance of this child to think she could best me with a curse she's wielded for hardly a decade at most. Unbelievable.

I spent over a century perfecting the curse of tranquility, and now I would crush the Hidden Witch with her own power.

It was almost too good to be true, and she literally offered it up to me on a golden platter.

The saffron flames seeped into the dark gray smoke, forcing it into bubbles. There was so much curse to go around I worried Hale would get a glimpse. Even if it overflowed though, it didn't matter. There's been nobody who could stop me for decades.

I could tell this was a good one by the way my curse attempted to shy away. If it weren't for a hundred years of practice, these flames would surely disperse. But tranquility was at my command now.

Countless bubbles of dark smoke filled my vision, and I couldn't help erupting in laughter. It had been far too many centuries since I found a good bug to squash.