Diego handed Drew a folded piece of paper.
“Here.”
Drew took it cautiously, expecting another letter from Fray Hernando. Instead, he found a short note in Thren’s hand.
-
Rafael Montoya (The Red Wake Compact)
-
Isabela Ríos (Golden Ledger)
Drew frowned. “What is this?”
Diego grunted. “It’s your Keel. Thren chose.”
Drew had no idea what that meant, but it was the least threating message he had received in this new world. He shrugged and pocketed the note.
At the gate of the wall shielding the warehouse was a small crowd of… reporters with several of the mentees talking with the paparazzi. Drew found this odd for a bunch of unproven pirates to be granted so much attention.
Inside, the warehouse opened into a broad stone hall. The mentees clustered into three distinct groups, while their assigned bodyguards sat on stools along the back wall, watchful and silent.
Claire sat on a bench with three other girls, including the blonde she has stood with yesterday. Her almond shaped eyes piercing green, slightly up turned at the corners locked with Drew’s own. She did not look away.
He turned spying another group of four, three women and a large skyborne with painted human handprints arranged in a decorative pattern.
To their right sat the final cluster. One man. One woman. Remembering the note Drew walked over to the last group assuming the male was Rafael.
That assumption turned out to be correct. Drew held out his hand and introduced himself to the younger man.
“Rafael Montoya,” he said, grin widening. “If something starts shooting, stand near me.”
The man was dressed ostentatiously: black leggings, a canary yellow tunic with white and black diamond patterns along the sleeves. A slender rapier hung at his belt. So did a codpiece, positioned with unmistakable intent.
The woman beside him rose smoothly. “Isabela Ríos,” she said. “Junior Factor of the Golden Ledger.”
Isabela had a tightly wrapped orange headcloth, folded into careful pleats. A heavy jeweled choker rested at her throat. The rest of her outfit was simple a slightly ruffled white shirt and medium length skirt chosen for function.
“Drew Wilson” he said after a moment. “Assigned to Thren, design and systems.”
Isabela smiled politely.
“Assigned,” she repeated. “Then we’ll both be answering to the same ledger.”
Rafael just shrugged.
In the center of the room a bell rang out once, echoing in the stone hall. Conversations died mid-sentence.
The Skyborne set a map on an easel of The Looming Drift.
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“Whether pirate, merchant, or engineer, navigation decides how long you stay alive or profitable.” The large skyborn was decorated in green zebra stripes. “For sessions we will cover overall navigation, then other instructions will cover practical navigations in the sky. Check under your benches there will be the materials you need are already there.”
Drew and the other mentees reached under their benches, retrieving a small stack of books and charts.
Across from him, Isabela had already aligned hers into a neat pile, corners squared, slate and chalk set above the stack like she’d done it a hundred times.
Drew glanced at Rafael. He was already leaning back, one arm draped over the bench as if this were theater, not instruction. He hadn’t even pulled out the materials.
Isabela followed his look, then returned to her notes without comment.
“You do this a lot?” Drew asked quietly, keeping his voice low under the shuffling.
Isabela didn’t look up. “Training halls? Yes.”
“Pirate school,” Rafael murmured. “What a glamorous sentence.”
Isabela’s chalk paused. “It’s not a school.”
Drew waited.
“It’s a filter.”
“A filter for what?”
“For who survives being useful.” This time she met his eyes. Calm. Measured. “You’re reading the chart. I’m thinking about who profits when the wind shifts.”
Drew swallowed. “Same thing. Different consequences.”
That earned him the faintest curve at the corner of her mouth, gone almost immediately.
“Assigned to Thren,” she said softly, repeating his earlier word. “Do you resent it?”
Drew hesitated. “I resent… not choosing.”
A flicker of something crossed her face. Not pity. Not quite surprise.
“Then choose how you become indispensable.”
She turned back to her notes as if nothing had passed between them.
Drew opened the top book and flipped to the first chapter, spying a table…
His breath caught.
And beneath it:
Drew had no idea how large a league actually was, but the travel times alone made his stomach tighten.
Opening a map for comparison, the map had a jet stream labeled heavens river. The scale of the Looming Drift was so far beyond what Ametzu’s cartography table implied.
It beggared belief.
Drew sat back, his head spinning. The navigation lecture faded into background noise as his mind tried to process what he was seeing.
[SYSTEM NOTICE]Navigation Comprehension Achieved
You have internalized large-scale drift dynamics, seasonal flow constraints, and strategic travel asymmetry within the Looming Drift.
+75 XP (Exploration Bonus)
+25 XP (Systems Understanding)
New Concept Registered: Heavens River Flow Logic
Long-range navigation outcomes are shaped more by season and alignment than raw speed.
“Canoes sustain three and a half to four knots,” she said. She let that settle, then clicked her beak once.
“In winter, Heaven’s River slows. Aether branches peel away from the main flow and run down drift.”
She turned a page without looking at the class.
“That is when caravel sails become viable. Six knots, sometimes more, if you align correctly. Trade opens. Campaigns open. What survives the season depends on who understands that difference.”
Drew looked over at his keel. Isabela was studiously taking tight orderly notes. In contrast, Rafael lounged, clearly not paying attention.
The instructor continued, but Drew’s thoughts had already slipped away.
No wonder piracy was such a problem.
The scale of the drift, shifting island locations, and new islands born during skyheaves produced unlimited places to hide. The statisticians in his past world, armed with computers, would have struggled predicting exactly where islands were truly positioned.
Here, they did it the old way.
By dead reckoning. By shifting charts. By understanding that no map was ever quite right.
And by survival.