Chapter Seventeen: Landfall, Lies, and a Lovely Little Cult
The skies finally cleared.
After days of dodging glass storms, pirates, and homicidal clouds, the Hollow Dream glided toward solid ground—or at least, mostly solid. Below them stretched the lush, overgrown island of Virella, known for three things:
Beautiful beaches.
Exotic fruit.
A deeply inconvenient amount of cult activity.
Elliott stared down at the island, the relic pulsing faintly beneath his cloak.
"Why do I feel like this place is going to be weird?" he asked.
Marlow snorted. "Because everywhere we go is weird. It's basically the universe's brand at this point."
Welcome to Virella (Please Mind the Fanatics)
The ship docked at a small, suspiciously abandoned port.
No merchants. No bustling crowds. Just faded banners, overgrown docks, and eerie silence.
"Maybe it's a quiet town," Elric suggested.
A nearby sign read:
WELCOME TO VIRELLA. THE CHOSEN SHALL ASCEND. EVERYONE ELSE… GOOD LUCK.
"Ah," Dorian deadpanned. "A cult island. Fantastic."
The Smiling Ones
It didn't take long to meet the locals.
They appeared at sunset—smiling, robed figures with golden tattoos and unsettlingly perfect teeth.
"Greetings, travelers," their leader cooed. "Welcome to the Sanctuary of the Sun."
Elliott immediately clocked the dozen hidden weapons beneath their robes.
"We're just passing through," Marlow said coolly.
The leader's smile widened. "No one just passes through, friend. Not when the sun has chosen you."
Elliott's eyes narrowed. The relic pulsed again.
The leader noticed.
"So… you carry it," the man whispered. "The Dawn Relic."
Marlow's head snapped toward Elliott. "The Dawn Relic?"
"Why does it have so many names?!" Elliott hissed.
A Cult with Benefits (and Major Red Flags)
Apparently, the Sanctuary of the Sun had been awaiting a "chosen bearer" for decades.
"They say when the relic shines in mortal hands," the cult leader explained over dinner, "the sun will awaken. The world will burn clean. And paradise will rise."
Elliott nearly choked on his fruit. "Burn clean?! That sounds… wildly concerning."
Dorian frowned. "Define 'burn.'"
The cult leader chuckled. "Oh, don't worry. You'll understand… at the Ascension."
"Which is?" Seraphine prompted.
"Tomorrow," the man said cheerfully. "At dawn. When we light the pyres."
"Pyres?" Elliott repeated weakly.
Escape Planning & Bad Options
Back at their quarters, the group regrouped.
"We are not staying for a human bonfire," Marlow declared.
"Agreed," Elliott said. "But the relic's reacting to this island. One of the shards is here."
"Of course it is," Elric groaned. "Buried under a pile of zealous weirdos."
"So," Dorian summarized, "we sneak out, find the shard, and get off this island before the smiling mob turns us into barbeque."
"Perfect plan," Seraphine said. "Except for the part where they already know we're here."
From outside, the chanting began.
"Chosen one… chosen one…"
Elliott sighed. "I hate being popular."
The Shard Beneath the Sun
That night, they snuck through overgrown ruins, following the relic's pull.
In a forgotten temple beneath the island's cliffs, they found it—the fourth shard, embedded in a statue of the sun, glowing faintly.
The moment Elliott touched it, the relic flared. Runes burned across its surface.
A deep, ancient voice echoed through the cavern:
"Four gathered. One remains. But beware… for the shadow draws near."
"Wonderful," Dorian muttered.
The Cult's Catch
They barely had time to admire the shard before the cultists appeared—dozens of them, torches blazing.
"You will ascend," the leader promised, voice sharp with devotion.
Elliott's eyes flashed. "Not today."
With the shard in hand, the relic's magic surged.
A burst of golden light blinded the cultists, sending them stumbling.
The group ran—out of the temple, through the jungle, and back to the Hollow Dream as dawn broke.
A Narrow Escape
As they sailed away, the island faded into the distance—its cultists still chanting on the shore.
"We got the shard," Elric panted. "But that… was way too close."
Elliott clutched the relic, now heavier, brighter, and far more dangerous.
"One more," he whispered.
But in the shadows of the ship's hull, a hidden figure listened.
A spy.
A message already sent back to the Black Bastion.