Mini Brain Dumps

This post is a little different than the previous ones… you’re getting two chapters! These chapters are a bit on the shorter side so I thought I would combine them into one post for you all.

If you’re new and haven’t read the beginning yet, you can find it here: The Darkest Depths Beginning

Haven’t read the previous chapter yet. No worries, you can find it here: The Darkest Depths Previous Chapter

I hope you enjoy!

Trigger Warning: This novel contains references to sexual assault and mental health disorders. Reader discretion is advised.

Chapter 6:

Near the edge of the port, Quentin stood watching the chaos unfold as merchants and sailors unloaded their cargo from their ships, the loud bangs of the crates hitting the dock booming over the crowd of people. Quentin had seen the ships on the horizon that morning and had flown through the city to the ports, like a moth drawn to the flames. The ocean, with its vastness and unpredictability, held an allure that Quentin could never resist. It was as if the sea whispered to him, calling him to its depths, promising a life filled with adventure and mystery.

He stood in the shade of an overhanging canvas, which helped him stay cool in the nearly unbearable heat. Marielle had been going through a heatwave for the past week, the once luscious green grass changing to a burned yellow as the grass shriveled and shrank under the beating sun. Quentin had worn his tan pants and white shirt, avoiding black in hopes of reflecting some of the heat. The shade offered only a slight reprieve though, as the humid air clung to him like a second skin. He could feel beads of sweat trickling down his back, making the fabric of his shirt stick to him uncomfortably.

Quentin’s gaze wandered over the bustling port, taking in the sight of sailors rolling barrels of goods down the gangplanks, merchants haggling over prices, and children darting between the crowd, their laughter mingling with the shouts and curses of the adults. The smell of saltwater, fish, and sweat filled the air. It was both revolting, but also exhilarating.

Only the sound of a young woman with fiery red hair could be heard distinctly over the cacophony of noise that surrounded him. For a moment, he watched as her curls, tied back into a bun on the top of her head with a bandana knotted on top, bounced as she moved through her crewmates. Her green eyes were piercing as she surveyed those moving barrels and crates down the gangplank, her gaze sharp and calculating.

With a start, Quentin realized she was the girl he had run into at Eloise’s bakery a few days ago. She looked a lot different than she had that day on the street, her green dress swapped for a pair of long black pants, a long sleeve white shirt with lacing up the front, and brown boots. Though she had offered him a smile in the shop, her face now was drawn with lines as she furrowed her eyebrows at her crewmates, her hands on her hips.

Though his eyes didn’t linger on her long, his gaze was pulled to that of the ship she stood in front of, a ship with the figurehead of a formidable beast – the king of the beasts. It was a majestic vessel, its light wood polished to a shine, its sails furled and waiting for the wind to carry it out to sea. For a moment, he pictured himself up by the figurehead, his hair tousled in the breeze as he looked out on the open expanse of the ocean in front of him. One day soon, he told himself.

“Quentin, lad! Come over here,” a booming voice echoed through the air, drawing his attention away for his reverie.

Captain Elias was making his way through the crowd towards him, his arms open in welcoming. The captain gave Quentin a crooked smile as he saw him and Quentin quickly made his way over, his heart leaping in his chest.

“It’s great to see you,” Quentin said as he approached.

The captain clapped him on the shoulder roughly, causing Quentin’s teeth to rattle in his mouth.

“How was your trip?” Quentin asked, barely able to contain the excitement that was bubbling underneath the surface of his skin.

“It was smooth sailing. Got caught in a storm, but we managed.”

“I’m glad to hear it captain,” Quentin stated. And he was grateful. Grateful that the captain and his crew was okay. But a part of him was disappointed that there would be no new stories for the captain to tell. He tried to hide his disappointment by smiling.
“Aye, you thought I wouldn’t bring you a tale or two, didn’ yah?” the captain teased, waging a finger at him as he began to fiddle with the bag at his waist. Captain Elias leaned in closer, his voice low, “Are ye up for a tale, lad?”

Quentin nodded eagerly as the captain pulled him towards his makeshift stall. Quentin settled himself on the stool as he had done hundreds of times before.

“This story is about Arion…” the captain began, taking a seat beside him. “Arion grew up in a small town, but he longed for something more. Despite the warnings of those around him, he built a small boat and set sail. Arion found wonders beyond imagination – cities beneath the waves, creatures of myths and legends, islands shrouded in mist where time seemed to stand still. Alas, the young man was claimed by the sea.”

Quentin blinked at the captain in surprise. “He died? That’s it?” Quentin exclaimed.

“What kind of story is that?”

The captain offered a crooked smile, “A true one. And the fate of far too many young lads and lasses who venture out into the unknown.”

Quentin was riddled with confusion. This story was so different from the tales of wonder and adventure that the captain usually told, lacked any grand adventure or mythical creature. “I don’t understand,” Quentin admitted.

“You will, lad,” was his only response before he clapped him on the shoulder and walked away.

As he watched the captain’s back as he disappeared into the crowd, his mind reeled with questions. Was the captain trying to tell him that he should stay in Marseille, that he should abandon his dreams? That didn’t seem like something that captain would try to dissuade him from doing. His whole life, the captain had told him stories of Krakens and Leviathan’s, of sirens and sailors. Even though the tales usually spoke of the danger of the seas, and the mercilessness of the ocean, they usually heeded some sort of lesson of victory. The more he dug into the story, the less he seemed to understand the captain’s message.

Quentin wandered through the port, overhearing snippets of conversations between sailors and traders, each sharing their own tales, but his mind was elsewhere. What if the sea wasn’t the answer? What if, like Arion, he was destined to be claimed by the very thing he longed for?

He found himself standing at the edge of the dock, staring out towards where the sky met the sea. The water was calm, the waves gently lapping against the wood pilings. From here, it was almost hard to believe that the sea could ever be as dangerous as everyone made it out to be. It was only water, the lifeblood of all of Earth. It seemed so peaceful, so inviting.

But as he stood there, his attention turned to the red-hair woman – her confident stride, her sharp eyes, the way she seemed at home amidst the chaos of the port He wondered what her life was like, sailing the seas on that majestic ship, living the life he had always dreamed of. Did she ever fear the ocean’s wrath, or had she embraced it, accepted it as part of the price of living such a life.

As he stared out at the horizon, the captain’s story echoed in his mind—a cautionary tale, a warning. But Quentin couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something more to it, something he wasn’t seeing. Perhaps the captain was trying to protect him, to keep him from making the same mistakes as Arion, the same mistake as his father. Or perhaps, the story was meant to challenge him, to make sure he didn’t make a decision hastily, so that he could see if he truly had what it took to face the sea.

He didn’t have all the answers, not yet. But one thing was certain—the sea was calling to him, louder and more insistent than ever. And as much as he tried to ignore it, to push it away, he knew that he couldn’t. The sea was in his blood, in his very soul, and nothing could change that. So nothing matter to him except for the one question that rang through his mind, louder and clearer than any other thought in his head –

What if he loved it?

Chapter 7:

As the days passed and Quentin tried to settle back into the routine of farm life in Marielle, his discontent simmered just beneath the surface, a constant companion that refused to be ignored. Each morning, he found himself drawn to the shores of the nearby beach, where the crash of waves provided a fleeting respite from the monotony of his daily chores.

With bare feet buried in the sand, the grains shifting beneath his weight with each step, Quentin would lose himself in the endless expanse of the ocean, daydreaming of the adventures to be had. The sound of crashing waves against the shore a balm to his aching heart. He would sit for hours, the salty breeze tousling his hair, his mind adrift on the currents of possibility.

But it was not just the beach that called to him – it was the pier that stretched out into the ocean, a solitary beacon in the vastness of the sea. There, Quentin would often find himself perched on the edge, his legs dangling over the side as he gazed out at the endless expanse of water. On some occasions he would take his little rowboat and drift along the waves.

It was on one such day that Quentin found himself joined by Lucy. As Quentin and Lucy set out, the gentle lapping of the waves hitting the side of the boat, Quentin dipped the oars into the water. Lucy lounged lazily, her feet dangling over the edge.

The boat lurched sideways. “Careful there, Captain,” Lucy teased, flashing Quentin a mischievous grin as he rowed. “I wouldn’t want me dress to be ruined.”

Quentin chuckled, the corner of his lips curling in a smile. “I think you’d look cute if you were a wet rate” he replied, giving the boat another playful lurch.

She gave him a pointed glare as she tried to maintain her balance on the boat. “If I go down, I’m taking you with me,” she said.

As the boat glided through the water Lucy’s gaze drift lazily over the ocean. A salty mist sprayed lightly onto their faces as the boat sliced through the water, leaving a trial of ripples in its wake. The sound of the waves lapping against the boat comforting. Lucy stole a glance at Quentin, his brow furrowed in concentration as he placed the oar into the water.

He paused, setting the oars down with a sigh. He rubbed his shoulder, working out the soreness from his limbs. The boat gently rocked with the ebb and flow of the waves.
“Isn’t it just perfect out here” Lucy sighed, her gaze drifting upwards to the vast expanse of the blue sky overhead.

“It really is,” Quentin agreed, slipping from the wooden seat to the boat’s hull. He reclined lazily against his now vacant seat.

A silence fell over them as they drifted on the gentle swells of the ocean, the only sound the lapping of the water and the distant cries of seagulls wheeling overhead. Quentin found himself lost in the vastness of the horizon, where the sky met the sea in an endless embrace.

As they sat there, Quentin’s thoughts wandered, drifting lift flotsam on the currents of his mind. He stole glances at Lucy, her profile serene against the afternoon sun. A cool breeze swept across the water, causing Lucy’s hair to dance in the wind; a stark contrast to the warmth of the sun that tingled against is skin. Her eyes were fixed on the horizon, a distant look in them as if she was lost in her own thoughts.

For a moment, Quentin felt as though time had slowed to a standstill, the world around them fading into insignificance. It was just the two of them, adrift on the vast expanse of the ocean. He couldn’t help but feel grateful for this moment.

“Lucy, there’s something I need to tell you,” Quentin began. Lucy’s brow furrowed in concern, but she remained silent. “I’ve been thinking a lot lately,” Quentin continued, his words tumbling out in a rush.

“Please don’t propose to me,” Lucy interjected.

Quentin jolted back in surprise, his cheeks warming. “Um… I…. I..” he stammered, caught off guard by Lucy’s playful interruption.

Lucy couldn’t help but laugh at Quentin’s flustered response, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “I’m just teasing, Quentin,” she said, reaching out to squeeze his hand reassuringly. “You know you don’t have to worry about that with me.”

Quentin let out a nervous chuckle. “Right, of course,” he replied, trying to regain his composure. “It’s just… I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately,” Quentin finally confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. The weight of his words hung in the air, tangible and fraught with uncertainty.

Lucy’s expression softened, her concern returning as she sensed the seriousness in Quentin’s tone. “About what?” she asked gently, giving his hand a comforting squeeze.
Quentin took a deep breath, steeling himself for what he was about to say. “About leaving,” he admitted.

Lucy’s brow furrowed in concern as she listened to Quentin’s words. The boat seemed to pause in its gentle sway, as if holdings its breath in anticipation of Lucy’s response.
Quentin took a deep breath, steeling himself for her reaction. Every second felt like an eternity as he waited for Lucy’s answer, the silence stretching between them like a taut rope on the verge of snapping.

“I see,” Lucy said softly, her gaze searching Quentin’s face for any hint of doubt. “I’ll be sad when you leave.”

“Would you want to come with me?” Quentin asked.

She looked at him long and hard. He could see the excitement on her face at the prospect of joining him momentarily before it was quickly replaced. “I’d love to, Quentin, but…” she trailed off. “That’s not for me,” Lucy’s voice was barely above a whisper, her gaze fixed on the horizon as if searching for answers in the endless union of blue.

Quentin’s heart sank at her words, a flicker of disappointment crossing his features before he masked it with a smile. He had hoped, perhaps foolishly, that Lucy might entertain the idea of joining him on his journey, that they could embark on an adventure together.

“You know me. I’m a creature of habit. I’m happy here, with my feet planted firmly on the ground,” she continued.

Quentin nodded.

She turned to face him, cradling his hands in hers. “Quentin, I’ve always admired your sense of adventure, but my dreams have always been right here. In Marielle, with the people I love and the life I’ve built. I’ve never felt the need to venture beyond these shores. Everything I need is already here, right in front of me.”

“Don’t you ever wonder what’s out there?” Quentin asked.

“Of course I do, Quentin. But… I’ve come to realize that my happiness isn’t tied to adventures. It’s tied to the simple joys of life here in Marielle – the sound of the waves, the warmth of the sun, the laughter of friends. That’s where I find my happiness, Quentin. And I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.”

Quentin nodded slowly.

Lucy squeezed his fingers. “I hope you find what you’re looking for out there. But just remember, no matter where you go or what you do, you’ll always have a home here. And you’ll always have me.”

Quentin laughed, his eyes dancing. “Oh, come on,” he teased, his voice dripping with faux bravado. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”

Before Lucy could reply, a sudden gust of wind caught them, sending the boat lurching to one side. Panic flashed across Quentin’s face as the vessel teetered. With a collective gasp, they tumbled into the water below.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still. Chaos ensured as they struggled to regain their bearings, the cold water shocking their sense and stealing their breath away. But as they surfaced, sputtering, and gasping for air, Quentin couldn’t help but laugh. And as he met Lucy’s gaze, her eyes sparked with laughter as well.

“You do look cute as a wet rat,” Quentin joked.

Lucy shot him a glare before splashing some water at him. “You’ve ruined my dress,” she laughed.

They righted the boat together before climbing back in, collapsing onto each other in a tangle of limbs and laughter. Their clothes clung to their skin and their hair plastered against their faces as their laughter echoed across the water, mingling with the gently lapping of the waves against the boat’s hull. As they caught their breath, Quentin found himself lost in the warmth of Lucy, the gentle rise and fall of her chest against his own.

For a moment, Quentin allowed himself to forget about the uncertainties of the future, the weight of his own doubts and fears. In that moment, all that mattered was the here and now – the sound of Lucy’s laughter and the feel of her warm body pressed against him.

Your Thoughts Matter!

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