The Epic of the Discarded Son-Chapter 53: Diary 4

He lifted the tiny red shard toward his face. It glowed faintly, catching the first light of morning.

"That’s how I was able to find you," she said softly. "It was drifting down with you."

He didn’t answer right away. Just stared at it for a long moment, turning it between his fingers, saying nothing.

Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out the one he’d gotten earlier, along with the four she’d given him. Five shards total, resting in his palm like tiny drops of frozen fire.

He held them out to her.

"Use them."

"But—"

He didn’t let her finish. He took her hand, pressed the shards into her palm, and closed her fingers around them one by one. His hand stayed there for a second longer than it needed to.

He smiled. It was small. Tired.

"I can’t use them," he said. "And even if I could—I’d still want you to have them. Think of it as birthday gifts. I missed the past five, so..."

The shards shattered in her palm and sank into her skin like water into sand.

She rested her head back against his shoulder, quiet.

"It’ll be six years soon," she said softly.

"...Oh." He winced. "Well, I’m kind of broke right now."

Her elbow buried itself into his ribs before the last word even left his mouth.

"Ow—fine, fine. I’ll figure something out."

She lifted her head. "Something good."

"Something reasonable."

She shifted her elbow like she was reloading.

"Fine, fine. Something good," he corrected quickly. "Something great. Life-changing, even." 𝚏𝐫𝚎𝗲𝕨𝐞𝐛𝕟𝚘𝐯𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝗺

She settled back against his shoulder. Satisfied. Like a cat that had just knocked something off a table and felt no remorse whatsoever.

And together they watched the sun climb over the horizon—slow, golden, patient, like even the world was giving them a moment to breathe.

And they deserved every bit of it.

Before he knew it, she’d fallen asleep against his shoulder — exhaustion finally catching up to her. He let her. She’d earned it. She’d been through more than anyone should have to, and most of it was his fault.

Her eyes were closed. Her breathing had gone slow and even. She looked the way she used to before everything went wrong — back when they were just kids, back when their biggest problem was deciding what game to play next.

Like he’d never left. Like he’d been here the whole time. Like those five years had just been a bad dream they were both finally waking up from.

And for one quiet, cowardly second, he let himself pretend.

Pretend he was still that boy. That she was still that girl. That none of it had ever happened.

It was a lie. He knew that.

But it was a nice lie. And he hadn’t had one of those in a long time.

’I guess you were right, Rei. Maybe I should try being a kid again. Try being happy.’

They stayed like that for a while—her head on his shoulder, the sun warming their faces, the world quiet for once—until Richard’s voice echoed up from below, calling her back down.

And just like that, the moment was gone.

’Damn you, Richard.’ Shiro exhaled slowly through his nose. ’I should’ve killed you back then.’

He watched her disappear down the path, then leaned back with a quiet sigh. Alone again.

Alone and bored. A combination that had ended more lives than most swords. Before it could claim his, he reached into the shadows and pulled out Rei’s diary.

03/05/3024

"I’ve been staring at this map for four days."

"The problem isn’t finding the place. It’s getting there."

"If I take the ship, I have to follow the coast. Navigate around three island chains. Avoid the dead currents near the southern ridge. By my calculations, the voyage would take nearly eight months. Eight months of open water. Eight months of fuel. Eight months of food I don’t have."

"But if I go on foot—abandon the ship, cut inland, cross the mountain passes, and follow the path the old man drew—I can make it in less than half that time."

"There’s a catch. There’s always a catch."

"Once I leave the ship, I can’t come back for it. The port doesn’t hold vessels for free. After thirty days, any unclaimed ships are stripped for parts and sold. My beautiful, ugly, rebuilt ship with her figurehead and my terrible sail patches—gone."

"If I take the ship, the voyage alone eats sixteen months. There and back. Sixteen months of nothing but waves and bad cooking and talking to the sea. And even if I find her—even if she’s real, and alive, and exactly where this map says she is—what then? I get a few weeks? Maybe a month? Just long enough to learn her name. Just long enough to make losing her hurt worse than never finding her at all."

"That’s not a journey. That’s a cruel joke with a boat."

"But if I walk, I cut the time nearly in half. More time with her. More time to actually know her. To sit across from her and ask stupid questions like what she eats for breakfast and whether she talks in her sleep."

"The cost? Probably my life."

"No ship means no way back. I don’t think the ring cares about finding the girl of my dreams. When it runs out, I’m done. No dramatic last stand. No sailing home to a hero’s welcome. Just my lifeless body."

"So here’s the real choice. And it’s not about ships."

"Go. Find her. Gamble everything on a girl in a drawing and a map drawn by a homeless old man. Never see home again."

"Or stay the course. Be smart. Be safe. Sail around for three years, come home with stories and souvenirs, and spend every night after that staring at a ceiling wondering what her voice sounds like."

"Practical Rei says don’t be an idiot. Take the ship. Forget the girl. Live."

"But practical Rei has never seen her smile."

"So I’ve made my decision."

"I’m walking."

"If I die, I’d like it to be somewhere soft. Her lap, ideally. Maybe she’ll be saying something kind. I won’t hear it because I’ll be dead, but it’s nice to imagine."

"And if I somehow survive—well."

"Future Rei’s going to be a very happy man. And honestly? He doesn’t deserve it. But I’m rooting for him anyway."

And so Rei chose his path.

Most of the early entries weren’t grand or world-shaking. They were just... stories. The kind Rei used to tell him late at night, grinning like an idiot, waving his hands around for emphasis.

Stories Shiro had heard a hundred times and somehow never got tired of.

Like the time Rei got chased through an entire village completely naked by a furious husband who was very misinformed about what his wife and Rei had actually been doing. According to Rei, nothing. According to the husband, everything. According to the village elders who had to sort it out, "Please leave and never come back."

And Shiro immediately sided with the husband. And the villagers. And probably the village elders too, for good measure.

Because in his experience, when Rei said "nothing," it usually meant everything. And when Rei said "I swear, it’s not what it looks like," it was always, always, exactly what it looked like.

He turned the page, still smiling.

Then there was the time he’d climbed halfway up a mountain just to meet the old hermit everyone said lived at the top—only to find out the "old man on the mountain" was actually three goats, a very confused monk, and a sign that read GO HOME.

Which, of course, he didn’t.

Instead, because he was Rei—he stole one of the goats.

In his defense (and he always had a defense, no matter how flimsy), it was the first time he’d ever seen a non-corrupted animal. An actual, living, breathing, not-trying-to-eat-his-face goat. And his first instinct, naturally, wasn’t wow, nature is beautiful or what a peaceful creature.

It was dinner.

So he stole one.

Which, as it turned out, was the one thing capable of making a peaceful mountain monk absolutely, completely, spectacularly lose his mind.

At the bottom of the page, he’d written: "Didn’t know monks could run that fast. Or swear that creatively. Learned two new words. Possibly three. Also—goat 10/10, will come back for the other two."

But the next mountain was different.

Rei had apparently learned nothing from the three-goats incident, because a few entries later he tried again—a different mountain, same dumb hope. He was expecting more delicious goats.

What he got instead were assassins. And a blade to his throat.

The disciples of the old man of the mountain did not appreciate a random traveler stumbling into their hidden compound. According to the diary, Rei had about three seconds between walking in and having roughly a dozen blades pointed at his throat.

And then—because he was Rei—he’d talked his way out of it.

Shiro could almost picture it. Rei, hands up, grinning that stupid grin of his, explaining very quickly and very sincerely that he was just a lost traveler, definitely not a spy, definitely not worth killing, and also was anyone going to eat that bowl of rice over there because he hadn’t had lunch yet.

At the bottom of that page: "Took four hours of convincing. Also they fed me. 10/10 would almost die again."

Shiro snorted.

’Of course you would.’

And he closed the diary just in time—perfect timing, too—as the ship came to a halt, and in front of them stood an island.

And something about this island felt familiar.

His mouth moved on its own.

"Hello, old friend."