Those Who Remain

These changes were faint, yet as they accumulated bit by bit, they became impossible to ignore.

In the afternoon, Seren walked down to the docks to deliver a bundle. Passing the spot where Old Eden usually sat, she saw him leaning over his nets, mending the twine. The sunlight fell across his hair, turning it as white as salt.

"How was the catch today?

" the old man asked without looking up.

"Poor.

" "I know.

" "How do you know?

" Old Eden chuckled.

"They've been grumbling all morning.

" Seren smiled slightly.

That was certainly true. The old man tied a knot in a fryesd line with slow, practiced fingers.

"No surprise, really," he said.

"Why not?

" "Fish are scarce.

" Seren sat down on a nearby wooden crate.

"Why?

" Old Eden raised his head, looking out toward the open water.

"Because the wind direction changed.

" Seren followed his gaze.

A stiff breeze swept through the harbour, sending a few gulls wheeling in the distance.

"When the wind changes, the fish change," the old man continued.

"And when the fish change, people change too.

"

"What do you mean?

" "It means sometimes it's not a matter of whether you want to change or not," he offered a quiet smile.

"It's just that the wind has already turned.

" Seren fell silent.

She felt she understood his words, yet at the same time, her grasp on them remained elusive. Old Eden offered no further explanation, returning to his nets as if he had said nothing out of the ordinary.

Toward evening, the sea wind grew stronger. The banners on the pier snapped loudly in the gales, and the small skiffs moored by the shore bumped rhythmically against the wooden pilings. Seren stood at the water's edge, gazing at the darkening sky.

A few sea birds flew hard against the headwind; their flight was labored, yet they never fell from the air. She watched them for a long time. For reasons she could not name, her thoughts drifted back to her dream.

That night, the dream returned. Twilight—that familiar twilight. The wind blew from afar, carrying that nameless breath.

The city stood silent, its gate half-ajar, and the narrow road wound away into the distance. Yet this time, Seren's gaze was drawn neither to the city nor to the road. She noticed the wind.

It swept across the grassy plains flanking the path, rippling through the wild blades like waves upon the sea. She stood there watching quietly—no sound, no companion, no fresh changes. Only the wind.

Then the dream dissolved.

The next morning, as Seren stepped outside her cottage, the morning wind met her face. She paused abruptly. In that fleeting moment, her mind flashed back to the rippling grass in her dream.

It was the same wind, carrying the same subtle chill, impossible to ignore. The feeling passed quickly, and she carried on toward the docks. Yet over the days that followed, things in Tidal Bay showed no sign of improvement.

The catches remained thin, and talk grew among the villagers. Some blamed the season; others insisted the currents had altered; a few began considering other ways to make a living. What began as idle chatter over dinner gradually turned into earnest concern.

Seren heard the question asked more than once: What if things stay like this? She had never given it thought before. Through all the years of her growing up, Tidal Bay had been constant, quiet, and solid, as if it would remain unchanged forever. Now she began to realize that many things were shifting, only she had never paid attention.

At twilight, she stood at the far end of the pier once more. The sea breeze stirred her hair, the hem of her skirt, and the canvas of distant sails. Across the water, the last golden rays slipped beneath the horizon.

Watching that gleaming sea, Old Eden’s words echoed in her mind: When the wind changes, the fish change. And when the fish change, people change too. She did not know if it was true, but she could feel the truth of change all around her.

The wind off the sea. The faces on the pier. Her mother's tired shoulders.

And the dream. All of them were slowly drifting in a new direction—like the surface of the sea before a rising tide, calm on top, yet already churning underneath. Standing at the pier's edge, Seren felt an indescribable sensation.

Something was waiting for her in the distance—not today, nor tomorrow, but one day, she would walk down that path in her dream. When that day would come, she did not yet know.

In the third week following Elwin’s departure, a relentless and dismal rain settled over Tidal Bay. It was no torrential storm, yet it endured for days on end. Gloomy, slate-grey clouds hung heavy above the waters, as though bringing the vast expanse of the sky down to press against the earth.

Such weather was always a burden to the seafaring folk— not for any great peril upon the waves, but for the stifling, oppressive air that clung to the coast. Still, the shoals did not return, and whispers upon the docks multiplied with each passing dawn. At first light, when Seren accompanied her mother to the fish market, many of the wooden stalls stood desolate.

In seasons past, this hour stirred with vibrant life: fishermen would line the piers with brimming crates of their fresh catch, sea birds would circle high above in furious clamor, merchants would shout their wares, and children would dart through the bustling throng. Now, though a semblance of trade remained, the vitality had thinned to a pale shadow.

"Two more vessels missing from the harbor today," remarked an old vendor of shellfish nearby.

"How so?

" someone inquired.

The old man gestured toward the western shore.

"The two families out west...

sold their boats.

" "Sold them?

They abandon the haul for good?

" "Word is they’re bound for the great northern port to seek honest labor.

" Silence fell upon those standing within earshot.

Such tidings had grown common of late, surprising no one. Every soul understood that when the deep yields no harvest, men must forge other paths to sustain life. Only before, such tales belonged to distant lands; now, the shift had arrived at the very gates of Tidal Bay.

Seren kept her peace, merely bending low to sort the timber baskets. Beside her, her mother laid out the few silver fish in neat order—her hands practiced and sure as ever, yet noticeably slower than in years gone by. Seren observed this in silence.

These fleeting signs had gathered like falling leaves of late: her mother pausing to soothe her aching shoulder, bedding down early as dusk fell, or forgetting small words spoken mere moments before. None of these alterations were grand, yet when two souls dwell beneath the same roof for over a decade, the slightest ebb does not escape notice.

By noon, the rains finally abated. The overcast sky fractured, letting a pale shaft of sunlight rest upon the glistening timber of the quay. Seren carried an empty pail down toward the surf to draw water.

On her way, she passed the dry docks where a small group had gathered in low discussion. Among them stood a youth she knew well—Matthew, four-and-twenty years of age, who had spent his boyhood in the bay. His father had once been reckoned among the finest shipwrights and fishermen of the coast before an injury robbed him of his strength for the open sea.

Rumors had circulated that the great port to the north was seeking master carpenters, offering handsome coin. Many young men had felt the pull of such promise, Matthew among them.

"You truly mean to stay?

" a voice asked.

"Yes," Matthew replied evenly.

"I'll not be going.

" "It is a rare fortune you cast aside.

" "I know.

" "Then why remain?

" Matthew shaved a curling sliver from a piece of timber, remaining silent a moment before he spoke: "Someone must stay behind.

" He spoke with calm, as though declaring the turning of the tide, yet the surrounding air grew suddenly still.

A companion offered a dry laugh: "You were ever a stubborn fool, Matthew.

" Matthew smiled faintly.

"Likely so.

" The talk drifted onward to other matters, yet those few words lodged deep within Seren's mind.

Someone must stay behind.

In the late afternoon, having helped her mother deliver the remaining catch to the eastern edge of the village, Seren returned by the shore. There she found Matthew alone, working upon the hull of an ancient skiff. The wind swept off the tide, scattering wood shavings across the shingle.

Seren paused, watching him for a time until he raised his eyes.

"What brings you here?

" he asked.

"I heard what you said this morning.

"

"Which part?

" "That someone must stay.

" Matthew paused, then let out a soft laugh.

"Ah.

So you were listening.

" "Why stay?

" Seren pressed softly.

He set down his adze and turned his gaze toward the vessels moored along the shoals.

"Do you hold that staying is a lesser choice?

" "I do not know.

" It was the truth; she had never weighed the matter.

Remaining here had always been as natural and unspoken as drawing breath. Matthew was quiet for a moment.

"Truth be told, I too wanted to journey beyond.

" The admission took Seren by surprise.

"Truly?

" "Of course," he smiled wistfully.

"Who among us does not yearn to gaze upon what lies beyond the horizon?

" "Then why stay?

" Matthew looked toward a small timber cottage in the distance, where his kin dwelt.

"Because my father’s strength wanes with his years.

Because this craft requires a carpenter's hand. Because my mother’s heart is bound to this shore... and a hundred other small ties besides.

" He paused as the sea wind stirred between them.

"To leave is not the sole mark of courage," Matthew said quietly.

"To remain demands no less bravery.

" Seren made no reply, yet the weight of his words lingered in her thoughts.

*

At twilight, as her mother prepared to haul the final fish basket back toward their cottage, Seren stepped forward and took the heavy burden onto her own shoulders. Her mother started.

"Let me take that, child.

" "I have it already.

" "Is it not too heavy?

" "It is light enough.

" In truth, the load pressed hard against her frame, yet Seren walked with a firm, steady stride all the way home.

Beside her, her mother watched her for a long time in silence, before letting a faint, gentle smile touch her lips.

That night, beneath the rhythmic crashing of the surf against the shore, sleep claimed Seren swiftly. And once more, she found herself standing beyond the walls of the ancient city. Twilight remained suspended between heaven and earth.

The wind whispered through the long grass, and the stone ramparts stood silent against the fading light. The gate stood half-ajar, and the narrow dirt path stretched forth from its threshold, unwinding until it reached her very feet. All was as it had ever been.

Yet this time, Seren did not merely stand as a passive watcher. She looked down at the earth beneath her soles, styesd motionless in long deliberation, and then—took a step forward. Her foot pressed into the soft soil.

The wind brushed past her face. Nothing shattered; no grand miracle occurred. She took another step.

The blades of grass swyesd gently; the distant city endured in its quiet grandeur. A third step. A fourth.

A fifth.

Her pace was slow, hesitant, as if she herself could not fathom why her feet sought the path. Yet she did not halt—not until the wind rose into a sharp gust, blurring the borders of her vision as the dream dissolved into light. She awoke.

The sky had not yet broken into dawn, and deep quiet filled the cottage. Seren sat up in her bed, gazing at the shadowy window as her heart beat with a strange, rapid cadence. She could not explain why.

Nothing extraordinary had happened in the dream: the city remained unchanged, the gate stood as before, and the road was the same as it had ever been. The only difference was that she had walked a few steps forward. Nothing more.

Yet those few steps refused to leave her mind. Gradually, light crept across the realm. The waves continued their familiar rhythm against the shoreline, and Tidal Bay stirred in quiet routine.

Her mother slept peacefully in the adjoining room; Old Eden was likely rising to mend his nets; Matthew would remain to labor over his timber. On the surface, nothing had shifted. Yet deep within, Seren sensed that a threshold had been crossed.

It was like the rising of a grand tide: the coast shows no instant transformation, yet the deep waters have already begun their movement toward shore. And her dream, too, had begun to move.