Memory 04: Return to Shore

Late afternoon light spilled across the docks of Stella Maris, gilding the ropes and hulls in gold. Thomas stepped off the ship, robes damp with salt and wind, his sea-bound service complete. Five months as chaplain aboard the merchant vessel Vigilant Grace—a rite of passage for full ordination in the priesthood of Stella Maris.

He spotted familiar faces: family, former coworkers, dockhands preparing to turn in for the day. One of them squinted.

"I don’t believe my eyes."

His cousin grinned. "You actually did it."

Another dockworker leaned on a crate. "Are you really a priest now? Blessings and all?"

Thomas raised his hand, fingers forming the sign of tide and star. "By the Goddess, may your burdens be light and your nets full."

The dockhands chuckled, pleased.

"How was life at sea?" one asked.

Thomas looked out at the water. "She taught me much."

"What now, then?" another asked.

Thomas paused, considering. "I’d like to have a pint."

The dockworkers lit up.

"Now I understand why he put on the robes," one said. "To chat and bless, and drink, by the Goddess."

Thomas smiled. They walked off together toward the tavern, the sun dipping low behind the marble skyline, casting long shadows across the sea.

An Hour Alone

The alcove behind the coral sanctums was quiet, a place where the tide whispered and the light dimmed gently. Nimue sat with her hands folded, her robes loosened, her gaze distant. Thomas entered, his steps soft but eager.

"I missed you," he said.

She looked up, her expression unreadable but warm. "I missed you too."

He sat beside her, close but not touching. "The future feels wide. I want to help people. All of them. With everything I have."

"You will," she said. "You already do."

He studied her face. "They’ll ask me to serve the Chamber, won’t they?"

"Yes," Nimue said. "Anselm sees far. Perhaps as far as the Goddess. When he looks at you, he’ll see more than you."

Thomas exhaled. "I’m not a man for the Chamber."

"No," she agreed. "But they will hear your ideas. And that will make you a threat."

He turned to her, eyes bright. "Then come with me. Into the world."

She smiled, but sorrow lingered in her eyes. "I understand your calling. I want you to follow it. But I cannot leave."

"I know," he said. "I just... I love you."

"I love you too."

They sat in silence, the tide murmuring.

"We’ll make this work," Thomas said. "We’ll visit. Regularly."

"Yes," Nimue said. "We will."

She reached into her satchel and handed him a small bundle—prayer shells, strung together and perfumed.

"Keep these close. And Thomas—"

He looked at her.

"You will stir powerful waters. I must warn you constantly. Politics is not prayer."

He nodded. "Then I’ll listen. Always."

She leaned her head against his shoulder. The hour passed like a tide, and when they parted, it was with the quiet strength of two who had touched something eternal.