Coureur—Mirror

New Dawn

The radar bleeped in an alerting tone.

“Contact, two-five, bearing East, air-vessel,” reported a crew member to his captain.

“Size? Class? Civilian?” the captain inquired, grabbing his spyglass and peering out the window.

“Uhh, medium-sized, Coureur-class combat vessel judging by the signature.”

“Get me a visual, radio them,” the captain ordered. The helmsman quickly adjusted the course. The mana-cores hummed as the propellers accelerated. The ship jerked ever so slightly.

A few minutes of futile contact attempts later, the ship climbed through a low cloud above where the contact was.

“Visual, 1-5. Hunter ship,” called out one of the scouts from the outside. The captain turned his spyglass.

“Confirmed. Radio?”

“Nothing sir,” called out the radio operator.

“Keep trying, get us closer. Light signal them too, they look pretty banged up, might need assistance.”

As they neared, the ship turned, not toward them but broadside.

“I see their identifier. It’s Marcheur sir, the missing vessel,” called out one of the scouts.

“Sir? They’re adjusting course,” called out the radar operator.

“Keep dist-” began the captain but his order was muffled by the roar of cannons as the Marcheur’s port-side opened up in full fury.

Iron balls tore through the scout vessel’s thin hull, tearing it to shreds. A pained scream came from the outside, one of the crew members found himself tumbling through the air, plummeting to his demise.

“Evasive maneuvers! Cut the engines, free-fall,” the captain ordered as splinters from cannonball’s impact tore into the skin of his right leg.

The ship’s mana-core’s hum ceased, the right propeller was no more.

“Mayday, mayday, Eagle-eye going down, I repeat, Eagle-eye going down,” called out the radio operator on the open channel.

It’s been a couple of days since the incident. The crash site was discovered, but the rogue ship was gone.

“Sir? Witness has arrived,” called out an officer as he entered through the door to the Dragon Hunter’s guild leader.

“Send him in.”

With a pained groan and a heavy limp, a scout from the Eagle-eye entered through the door, leaning heavily on a cane.

“Sir.”

The guild leader lowered the report he was reading and glanced up.

“I read the report, but I need to hear it in person.”

The scout nodded and re-told the events of that morning in fullest detail.

“That can’t be, Marcheur was a wreck after the accursed Game of Fate, I personally attended their Captain’s burial,” the guild leader replied softly.

“Saw it with m’own eyes.”

The guild leader glanced over stacks upon stacks of reports, crew compensations, hazard pays, and dragon sightings.

“Coureur at the dock?” the guild leader queried.

“Yes sir,” replied the officer.

“I hate to do it, but, send Ashlandis and her crew.”

Nightfall

She sat upon the bowsprit of her ship. The palms of her hand firmly pressed against the rough wood of the bowsprit. The chaos of rush behind her was finally calming. There were thuds of cannonballs and dragon piercers against the deck. She felt something heavy scrape against the deck. She winced, her eyes still closed.

“Captain?” called out a man, “We’re almost ready. How is she?”

Ashlandis slid her hands up and down slightly, as if caressing the coarse wood beneath her hands, “She trembles in fright, Cid.”

The man placed his hand upon the railing of the airship, stroking it slowly.

“And you?”

Ashy glanced over her shoulder, opening her eyes at last.

“I too. If Marcheur flies once more, the captain can’t be my mentor. Either way, this isn’t right, none of this is right.”

Her gaze wandered the deck.

“Set sail when ready,” she commanded.

“Aye aye.”

Her engines coughed to life; she may be old and tired, but she was strong, she was a living legend.

“Coureur ready to set sail,” called out the helmsman.

“Clamps away, bon voyage,” shouted the dock crew, unleashing her into her voyage.

There was no escort. No backup. The guild was stretched thin and they were losing entire fleets in unprecedented battles. Coureur was to handle the threat herself. Ashlandis knew that whatever they’d face would be unlike anything she had ever witnessed before. She, who had seen the might of dragons firsthand, trembled with fear. She knew that something was very wrong, but she also knew that humanity needed them; they needed the Dragon Hunters.

Days passed in silence. Everything felt wrong. The captain was quieter than ever, no encouragements, just duty. She checked on her crew as usual, she aided them as she always did, but her mind was adrift, and they could tell, but couldn’t do anything about it.

The dawn broke with a bleep of the radar.

“Contact, 2-8-5, air-vessel, seems to be the one.” called out the navigator.

“Bingo,” Cid replied.

“I’ll wake the captain.”

She stumbled out of her room, armed with a freshly brewed coffee and fighting a desperate battle against morning grogginess.

As she peered at the radar and sipped on her coffee, she nodded, “Maintain course and distance of 20 kilometers. Do not get closer until I give the order.”

“Roger that,” the navigator replied. She leaned on the railing, spyglass in 1 hand, coffee mug in the other.

“She still trembles?”

Cid queried, pulling on the sail’s rope to make sure it was tight.

“Ever since we left the port,” Ashlandis replied, taking a sip of her coffee.

“It can’t be them,” Cid responded, glancing around.

“I know,” she shot back, “But our enemy is ruthless. They’ll do anything to play us.”

“We should’ve retired after that cursed game,” Cid turned to leave, “Left it to the younglings.”

Ashy looked out to the horizon, “They aren’t ready for the horrors of the enemy, not yet. We keep losing the fresh crews while the veterans only grow older. I fear,” she began.

“We won’t lose,” Cid replied and walked off.

“Wake me when we get a visual, I’ll catch a wink for now.”

She felt a clump in her throat and her chest tightened as she looked through the spyglass. The visual was as petrifying and heart-wrenching as she imagined it to be. The name on the side of her hull read

“Marche-” the last couple of letters were missing, replaced by a gaping hole where a dragon tore through the ship’s hull. The rear mast was broken, missing. The front mast was barely intact, but there were no sails upon it, only a few remaining bits of it, like rags hanging upon a drier, flailing frantically in the wind. She could see movement, people walking around its deck, though it was too far to tell any details.

For the rest of the day, Coureur danced an intricate dance with the Marcheur, or rather what Ashlandis would describe as the ‘ghostly shell’ of it. It looked to be barely afloat, yet capable of much the same maneuvers as the Coureur herself, since Marcheur repeated every move that Ashlandis ordered her crew to make.

“Hard left, maintain distance,” and the Marcheur would mirror it.

“Hold position,” she ordered, and Marcheur did the same.

Like a twisted mirror, an alternate reality. It knew what she would do, sometimes it would begin a maneuver before she even ordered it. This dance lasted till sunset, while the crew remained on high alert, ready for anything. Slowly but surely the gap narrowed and ships got closer, still maintaining a few kilometers’ safety margin, remaining firmly out of cannon’s reach.

The dusk came before long, bearing with it nightmares. That evening the crew sat in silence in the chow hall once more, readying for their restless night as the ships continued their intricate dance, keeping just outside the range of each other, but the crew was burning with anxiety of what might happen next. It was at this point that Cid spoke up, breaking the deathly silence at last, “Chef? Are we out of spices or what? It’s so, bland and tasteless tonight.”

The silence was heavier than ever before as the rest of the crew impatiently took another sip of the stew, only now realizing that indeed the meal was bland and tasteless.

“Yeah, it is,” replied the mechanic. The chef savored his meal.

“No boss, we have plenty of salt, want some more?” he tended the table with a small bowl of salt. Cid, the first hand, sprinkled some more on his food and tasted it again. The crew watched him in anticipation. He chewed slowly and meticulously.

“I taste nothing,” he said, shaking his head. The mechanic dipped his entire finger in salt and licked it, “Tasteless like an old piece of badly made bread.”

Commotion arose amongst the crew, but was brought to order by a fist slamming against the table.

“SILENCE! Our enemy is playing tricks upon our minds. Double the night-watch, high alert, but get some rest,” Ashlandis ordered her crew.

That night was short and tense. Seemingly as she fell asleep, the hull of Coureur reverberated with a melody she had never heard before. Inhuman, growly, deep, and petrifying melody, a song of war, a song of dragons. Wooded hull creaked, and the planks shrieked in fright. She laid in her bunk, listening to the melody that resembled war-horns, then got up. Something was wrong, and her instincts wouldn’t let her rest till she set it right.

She stepped out onto the hallway and heard the melody in new tones, more human this time. It was coming from the crew quarters. As she peered into their sleeping area, she heard one man humming in his sleep the same melody that made the ship tremble. Hesitation filled her heart for a moment, she neared the humming crewman. His eyes shot open, he glared at her, and his throat reverberated with the song. He grabbed her wrist, pulling her closer, his pupils turned ember in color as he looked deeply into her eyes, “SHE IS WAKING,” he shouted.

Someone else leaped out of their hammock; it was one of the hunters, Leiya. Her movements were swift, she drew her knife and lunged at the captain with the precision of a predator. Ashlandis stepped back, avoiding the attack that, as she now learned, was aimed at the possessed crewmember. He blocked it with ease, his eyes burning from within.

“SHE! WILL! WEAR! YOUR! SKIN!”

The shout was loud, and the crew awoke. Someone rang the bell, and Ashlandis gasped at the chaos that erupted around her in mere seconds. From sleeping calm to raging storm, her crew was up and ready for action. They were hunters, they were always ready.

“MUTINY!” someone shouted. The possessed crewmember was dragged off.

“Captain? You alright?” queried Leiya.

“All good. ALL HANDS ON DECK! FULL READY! HUNTERS EQUIP YOURSELVES!”

Hunters put on their harnesses, mobile power packs and dragon hunting lances. They lined the sides of the ship. Lights ablaze, illuminating the deck, clouds around, and the hull of the vessel. The alarm no longer rang and the silence was only occasionally interrupted with a metallic clank of the hunter’s gear.

To their surprise, no attack came. The dawn broke, and Marcheur still sat at the same distance, as if watching them, gauging their reaction, their readiness.

“This is wrong,” Ashlandis commented, watching the sun creep up over the horizon.

“How is he?” she queried. Cid scratched the back of his head, “Uh, normal? He’s normal. Awake, conscious and normal. He says he remembers nothing, not the song, not the words he spoke to you.”

The mountain peaks cast long shadows as the sun rose higher.

“Break off, put up distance, keep it just within radar range,” Ashlandis ordered. Her hand gently caressing the railing.

“Sir?” Cid queried.

“You heard me, we’re breaking off.”

“Sir!” he confirmed with a confident nod and relayed the order. The ship’s propellers roared to life as it made a sharp turn. Hunters braced, remaining at their positions, armed with power-lances, lining the sides of the ship. The Coureur was a medium sized dragon hunter, bearing a crew of 18, two shifts, two navigators, two engineers, and 8 hunters. The rest of the crew were hunter assistants and cannoneers. The hunters remained diligent on their posts despite the fact that the ship leaned heavily to the side as it turned max speed.

“Sir? The Marcheur began moving, course set to intercept us in,” the navigator hesitated, “15 minutes.”

“Adjust the course, 1-5-5, full speed ahead, keep ahead of them,” Cid called out.

“They’ve matched, they’re gaining on us, somehow.”

Cid growled, his heart began to thump in his chest, “Wind direction?”

“South, sir,” replied one of the cannoneers from outside the bridge.

“Sails down, full ahead.”

But their efforts were in vain. Every move the Coureur’s crew made, the Marcheur’s crew was a step ahead. They adjusted their course perfectly to intercept, and the ship was set on a course of favorable wind. As the distance between the two seemingly evenly matched ships decreased, Ashy had to prepare her exhausted crew.

“LINE US UP, PORT SIDE, CANNONS AT THE READY, HUNTERS TAKE COVER UNTIL WE’RE IN BOARDING RANGE. We don’t know what the enemy is, but whatever it is, FIGHT TILL THE END! Coureur will NOT GO QUIETLY INTO THE NIGHT!”

The crew obeyed and braced. 5 kilometers and closing.

Two kilometers and the cannons roared to life. ‘Too soon’ Ashlandis thought watching the cannonballs of the Marcheur fall short. One and a half, and she shouted

“OPEN FIRE.”

The hull creaked, the ship rocked as the cannons unleashed their fury.

Impacts send splinters flying through the air, Ashlandis watched through her spyglass in disbelief as her mentor shouted orders and organized his crew much in the same way as she organized hers. He gazed at her through his spyglass. A chill ran down her spine. It was him. Unmistakable him. Sebastian. She spent her teen years aboard that ship. She learned everything from him, and he, in turn, knew everything about her. Her nails dug into the wooden railing as splintered wood showered her. Another impact, cannonball tore through the living quarters. She could only hope her hunters survived. She adjusted the course, cannons be damned, she had to get her hands on their captain, she had to dig her claws into this illusion and learn the truth.

Grim Reminder

The Marcheur did the same, turned and set course straight at them. Head-on collision was inevitable. The ship rocked, sudden impact tumbled half the crew over.

“BOARD!” she shouted, charging up to the bow of the ship and leaping onto a rope to throw herself over onto the other ship. Her hunters followed courageously, without a hint of hesitation.

Steel clashed and blood spilled within seconds. She landed on the enemy ship, with a precise roll she pushed herself forth, through the enemy ranks. Her gaze was locked on their captain, who, unlike her, was never the hot-headed type. He walked calmly behind the helmsman even as his crew engaged in a fight for their lives against the Coureur’s hunters.

Blades crossed, but his gaze remained unchanged; calm, collected, cold.

“SEBASTIAN!” she shouted, trying to throw his blade aside to gain an upper hand. He remained silent. Sparks flew as steel clashed against steel. She was relentless in her assault, albeit emotional as fury fueled her every move.

Each strike was diverted precisely. Each counter brought back memories of the times she sparred against her mentor. Of the times he smacked her on the head for the mistakes she made. Lost in her memories and the chaos of battle, she found her back against the broken mast, and Sebastian’s cold gaze scanning her up and down, searching for a weakness, an opening.

“GOD DAMN IT SEBASTIAN WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!?”

His response was a precise jab of the lance, aimed at her right thigh. She parried it, but only partly. As the cold steel bit into her flesh, a pained scream echoed through the battlefield.

“CAPTAIN!” Cid called out helplessly, fighting against the odds of two hunters stacked against him. Ashlandis fell to her knee, grasp still tight around the shaft of her lance. Memories flooding her mind. She spent her entire life fighting, training, learning, hunting. Sebastian was like a father to her. The sky itself began to weep. As raindrops fell upon her cheeks, she remembered the day she wept in the rain after losing her mother. Alone, abandoned, homeless, and lost.

It was that day, when she was but ten, that she learned of kindness in this world, and the horrors of it. The rain suddenly stopped whe a grumpy-looking man towered above her frail little body. He sneered, mocking, but not her, the life itself.

“Silly isn’t it?” he said.

“What is?” replied the little Ashlandis in between her weeps.

“The rain, the world. It thinks it brought you down, it thinks it won, and here I am, a mere mortal man, telling it to GO FUCK ITSELF!”

He grinned proudly, “How about that huh?”

The little Ashlandis wiped her tears, “It did,” she whimpered.

“Not a chance,” the man replied.

“Life is fragile, but long enough to find something to enjoy. You can sit here, and weep in the rain, or you could trust a stranger and rise anew.”

He extended his hand to the small, frail child.

“Come now, let’s get you a hot meal and some dry clothes.”

She reached for him. Lightning flashed, blinding her momentarily. There he was again, towering above a small frail girl, defeated and desperate. Her grasp on the lance loosened as she reached desperately for him, “Please, no. Not by your hand,” she cried out. His body froze in place. It shimmered for a moment, turning see-through just long enough to make her doubt what she was seeing, then, he spoke at last.

“NOT BY HIS HAND INDEED! BY MINE INSTEAD!”

Ashlandis recoiled. Her mind reeled, and instincts screamed. It was not a human voice. He was not human.

“I! WILL! DESTROY YOUR KIND! I WILL WEAR YOUR SKIN JUST AS YOU DID TO MY KIND!”

The voice was deep and low, rumbling like the thunder.

“I WILL TEAR YOU—FLESH AND BONE! GRIND YOU ALL INTO DUST!”

The chaos of battle came to a halt. Silence. Short but deafening silence. Ashlandis pushed herself up, back still firmly pressed against the mast, she leaned heavily on her lance, “What in the hells are you?”

Sebastian’s body stepped aside, “I! AM! YOUR! DEMISE!” she watched him just long enough to take in his words, but then the mountains in the distance exploded, capturing her attention entirely.

Rocks flew and dust veiled what once used to be mountains, but it was swiftly removed by a flap of titanic wings, and a roar akin to a volcanic eruption. Ashlandis froze, staring in fright at the behemoth in the distance. The dragon was the size of a mountain, unlike anything she had ever witnessed before.

“YOUR END HAS COME! I! HAVE AWAKENED!”

She gazed at her mentor once more. His body slowly turned transparent.

The ship’s mana core hummed louder.

“RETURN!”

Ashalndis shouted, limping swiftly down the stairs and running toward the bow of the Marcheur, “RETREAT! BACK TO THE SHIP!” she shouted, rallying her hunters, some of whom were injured, and others no longer breathed.

Coureur jerked as the lodged Marcheur began to plummet.

“It’s lodged in us, we won’t hold for very long,” shouted the helmsman.

“Divert full power to vertical stabilizers, mana core into overdrive,” Ashlandis ordered, limping out the bridge onto the deck, “Unchain the cannons, open fire at the Marcheur, we need it gone, NOW!”

The cannon’s roared and at last, they were free of the wreck that was dragging them down, slowly but surely toward their demise. They were safe, for now, though it seemed as though this only delayed the inevitable. Ashlandis clung to the railings of her ship, watching the titanic dragon stretch its wings, eclipsing villages in shadows.

“Those towns and villages,” Cid spoke softly.

“Are doomed,” Ashlandis replied to him. Her voice shook, and every word was a struggle.

Cid glanced at her. A tear glistened on her cheek.

“There are hundreds of them,” she uttered. Cid looked at the massive dragon’s shape in the distance.

Smaller ones began to circle it and gather. There were swarms of small ones, the size of their ship, dozens of larger ones that could single-handedly wipe entire villages, and even some large enough to destroy towns.

“We have to retreat,” he said regrettably, placing his hand on her shoulder.

“We can’t help them.”

She responded with a single, weak nod.

“SET COURSE FOR THE GUILD! FULL SPEED! STOP FOR NOTHING!”

Cid shouted the command.

“Aye aye sir,” replied the helmsman. A few hunters, still in full equipment, watched the scenery beneath them. The silence was loud.

THE END

Related Stories/Same World stories

First story of the Coureur

Direct Prequel

The Legend of Coureur