Groc Presents: Where the Flow Ends

  Ark I — The Banks

  Rivers are taught to stay within their banks.

  That is what makes them useful.

  That is what makes them safe.

  No one praises the flood until it saves them.

  Chapter 1: Voyage

  It was a bright blue day with not a single cloud in the sky, and Herman, true to habit, sat alone in his small, rusted boat. If it could be called a boat at all. Most people would have described it as little more than a canoe, fitted with a crude palm-leaf roof built to offer shade from the sun. Three angler rods hung from either side of the craft, swaying gently as the water shifted beneath him. On this particular day, the sun shone without restraint.

  Herman was a fisherman, drifting farther from shore than he usually dared. This time of year was poor for fishing; it wasn’t mating season, and most of the good catches stayed deep. Still, he was hoping for bullfish, bright yellow, thick-bodied creatures prized as a local delicacy. They came in many sizes, some growing nearly three meters long and weighing over 1000 kg. Herman didn’t dream of catching anything that large. His rods weren’t built for it, and neither was he. To find fish of that size, he would have had to venture into deeper water, closer to the open sea, and that was a risk he wasn’t willing to take.

  He lay back in the boat, a straw hat tilted over his eyes, whistling a slow, familiar tune that rose and fell with the gentle motion of the waves. He could have rested beneath the palm roof, but instead he let the sun reach him. His light brown skin could handle a few hours of heat without burning, and after so many hours on the water, the warmth felt familiar rather than harsh.

  Without warning, the warmth was gone, swallowed as a massive shadow slid across the boat.

  Herman frowned.

  “In the name of the gods… what now?”

  He lifted the straw hat from his face and squinted up at the sky.

  “…Ah,” he said after a moment. “I suppose it’s that time of year again.”

  What he saw was a large bluish stingray, its underside a pale white as it drifted overhead. A vessel something like a zeppelin rested securely along its back. The creature was large, its long tail trailing behind it, not ending in a stinger but in a broad, flattened shape more like the rudder of a glider than anything belonging to the sea.

  Unbothered, Herman placed the straw hat back over his eyes and resumed his whistling, as if a giant stingray passing through the sky were a familiar sight.

  Only, if one paid attention, the creature wasn’t truly flying. Its tail shifted slowly, guiding its movement, and the rest of its body followed without effort. It drifted forward as though carried by something unseen, like a fish caught in a current except the current ran through the air.

  On top of the creature there was something that resembled a zapelin. It was whitish, with rust beginning to creep across it, threading itself into the pale metal. The vessel looked worn rather than damaged, marked by use that came in brief stretches followed by long periods of stillness. Along its length, ocean-blue ribbons with faint accents of white were painted into the hull, intertwined with one another, their lines overlapping and separating in a way that created the illusion of movement. From a distance, the patterns resembled a river in motion, a steady current flowing forward even while the ship itself remained still.

  Atop the vessel, a small viewing platform ran along the hull, bordered by simple metal railings, a few benches and a small number of squared flower beds . A young man leaned against them, his hands resting idly as he looked out toward the horizon. He was rather good looking, with long ivory-blond hair that fell slightly past his shoulders down his back. Thin-framed glasses sat on his face, framing eyes that were impossible to ignore, an unusual fiery orange that caught the light whenever he shifted his gaze. He was wearing blue robes with greenish accents, rather simple looking blue pants and leather boots, the only thing that was noteworthy in his clothes was the symbol that laid engraved where his hart was, a circular green turtle shell surrounded by what would be described as waves that form the edges of the circle

  He sighed softly.

  “I guess it’s time.”

  He looked toward the horizon one last time before turning away and stepping onto the circular lift set into the deck. The viewing platform was empty now, the wind brushing past as the vessel drifted onward.

  The lift began its descent, open on all sides, offering an uninterrupted view of the interior below. As it lowered, the structure of the vessel revealed itself naturally.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  The main hall formed a broad half-dome beneath him, its curved ceiling decorated with chandeliers that served more as decorations than necessity. Most infrastructure relied on small bioluminescent light creatures to illuminate rooms when needed, but here they weren’t required; the wide windows set along the walls of the dome flooded the space with daylight.

  A few people were scattered throughout the hall, most of them wearing simple, comfortable clothes suited for travel. Some rested on couches arranged for comfort, while others sat at the bar set into the wall, ordering refreshments for the remainder of the journey. The lift came to a gentle stop at the center of the room.

  As the young man stepped off, several passengers glanced his way, offering small smiles and respectful bows before returning to their conversations.

  “Young Master Meliodas,” a voice called across the hall.

  Meliodas turned and spotted Gilbert, the guard assigned to watch over him during the journey.

  Gilbert wasn’t a tall man. He was slender, dressed in blue green butler style attire, the same circular emblem embroidered over his chest as the one engraved on Meliodas’ robes.

  “What can I help you with, Gilbert?” Meliodas asked. “I was just about to grab a drink. It’s rather hot today.”

  “Young Master—”

  “Please call me Meliodas, Gilbert. I don’t like it when you say that. It makes me sound more important than I actually am,” Meliodas interrupted.

  “But, Young Master—”

  “Gilbert,” Meliodas frowned.

  Gilbert hesitated for a moment, then sighed. “Very well… Master Meliodas. That is as far as I’m willing to compromise.”

  Meliodas paused, then nodded. “That’s fine, Gilbert.”

  “The captain wished to speak with you, Master Meliodas,” Gilbert said.

  “I can talk to the captain after I get a refreshment.”

  “The captain said it was urgent, young—”

  “Gilbert,” Meliodas interrupted.

  “…Sorry, Master Meliodas.”

  Meliodas let out a quiet sigh. “Lead the way.”

  The two of them started toward the stairs set beside the bar, leading up to the door of the control room. Meliodas walked slightly ahead of Gilbert. He was taller than him, though not by much Gilbert wasn’t particularly tall to begin with, and Meliodas himself hardly stood out for his height.

  As they reached the base of the stairs, the door above opened.

  Two figures stepped out, their forms hidden beneath black hooded cloaks. Meliodas couldn’t tell whether they were men or women. He slowed, surprise flickering across his face. Access to the control room was restricted; not just anyone aboard was permitted there. As far as he knew, he was the only passenger granted that authority.

  As he started up the stairs, intending to confront the descending figures, something shifted inside him. His resolve faltered, not suddenly, but gradually thinning with each step he took toward them. By the time they drew level, a cold sheen of sweat had formed along his skin, his stomach tightening as if his body had reacted before his mind could catch up.

  What is that? he thought.

  He had felt that kind of presence only once before in his life. Not even his father, powerful as he was, had ever unsettled him like that. An old memory stirred at the edge of his thoughts, sharp and unwanted.

  Meliodas pushed it aside.

  He let the two cloaked figures pass without a word and continued upward, forcing his breathing to steady. Whatever they were, it could wait. He would ask the captain about it instead.

  They reached the door. Meliodas raised a hand and opened it.

  When Meliodas entered the room, he found nothing out of the ordinary. The captain sat at his desk on a slightly elevated platform, positioned at the center of the control room. Only four other crew members were stationed around the room, each focused on their respective instruments, hardly surprising, given the vessel’s modest size.

  The captain turned at the sound of the door, his broad frame and bushy brown beard marking him as a man of presence rather than height, his expression tightening for a brief moment before he recognized Meliodas. The tension faded almost immediately, replaced by the same calm, confident demeanor he carried so effortlessly.

  Young mas—” the captain began.

  “Captain,” Meliodas corrected calmly.

  “…Sorry. Master Meliodas,” the captain said, clearing his throat. “How is the trip going?”

  “Everything’s well. I was just about to get a refreshment,” Meliodas replied. “What was it you wanted to speak to me about?”

  “Ah, my apologies,” the captain said. “I wanted you to see our destination firsthand.” He gestured toward the forward window. “If you look out there, you can see the island.”

  Meliodas looked out through the window and took in the arrival island. He wasn’t particularly surprised. The port that came into view was nothing spectacular, its layout plain and practical, reminding him faintly of his hometown. It was the kind of place people passed through rather than talked about.

  Meliodas turned back to the captain.

  “Thank you, Captain. If you don’t mind me asking… who were the people that came out of the room earlier? I don’t recall seeing them before.”

  The captain hesitated, just long enough to be noticeable.

  “Nothing to worry about, Master Meliodas. I wouldn’t pay them much attention. They were of no relevance.”

  Meliodas remained silent for a moment, studying him. The words were casual, but the captain’s posture was not. His tone was steady, yet something about it felt rehearsed.

  “Captain,” Meliodas said quietly, “are you lying to me?”

  “No no, Master meliodas,” the captain replied too quickly. “Your father was aware of their presence.”

  Meliodas exhaled slowly. He knew the captain wasn’t telling him everything. He also knew that pushing further would only force him into an uncomfortable position caught between duty and obedience to his father.

  That answer was enough.

  “I see,” Meliodas said at last, turning back toward the window as the island continued to draw closer.

  As the vessel continued its journey, Meliodas wasn’t truly looking out the window anymore, his gaze unfocused, thoughts drifting without direction. The unsettling presence from earlier brushed against his mind again, calm, heavy, and oppressive, like something vast lying dormant beneath still water. Not hostile. Not threatening. Simply there, and absolutely not something that should be disturbed.

  The sensation passed as quickly as it had come.

  In that brief moment, a memory surfaced. Just a flash, metal catching the light at a cloaked figure’s side. A dagger hanging from a barely visible belt, its blade etched with a strange engraving. A circle, incomplete, part of it broken away.

  Then it was gone.

  Meliodas exhaled softly, only then realizing his shoulders had tensed. The memory itself meant little, but the feeling it left behind did not. It settled in his chest, pulling his thoughts back to the reason he was coming to this island, and a quiet nervousness crept in as the coastline drew closer.

  After three days at sea, the journey was finally coming to an end. The unease drifted toward the back of his mind, replaced by a quieter, more focused nervousness.