Daren’s Workshop, Shadtown, Islands of East Banks | June 10th

Charles Denali, the first-born son of Alicia Denali - the Champion of East Banks - had waited a whole year for June 14th.

East Banks defined being an adult as someone over the age of sixteen years who had passed their three familial trials. Each trio of trials was unique to each family, although many were similar in nature. An adult from their family and the Captain of the island the trial-goer resided on had to both be present to witness the trial run.

But Charles was going to be seventeen on June 14th. Like so many before him, he had attempted his family’s trials the year before when he had turned sixteen. Charles, the eldest child of the Champion, had failed on the second trial.

The Denali family second trial was to build a shelter that could withstand a summer thunderstorm, in the span of a day. When it came time to test whether or not his shelter could withstand a storm, lightning struck it and what didn’t explode on impact burned down before him.

Was it because his craftsmanship was shoddy? No. His work was always top-notch. Did he still fail because it didn’t survive the storm? Yes. Which Charles thought was stupid.

On one hand, he understood; but on the other, it wasn’t fair that he’d had to spend another year as a kid when he clearly wasn’t one. While most of the people he’d grown up with were starting apprenticeships or warrior training, Charles had been stuck with an extra year of academics.

Charles was lucky. Lieutenant Daren had agreed to let him observe in his workshop - provided Charles stay out of the way of his work. Though Daren had solved a lot of resource issues for East Banks, he wasn't very well liked on a personal level. There were rumors that the man had once been a pirate as a teenager; but Charles wouldn’t believe that someone so… placid… could have ever been a buccaneer.

Lieutenant Daren was a dry, rarely smiling man. He had a round head and dark hair - which he always kept shaved down to his scalp and under a ratty old cap - and extremely narrow, dark eyes. He was only in his twenties, but his sour demeanor lead many to believe he was at least ten years older. Or maybe it was the way he dressed? When he wasn’t tinkering on machinery, Daren liked to dress functionally well-to-do; airy sleeves that were tight on the forearms, comfortable slacks tucked into sturdy leather ranger boots.

“You know she’s leading the tsunami recovery efforts on the border of the archipelago,” said the Lieutenant. His eye to a telescope, he was surveying a cloud line off on the horizon and didn’t bother to turn to Charles while he spoke. “I’m not bothering your mother with such a trivial matter.” Which was exactly what Charles thought he’d say.

Daren was without a doubt the smartest person in all of East Banks - he had even figured out how to get technology from before the Flood working again - but Charles was growing restless with his tutelage.

Charles had always felt that he was meant to be a warrior, like his mother. He was sure he’d make a great one, too. Outside of Daren and a couple others, he was already taller than most of the people in Shadtown - his mother included.

He was five-foot-nine, pretty average weight. His dark brown, nearly black hair was shaved into a short mohawk, his skin was a bronze tone that was slightly darker than his mother’s or his siblings. Round, deep blue eyes set under maintained but strong eyebrows. Or… one-and-a-half eyebrows. Half of his left brow was still growing back after an incident with a welding torch.

He was good with math and strategy, excelled at the survivalist training all the kids in East Banks had to take. Sure, he couldn’t sit still to save his life - of that, he’d been told many, many times - but that only meant he would be a cunning warrior that would be hard to predict.

But his plans to start training were pushed off further since his mother wasn’t home to witness his second attempt at the trials.

Charles crossed his arms over his chest and sighed, his mouth spreading wide across his face in disappointment.

“Don’t make that face,” Daren said, again not looking at Charles. He only paused in his observations to write something down in his notebook. “Or I’ll shave your head again.”

Charles gasped, defensively covering his head. “You wouldn’t.”

“I’ll use the blowtorch this time,” Daren didn’t miss a beat, though his voice remained the same tone. “I think she knows that I don’t deal out punishments lightly.”

“You try to punish me with busy work every time I breathe in your direction,” Charles spat back jokingly.

There was a tiny, tiny, very tiny flicker of a smirk on Daren’s face. “Don’t tempt me.”

Denali House, Shadtown | June 11th

An afternoon nap on the couch had been interrupted when a dark-haired toddler in a gray onesie was set down right on Charles’s stomach. Charles sleepily grabbed his little brother under his arms, then sputtered as the child accidentally kicked him somewhere very sensitive. His little brother laughed at his pain.

“I watched Taylor all day yesterday. It’s your turn, Charles.”

His fourteen-year-old sister, Astar, glowered down at him from where she stood behind the couch, hands on her hips. With her new blue sweater on and her brown hair was pulled up into a tight ponytail, she was clearly going out somewhere.

“Couldn’t have put him down gentler?” Charles wheezed. He sat up and gently bounced Taylor on his knee, trying to take his attention away from the fading pain. “And where are you going all dressed up?”

“Unlike some people in his house, I can get dates,” Astar scoffed with a smirk.

Charles defensively huffed: “Hey, I can get dates!”

“Mommy-son bonding days don’t count as dates, Charles.”

Charles rolled his eyes, picking up and turning Taylor around so he was at facelevel. “We don’t need any yucky dates, do we, Tay-tay? No, we don’t. Because we don’t base our personal worth on dating stinky losers.”

Astar shook her head and rolled her eyes, already half-way out the front door. “You’re so mature, Charles. I can’t believe all the girls in Shadtown aren’t all over the totally mature Son of the Champion.”

“Stinky, stinky losers!” Charles mockingly sang as she left.

Taylor loudly babbled and kicked his feet, trying to join in.

Charles had just finished giving Taylor a bath in the kitchen when there was a knock at the front door.

“Coming, coming!” Charles shouted, desperately trying to wrestle the one-year-old into a clean pair of fish-patterned pajamas. He managed to at least get the pants of the pajamas on before scooping Taylor up and heading for the door.

Daren stood in the torchlight, his frame barely illuminated by the twilight of the setting sun. Looking disheveled, he was breathing hard.

“Charles, I need to take your daysailer. Which dock did you leave it at?” Daren said, his voice edged by what could only be described as urgency.

“Sun’s almost set, taking a small boat like that out now-”

“I don’t have time for this, Charles,” Daren asserted. “There’s… an anomalous weather event headed our way. Our nightfishers have just set out for the night, we need to recall them immediately.”

“So light a flare?” Charles suggested.

“Your mother took all the major flares to help search for survivors. Look. Just tell me what dock-”

“I can out-sail you in any weather. I’ll go,” Charles shook his head. He then held Taylor out to Daren, who stiffly took the toddler as if he had never seen a child in his life. “Plus,” he hesitantly added, “If you go, they might just stay out there in the storm out of spite. They’ll at least listen to me.”