Everything was silent apart from the crackling of fire and the hissing of smoke. Malachi wondered if the fighting had finally come to an end, after so much destruction and loss. He hoped that, maybe, there were a few souls spared from the chaos on the shore. He knew already that he was the only one left alive on that smoldering ship, its sails tattered and torn, and the once glittering flag drifting below in the shadowy waters. He and a crew of one hundred had set out only five months ago. After a single encounter with the enemy, only he remained. He wondered if he could even call them the enemy. In war, neither side was the hero nor the villain. They were merely fools rushing into danger, anger and vengeance clinging to their eyes and shrouding the world. Malachi was a fool, not because he followed blindly behind hate, but because he believed he could end the needless battles and free his crew from the furious grip of those darker forces. In the end, he could do nothing but watch as it destroyed them.

He had fortunately only been grazed by a bullet that flew past his right shoulder when the fight was at its peak. Perhaps this could be accredited to luck, or perhaps his gentle nature; of this, he was not sure. Sitting back against the splintering taffrail, he looked down at the lacerated skin, vaguely uncertain of whether or not the glittering crimson blood was his own. He hardly felt more than a sting when he touched his finger to the wound curiously. Letting out a tired sigh, he lifted his unharmed arm to his mouth, taking the loose fabric of his dirtied shirt in his teeth and tearing it gently. Warily, he took the cloth in his hand, lifted it over the tattered skin, and tied it tightly around his shoulder.

With that taken care of, Malachi could finally focus on getting away from the battlefield and somewhere safe. Cautious of the burning oak around him, he held his arm over his nose and mouth, struggling to keep the smoke out of his lungs. Then, with immense effort, he heaved himself upright and scanned the horizon. At first, he could only see ash and flames drifting on the breeze, painting the sky a deep, menacing red. Then, almost as if it were an answer to his prayer of hope, a peculiarly strong gust blew through, revealing bright rays of colorful light that broke through the dreary smog. They sparkled green, then blue, then lilac and periwinkle. He noticed they all originated from a single focal point - a shining golden lighthouse at the opening of the bay.

For a moment, Malachi stood, staring at the beacon in curiosity and wonder. He wasn’t sure if the continuous stress of the battle had obscured his memory, but he could swear he had not seen the lighthouse when his crew initially arrived in the arena. Still, he knew he needed to find someplace safe for him to stay, and as he watched the bright beams scatter the remnants of fog, he was overcome with a feeling of comfort and reassurance. Deciding that this was likely his only chance of survival, he welled up all of the courage inside of his heart and made the leap.

The water seemed to part around the mass of his body, swirling and bubbling as he descended before thrusting himself back up towards the surface. When his head finally broke the surface, he turned back to look at what remained of the ship, but he found that he was now nearly two miles from the towering oak monster. Glancing the other way, he saw that the lighthouse, in all of its glittering glory, was much closer than before - perhaps a mile from where he sat, treading the water gently. Enchanted by this sorcery, Malachi dipped his head under the sparkling water again and swam forward a mere foot or two. Once again, when he resurfaced, he was substantially closer to the stretching tower. For the remaining few yards between himself and the cape, he made sure he kept his head above the water, studying how it moved around him.

Minutes later, he reached the earthy beach and climbed up onto the rocks, wringing the water out of his messy cotton shirt and catching his breath. The swim had altogether not been very long, but the physical exercise still had a toll on his already exhausted body. Looking up at the tower, he couldn’t help but admire the immense attention to detail in the architecture. Pink and purple swirls adorned the sides of the lighthouse, and two golden doors stood under a pearlescent archway. His eyes hovered on the doors for a moment, the thought of what mysteries could be inside swirling through his mind. He almost feared that feeling of uncertainty, but his adventurous side urged him on. Whatever was inside, he knew it would be magical. Taking his chances, he knocked on the golden doors.