The sea is tempestuous, and the boat groans continually at the battering it takes from the waves. The deck is slick with spray, and the sails strain in their rigging. The Ribbon Man, dressed in layers of black ribbons that whip behind him like a storm of feathers, is manning the helm, though the wheel is lashed in place. The wind has already broken one sailor who tried to arm wrestle it into submission. It is his eye that keeps us on course.

I am bound to the mainmast with heavy iron chains. Gold links enter and leave my body through my armpits, and inside my chest, they loop tight around my heart. The gold chain wraps round and round the mast, all the way to the top of the royal yard where they meet again in a gold lock. The lock burns, the flame resolutely lit in the darkness of the storm. It is my heart that keeps us afloat.

Time stopped when we crossed the Horizon, and we do not know how long we have been fighting the chaotic storms of the Ogenic Twilight. It doesn't matter, the Ribbon Man had said when he had bound me to the mast, we will sail until the dream tires of us. We will sail until it breaks and lets us through.

The wind tries to blow us over, but the boat remains upright. It tries to blow us back, but the Ribbon Man's intent is too great. It tries to drive us mad with its shrieking, but we cannot turn back.

We will cross this sea. We will reach the island.