Brant

A crack of thunder shattered the bartender's rhythm as he shook the cocktail mixer, and the downpour that followed immediately dampened the last bit of cheer among the patrons. The tavern, now nothing more than a soggy refuge, was bereft of any tale worth telling. The bartender shook his drink slowly, the faint clink of ice barely audible. Patrons yawned incessantly as if even their drinks had lost their flavor.

"Well, well... this hardly feels like a tavern, does it, friends?" A young man stepped through the door, bringing a gust of damp air and salty rainwater with him. He strode straight to the bar, swiping the empty glass from a patron nearby.

"Oi! What are you—"

"Shhh..." the young man interrupted, casually tossing a handful of Shell Credits into the bartender's tip jar. "Fill it to the brim, would you? It's not every day I find myself in a tavern. Surely, there's something of more... entertainment value here?"

"Entertainment? You must be joking. Look outside, the rain isn't going anywhere. And don't get me started on the menu. Duller than a sack of potatoes, and twice as overpriced."

"Of course, I did come in from the rain. See? My hair is practically drowning in it. But even in a storm, there are tales to be had. Like this charming little wanted poster." He deftly plucked the poster from the patron's hand.

"Ah, we already talked about this. Something about the Immortal Returned, wearing a strange mask... What did he do again...?"

"He and his crew ventured through fog thick with sirens, dredging up shiploads of songs from the ocean's deepest whirlpools. They rescued the Pilgrim's Sailscapsized by towering waves and reclaimed stolen supplies from pirates!"

"Hmm... That's not quite right, is it? You're just telling a story now!"

"Ha, of course, it is a story!" He laughed, raising his glass, "Drink up, my friend, and I'll tell everyone the real tale of the Immortal Returned!"

The glasses clinked. In an instant, the dreary tavern was transformed into a stage of imagination. Brant swiped the patron's hat and placed it on the bartender's head, his eyes sparkling as he presented the bartender's long-awaited rose to the woman beside him. The bartender, now donning the hat, became the ship's helmsman. The bald patron became a sailor, firing cannons at Tacet Discords from the rolling sea. The woman who received the rose burst into a spontaneous dance. With every spin of the young man's yarn, the patrons found themselves part of his intoxicating tale.

The revelry ended abruptly when the door crashed open.

"Now this feels like a tavern!" The leader of the intruders sneered, holding up a wanted poster. "Take him, lads. The reward is doubled this time!"

"How about saving it for the next time!" With a mocking bow, the young man tossed a mask alight with violet flames into the air, vanishing in the commotion it caused.

When the dust settled, the tavern was filled with colorful ribbons, balloons, and scattered gifts from the sea.

The tavern's patrons picked up the scattered gifts. To their surprise, each one was a ticket to a show by the Troupe of Fools.

At the close of rehearsal, crimson clouds seemed to ignite the edge of the sea.

The captain called a few of the crew to set up tables and grills on the beach for dinner. Battier hauled in a bountiful catch of fish, Lavito returned with a bundle of hares from his hunt, and Roccia, with her loyal companion Pero, returned with a basket of meat they'd bought with one of the bounties earned in the name of Captain Brant.

Laughing, Brant uncorked his cherished bottles of Nectarwine and passed them around.

"The Carnevale is just around the corner, my friends," he declared. "After all our hard work, we deserve a celebration! In fact, we should celebrate every day!"

Yes, Carnevale was drawing near, the day they had all been waiting for. It would be their moment to perform the stories of the Fools on the grand stage for all to see. For this, they had worked tirelessly. Lavito had poured his very soul into the compositions, Tina spent a whole night perfecting a single high note... Each member was giving their all for the Carnevale, driven by their unshakable faith in their captain and his words—"We'll ask the world a question at the Carnevale: What makes life sing? And we'll give them our answer. But more than that, we'll show them we're not madmen... just a merry band of Fools."

Yes, just a merry band of Fools. But what, then, did being a Fool mean to the captain?

As they gathered for dinner, a group of children, new recruits to the troupe, crowded around the captain. They chimed in unison, "Captain, Captain! What exactly are Fools?"

The captain simply smiled in response, pulling a handful of candies from his pocket and handing them to the children. He glanced around at his crew. Battier and Lavito were deep in a heated debate, Hymer and Budd were playing rock-paper-scissors, and Tina was coaching Roccia on breathing techniques for singing. When he said nothing, one of the children mischievously popped a candy into his mouth.

"Alright, alright! Now, Little Katy, I was just thinking of how to answer you!" The captain narrowed his eyes, surrendering to the sweetness of the candy before it gave him a toothache. "Here comes the answer. Listen closely, little ones!"

"In this troupe, anyone who pursues freedom is a Fool! You, me, all of us!"

Katy pouted slightly, "Is that it? Doesn't sound very special... What are we even trying to prove at the Carnevale?"

"Nothing. We don't need to prove a thing." Brant rose to his feet, adjusting his captain's hat with a flourish. "We are there to sing and show the world who we truly are!"

"And now, my fellow Fools, let's fill our stomachs!"

Late at night, Brant sat by the campfire to organize everything needed for the performance.

First came the masks. He polished each one meticulously, pausing now and then to don one and improvise a scene. Over the years, Brant had played countless roles: the unstoppable hero, the comical clown, the extravagant nobleman, the scheming courtier, and even the devout Acolyte. He paused, a faint smirk crossing his face at the thought. For him, those were hardly pleasant experiences.

He despised courtiers. Acolytes, too. But on stage, he became each of them fully, burying his true self behind the mask and stepping into their lives. He respected the stage and every role he played because he knew the stage was his ocean.

Once the masks were done, he turned to his costumes, carefully pressing each one.

The costumes had to be immaculate under the spotlight. Not just for the role, but for the audience as well. To bring a smile to their face, respect was the first rule. So he smoothed out every crease, not allowing a single fold to remain. He knew the applause would be his ocean.

Finally, he began arranging the stage props.

The hero's sword, the clown's tambourine, the nobleman's family crest, the courtier's scepter, the Acolyte's scripture, and then... a small wooden box.

The box his parents left for him. It bore the carving of a tern, a silent reminder of the name he had long buried. Inside, the swirling patterns of the Ammonoid fossil served as a testament to his very first adventure. It had been his loyal companion through every day and night aboard the Pilgrim's Sail as he witnessed sickness, pain, and separation. The fossil stayed with him, a reminder to never forget what he had seen.

A reminder to observe life beyond the stage.

A reminder to see the sincerity behind the performance.

A reminder to face the self behind the mask.

With great care, he put away this most important of all stage props.

Because he knew that only by respecting himself could he truly make the place he stood his ocean.

Thunder roared in his ears, and torrential rain drowned out every sound but its own.

This was the fiercest storm they had ever faced. Waves flung them skyward, only to slam them down mercilessly. Behind them loomed a colossal monster, its deafening roars cutting through the chaos. That night, the sea unleashed its full wrath to remind them just how insignificant their lives were in its domain.

He opened his eyes, gazing into the untamed sea before him.

"Give up, Fools!" The wind howled in his ear. "Look at your pitiful ship! How will you ever lead your crew to safety?"

"It's over, Fools!" The sea mocked deep within his heart. "Look behind you! The beast waits, jaws wide, ready to devour you all!"

"Give the order, Captain!" His troupe called, their voices steady and unwavering. "We'll follow wherever you lead!"

His voice pierced the tempest, bold and unshaken. "Full speed ahead! Let's move, my friends! Tonight, we will tame this sea!"

Flames burst from the mast, blazing downward to engulf the troupe's banner and the ship itself. Amidst the sea's ferocious roars, the solitary flame pressed forward. Against the flames and waves, like a daring tern, he hurled himself forward with the grapple, laughing as he leaped straight into the heart of the tempest.

"Leave the beast to me!"

...

The storm relented.

The small ship drifted alone upon the vast sea, rocking gently. The crew stood on deck. Under their captain's command, they had weathered the storm and returned to their course. At that moment, they all began to whisper a name:

"He'll be okay."

"Captain…"

"He'll come back, won't he?"

"Really?"

"I believe in him."

"Brant…"

"Brant!! Captain! It's Captain Brant!!!"

Cheers erupted as if the curtain had been lifted again for an encore.

In the golden light of the rising sun, they saw him—their Captain Brant, riding atop the colossal sea beast's head in triumphant return.

"Friends, meet our new companion, Lario! We've got ourselves a new ship now!"

In time, they would build their stage upon the beast's back. Later, they would also discover that Lario was no ordinary Tacet Discord, but a rare Pliosaurus Somnii. Together, they would sail across Rinascita, performing their stories for all to hear.

But for now, Brant stood tall atop the beast, saluting his crew. "And this, my friend, is a perfect opening! Now, cue the applause!"

"BRAVO! BRAVO!"

The all-night revelry had finally come to an end. In Liberty Square, the confetti and streamers still glistened faintly in the early light. Passersby murmured about last night's performance, a fleeting spectacle to them. But for the performers on stage, the falling of the curtain wasn't just an ending, it marked the beginning of something new.

For the first time in ages, they could walk freely through the streets of Ragunna, returning to the homes they had long left behind. When the stage lights dimmed, they cheered for themselves, for in that moment, they reclaimed the simple joy of standing on solid ground once more.

But now that they were on land, what were Fools like them supposed to do? That night, the captain had heartfelt conversations with many in his troupe. Some decided to part ways, returning to families they had missed. With blessings and warm embraces, the captain wished them happiness in their new lives. Others chose to stay with the troupe, eager to seek out new horizons, and the captain welcomed their continued companionship. Then there were those who felt lost, unsure of their next step. For them, the captain offered them a break.

"After all," he said with a playful grin, "once the Carnevale's over, you need time to clean up the confetti."

Some were curious about the captain's own plans, and he happily shared how he spent a day in Ragunna:

One morning after the Carnevale, he asked the first mate for a day off. Leaving behind the mask, costume, and even the captain's hat, he set out. First, he bought a pizza from Margherita's, then made a bet with the pigeons in the square. Later, he strolled to the Cathedral of Mercury and pointed at the statue of the Sentinel, saying, "Hey! Nobody's ever seen you!"

Finally, he returned to his old home.

"But I didn't go inside. After being away for so long, the house had already been sold. It's not mine anymore. I thought I'd come to say goodbye, but when I got there, I realized it wasn't needed. But I did hear the sound of a piano."

"It was a piece I didn't recognize. A new family has started their life there, just as I've been walking my own path for years now. I remember how my father used to teach me the piano when I was little, telling me, "You must find the music you love."

"You can play the piano, Captain?"

"Sadly, no. Before I could master it, the Order handed me a ticket for the Pilgrim's Sail. But that's fine. Now, I'm learning the hurdy-gurdy with you all!"

"For me, this is home. The songs we sing, the stories we tell. That's the music I've been searching for all along. There's no need to dwell on the past. Because once the confetti's swept up, it's time to prepare for the next revelry!"

"So, friends, fancy exploring this big, wide world with me?"

The captain extended his invitation, for his next course had long been charted.