![[Qwimby.Silent.Tide.png]] The chaos of the Hand and the shadows of Kalteo left Qwimby uneasy. Restless. Guilty. He had faced death, betrayal, and loss more times than he could count, but the weight of what he had done—and what he had failed to do—clung to him like salt on skin. And so, he chose the only cure he could think of: motion. **The Shipwright’s Dream** He poured his gold, his time, and his sweat into the building of a ship—not a war vessel, nor a sleek smuggler’s craft, but a ship meant for wandering. With sailors drawn by coin and his own restless charm, the vessel was christened and launched. When her sails first caught the wind, Qwimby felt, for the first time in years, a measure of freedom. **Across the High Seas** For months, he travelled the high seas. He explored jagged coastlines and distant ports, lands whose names he could scarcely pronounce. In the mornings, he prayed quietly, his words halting but earnest—trying to wash away the guilt of blood and betrayal. In the evenings, he leaned against the railing, watching the horizon melt into fire and gold. Some nights he laughed with his crew, some nights he drank alone. **Seeking Beauty, Seeking Truth** But always, Qwimby searched. His heart, never far from its ache, longed for the beauty of VichaChita—the fleeting wonder he had once glimpsed and now chased across endless waves. He hunted not only for the place itself, but for proof: was it truly what he remembered, or merely the trick of a broken man yearning for light? Each island, each forgotten shore brought him closer, though whether he found the truth or only deeper longing, none could say. **A Son’s Restitution** What coin he did not spend on the voyage, Qwimby sent home. Some went to his parents’ tavern, _The Watery Bee_, ensuring it bustled louder and brighter than ever. Some went to dreams—either a holiday home by the sea, or whatever joy might ease their tired bones. They had given him more than he had deserved, and though he could never erase the theft of his youth, he could at least give something back. **The Wanderer’s Soul** By the end of the year, Qwimby had not found peace—not entirely—but he had found something close. The seas taught him that guilt need not anchor him forever; it could be carried, like a shadow at his back, while still sailing forward. He had become not only a rogue, nor only a wanderer, but a man searching for beauty in a world scarred by darkness. And perhaps, one day, he would find VichaChita again—not just on the map, but in his heart.