Beyond the Sea - Chapter Seven

[This is a pledge reward for an anonymous patron. Thank you so much for the support!

The following chapter is a Moana fanfiction. It features one giant female character; gentle interactions pertaining to reconstruction projects; handplay; some focus on feet; onlookers staring at the giant; plot development.] 

“Yesterday morning, we mourned for what was lost,” a priest preached to an outdoor crowd, the dazzle of the rising sun bringing a shine to his robes. “But today, we persevere and prosper -- we must remember His wisdom, and we must reflect His strength! Let us rally together and restore what has been besmirched! Together, in unity, can we rebuild our beloved place of worship!”

The crowd was spread in a cluster outside the church, or rather, the ruins of where it once stood proud. The morning service, similar to the day prior, was different from its usual routine, as many of the worshippers there were not just present to make their prayers, but to also begin reconstructing the building. Volunteers stood with their tools at the ready, empowered by the priest’s speech and the support of those behind them. It would be a difficult and long undertaking to restore the church to its former glory, but it was a task they simply could not refrain from completing. After all that had happened, more than ever did the townspeople need a symbol of protection to take refuge with.

“May we all join our voices,” the priest continued with a stroke of his arms out to the people, “and inspire those gracious enough to assist in repairs.” He raised his arms in order to conduct the chorus before him, and he hummed a peaceful note to attune them properly. A graceful wave began the singing, a low and elegant noise brewing from the crowd as they sung the first lyric--

Thoom. Thoom. Thoom. The pebbles of the cobblestone road quivered into a restlessness that quickly infected the people. By this point, it was not such an unfamiliar feeling, yet still did the crowd murmur worriedly of what was to come. To some, the quakes spurred direct memories of the church’s collapse -- and so, when Moana was seen crossing a corner from behind the ruins, there were immediately sour and distressed reactions. Some pointed to the giant and called for her to stay away, but the priest in particular spun angrily towards the encroaching foreigner.

Moana’s arrival behind the church eclipsed the sun, an unfortunate contribution to her omen-like aura. Her appearance was made more foreboding by the selection of bandages and bindings wrapped over her various injuries. Contrarily, she approached with a big smile and her hands politely clasped together; she made an effort to walk carefully, but seemingly it had no effect in keeping the crowd calm. She had yet to say a word, and already did she feel the incline against her, especially so with the priest’s glare locked onto her.

“So, er… Good morning!” Moana awkwardly greeted, her smile widened in an effort to look more innocent. “I, uh, sort of heard that this building was… kind of important to some people…”

“Indeed it was, heathen,” the priest spat defiantly. “Port de Désir’s church was a central symbol to the community! God’s light has been dimmed upon us ever since your recklessness!”

Moana winced apologetically. Yesterday evening, she was treated like a hero for having thwarted the pirates, and there were people that celebrated her protection of town. Even then, however, did Moana know that not all were ready to welcome her. It was why she was expected to leave so soon, before she could damage anything else with her supersized body.

The priest gestured at her to leave with a swipe of his arm. “Away with you, giant!” he demanded, and the crowd croaked behind him in agreement. “This is a time for restoration! We do not need reminding of what monstrosity caused these terrible times…!”

“Won’t you at least listen to me?” Moana asked, her calm a contrast to the crowd’s excitement. “I’m not here to cause any trouble. Really, I-I’m supposed to be leaving town today, but… I couldn’t do that, not without offering to fix what I broke.” She scanned the yard of broken wood and cracked stone, the remnants of aisles of seats and an altar still partially visible amidst the debris. “I won’t be able to fix everything, b-but if nothing else, maybe I can do some of the heavy lifting? I-I know it didn’t take much from me to tear this place down, but I can do a lot to repair it, too!”

The priest hesitated to argue while cast in the giant’s shadow, but he listened to those behind him that discussed the suggestion in whispers. Initially he despised the conversations he heard; she had saved the town, they claimed as evidence, and so they believed Moana’s help would benefit them all like it had before. He then glanced over the stock of construction supplies, as well as the wreckage that would need to be taken away. There was, without a doubt, much work to be done -- a giant’s helping hand, however, would cut that labor in half.

“... You sincerely mean to help us rebuild our church?” the priest asked. The crowd leaned in to know the answer.

“Absolutely!” Moana assured them all. “Just tell me what to do and I’ll be there!”

After consulting with architects and engineers, the priest agreed to Moana’s help, albeit under strict watch. Moana was more than content with those terms, as were the followers of the church, who were -- hesitantly -- relieved to have her assistance. Her presence invigorated them into a swift start repairing the church, as did her involvement make for immediate sweeps of progress. Moana first helped where she most obviously could, which was to clear the lot of the church while salvaging what was most precious in the ruins. What would have taken half the day to clear was wrapped up in half an hour as Moana brushed away even the heaviest debris with her hands, pulling out entire columns of wood that would require ten volunteers at least to dig up and move aside. All of this and more was completed by Moana before she could break a sweat, and with a smile presented the entire time as she sat often cross-legged beside the worksite.

In any area she could, Moana involved herself happily in the reconstruction. Loads of supplies like metal and wood were carried in armfuls at a time, and the foundation of the church was held in place by her hands while volunteers nailed the posts into place. At first, Moana did much of this work entirely seated, but as she grew more comfortable with the other workers -- and they, in turn, became familiar with her presence -- she became more active and invested, craning around the building’s corners and changing her posture accordingly. In doing so, her legs would spread wide above some volunteers, an angle they would gawk upward at in awe until a priestess dutifully moved them along.

The day had barely begun, yet the church appeared to have been worked on for nearly a week. Moana’s help had sped through the tedium, so much so that the priest organizing the repairs would have to reschedule everything else that was planned. There was one last task that the volunteers gave to Moana, which was to hang the bell back into place. Its weight was felt even in Moana’s grip, but with just a pinch of fingers, she steadily moved it into place. Volunteers lined the incomplete roof in order to guide Moana’s hand, but they also had to look out for other accidents, such as her chest nearing dangerously close to the structure. Despite this, the bell was successfully hooked into the tower, where the volunteers could properly connect it to the mechanisms.

The placing of the bell was met with an applause from the volunteers and those that watched, a gesture that warmed Moana’s cheeks as she reeled away from the structure. She sighed in relief -- such a breath narrowly blew down a wall, had she been less careful. Though it took little effort from her, completing the project was a satisfying endeavor, reminding her fondly of the many huts and shrines she and her people built across newly discovered islands. Wherever she walked from then on in town, the faint tone of the bell would resonate from her tremors, a gentle reminder of her immense presence.

While appreciating her craftsmanship, Moana heard a crack of wood from behind her, followed by a cascade of supplies. “S-Sorry!” she instinctively remarked, but the damages were not of her doing -- at least not directly. She found a supply wagon had lost a wheel while trying to cross through a pothole, one shaped like her foot. Indeed, much to Moana’s dismay, there were several fissures and breaks in the cobblestone streets from where her adventures led her.

After first raising the wagon out of the ditch and allowing the wheel to be repaired, Moana dedicated herself to this next job. Her careless footfalls had caused more damage than she ever realized, and she held herself responsible to fix what she broke. Garnering the help from workers already on the scene of one such footprint, Moana retraced some of her most exciting points to fill the spaces. Everywhere she went, stray citizens were bound to notice and point up at her, and some among them were brave enough to approach Moana to express their gratitude.

Even after this, Moana was not exhausted in the least. Construction projects that would have taken multiple people multiple days to complete had been finished in mere hours. After the last pothole was paved over, the workers discussed taking a well-earned break at the tavern. They even invited Moana like one of their own, but she had to decline -- there was still much work for her to do, including at the tavern itself.

Moana immediately went on to repair the tavern roof, just as she had promised during that eventful storm. While scarce daytime patrons passed under her looming face in the hole above them, Moana applied herself diligently, putting together the framework that would support the wooden patch to come over it. The only delay to the repairs was from Moana, whenever she would stop to smell the decadent scents of that day’s stew being brewed.

Once the patch was put into place, the bartender and chef both climbed up to the roof to inspect the job. Though the patch would require some follow-up work on a smaller scale, the two were nonetheless impressed. “Th-This was a huge help, giant!” the bartender exclaimed, stomping on the wood to check its durability. “Incredible… Thank you so much, giant!”

Moana nodded. “I-It’s… Moana,” she corrected -- her energy to do so was mostly depleted. She grinned all the same, “There’s no need to thank me. It was my fault to begin with.” She scanned over the roofs of other businesses and houses, far away to outside the city, to the lighthouse and even farther. “But, I should get going. There’s still a few more things I have to do…”

“You’ve done a lot more than just fix what ya’ broke,” the chef chuckled, stroking his chin in thought. He wanted to say more, but Moana was a busybody, eager to move onto the next project. She stood in a hurry and waved farewell, but the chef was unsatisfied. “She needs to be thanked like a real hero,” he said to the bartender. “Ya’ think we can put something together for her…?”

A team of navy soldiers was surprised when Moana’s foot crashed into their path. Their shivered reactions were quelled by a swift assurance that she meant them no harm; she came looking to help them. Much needed to be mended after the fiery pirate attack, which included replacing the water silo Moana had used to quell some of those flames. Hunched above architects, Moana helped in constructing a new silo to have hoisted where the old one was, even going as far as filling it back up with water. She then tended to the scorched homes, as well as the city gate she had broken up during the disaster, continuing to earn the gratitude of those she worked overhead of.

All that Moana could involve herself with inside the town’s walls had been taken care of, but there was still one last task left. From the gate she had finished repairing, she stared off across town to that pinnacle building -- the lighthouse, its peak still stained with black ash. Everything had begun there with its beam of light, and so it was only appropriate that she be involved with having that light shine once again before she embark on her next journey.

Vapor hissed from the pipes. Clara gagged and barked from her cramped position, “Shut it off, shut it off!” Sophie jumped to the lever and slammed it down, stopping the gas and quieting its noise. From the central engine space crawled out Clara, donning a face covering and a heavy apron. She was speckled with oil and grease all over, spreading some of her mess onto the lighthouse floor as she pushed her way out. Her coughing fit persisted, yet still did she gripe out loud, “No-good pipes-- blasted gear won’t move-- soot in my eyes…!”

Sophie knelt beside her aunt and offered her support to stand, her own work outfit already stained from delving into the engine earlier. Clara got up to her feet, but as soon as Sophie moved away, she was collapsing onto the center wall to keep herself up. She had been making repairs to the lighthouse since before the crack of dawn, and Sophie was fast behind her, dashing up and down the tower with the stride Clara no longer had. Exhausting still was that the repairs were coming along slowly, and subsequent setbacks were blowing back in their faces -- literally so when it came to the black smudges splotched over their cheeks.

Sophie knew better than to console Clara when she was cranky, so she peered into the engine chamber, scrunching her nose against the sulfur smell. “How does it look?” she wondered. “Can it be fixed by tonight?”

“Bah!” Clara groaned, leaning her brow into the wall in frustration. “Doesn’t matter if we can. We have to! Trade ships are sailing in late, we can’t risk them coming in blind.” She used a towel to clean the grime off her hands. “The mechanisms inside are replaceable… but you saw what the fire did to the barrel.”

Sophie winced. “Practically melted it…”

“It’s certainly not going to spin in a state like that. The entire lamp might as well get replaced at that point.” Clara shook her head while meandering to a work table, where she had laid out many of the clockwork parts that would have to be washed and reinstated. That alone would be enough of a chore to occupy the day, but the melted barrel on top of that meant such work had little purpose to begin with. “We’ll need to get it to budge somehow. We could heat up the barrel again, but that could damage its shape even worse…”

“Assuming that would even work,” Sophie quietly remarked. To distract herself, she checked up on the business of her spritely cousins, the gaggle of which had been tasked with cleaning up the variety of messes left about after the fire. When the boys were not playing sword fight with broom sticks or writing their names in the soot, they were gradually getting their work done -- but the youngest was captivated with a view outside a window, knelt on top of a table to gaze into the town. Sophie smiled at his curiosity and approached him, “What’s more interesting than waxing the lens, eh?”

The boy pointed outside, but one glance through the window was all it took for Sophie to be as equally fascinated. Her smile blossomed and her eagerness rose as she spotted Moana tip-toeing over the wall to the lighthouse grounds. She had watched Moana in glimpses all day as she made repairs across town, just like she had promised -- and, as it was also promised last night, Sophie expected to hear the inevitable, that Moana would be departing. Her heart grew heavy, but it fluttered to life when she felt the muffled quakes of the giant’s arrival.

Sophie was shivering with excitement, unlike Clara, who scoffed at the subtle rattling. “What’s got her coming back here?” she complained. “Did she not cause enough trouble?”

“Aunt Clara! Moana is a hero, remember?” Sophie whined.

“Call her what ya’ want; she is responsible for all this,” Clara sighed. She blew away a layer of soot off the gears and chains in front of her. “I don’t trust that big, clumsy body near here. Send her off somewhere, will you?”

Sophie pouted, but she did not want to press the issue, lest it came up that most of these damages were due to her own carelessness, not Moana’s. But, when asked to speak with Moana, Sophie would not give Clara the chance to take it back. She dashed down the spiralling stairs, and bumbling after her were all six cousins -- until Clara snapped at them for slacking.

Moana stepped into the property with a sense of relief. Inside Port de Désir, she felt unsafe and hesitant about every movement, always fearful that a misplaced footstep could damage something, or someone. In the openness that was the peninsula, however, she could freely stand and stretch, enjoying as much until she saw the scars of her arrival days before; flattened supplies, burned grass, and those pot holes from before all rekindled memories of making landfall that stormy night. These reminders brought her to a slow as she pondered just where in this land she would ever feel completely safe to move.

The lighthouse door opened with Sophie rushing outside. “Moana! Moa-- ah!” Her excitement was blunted when she was greeted by two feet planted in the ground, flatly facing her with their toes. She fretted back a pace, staring long and high up the tall body before her. At the peak was Moana’s smile, barely visible past her bosom. Sophie waved wide at her, “Good morning, Moana!”

Moana chuckled, “The morning’s over, actually. Have you been busy, Sophie?”

Sophie grinned and flexed an arm for show. “Hard at work! We’ve been getting the lighthouse back up and running -- all of us!” She glanced at the door behind her, sensing the gaze of several watching her and her friend. Of course, the cousins had all snuck down after her and were peeking outside the door -- until, again, Clara snapped at them.

The scene had Moana giggle as she sat down onto her haunches, a better height to be speaking down to Sophie. “Funny enough, that’s exactly what’s brought me up here,” she said. “I couldn’t just leave town without fixing the very first thing I broke. That light has to be important for guiding people to shore, and it’s what guided me here in the first place. I owe you all that much!”

Sophie was brimming over with joy to have the marvel that was Moana there to help repair the lighthouse. She wanted to open her arms and let Moana into their lives, but those dreams were dashed -- “You’ve done more than enough, giant!” cracked Clara’s voice from the highest window. From that floor, Clara was level with Moana’s eyes, making her glare especially apparent. “Save us the trouble and step away! Only lightkeepers need to be involved!”

“Aunt Clara, don’t be rude!” Sophie shouted back. Moana bit her lip, awkwardly caught in the middle of a family disagreement. “I told you, she’s a hero! And she’s just here to help us!”

“Bah! Help us how? She’s as much of a giant now as she was then!” Turning her ire up to Moana directly, she huffed, “I don’t forget and forgive so easily, you know. The dangers you saved this town from are all dangers you caused! That’s not very heroic to me!”

Moana stuttered, “Please…! I-I understand why you’re upset. That’s why I want to make amends! I-If there’s any way for me to help out, that is.”

“Can’t think of a thing,” Clara dismissed. “Farewell!”

The window was about to be slammed shut before Sophie yelled at her aunt. “The barrel, Aunt Clara! The barrel!” She pointed sharply up at Moana, who remained still as stone. “Couldn’t she snap it loose? I bet she could! She’s huge!”

Clara laughed. “It’s made of steel, you dumb child.”

“She’s huge~!” Sophie stressed, hopping up and down impatiently. Moana blushed and bashfully aimed her head into her knees. “Come on~! If we are going to need a new lamp anyway, I don’t see the problem in letting her give it a try! What will she do? Break it?”

“You know very well how sensitive the mechanisms are, child! No more out of you! Now get back inside!” Clara then waved away at Moana, “Off with you, now! You wouldn’t even be able to fit into the engine chamber, let alone fix it!”

“Moana only needs to reach in!” Sophie stomped. “She can do it! W-We would just have to remove the lamp first, b-but Moana can do that, too!”

Moana blinked. “Can I?” She anxiously looked over the tower beside her, trying to understand what was the “lamp” and what was the “engine.” If there was anything she was assured of, though, was that her arm could fit inside, if she could angle her arm in through the roof.

Sophie expected that to be the case as well, and she was confident they could configure it. Annoyingly, the only obstacle was not a mechanical one, but that of her aunt’s stubbornness. Such had been a hurdle in her life ever since being taken in by the lightkeeper; overly protective and wary of the uncertain, Clara was renowned for her unmoving positions, and more than ever was Sophie at odds with that attitude. It went beyond just allowing Moana to offer a helping hand, extending to her wider desires, her yearning to explore and discover.

It was in that reflecting that Sophie was inspired with a method of convincing Clara. “I bet my life she can do it!” she wagered. “I mean it, Aunt Clara! Are you listening?”

“Eh? What nonsense are you on about?” Clara snarled.

“Let Moana try to free the barrel! If she can’t do it, then I swear I’ll live as a lightkeeper for all the rest of my life! I’ll start by fixing up the lighthouse myself!” She grinned, eager to introduce her lot to gain: “And if Moana does fix it, then I’m leaving the lighthouse! I’ll travel with her where she goes -- straight to the British Empire!”

Clara was perplexed by this gamble, especially lost with what it meant for Sophie. She knew her niece craved excitement and adventure, but that dangerous way of life was not the lightkeeper way. However, as infuriated as the wager made her, she thought it to be opportune for snuffing out those dreamy embers -- no longer would she worry about Sophie wanting to run away into the perils of the world, and the lighthouse itself could be passed on seamlessly to her niece.

Furthermore, Clara trusted her instincts, and so she crossed her arms and stuck up her nose to Sophie down below. “It isn’t going to budge,” she declared, “but if you want to swear yourself to lightkeeping once and for all, then I won’t stop you.”

Sophie lit up with chills up her spine, but the pressure weighed on her still -- “We’ll show you, Aunt Clara! Moana’s going to fix it, and I’ll be leaving Port de Désir by sundown!”

“I am?” Moana asked, finally earning back Sophie’s attention. She blinked, “You are? Err, when did we agree to that…?”

Sophie shuddered and nervously chuckled. True enough, she never did ask Moana if she could travel alongside her. “Well, uh… th-the way I see it, you’re going to need a partner to get through France anyway -- a local! S-Someone that can delegate with, uh, people. Someone that knows what a map and compass is.”

Moana contemplated the argument, nodding along gently. Sophie had proven to be a loyal friend, with a drive for adventure and the cleverness to adapt. More than fair was that Sophie could indeed speak and reason with people on a level Moana simply could not, and her knowledge of this world would be especially convenient. In so far as Moana had been shipwrecked, there was no better person to trust and travel with than Sophie.

“I’ll give it my best try,” Moana agreed, her smile optimistic but her glance at the tower’s lamp more scrutinous. Nevertheless, Sophie stomped with glee. “That being said,” Moana continued, “uh, how? Exactly?” She changed her posture, bringing down a knee into the yard so that she could carefully lean closer to the structure. However, when she next looked down for Sophie’s guidance, she was missing -- already headed inside.

Sophie unrolled a wide sheet of schematics that detailed the mechanisms of the lighthouse across a work table. She studied it for a minute, circling specific areas of the image with the oil residue left on her fingers. Meanwhile, Moana lurked over her shoulder, as much as she was able to -- a giant eye filled a circular window just behind Sophie, blinking with curiosity. Once Sophie was complete, she proudly pivoted and displayed the paper up for Moana to see.

“... Make sense?” Sophie asked, grinning excitedly.

“... What am… What am I looking at?”

“Ah. Right.” Sophie withdrew the papers and looked over it herself. “Well, first, we have to move the lamp. And the shell. Aaaaand some hatches… a grate…”

It was an involved job, but Sophie was determined to see it through. She sped up and down the tower to make preparations, passing by her aunt’s doubtful glares and scoffs several times. Sophie’s cousins were recruited for some of the labor, such as clearing out the cramped engine chamber and unlocking the hatches above it. Once the children were done, all efforts went to unhinging the outer shell that protected the lamp, which Moana could then pry off and set aside. Such a feat would normally require a team of professionals and heavy equipment, but with everyone working together, the lamp was exposed and free to be taken apart just as smoothly. Clara had more to glare at as she stared at the shell and lamp perched outside on the yard; never in her ownership of the lighthouse had it been in such a wild, unregulated condition -- never before had it been up to a giant to make repairs.

But after nearly an hour, a path to the inner chamber was made. Moana stood beside the lighthouse, a hand idly propped on her hip while she waited for Sophie to get into position at the now-exposed rooftop. She had already before been taller than the lighthouse, but without its top, Moana was even bigger, able to peer into the open center and see a few red-headed boys impatiently looking back up at her.

“So, I just… reach in? And twist?” Moana clarified, finding it all too simple after how complicated the prep was.

“Yep! Shouldn’t be too hard!” Sophie chuckled. “The kerosene tank ruptured and caused the metal to melt over the base. One good twist should--”

“Can I even fit into there…?” Moana leaned in, shadowing Sophie beneath her. She lifted her arm over the opening and brought it close, then gently slid her hand inside, contorting her fingers and wrist to fit them. “Uh, it’s… snug,” Moana described it.

“I-It seems so,” Sophie replied nervously. She gestured the issue aside, “J-Just don’t flex your muscles too much and it should be fine! Haha…” In her thoughts, Sophie imagined how such a flex would cause the opening to rip open wider, and how Clara would have her neck for causing that much damage. There was more to risk here, she realized, than originally expected.

But Moana continued with that advice in mind, her head turned skyward as she blindly dug her hand deeper down the lighthouse’s middle. The tips of fingers flinched back when they felt something. “Huh? I-Is this it?” She frowned, “No, that’s… the floor. Hm…”

“It’s big and metal and round,” Sophie explained. “You can’t miss it--”

“Heh-- Hah! Hey, wh-what is this?” Moana laughed abruptly, muffling some of that amusement behind her free hand. “Sophie, th-they’re-- ha! They’re p-playing with my hand…!”

“They?” Sophie huffed, then dashed to the stairwell to poke her head under. In the floor below, she saw her gaggle of cousins making games out of Moana’s giant hand. Some swung on her fingers like ropes while others stroked the hand, or slapped at it with brooms. Sophie steamed, “Quit that out, the lot of ya’! Women are working around here!”

The children laughed as they energetically spread out and away from their older cousin. Sophie marched down and shooed them away, earning a chuckle from Moana outside, “Channeling your inner-Clara, Sophie?”

“Sometimes it has to be done,” Sophie sighed, looking over the huge hand and the engine room. A thought was then spun, and she hopped forward with delight, grabbing the tip of a hanging finger. “It’s me this time, Moana! I’m gonna help you find the barrel!”

Moana tensed up when she felt a strong grip take over a finger -- a relative strength to her, but firm nonetheless. It tickled her, but not like how the children had with their roughhousing. Rather, it was the gentleness of the touch that made her hyper-aware of how every finger curled and moved. Sophie, however, was not so hesitant, even gleeful as she guided the hand, and herself, deeper into the engine chamber. To her, it was little different than holding Moana’s hand, the connotations of which went over her head as she was intensely focused on fixing the lighthouse.

Once at the bottom of the chamber, Sophie winced at the tightness. With Moana’s fingers plunged in there as well, she barely had room to move, having to weave through fingers to get herself in a proper position. The darkness inside made it more difficult to navigate, but Sophie eventually maneuvered Moana’s grip onto the barrel of the mechanisms, as though she were strapping equipment to a crane.

Sophie then climbed up the hand, using the knuckles and crooks of Moana’s fingers to pull herself to a safer place. Hugging to Moana’s wrist, she called out through the hole, “We’re all set, Moana! Give it a twist!”

“Are you sure you’re safe there?” Moana inquired, shifting side to side while trying to peek into the engine chamber.

“Yep! I should be fine!” Sophie replied enthusiastically, patting Moana’s wrist for assurance.

Moana was not that convinced, but trusted Sophie enough to begin a twist on the barrel. With just the power of her fingers, however, the metal refused to budge. Sophie looked down in concern, not realizing yet that this was only a fraction of Moana’s full effort -- she was starting slow to be safe. In her next attempt, the muscles down her forearm flared outward, a sensation that rippled through Sophie’s relatively little body and got a gasp from her. Now that Moana was twisting with her whole arm, the metal squealed from its melted roots along the chamber floor, still refusing to give in. The pressure grew stronger around Sophie, until--

Clang!! The sharp snap of metal shot up and out of the engine like a bullet. Moana’s might had proved enough for twisting the barrel free, and so it was able to be rotated nearly a full circle, albeit with unwanted grinding. Immediately, Moana relaxed her fingers, her eyes open wide with hope that she had done enough.

And according to Sophie’s cheer, the plan had been a success. “Yes, Moana, yes! You did it!” Sophie rattled Moana’s wrist, but it was more like her own body shaking in place while the arm slowly rose out from the chamber. She and the elevator-like hand appeared from the pit, covered in marks of soot and grime, but Sophie’s excitement shined past the muck, clear for her cousins to see -- as well as Aunt Clara. “Th-That was perfect…! I knew it could be done!”

Sophie continued to rise, up and out of the lighthouse entirely. Moana’s face greeted her, her reserved expression blossoming into a glow just like Sophie’s. Once her hand was fully out of the lighthouse, she reshaped it into a bowl around Sophie, who danced with little hops of joy and then planted herself into a hug around Moana’s thumb.

“Thank you, Moana! You’re really incredible!” Sophie laughed.

“I-It wasn’t much,” Moana giggled, her excitement only bubbling through as she found Sophie’s positivity so flattering. “So… does this mean you’ll be traveling with me…?”

Sophie became still as she stared up at Moana. Her smile crept until it was as wide as possible; “Yes! I get to travel with you! I-I… I get to leave Port de Désir! I’m going to Britain!”

To that high note, Sophie leaped into the air, nearly staggering off Moana’s palm had the giant not been so dextrous. The two spilled into shared laughter afterwards, interrupted only when Clara stepped out from the stairwell below; “What do you two think you’re celebrating for?!” she shouted. “This doesn’t look like my lighthouse -- finish the job, you two! I want to see that lamp shining before I let either one of you step northwards!”

Startled but not shaken, Sophie and Moana mirrored each others’ smiles before committing themselves back to the work. All of their preparations to fix the barrel had to be reversed, and so it all was. The lighthouse proved to be the most challenging of chores that Moana set out that day to do, but before the sun had set far out into that ocean’s horizon, the tower’s lamp and shell were arranged back into place. All that was left to do was for Sophie to fix the mechanisms back into place, and then test the light itself.

Many of the townsfolk at the peninsula’s base had taken notice of the work being done -- no one could ignore the giant woman outside of town circling the lighthouse, especially those that had worked alongside Moana earlier that day. Word of the lighthouse being functional again buzzed through the streets like electricity, and the result was a small crowd being drawn up to the coast. Clergy from the church, soldiers from the navy, and patrons of the tavern were all in the audience among many others who were eager to see the lighthouse return to its glory. Many as well were content to see Moana one more time, marveling at the titan; Moana paid them little mind as she sat cross-legged in front of the lighthouse, a scatter of Sophie’s cousins scurrying around her lap and hands as they all waited together.

Neither Clara nor Sophie expected it to be such an event, and Clara in particular wished they would all go home, but all the same did they look forward to pulling the lever to activate the lighthouse. Everything was set, and an earlier test without the lamp confirmed that the machine was in shape to run again. Each of them had a hand on the wall-mounted lever, anxious to bring it down.

“This is it then,” Clara began, staring into her niece’s eyes. “After this, you’re going to be done as a lightkeeper.”

Sophie stuttered, but nodded in agreement. “That’s right. I’ll be headed to the British Empire.”

“You best be ready for that world, Sophie. There’s much more out there than what you’ve read in those silly books. You’re going to be on your own for the first time.”

“I won’t be alone… I’ll have Moana.”

“No. Don’t make yourself her responsibility.” Clara leaned forward, but firmly was her hand against pulling the lever. “You’ll be an adult in that world, Sophie. You’ve got to understand that you’re in charge of your own destiny. That gia-- That… Moana… could be twice that height and I’d still worry for you.”

“You don’t have to worry, Aunt Clara--”

“I will worry! And I ought to. Worrying is what the people you leave behind do without you.” Clara sighed and closed her eyes. “I won’t argue with you to stay for one more day… I told myself not to. But promise me this isn’t the last time you’ll pull this lever. Don’t lose yourself out there like your father did. After all these years… I’m still worried for that idiot brother of mine. I don’t need his idiot daughter costing me any more winks of sleep. You know as sure as I do how precious sleep is around here…”

“A-Aunt Clara…” Sophie bit her lip. Warm tears dotted her eyes as memories of the lighthouse began to spin around her. The day-to-day routine, the repairs and procedures, the chaos and the calm. The motions of the lightkeeper life would continue without her, just as they had before she arrived at the lighthouse.

Clara placed her hand over Sophie’s at the lever, an easing thumb stroking her knuckles. The family shared a smile to one another, then pulled down. The grind and hum of machinery chugged to a start, creating an air of uncertainty for a fleeting moment. A second later, the sound stabilized into a steady vibration -- while outside, the crowd applauded, witnessing the head of the lighthouse begin to rotate with a shining beam of light. It came at no better of a time as the sun was low to the horizon, the encroaching night no longer as much of a threat to the late arriving seafarers.

Moana was mystified by the start-up of the lighthouse. She stared up at its beam as it circled above her and the townsfolk, its light cast farout wherever it pointed. It had guided her to this land, and it would send her off as well, a fact that floated in all of Moana’s thoughts. When she looked aside, in the direction of this allegedly great Britain, she wondered how far she would travel before the light from Port de Désir could no longer be seen. It would be her first experience traveling such a distance on foot, without the help of the sea, but she felt prepared knowing that she yet had her wits, instincts, and importantly, a friend to help her through.

“So, you won’t even wait until morning?” Clara asked. “So quick to whisk my niece away from me…”

“I-I’m sorry about that,” Moana apologized. “But it’s best this way. We can travel a lot farther more safely when it’s still dark outside. During the day, i-if someone saw me walking around… we’d have a whole other commotion like the day before.”

Sophie nodded with a strict, serious posture. “It’s for the best!” she agreed tightly. “Moana said she’s used to traveling at night, anyway! We should be safe!”

“Well, all the same, we want to wish you well on your journey,” the tavern chef chuckled. “Now or in the morning, doesn’t much matter. We couldn’t let you leave empty-handed, not after all you did for us!”

After the grand restarting of the lighthouse, much of the crowd has dispersed. What remained to meet with Moana and the lightkeeper family were a select few that came not just with proper farewells, but offerings of gratitude. The gifts were to send Moana and Sophie off well on their adventure up north, donating to them food and supplies that they would need.

But the most impressive gift was that of a wooden wagon that had been reconstructed into a container to fit the stock given to them. It had been in disrepair without any wheels, but a few fixes and additions had the vehicle repurposed as a basket Moana could easily carry by a newly-created handle. Though she was wary of just how much use the cart could get on such a long journey, Moana still celebrated the efforts, as she did with celebrating all that had been given to her and Sophie.

“Saying ‘thanks’ just isn’t enough,” Moana giggled nervously, reviewing everything once more in stock. “I still feel like I didn’t do enough to make-up for--”

“No, no! You have done so much for us!” the tavern chef assured her. “We are really so grateful. We just hope this will be enough for you to return home!”

“It will at least get you to the next town,” a navy soldier stated. “Madeleine. It’s a busy city. From there, you can travel directly to Saints Harbor, and that can take you to Britain faster than anywhere else.” He laughed dismissively, “Not that I’ve seen many people in a rush to get there nowadays.”

Moana nodded. “I appreciate it. All of it -- all of this help, from all of you.”

“Actually, we have one last gift before you depart. It was found in the salvage of the shipwreck,” the soldier claimed, motioning over another to approach. She stepped forward with a case held in her hands, which was then opened to reveal a surprising item: a jolly roger, that which once was hailed by Luckless Leonie. It was offered to Sophie, who initially flinched away from the thing. “Truthfully, you’ve earned this. In our navy, it’s tradition to keep the flags of enemy ships a captain successfully sinks. A trophy, if you will. It’s only right Leonie’s flag be in your possession.”

Moana seemed elated with the gift, but Sophie was hesitant to take it. “I-I’m sure we can do without it,” she shuddered. “I-It remind me of… almost dying.”

“That’s, err, understandable.” The soldier nodded and slowly closed the case, but went on to mention, “We’ll keep onto this, then. Without anyone to claim it, it will likely be sold off to a collector. They become highly valuable, as you might imag--”

“A-Actually, we did earn it, so!” Sophie grabbed the case from the soldier’s arms, opening it again to marvel at the damp, tattered fabric. The cracked skull depicted against the black background looked more like gold in Sophie’s eyes. Moana was ambivalent, but Sophie yet felt the need to justify herself to her; “Emergency funds! I-In case we need money on the road! Which we will!”

“You’re going to need a lot more,” Clara grumbled. “Lest you two plan on swimming across the channel, you’re going to need money for a ship to sail you over. How that’s going to work…” she eyed over Moana’s immenseness and sighed, “I’m not sure.”

Sophie closed the case slowly and brought it to her chest, her arms crossed over it securely. “E-Exactly what I was g-going to say,” she lied.

Moana nodded. “Thank you. I don’t know how yet, but I’m sure we’ll figure something out.” She stood up, giving a proper wave goodbye to the remaining townspeople as they turned back towards town. Not far behind them, Moana stepped outside the lighthouse property with Sophie and her family following.

“One more thing!” Clara suddenly added, freezing Sophie just at the gate. She hurried to the stable nearby and dragged out the family horse. It neighed skittishly upon seeing Moana, but Clara’s commanding voice forced him to a calm. She then offered the reins forward to her niece, staring sternly into her eyes. “Take Flynn. Keep him away from her feet.”

“Y-You’re giving me Flynn?” Sophie chuckled, timidly claiming the reins. Flynn huffed. “Won’t you--?”

“I’ve got the kids,” Clara said, gesturing to the pack of Sophie’s cousins. “They can run into town fast enough for me. Besides,” she sighed and came to the horse, stroking its flank a final time, “he’s better off with ya’. He’s always wanted to see the world, too.”

Sophie chuckled, “Is that so? Well, come along then, Flynn! Welcome to the crew!”

Moana crouched outside the gate, enamored with the animal that would be joining them. “Oh, it’s this little guy!” she said. “Hehe. I’m glad you finally settled down.” A finger was pointed outward as a peace-offering between her and Flynn, but the moment the digit neared too close, Flynn reeled back and cried out in discomfort. Both Sophie and Clara were at him to ease him back to normal, but only after Moana retracted her hand.

“Ahaheh… H-He’ll get used to you,” Sophie promised, reasserting her grip on the reins. She glared into the horse’s eyes, “He has to eventually.”

Moana rose to full height in a stretch to get her blood pumping. She reached down, retrieved the huge basket designed for her, then looked to Sophie for approval. After she was saddled up on the horse and balanced, Sophie gave a big thumbs-up and began trotting ahead of where Moana stood. They turned one last time to wave at Clara and the kids, the distance between them growing with every step.

The harbor bells rang away busily amidst the usual shouts and calls of dock workers. The streets were bustling again with citizens eager to return to normal life. The storm had passed, the pirates were deflected, and the sea giant was well on her way to the next town. Port de Désir had endured an eventful few days, but had recovered quick enough by noon that few hints remained of the excitement.

But what evidence did remain was being dutifully chronicled. Navy soldiers surrounded the most suspect details, such as the footprint-shaped pot holes that had been filled in, and the unique strain on the structures where something heavy had leaned on. The scenes were captured by artists and mathematicians, gathering the visual and numerical details so that a clear story could be confirmed. These were not navy soldiers home to Port de Désir, but higher-ranking officials, even the lowest of which out-ranked the top commanders stationed at the seaside town. Their unique emblems and flourishes on their uniforms cast a spell of distance between them and the locals; no one dared cross the path of those serving directly under the admiral.

Lines of troops surrounded the administration building. The usual soldiers employed at that post were pushed to the walls as the admiral’s agents took charge, silently scouring the offices for themselves. The infirmary was approached by a solid group of soldiers, arranged to escort one man from there up to the top floor. That individual was the navy doctor, Doctor Moulin, and he swayed anxiously between the cold, straight postures of high-ranking soldiers.

Durok’s office had been taken over. His secretary and assistants were denied entry from the floor entirely, made to part a path for Doctor Moulin to enter. A new figure occupied the chair at the desk, turned towards the clean window and admiring the view of the docks outside. Doctor Moulin was urged forward to the center of the room, compelled to salute the back of his superior with barely a breath of noise.

“The navy doctor of Port de Désir, correct?” the chilling voice inquired. Doctor Moulin first looked to the other agents, eventually squeaking out a small affirmation. “The pleasure is mine. Before taking a seat, please bring forward the document.”

“Aye-aye, m-ma’am,” Doctor Moulin tersely replied, digging into his coat pocket to retrieve the scroll in question. He timidly stepped forward, placed the document onto the table, then retracted himself into a seat. He had no courage to cast a glance over at the adjacent chair, filled by a man whose rank was in question; sitting there with a persistent scowl was none other than Captain Durok, his hands manacled together on his lap.

The scroll was undone. The glare of the sun made the ink especially legible. In seconds, the admiral had read it over and was rolling it away.

“Doctor Moulin,” the admiral began, “is this all of the information you have on the giant that appeared here?”

Doctor Moulin coughed, “Indeed-- Aye, ma’am! I-Included is a list of measurements a-and her wounds. I was, uh, privy to what I could chronicle -- I wrote down everything I could think to measure!”

“This is,” the admiral sighed, “a disappointing collection. A fraction of the information you should have recorded.” Doctor Moulin held his head low with despair, but as soon as the admiral stood up from the chair, he looked up with ingrained determination, a drop of sweat besmirching his flattened expression.

“A-Admiral Glace, I-I-- ma’am, I deeply apologize--”

“There is no need. Poor leadership is to blame,” Admiral Glace interrupted. Two eyes stared down at the doctor from a statuesque height, but one was an empty, ghostly white. That stare rotated from Doctor Moulin over to Captain Durok, settling its heaviness onto the weary, disgruntled man. She stood above him, her hands behind her back. “This anomaly never should have made it farther than the beach, let alone be allowed to venture off into the countryside. Captain Durok’s failure to contain this creature is an insult to the stability of the crown. A power out of our control is currently loose on the public, and just as the Brits have pushed their way to our beaches.

“But of course… poor leadership is to blame. Hence my hasty arrival here,” Admiral Glace continued, circling around the motionless Durok. “I’ve come to take that accountability for myself. It is only proper that the greatest powers fall into rank. And this beast terrorizing our beautiful France -- it, too, will learn to obey.”