Runtar’s Diary: Leaving Canton

The fighting stopped, but the town didn’t notice.

That’s what keeps bothering me.

After everything that happened beneath the town hall, Canton carried on as if nothing had changed. The fish people smiled and went about their day. They swept floors, served food, rang bells, and asked polite questions. No one looked frightened. No one looked relieved either. It was like the caves had never existed.

We talked about telling them. We stood in the street and talked about it for a long time. In the end, we didn’t. We decided that if they were happy, really happy, then maybe taking that away would only cause more harm. I don’t know if that was mercy or cowardice. I keep turning it over in my head and getting a different answer each time.

Chris Pringle stayed with us for most of the day. He thanked us again, properly this time. His crew was alive. Changed in ways I can’t see, but not physically, at least. I don’t think he knows yet what that means, not really. He kept himself busy by talking about trade, about routes and deals and food he wants to sell. Thin slices of fried potato, Mum, in a tall tube. He calls them “Chrisgles.” He says they’re going to be very popular. They are very nice. I can’t seem to stop eating them.

Everyone laughed. I laughed too. It felt strange, laughing so soon.

Gloom has been different since the caves.

He’s still kind. Still talks about toast, and how clever the machine was. But there’s something tighter in him now, like a knot that wasn’t there before. When he stands still, he looks like he’s holding something back. When he moves, it’s faster. Sharper. I don’t think the water touched him the way it touched the others, but something down there woke up all the same.

He says he feels stronger. I believe him. I also think he’s angrier.

We spent time cleaning up what we could. Not the caves, we didn’t go back there, but the little things. We helped where we were asked. We paid for our rooms. We tried to leave Canton slightly better than we found it, without tearing it open to show what was underneath. I wrote a list for the innkeeper, small suggestions, like no wax for drinks and fewer blankets in the Blanket Room. I don’t know if they’ll follow it, but it helped me feel like I hadn’t just taken something and run.

At some point, someone mentioned that we’d all grown stronger. That it was time to take stock of what we’d survived. I realised I didn’t want to hit harder or burn brighter. I wanted to notice more. To understand when something is wrong before it gets as bad as Canton.

We decided to leave with Chris by boat. There’s someone we need to find in the Feywild, and the sea felt like the right way to put distance between us and this place. We’ve been given weeks of travel. Time. I don’t usually know what to do with time when it’s handed to me like that.

As the town disappeared behind us, I watched the lights along the shore. They looked warm. Friendly. I wondered how many people in Canton had ever stood where I was, looking back, and decided not to ask questions.

I don’t feel like a hero, Mum. I feel like someone who saw something they can’t forget and has to live differently because of it.

I miss you.
I miss the Grove.
I miss believing that happiness is always earned honestly.

I’ll keep writing. It makes the quiet easier.