• Jahn held his newly aquired ring in the palm of his right hand, examining it. The golden band seemed next to worthless. There was no power coming off of it, and no markings to tell him what kind of ring it was. Despite its apparent lack of worth, the ring comforted him.
    This ring was my father's, the boy thought. Why did he never use it? Why keep it a secret?
    He opened the window to let in some fresh air. Although, 'fresh' is hardly the word you would use to describe city air. He noticed there was no wind.
    Amanda approached, sensing the turmoil surrounding Jahn. She glanced down at her own ring, watching it glint on her left middle finger. Her ring seemed to glow with its own light.
    Jahn, the girl thought, this gift may be too much for you.
    Her friend sat on the windowsill, trapped in his toughts. He turned toward Amanda and looked her in the eyes. All she saw was regret and sadness.
    "We have to leave," Jahn stated after a long moment. "We can't stay."
    Their landlord was going to eject them from the building. The two couldn't afford the rent for the apartment now that Jahn wasn't on the police force. Amanda knew this, and was trying to offer some encouragement.
    "I've moved before," she said. "It's not that bad. We can find a place, easy! And you can find another job. This is-"
    "You don't get it!" Jahn interjected. "I can't find another job. I hurt people, Amanda! Civilians! No employer will trust me." He stormed off, feeling some regret for snapping at his good friend.
    Amanda stood alone by the window, staring at her ring.
    "Dont worry, Eclpse," she muttered. "He'll be fine in a few days." The ring glowed a response, and Amanda nodded. "I'm sure."


    "Thomas, ye lubber! Y'ar doin' it wrong!" Ishmael was, to say the least, unhappy with him. The boy was attempting to organize a shipment of rings that had come in yesterday. He was absolutely failing at this task.
    "It's not all that easy for me!" the boy retorted. "I've never worked with rings before."
    "That doesn't matter, boy! You've worked here for a week now, you should know where everything goes by now!" Ishmael was so frustrated that he forgot to use his sailor's accent. Under the thick beard, his face was bright red.
    Thomas literally laughed at the elderly man, and began to mock him with a fake accent of his own.
    "Ah knew it!" he quipped. "Y'aren't who ye say ye are. Thar ain't be a drop o' sailor's blood in ye!"
    Ishmael's face, as well as the rest of his head, turned the deepest red ever seen in nature.
    "Don't you dare mock me, child!" Ishmael shouted in his real accent. "I'll throw you out on the street!"
    Thomas stopped dead. He realized that it would not be very good for him if he was on the street. The store owner briskly walked into the back room, saying, "Get back to work."
    "A- alright," Thomas stuttered as he resumed to fail at organize the rings in front of him. After a few minutes, the old man returned to the front, carrying a thick book. He tossed it to Thomas, who barely caught it.
    "Read this, and ye'll be a crew member yet," Ishmael demanded.
    Thomas opened the book, and only saw scribbles and marks he couldn't understand. He looked cross-eyed at the book, which was giving him a headache.
    "I'll get right on that," he said, "right after I finish these." He indicated the rings in front of him.
    "No!" Ishmael yelled. "Y'are doin' it wrong!"

    To be continued