Scurvy adjusted the rigging on his small boat as moonlight spilled across the water. His crab companion clicked its claws against the star charts spread on the deck. Most fishermen chased cod and mackerel, but Scurvy hunted something bigger. For decades he'd tracked celestial whales across the night sky, watching them breach between constellations and leave trails of starlight in their wake. People called him crazy. They laughed at his scarred face and his wild stories. But he'd felt those ancient songs vibrate through his bones. He'd seen the impossible with his own eyes. Tonight, like every night, he sailed out hoping to prove the whales were real. The crab tapped a specific spot on the charts with one claw. Scurvy knelt down and squinted at the markings. Something wrapped in kelp sat wedged between two crates near the mast. He pulled it free and unwound the wet strands. Inside were rolled maps made from rotten parchment, dusted with shimmering purple gems. The edges crumbled in his fingers, but the patterns drawn across them were clear. Wind currents. Air streams. Pressure zones marked where the sky itself seemed to shift and bend. His scars tingled as understanding hit him. These maps showed where the celestial whales appeared. He spread three maps across the deck beside the star charts. The crab clicked excitedly, tracing lines between the old charts and the new maps. The wind patterns matched exactly where Scurvy had seen the whales breach before. Finally, he had what he needed to predict their path. Scurvy started the motor and steered away from shore. The old boat chugged forward through dark water, its blue and purple wood creaking with each wave. Crab cages rattled against the sides. Nets hung heavy with kelp from years of use. This boat had carried him through countless nights of searching, and tonight felt different. The maps gave him direction. The charts gave him timing. He pointed the bow toward open water where the wind patterns converged. Above him, stars burned bright and clear. Somewhere up there, the celestial whales moved between constellations. He would find them. He would catch one. And everyone who called him crazy would finally see the truth with their own eyes. The motor sputtered and died three miles out. Scurvy looked up from the maps and scanned the horizon. Through the darkness, a tall structure rose against the stars. Great cobblestones stacked high, purple glass catching moonlight between the stones. Kelp draped down its sides like curtains. Small crabs crawled across the base and climbed upward. At the very top sat a giant telescope, the kind sailors used centuries ago. Scurvy's ears flattened back in surprise. This tower hadn't been here last week. He grabbed the oars and rowed toward it, his crab companion clicking approval. From up there, he could watch both sky and sea at once. He could track the whales as they moved between stars. This was where he'd make his legendary catch and prove to everyone that celestial whales were real.