❝
THE SEA was calm again at last. It was not that strange silence of an impending thunderstorm; nor was it the mad the ocean was thrash by the perilous night before-the stillness was deep and steadier, as though it had exhaled in the ocean itself. The Leviathan had gone back to the folds of forgotten things, and with it, the fierce glow in Azalik's eye.
But he had not woken since.
Kali was walking around the helm, her boots thudding quietly as they touched the deck planks worn smooth by years of salt and sun. She was back to biting her nails again-a habit she had sworn off more than a dozen times. Her sharp, anxious eyes flickered constantly towards the captain's quarters where Azalik lay inside, unmoving but breathing.
"Stop pacing," came Tavira's voice; calm and grounded, as always. The elder sister leaned against the mast with her arms folded, trying to keep the worry out of her voice. "You're wearing a trench through the wood."
Kali shot her a glare, but said nothing. Her teeth scraped another nail.
Just at that moment, one of the older crew boys–Eshlo, who was hardly old enough to grow proper stubble-wandered over, trying a little too hard to sound casual. "Maybe you should take the wheel for a while, Kali," he said, grinning. "Acting captain and all. Might suit you. We can get you a little hat-perhaps a parrot, too."
Kali barely batted an eyelash at this. She merely balled up her fist and let it crash down on his head.
"Ouch!" exclaimed Eshlo, staggering backward. "Okay! Sorry! Just trying to lighten the mood…"
"This isn't funny," Kali muttered, not even looking towards him. Her voice was softer than usual. "He isn't waking up."
Eshlo rubbed his head and mumbled, "Yeah. I know."
A silence returned to the deck.
Charlotte hesitated before walking over with finger clenching on the sleeve edges. She had never stayed in such a ship this long, had never seen anything like that, and absolutely had never seen someone glowing with that kind of power. This image stayed with her until now, of Azalik standing against Leviathan, radiating eerie divine light as it hung like a ghost behind her eyes.
She came up and stood close to Kali's still grip on the railing, her back tense and her shoulders hiked forward. A fresh sea wind ruffled her mint blue ponytail as her raw bitten nails were seen at the edges.
"...Kali?"
The pirate woman did not turn her head, but her voice was low and harsh with worry. "What is it, Princess?"
Charlotte hesitated before proceeding to stand next to her, leaning on the railing but keeping a little distance. "I know I'm not ... really the right person for this, but ..." There was a slight falter in the voice, the memory of last night still too vivid. "That was never something I would expect to see. Not in real life. Not from him."
Kali gave a faint scoff, eyes still on the horizon. "You and me both."
Charlotte chanced a look at her, watching the way her jaw clenched.
"I don't even know what it was," she admitted. "That power . . . the glow in his eye . . . I felt it in my bones. I thought we were all going to die."
Kali let out a heavy sigh before freeing herself from the railing. "He told me, when I was small . . . that he lost his left eye saving the crew from a burning ship. Said while he was trying to get everyone out, a piece of debris struck him." The voice tightened again. "I believed him. All these years, I believed him."
Charlotte knitted her brows. "And now you know that was not true."
Kali gave an abrupt nod. "He lied. It was debris. It was not an accident." Her head turned that way, toward Charlotte. "That power he used The eye was never blind. He has been hiding it from me this whole time."
And then, silence fell over them. The wind moved gently around them without interfering.
"I think he had a reason," Kali said now, her voice softer. "He always does. Protecting me, protecting the crew-maybe he thought I didn't need to know." Her voice cracked, barely. "But it still hurts. Half of me gets it. The other half… feels like he didn't trust me enough to tell me the truth."
She was looking at her, really looking-at the strength in her that was cracking pretty much around the edges.
"I don't think it's about trust," Charlotte said gently. "Maybe… he didn't want you to worry. Or maybe he was afraid of what it meant. For him. For you."
Kali did not reply at once.
Then she sighed again, very deeply and harshly. "He always acted like he could not be shaken. As though nothing could break him. And then he does this-gling-glowing myth-and just collapses without a word".
Charlotte released a breath that came close to the semblance of a laugh but appeared weary, at best. "Being angry is nothing to be ashamed of, you know."
Kali nodded briefly. "I'm not angry."
With a raised eyebrow, Charlotte gave a far-from-genuine expression of incredulity.
"...Okay. I'm furious," Kali muttered. "But I'm scared most of all. I have seen him take hits and keep going like nothing. But this? This seemed different." She shook her head.
Charlotte's hand brushed against Kali's mildly, just for a second. "He's still alive. That means hope still remains."
Kali looked down at their hands. And then away. "...You really are too soft for a princess."
"I am not as soft as I appear, and how many times must I tell you I am not a princess," Charlotte replied with a coy, knowing smile. For the first time of the day, a hint of a smile flickered across Kali's lips. Brief as it was, though, it was hope, and the ocean continued to roll beside them- quiet yet alive, uncertain yet living.
On the other part of the deck, Vladimir grasped the railing with one hand while casting his eyes towards Charlotte and Kali from a distance. Their talk was just barely visible to him, the sound of their voices swallowed in the gentle murmur of the sea wind. He tipped his head slightly to take a long look, and then breathed out gently and turned; he intended to walk away.
But before he could step backward, a hand landed on his shoulder. A sturdy grip, cold, yet unyielding.
Vladimir stiffened.
Very slowly, he turned—and was faced with the obscured face of Saevionh.
"Oi", came the low voice, soft yet razor-like through the wind just before a storm. Even behind the black blindfold, Saevionh's presence was unnervingly sharp.
Vladimir widened his eyes in recognition. "My Lord!" he almost stuttered. Straightening, he asked, "Do you...need something?"
Saevionh spoke now without raising his voice, but his next words weighed like stone on the stale air before them.
"What did you do back then?" he began. "When Azalik was getting out of control?"
There was no accusation in his voice—only an icy, calculating stillness that held out a demand for the truth.
Vladimir hesitated for a split second, then replied calmly and firmly in a very low tone, almost like a whisper. "I didn't do anything wrong." He stared directly into Saevionh's blindfolded eyes. "I merely put him to sleep."
He crossed his arms. "The power he unleashed—Aegarion's blessing—sucks him dry. Severely. Especially when he tries to resist or loses control. It's...normal for anyone with a blessing. The energy turns volatile after being suppressed for too long." He paused. "And I'm pretty sure Azalik hasn't touched that power in years."
A silence hung on them, filled with the creaking of ropes and distant gull cries.
Saevionh stood without moving, masking whatever thoughts lay behind his unreadable expression. Then finally, he spoke on, with serious softness in his voice, "Although you may be my right hand, I trust you will never act in a way that will harm those I care for."
It wasn't a threat; it was a warning.
Vladimir shut his quiet resolve against the half-masked visage of Saevionh. "I wouldn't. If I did..." He let the words trail off, but his voice had tightened into something sharper—something sincere.
"...Then I would have broken my promise."
Saevionh seemed to consider the truth of his statement with some deeper sense, gauging it not with his eyes. Then, without further ado, he dropped his hand from Vladimir's shoulder and walked away, embroidery of his coat spiraled high into the wind.
As soon as Saevionh wandered into the hallway's shadows, Vladimir kept gazing after him for just a moment longer. The wind tugged ever so gently at his hair, and the silence left behind oddly felt heavier than the presence of Saevionh.
Something soft broke in the glass and wood behind him.
Vladimir twirled around.
Anekha stood a few paces away, slenderly built, with almost ethereal features: alabaster skin, white hair loosely tied back, and striking pink eyes softly glowing beneath the lantern light aboard ship. A shallow wooden tray was balanced delicately on his long fingers, presenting an ordered display of apothecary tools: small stoppered vials of tinctures and herbs, a slender thermometer, folded linen cloths, a bronze tongue depressor, a silver lancet, and a set of small ceramic bowls for mixing salves or poultices. Some of the jars held dried crushed leaves and powders, while others contained liquids with a faint luminescent hue.
Anekha stopped midway upon sighting Vladimir, "Oh," he said, mildly curious. "So it's you. The one who stopped Captain Azalik from tearing apart the ship."
His expression was half a smile, half-not, but not a ghastly one.
"I'm not exactly sure what you actually did," Anekha continued while re-adjusting the tray in his arms and leaning over Vladimir, apparently shielding him from whatever someone could care less about. "But... it's appreciated."
Vladimir gave his head a light shake. "It wasn't much. No thanks needed."
Anekha chuckled lightly. It seemed partly polite, partly genuine warmth. "So modest. You and the captain would go along in that respect."
Vladimir managed to hide some of his laugh behind the tray moving slightly, rather than letting the glass clink too much. "He is stable now but still unconscious. His internal backlash seems fine, so here's hoping he will wake up before midday." A brief pause. "By morning we will arrive in Corsavenna. If only the winds were on our side."
Vladimir nodded once. His gaze drifted to the horizon. "Good," he said simply. "He'll need solid ground when he wakes up."
Anekha cocked his head slightly and narrowed his pink eyes in amusement. "You speak like one who has seen what happens when a blessing stirs the body too hard."
Vladimir smirked a little. "Perhaps I have." A small hum of Anekha turned his lower lip into a parting nod before moving past him toward Azalik's quarters, boots soundless against the wooden floor. The scent of crushed mint and resin lingered in the air as he disappeared below deck, ready to resume his work.
Vladimir was still at the railing for a while longer, letting the tide of thoughts wash him away.
A day went by almost perfectly in peace.
Once, the sea, now the roaring beast under their hull, then stretched into the vast calmness, like a bottomless sheet of blue glass-and the lazy strokes of gold and pale violet painted a sky. With gentle lapping, waves beat against the sides of the ship, soft rhythm almost melodic in their sound. The sails rustled lazily in the fine breeze, and the crew had gone to hushed comfort-the tension of the last night slowly wearing away in the afternoon sun.
Distant above, the seagulls cried-wonderful harmonic-weaving with the creaking wood beams with chips broken once in a while or tools cleaned or ropes scudding. The crew's usual chatter has died down to whispers. Even the lively Kali had taken to leaning against the mast with folded arms, eyes toward the horizon, lost in thought. The air smelled of salt and herbs; faint traces of Anekha's tinctures drifted from below deck.
And then—BANG! From the stairwell leading out to the deck came a loud crash. Everyone jumped. All eyes snapped to the source of the noise as Anekha suddenly burst into the open air, wild urgency in his steps, his pale white hair disheveled, pink eyes wide with excitement. "He's AWAKE!" he shouted breathlessly, beaming. "The Captain—Azalik—he's awake!" For a split second, the deck fell into stunned silence, as if the sea itself had stopped to listen.
And then all hell broke loose.
"HE'S AWAKE?!"
"CAPTAIN'S BACK!"
Cheering exploded like cannon fire as the crew let out whoops and shouts of pure joy. It was in shocked disbelief and relief that everyone dashed toward the captain's quarters. Anekha, realizing a split second too late what he'd set loose before him, tried to sidestep–"WAIT–!" But he was immediately swallowed by the stampede. "ACK–!" he yelped, tumbling backward, the tray in his hands flying through the air and landing with a loud clatter beside him. He lay splayed on the wooden planks, his robes tangled and limbs akimbo, staring up at the sky. "…I'm never doing that again," he muttered with a dazed blink.
Meanwhile, Azalik lay still quietly on the bed, staring up at the wooden ceiling above. His thoughts scattered, his body aching as if it had been hollowed out. Slowly, he raised a hand to his forehead and let out a long sigh. "I'm doomed," he murmured. "Elder Bashrah will skin me alive..." The limbs feel heavy, drained from Aegarion's blessing, remnants of the raw, unfamiliar power clinging to him. He couldn't stop remembering the Leviathan... the release... the loss of control. "I promised I wouldn't use it again... Damn it all."
Then the floor beneath him began to tremble–he blinked. "What in the depths–?" Before he could sit up, the door slammed open, and a flood of voices, arms, and pleasure followed.
"CAPTAIIIIIN!!!"
"AZALIK!!!"
"HOLY SHIT FINS, HE'S REALLY ALIVE!!"
The crew tackled him without hesitation. In seconds, he was buried beneath a dozen bodies–sobbing, cheering, ruffling his hair, clinging to his limbs. Azalik's eyes flew wide in terror. "WA–WAIT–WAIT!! I CAN'T BREATHE–SOMEONE GET OFF MY LEG!" But no one was removed. And beneath the wave of overwhelming love and sweat and laughter, a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
Almost immediately after the news broke out–well, relatively at least–Charlotte showed up on the scene, closely followed by Vladimir and Saevionh. The three had formed a visible wall at the threshold, silent but relieved at the sight of Azalik still breathing and, more importantly, alive. Charlotte breathed in softly, her hand reaching briefly to clasp at her chest. Vladimir's arms were crossed, but all tension had melted from his shoulders. Even Saevionh gave the tiniest tilt of his head above the ever-present blindfold.
Azalik blinked as he was looking through this wall of laughter and limbs toward the other side. Relief, joy, mischief-in several faces. But there was somebody missing. Frowning; "Where's Kali?" he asked aloud, voice low, concerned rising like a tide.
Charlotte shrugged slightly. "Up there," she mouthed again, pointing toward the railing, and then raised a brow–Go.
Azalik did not need to be told twice. With a quiet grunt and a few grumbles about bruised ribs, he wriggled out of the pile and made his way topside. The sun was beginning to lower, casting long streaks of gold across the waves. He found her there, Kali–arms resting on the railing, the wind teasing her mint-blue ponytail as she stared at the horizon, lips pressed tight in a grim line.
He stepped beside her, the wood creaking under his boots. "Kali," he said softly.
She refused to look at him. "So, you weren't blind in that eye."
Azalik's jaw clenched. "...No."
"You lied," she could have shouted, but it came as hurt and anger. "You let me believe you were half-blind all this time. Do you have any clue how angry that makes me?"
He let out a long breath and raked a hand through his hair. "I do."
"Then why?" Her voice trembled. "Why lie to your own crew? To me?"
A long pause passed. "Because I want to protect the crew, the tribe, and you, Kali."
Kali turned to finally face him. Her eyes searched his face; as angry as she was, there was a flicker of hurt in there, too, and understanding.
They were back together, while the rest of the crew had altered their presence from below and were peering from stairways and doorways. September with few onlookers creeping on their toes in an attempt to eavesdrop, was sensible enough to trot downwards and interrupt the pair with arms swinging as if to prevent an imminent fight between bickering kids.
"Oh for gods' sake," said Tavira, marching toward them. And then, without a moment's notice, she pulled both of them in close with an encircling arm and firm bear hug. "The two of you had better just stop being kids for once."
"Tavira—!" Kali wriggled free.
Azalik shuddered, feeling torn between hilarity and awkwardness.
"You are family," Tavira said with a firm voice, though her tone softened. "And the family does not remain angry for long. You fight, but you forgive too. So, make up, okay?"
Kali shifted a little under Tavira's embrace, brow still furrowed. "I'm trying to forgive him but he's being a stubborn ass."
Azalik let out a scoff with his arms crossed. "And you're an undeniable loudmouthed menace."
Kali gasped. "Excuse me?!"
"Oh here we go again," Tavira muttered, as the fight flared up once more. She released them with a groan and planted her hands on her hips, now standing between them like an annoyed older sister caught between two children that just didn't want to behave.
"Right, that's it," she said fiercely. "If you two don't patch things up right now, I swear on the sea gods, I won't be cooking dinner for a month."
The deck fell silent.
Some of the crew closest to them, who had inched toward them again, stood frozen in mid-step.
From them emanated a slow, collective whistle among them—low and awkward—like they had just heard nothing. Boots were shifting. Ropes were suddenly being reeled in. Buckets were lifted. The whole crew briskly returned to pretending like they were working.
Tavira narrowed her eyes even more dangerously. "You know what? None of you are getting dishes for a month if this presses on!"
A loud murmur of dissent echoed throughout the ship.
"Come on, for god's sake, Tavira."
"Don't punish us for their drama!"
"Not the stew again!"
Kali rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, her cheeks now red. "Fine," she mumbled. "I forgive him. Happy?"
Azalik raised his brows at her. "That didn't sound very sincere."
"AZALIK—!"
Tavira promptly slapped him playfully at the back of his head. "Say thank you and shut up."
At the foot of the stairs, Charlotte had a hand clapped over her mouth to stop her from laughing; beside her stood Vladimir, with his usual blank stare, while Saevionh strolled lightly with his cane, listening to the noise above.
"What's so funny?" he asked, glancing toward her with a smirk.
Charlotte looked up at him, lightly blushing from laughter. "Oh, it's nothing," she replied, smiling gently. "I just found it... wholesome."
Her gaze returned to the deck, where a family of pirates—loud, stubborn, and chaotic—was finding peace in their own clumsy manner.
And for the first time, Charlotte felt something settle in her chest.
A blush appeared on the sky above, while the sun's own first light with soft hues of peach and lavender spread over the horizon. A soft breeze caressed the sails, the ship gently swayed, and below it, the awakening beast stirred in the sea.
Charlotte stepped into the deck; her cloak wound tightly around her shoulders. The fresh, cool air bore the brine and an elusive hint of floral in the breeze. Next to her was Saevionh, strolling with the habitual muffled footsteps of a benevolent ghost tapping with a cane now and then gently against the wooden planks.
She followed the faint line of the horizon, then caught her breath.
There, far ahead, emerging from the mist and sea spray, was a vague outline of land: rolling hills, soaring towers, alabaster cliffs catching the light like polished stone.
"Corsavenna..." she breathed, as a soft smile graced her lips.
It looked as though the painting was too still—too perfect to be real—but there it was, and after all they had gone through, its sight brought an uninvited sense of comfort. Alien though it was, it felt like hope.
Saevionh stood beside her, the wind lifting the edge of his coat. "We will finally be making landfall," he said, his voice smooth as the waves underneath them. "Corsavenna. One of the ancient ports of Ivalor."
Charlotte turned in curiosity. "Ivalor?"
He gave a nod, his eyes still on the fast-approaching shore. "The land known for its artistry... music, poetry, sculpture, crafts—if the soul were to dream, it dreams in Ivalor."
Charlotte looked back at the coast, her eyes bright in the soft light.
"No wonder why I find it beautiful even from afar."