The month before Euryale's departure passed differently than any month before it.
Not faster.Not slower.
Just… heavier.
Every morning still began the same way. The sea greeted the shore. Nets were pulled in. Boats creaked. Gulls cried overhead. Shoreward Vale did not change simply because one boy was leaving.
And yet, Euryale felt the difference in everything he touched.
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In the first week, Euryale tried to pretend nothing was happening.
He woke early and helped Pa mend fishing nets. His hands moved automatically, tying knots he had learned years ago. But now, each knot felt deliberate, as if his hands were memorizing the motion.
"Too tight," Pa said once, tapping a rope. "The net needs room to breathe."
Euryale loosened it. "Sorry."
Pa studied him for a moment, then smiled faintly. "You're thinking too far ahead."
Euryale nodded. He always was.
Later, he helped an old villager carry barrels of saltfish. When the man stumbled, Euryale instinctively reached out. The water in the nearby tide pool rippled, steadying the barrel just enough so it didn't fall.
No one noticed.
Euryale let his breath out slowly.
He was learning something important during this month—not how to grow stronger, but how to hold back.
At night, Ma asked him simple questions.
"Are your boots still comfortable?""Do you know where your spare shirt is?""Can you cook rice without burning it?"
"Yes, Ma.""Yes, Ma.""…Mostly, Ma."
She smiled every time, but her eyes watched him carefully, as if storing away his face.
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By the second week, the village had accepted what was coming.
People stopped Euryale more often.
A fisherman pressed a small shell charm into his hand.
A baker gave him an extra loaf."Eat well on the road."
A woman whose boat Euryale had once helped guide through fog bowed deeply."Thank you," she said, like it was long overdue.
Euryale didn't know how to respond to most of it.
"I didn't do much," he said again and again.
But the villagers just smiled.
"You did enough."
One afternoon, a sudden storm rolled in—fast and sharp. Boats were still out. Waves struck the shore harder than usual.
Euryale stood at the water's edge, heart pounding.
He did not raise his hands.
He did not command.
He simply breathed—and listened.
The waves softened just enough. Not calm. Not obedient.
Just… kinder.
The boats returned safely.
No one saw Euryale standing there, clothes damp, eyes focused on the horizon.
The sea receded, as if satisfied.
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During the third week, Pa taught Euryale what not to bring.
"You don't need everything," Pa said, watching him pack and repack the same bag. "You need what matters."
They laid items out on the table.
Extra knife? No.Second coat? No.Old fishing charm? Yes.
"What about this?" Euryale asked, holding a smooth stone Lyra had given him years ago.
Pa nodded immediately. "That stays."
At night, Ma taught him how to mend clothes properly, how to write clear letters, how to recognize when exhaustion would make him careless.
"You don't have to be strong all the time," she told him softly. "Just honest."
Silas tried not to be obvious about watching.
He followed Euryale around more than usual. Helped without being asked. Laughed louder, talked faster.
One evening, Silas said abruptly, "You'll be better than everyone there."
Euryale shook his head. "That's not the point."
Silas frowned. "Then what is?"
Euryale thought carefully. "To understand myself."
Silas snorted. "That sounds harder than winning."
Euryale smiled. "It probably is."
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The last week came quietly.
No announcements. No ceremonies.
Just moments.
Euryale sat on the cliff where he used to watch storms with Lyra when they were younger. He walked the same paths he had walked since childhood.
The sea felt closer now. Not louder. Not demanding.
Just… present.
As if it knew the distance that was coming.
On the final night before the journey preparations began, the family sat together.
No one spoke for a long time.
The fire crackled.
Silas finally broke the silence. "You'll write, right?"
"Yes."
"And come back?"
"Yes."
Lyra asked quietly, "Will the sea miss you?"
Euryale looked toward the dark water beyond the window.
"I think," he said slowly, "the sea knows where I'm going."
Ma reached for his hand. "Then so do we."
Pa stood and placed a hand on Euryale's shoulder. Firm. Steady.
That night, he did not sleep much.
He stood at the shore one last time before dawn.
The water brushed his feet.
Not a farewell.
Just a pause.
By the end of the month, Euryale was ready.
Not because he was fearless.
But because he understood something simple:
He was not leaving the sea behind.
He was carrying it with him.