The ship cut smoothly through the frozen winds, its six wings spread wide as it soared above the Morgain Peaks. Snow whipped past the rails, carried by the endless gusts that poured from the mountains.
Caelum sat at the far side of the deck, silent as stone. His golden eyes never strayed from the jagged ridges ahead, as if measuring the weight of the peaks themselves.
Trafalgar approached, hands tucked into his coat pockets. For a while, he stood beside him, letting the silence drag. But the monotony gnawed at him.
"So," Trafalgar said at last, leaning against the railing. "Want to spar?"
Caelum's head turned slightly, his expression unchanged—but the flicker in his gaze betrayed his surprise. "A sparring match, young master? Here?"
"Why not?" Trafalgar shrugged. "We've got the space, the time, and I'm bored out of my mind."
