**Vermilion City - The Aftermath**
"Three down, five to go."
Red murmured the words to himself, turning the Thunder Badge over in his fingers. The metal was cool and sharp-edged, a tangible proof of his chaotic, nerve-shredding victory over Lt surge. He'd watched Ash's surgical dismantling of Lieutenant Surge—a masterclass in pressure and precision—and it had lit a competitive fire under him. His own win had been… messier. It involved a lot of shouted, desperate commands, a well-timed Hypnosis from Poliwhirl, and his Snorlax, Lax, who had spent a significant portion of the match audibly snoring. But a win was a win. The badge's weight in his palm was all the validation he needed.
Now, standing with Ash and Misty on a bustling Vermilion City sidewalk, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows, he felt that familiar itch to move, to chase the next challenge.
"Okay," he announced, pocketing the badge with a decisive click. "What's the next target? Which city has the closest Gym?"
Beside him, Misty gave an elaborate shrug, adjusting the strap of her oversized backpack. "How should I know?"
The nonchalant answer brought Red up short. "What do you mean, 'how should I know'? You're the one from Kanto!"
"I mean I don't have a map of the entire Indigo League circuit memorized!" she shot back, hands on her hips. "I know Viridian, Pewter, Cerulean, and now Vermilion. That's my list. Congratulations, you've completed the Misty Tour."
"But… aren't you sisters with Gym Leaders?" The question came from Ash. He wasn't looking at them. He was leaning against a lamppost, utterly absorbed in a small, well-worn paperback book. The cover was obscured by his hand, but the text inside was dense with characters. Pikachu sat contentedly at his feet, nibbling on a leftover berry.
Misty's head swiveled towards him, her ponytail whipping. "Excuse me, this is a private conversation!"
Ash didn't glance up. He turned a page with a soft rustle. "A private conversation," he said, his voice even and polite, "typically doesn't involve announcing your lack of geographic knowledge at a volume that startles Wingull three blocks over. And given our shared goal of collecting badges, your sisters' profession makes your lack of intel…" He finally looked up, his dark eyes meeting hers with a calm, unblinking focus. "...remarkably unhelpful."
It wasn't delivered as an insult. It was a simple, factual assessment, delivered with the dry sincerity of a weather report. It made it infinitely more aggravating.
Misty flushed, sputtering. Red fought back a grin. "He's got you there, Mist. You *are* a Gym legacy. Shouldn't you know this stuff?"
"Ugh! Fine!" She threw her hands up in surrender. "My sisters never bothered teaching me about other Gyms! They were too busy making me scrub the pool filters! The only one they ever warned us about was Surge! Satisfied?"
Red deflated. The momentum from his victory was evaporating fast. "So we're just supposed to wander around until we trip over a Gym?"
"We are not wandering." Ash closed his book, using a finger to mark his place. He pulled a simple, paper fold-out map from his jacket pocket. "Celadon City," he stated, unfolding the map with efficient flicks of his wrist. "Eastern hub. Next major metropolitan center on a logical travel route. The Gym Leader is Erika. Grass-type specialist."
He held the map out so Red could see. His finger tapped the city's location. "Her battle style, from what records I've reviewed, is about mental discipline and strategic foresight. It would be a pertinent challenge following Surge's emphasis on overwhelming force. Tests a different skill set." He refolded the map, his movements neat and precise. "We should depart at first light. The route has optimal training terrain."
"Celadon…" Red racked his brain. "Right! Sakura mentioned her! She said Erika 'plays dirty.'"
"Dirty is an understatement," Ash said, tucking the map away. He picked up his book again, his gaze drifting back to the pages. "Her reported win-loss ratio before her semi-retirement was formidable. A worthwhile objective." He paused, and a faint, almost imperceptible frown touched his features as he read a line. "Hm. 'Courting death.' Dramatic, but an inefficient strategy."
Red and Misty stared at him.
"…What?" Misty asked.
Ash looked up, blinked once as if remembering they were there. "Nothing. A commentary on the protagonist's decision-making. It's frivolous." He said it as if commenting on a flawed battle tactic. "We should aim to be on the road by Tommorow."
"Perfect! Then let's—OW!"
Red's declaration was abruptly severed by a sharp pain in his earlobe. Misty had snagged it between her thumb and forefinger, applying a practiced, vice-like pressure.
"Like *heck* we are!" she nagged, her voice rising an octave. She finally released him, leaving his ear throbbing. "You just won your badge two hours ago! Your Pokémon are exhausted! We've been sleeping in dirt and forests for weeks! We are in a *major port city* known for 'Exquisite Sunsets,' and you want to just run off?"
"But… the next badge!" Red whined, rubbing the sore spot.
"The Gym is a stationary fixture," Ash observed, still reading. He didn't look up. "It possesses no mobility. It will remain in Saffron City regardless of our departure time. That is a logistical fact."
"SEE?" Misty jabbed a finger in Ash's direction. "Even Mr. Logic agrees with me!"
"I stated an objective fact about architecture and geography," Ash clarified, turning a page. "I did not endorse your emotional appeal. But the fact remains useful for planning."
Misty let out a sound of pure frustration. "You are impossible! Whatever! We're staying. We're going to the port. We're going to see this famous sunset. And maybe we'll see that huge cruise ship that's always here… the S.S… something."
"The S.S. Anne," Ash supplied. He glanced at Pikachu. "A luxury cruise liner. Its size is significant. It would be a novel visual stimulus for you, wouldn't it?" Pikachu, following the conversation, tilted its head and gave a curious, "Pika-chu?"
The comment was so oddly considerate—directed at his Pokémon, not them—that it briefly disarmed both Red and Misty. It was a quiet reminder that beneath the analytical exterior, Ash's focus was always, ultimately, on his partner.
Red saw the genuine plea in Misty's eyes then. Not just for sightseeing, but for a moment of calm, of normalcy amidst their chaotic journey. He sighed, the competitive drive softening.
"…Alright. One day. We'll check out the port, see the sunset. Then we hit the road tomorrow at, what was it, 0670..?" He looked at Ash for confirmation.
Ash gave a single, slight nod, his eyes back on his book. "0600. The morning light is conducive to focused travel."
"Deal," Misty said, a real smile breaking through.
***
Their stroll toward the port was meandering. Vermilion was alive with the sounds of ships, vendors, and tourists. Red's attention, however, was soon captured by a splash of garish color and the rhythmic *clack-clack-clack* of a spinning wheel.
A lottery stall, manned by a fellow in a bright yellow waistcoat, was drawing a small crowd. "Test your fate! Prizes of magnificent proportion! Spin the wheel of destiny!"
"Hey, check this out!" Red said, drifting toward the spectacle.
"Red, no," Misty groaned, trailing after him. "Don't waste your money. These things are always rigged."
"It's not rigged, it's luck! And I'm feeling lucky today!"
"Your feeling is a statistically unreliable metric," Ash commented. He had paused a few feet away, leaning against a wall and reopening his book. "The probability distribution on such wheels is rarely in the patron's favor. It's a straightforward exploitation of hope."
"Thank you!" Misty said, vindicated. "Even *he* knows it's a scam!"
"You said he was 'impossible' five minutes ago," Red pointed out.
"That's not the point! The point is you have a *pattern*. Team Rocket? Overpriced Poké Balls? Your entire relationship with Lax? I don't want some con artist taking advantage of your… your *general impulsiveness*!"
Her concern, buried under the nagging, was real. Red hesitated, his hand halfway to his pocket. The wheel glittered under the string lights, a tantalizing puzzle of chance.
"Ah, what's life without a little risk?" he said, finally passing a few coins to the grinning vendor. "One spin."
"Red!" Misty cried, exasperated.
The wheel began to turn, a blur of silver and gold. It slowed, the *clacks* growing further apart… until, with a final, decisive *thunk*, a single, perfect gold marble rolled into the winner's channel.
A triumphant bell rang out.
"WE HAVE A WINNER! A golden victory for our young challenger!"
Misty's jaw went slack. Ash looked up from his novel, one eyebrow arched in mild, analytical surprise.
"No way…" Red breathed, then a huge, incredulous grin split his face. He turned to Misty. "'Statistically unreliable,' huh? 'Exploitation of hope'?"
She crossed her arms, looking away, her cheeks pink with chagrin. "…I never finished my sentence. But fine. You got stupidly, absurdly lucky. What did you even win?"
Red's triumphant expression faltered. He blinked. "You know… I didn't actually ask."
Misty's face met her palm with a resonant *smack*. From his spot by the wall, Ash let out a quiet, short breath that was almost a laugh. "Securing the reward parameters after committing to the action," he noted, his tone dry. "A bold, if backward, methodology."
The stall owner was beaming, holding out three ornate, foil-trimmed tickets. "For you and your companions, my fortunate friend! All-expenses-passage for the S.S. Anne's sunset coastal cruise this very evening! A night of luxury and breathtaking views!"
Misty's frustration evaporated, replaced by wide-eyed awe. She gripped Red's arm. "The… the S.S. Anne? The actual ship? We get to go *on board*?"
Got it. I'll weave this new information into the existing scene, keeping Ash's characterization consistent and adding his question to extend the cruise premise.
***
"Wait, a *cruise*?" Red's grin vanished, replaced by panic. He looked at the ticket as if it might bite him. "I can't go on a cruise! I've got Gyms to battle! This thing probably sails to Johto or something!"
Before Misty could launch into another lecture, Ash stepped forward. He'd been quietly observing the ticket vendor, his analytical gaze taking in the man's uniform, the official-looking stamp on the tickets. His question, when it came, was calm and precise.
"Excuse me," Ash said, his polite tone commanding attention. "The S.S. Anne has a reputation for inter-regional travel. These tickets are for this evening. Can you confirm the vessel will remain within Kanto waters, or is there a designated disembarkation point before any international departure?"
The vendor blinked, impressed by the formal phrasing. "Not to worry, young sir. You have the standard coastal tour tickets. However, you are correct—the grand voyage *does* depart after this cruise. The Anne will make one final stop at Chrysanthemum Island to take on supplies and final passengers before leaving Kanto waters."
"Chrysanthemum Island?" Ash asked, filing the name away.
"It's a popular tourist spot," the man explained, warming to his topic. "Not far from the mainland, nestled between the Fuchsia City coastline and the Seafoam Islands. Beautiful beaches, lovely resorts. The ferry service back to the mainland from there is quite regular."
Ash processed this. He glanced at Red, then at Misty's hopeful face, and finally down at Pikachu, who was looking up at him with bright, curious eyes. A multi-stage journey. A known island with established transit links. The risk of being stranded was low.
"That settles it!" Misty declared, seizing the opening. "We're going aboard! We can get off at Chrysanthemum Island in the morning, take the ferry back, and you haven't lost any gym time!" She turned her full, determined gaze on Ash. "And *you're* coming with us."
Ash didn't react to the demand. He was still calculating. "The itinerary adds approximately 12 to 15 hours to the schedule, assuming efficient ferry connections," he mused aloud. "The opportunity to observe a unique island biome could have some marginal training value. Pikachu has never experienced a purely maritime environment for an extended period."
"So… that's a yes?" Misty pressed, her confidence wavering under his flat scrutiny.
"It is a 'provisionally yes,' contingent on verifying the ferry schedule from Chrysanthemum Island to the mainland," Ash stated. He looked at Red. "The deviation is longer, but it is contained. The strategic loss is acceptable for the experiential gain."
Red, who had been braced for a flat refusal, slowly relaxed. A night on a luxury ship, a morning on a tropical island… it wasn't just a delay; it was an adventure. A shared one. "Well… I guess we can make it work."
"That's the spirit!" Misty cheered, before rounding on Ash again, a mischievous glint in her eye. She leaned in, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper that was still easily audible. "You know, I bet there will be a lot of pretty girls aboard a ship like that. And Chrysanthemum Island has famous beaches. You know what happens when you mix pretty girls and a nice beach?"
Ash stared at her blankly for a long second. He then slowly turned his head to look at Red, his expression one of pure, uncomprehending inquiry. He didn't whisper. He asked in his normal, polite, utterly confused tone.
"What is she talking about? What specifically happens?"
The sheer, genuine bafflement in his voice—as if she'd just proposed a bizarre and unscientific phenomenon—caught Red off guard. He burst out laughing. "I have no idea, Ash. I really don't."
Misty flushed, flustered. "It—It's just a thing! It's fun! You'd see if you came!"
"I am coming," Ash replied, still looking mildly perplexed by her non-sequitur. "I agreed. The reasoning was logistical. Your added parameters about demographics and coastal geography don't alter the feasibility assessment." He turned back to the ticket vendor. "Sir, if you have a pamphlet for the Chrysanthemum Island ferry service, that would be helpful."
Misty stood there, momentarily defeated by sheer, impenetrable logic. Red was still chuckling, the last of his anxiety gone. They were going on a cruise. To an island. Ash was coming, and was already planning the return trip with the focus of a military strategist.
It was going to be anything but normal. And for the first time since getting the tickets, Red felt a surge of pure, uncomplicated anticipation. He couldn't wait to see what happened next.
***
**Aboard the S.S. Anne**
The S.S. Anne was not merely a ship; it was a floating monument to excess. Polished brass gleamed under strings of fairy lights. The air smelled of salt, expensive perfume, and roasted peanuts. A quartet played something jaunty near the grand staircase as passengers in formalwear and casual resort wear milled about, the hum of excited conversation layering over the deep, steady thrum of the engines.
Red and Misty stood just inside the main deck entrance, momentarily stunned into silence. Red felt acutely underdressed in his travel-worn jeans and jacket. Misty's eyes were the size of dinner plates, drinking in the chandeliers, the rich carpet, the waiters circulating with trays of sparkling drinks.
Ash, by contrast, looked utterly unfazed. He had already completed a visual perimeter scan, noted the locations of the lifeboat stations (starboard and port, four each), and was now leaning against a polished rail near a potted palm, utterly absorbed in his paperback. Pikachu sat at his feet, watching the crowd with bright interest.
"Wow," Red breathed. "This is… something else."
"It's beautiful," Misty whispered, a touch of reverence in her voice. Then her practical side kicked in. "Okay, first things first. We find our cabins, then we explore. The sunset is in an hour!"
As they moved to find a crew member for directions, they passed by Ash. Red caught a snippet of his low, muttered commentary as he read.
"...and then the young master said, 'You dare?'" Ash recited, his tone flat. He turned the page. "Hm. A redundant threat. Action would be more efficient than rhetorical questions."
Red and Misty exchanged a look.
Their cabins were small but opulent, with real portholes looking out over the darkening water. After dumping their bags, they regrouped on the promenade deck to watch Vermilion City shrink into a glittering line on the horizon. The sunset was indeed exquisite—a riot of orange, purple, and deep blue smeared across the sky and reflected in the calm sea.
Misty was enraptured, leaning over the rail. "It's even better from out here…"
Red stood beside her, a comfortable silence settling between them. The stress of the gym battle, the rush of the city, it all began to melt away with the rhythmic sway of the ship and the vast, peaceful emptiness of the ocean.
Their moment of tranquility was punctured by a nearby, clear, analytical voice.
"The protagonist has entered the secret realm with insufficient preparation," Ash announced, not looking up from his book. He was seated in a deck chair a few feet away, Pikachu now curled in his lap. "He has no spatial mapping, limited resources, and is antagonizing the local spirit beasts based on pride. This is not strategic. This is 'courting death.'"
He said the last phrase with the same dispassionate tone one might use to say, "The forecast calls for rain."
Misty snorted, then tried to turn it into a cough. Red grinned. "Good book?"
"It is a study in escalating conflict driven by poor decision-making," Ash replied, finally glancing up. "The power progression is illogical, but the world-building has internal consistency. It passes the time." He marked his page with a precise fold and stood, stretching. "The sunset was adequate. I am going to survey the ship's upper decks. The airflow patterns up there should be stronger. Good for Pikachu's comfort."
He walked off, Pikachu trotting beside him, leaving Red and Misty to their view.
***
Dinner was a lavish buffet in a dining room with velvet drapes. Ash joined them, his plate conspicuously neat and organized: a portion of grilled fish, steamed vegetables, and rice, all separated. He ate with quiet efficiency while Red piled his plate with a bit of everything and Misty meticulously constructed a salad.
Halfway through the meal, during a lull in their conversation about Water-types they might see, Ash, who had been reading his book propped against a water glass, let out a soft, sigh-like exhale.
"Problem?" Red asked around a mouthful of pasta.
"The female lead has just been kidnapped for the third time in two hundred pages," Ash stated, looking mildly perturbed. "Her capture-to-escape ratio suggests either profound negligence on the part of her clan guards, or she has a latent talent for evasion she is not employing. It's narratively inefficient."
"Maybe she *wants* to be kidnapped," Misty said drily, stabbing a tomato. "Maybe it's her thing."
Ash considered this, his head tilting. "A voluntary hostage scenario to manipulate the protagonist's emotions and force him into reckless action? That would be a more sophisticated level of plotting." He seemed almost disappointed when he looked back at the page. "No. The text indicates she is just… consistently unlucky. A statistical anomaly."
Red nearly choked on his food laughing.
***
Later, as they explored the ship's game room—full of flashing lights and cheerful chaos—they found Ash standing perfectly still in a corner, away from the slot machines and the battling simulators. He was reading again, the cacophony seeming to flow around him without effect.
Misty dared to approach. "Finding any good life lessons in there?"
Ash didn't look up. "The antagonist is monologuing. He has explained his entire plan, including its one critical weakness, to the immobilized hero. This is poor operational security. If your enemy is incapacitated, you should secure them immediately, not provide a tactical briefing."
"Sounds like a dumb villain," Red said, joining them after losing a small handful of coins to a claw machine.
"He is a product of the narrative's need for exposition," Ash corrected, as if diagnosing an engineering flaw. "It is a structural weakness." He closed the book and looked at the bustling room, his gaze calculating. "The probability of winning significant credits in this environment is below 2%. Your money was better spent on the protein bars from the kiosk near the gym. They are overpriced, but they have nutritional value."
Red blinked. "You scoped out the protein bars?"
"Part of a resource inventory. The gym is well-equipped, by the way. Good treadmills." With that, he nodded to them and headed for the exit, presumably to find the treadmills.
Red watched him go, then looked at Misty. "He's… something else."
"He's a weirdo who reads martial arts romance novels and critiques them like battle plans," Misty said, but she was smiling a little. "Come on. Let's go see if there's a pool. A *real* one, with chlorinated water, not a river."
The ship cut smoothly through the night sea, heading for the distant lights of Chrysanthemum Island. For the first time in their long, competitive race, Red didn't feel the urgent press of time. They were all, for this one strange night, exactly where they were supposed to be.
The upper deck of the S.S. Anne existed in a realm of profound stillness. Here, the cacophony of the ship's festivities was reduced to a muffled, distant thrum. The true sounds were elemental: the sigh of water parting before steel, the whisper of the night wind, the deep heartbeat of the engines below.
Ash Ketchum stood at the railing, a silhouette of perfect composure. On his shoulder, Pikachu was a statue of amber and shadow. They were not merely present; they were calibrating—measuring the pitch of the deck, the vector of the wind, the geometry of the moonlight. Ash held a small, well-worn book bound in blue silk, its pages filled with dense, elegant characters. He read with a slight, thoughtful frown.
*"...and the Young Master Wang, facing the encircling elders of the opposing clan, merely flicked his sleeve. 'Your formations are as full of holes as your comprehension,' he said. 'Do you truly believe this petty display of force warrants my full attention?'"*
Ash nodded slightly to himself, turning the page. "Hm. An efficient opening rebuttal. The metaphorical comparison to porous material is apt."
Their sanctuary was defiled by a vulgar, discordant energy.
"Oi! The brooding scholar!"
Two figures, bloated with false courage and shipboard liquor, blundered into the light. They wore absurd, gilded naval costumes from the gift shop. Their faces were florid and smug.
Ash did not turn a hair. He finished his paragraph, marked his place with a silk ribbon, and slid the book into his inner pocket. Only then did he deign to acknowledge the interruption with a slow tilt of his head. His eyes, dark and assessing, swept over them.
"Your auditory projection is disrupting the harmonic balance of the night," he stated, his voice crisp. "It lacks both melody and meaning. Cease."
The larger one, Reginald, spluttered. "You insolent little—! We're talking to you! That's some attitude for a kid who's probably never fought a real battle!"
A flicker of something—not anger, but profound boredom—crossed Ash's features. He sighed, a sound of immense weariness. "Another one? Do you people have a script? 'Real battle,' 'teach respect,' 'show your place'… It's so repetitive. Even the third-rate antagonists in *Chronicles of the Soaring Dragon* have more creative provocations." He shook his head, a gesture of deep disappointment. "At least they have the decency to bring their own mystical artifacts. You bring… gift-shop epaulets."
Marcus, the other man, reddened. "Why you—! A battle! Right now! Or are you all talk and cheap novels?!"
Ash's lips curved into that terrible, thin smile. He clasped his hands behind his back. "A battle. How novel. How utterly unprecedented." His tone dripped with sarcasm so dry it could desiccate the ocean. "You wish to use combat, the dance of wills and strategy, to soothe your fragile egos? Very well. I shall humor you. But we shall use the stakes of my world."
He took a single step forward, and the air seemed to grow colder. "When you lose—and do not insult my intelligence by pretending 'if' is a relevant term—you will kneel. You will look up. And you will understand the chasm that separates your 'gift-shop authority' from true sovereignty. It will be an educational experience. Consider it… remedial tutoring."
The sheer, glacial arrogance left them speechless for a moment. Reginald found his voice, shrill with outrage. "You're mad! Fearow! Let's go!"
"Raticate! Teach this arrogant brat a lesson!"
The Pokémon emerged, sharp and snarling.
Ash didn't glance at them. He looked at the trainers with open pity. "A Fearow and a Raticate. How… utilitarian. The tools of a pedestrian mind." He selected a Poké Ball. "I could end this with Pikachu, but that would be akin to using a divine sword to slice fruit. Inelegant. No, for a lesson in horizons, one uses a tool that seems humble, yet contains multitudes."
He released the Pokémon.
"Butterfree. Enlighten them."
The butterfly emerged, luminous and serene.
The men's laughter was immediate, derisive. "A BUTTERFREE! This is your champion? This is a joke!"
"We'll crush it! FEAROW, DRILL PECK!"
"RATICATE, HYPER FANG! NOW!"
Ash didn't move. He recited aloud, as if commenting on his novel. "The inferior foe, believing size and type to be supreme, launches a direct frontal assault. A tactic so transparent it borders on illiteracy." He raised a finger. "Gale."
Butterfree's wings pulsed. A focused hurricane-force wind slammed into the attackers, halting them mid-charge, sending them tumbling.
"Disoriented, they will attempt a flanking maneuver," Ash continued, his voice a dry lecture. "Left and right. The most basic tactical adjustment from the *Manual of Dullard Warfare*, page one."
Eyes wide with horror, the men shouted the exact flanking commands he had just described.
Ash shook his head in genuine dismay. "You're not even trying to be unpredictable. It's insulting. Butterfree. **Quiver Ascendance.** Let them strike at phantoms."
Butterfree danced, becoming a blur of after-images. The attacks passed through empty air.
"No… this can't be!" Reginald whimpered.
"It can, and it is," Ash said. "Your finale approaches. The desperate, all-or-nothing strike. The last resort of the talentless. You're practically sighing the moves before you say them. It's embarrassing to watch."
Tears of humiliation in their eyes, they screamed for the all-out attack.
"Finally. Some volume. Pity it's for your swan song." Ash flicked his wrist. "**Slumber.**"
The spirals of Sleep Powder found their marks with unerring accuracy. Fearow and Raticate dropped, instantly asleep.
**Silence.**
Ash recalled Butterfree. "Adequate," he murmured. He walked until he stood before the trembling men. "Look at me."
They could not.
"I said," his voice softened into something infinitely more dangerous, "*look at me.*"
They forced their gazes up, meeting his. His eyes held the vast, dispassionate contempt of a young master viewing ants that had dared crawl upon his scroll.
"You challenged my place," he said. "Now, assume yours."
Under the weight of that gaze, they sank to their knees. The polished deck was cold and unforgiving.
"This," Ash whispered, leaning down slightly, "is the only vantage point from which your eyes will ever meet mine. When I look down, I see your limit. When you look up, you see your sky. Remember the difference."
He straightened up, flicking an imaginary speck of dust from his sleeve—a move straight out of the novels. He didn't watch them crawl away. He simply retrieved his book, reopened it, and found his place.
*"...and thus, the encircling elders were defeated without the Young Master so much as disturbing a single fold of his robes."*
"Hm," Ash murmured to Pikachu, a trace of dry amusement in his voice. "A bit florid, but the core principle is sound. Efficiency through absolute control. Really, it's just good fundamentals."
Pikachu chirped in agreement.
Some time later, Red and Misty found him.
"Ash? Everything okay? Felt weird tension up here," Red said.
Ash didn't look up from his book. "Merely a minor literary reenactment. Some individuals insisted on playing the role of the encircling elders. It was… pedagogically useful."
Misty blinked. "Reenactment?"
"Mm. They lacked the proper robes and gravitas, however. A disappointing performance overall." He turned a page, then added offhandedly, "They won't be interrupting my reading again. I believe they've finally understood the importance of respecting a scholar's quiet time."
Red and Misty exchanged a look. They saw no battle scars, no disarray. Only Ash, perfectly composed, reading his book in the moonlight as if he owned the very night itself. The cheerful lights of the ship suddenly felt very far away, and the quiet certainty in Ash's voice felt like the most formidable thing they had ever witnessed.
***