Her gaze lingered on him, unreadable and curious.
"What's up?" Orimo asked softly, noticing the subtle hesitation.
"Nothing," she replied, voice quiet. Turning toward the deck, she stretched and yawned, raising her arms lazily. "I guess I'll take a nap."
"Goodnight," Orimo murmured, eyes returning to the endless midnight ocean. The ship sliced silently through silver waves, carrying them forward into the unknown, the wind tugging gently at his cloak.
She disappeared into the cabin, the door closing with a soft thud, leaving Orimo alone with the moonlit sea. He let out a low sigh.
"I wonder… what happened in these two years," he murmured, eyes reflecting the glittering waves.
Meanwhile — Dravon Valenor
Kneeling before King Varian De Rosavante in the royal palace, Dravon felt the weight of centuries of honor and expectation pressing down on him. The hall was silent, all eyes upon him.
King Varian's hand rested gently on his head. In a voice that resonated through the chamber, he proclaimed,
"Dravon Valenor will now ascend to the rank of — Chosen Sword of Heaven. This will be his title, his honor, his duty."
Dravon bowed deeply, a mix of humility and pride in his eyes. "It is an honor, Your Majesty."
"Raise your head, Dravon," the King commanded.
Dravon straightened, the black coat of the Holy Enforcers of Will settling around him. He saluted, then turned as the entire force erupted in applause, the sound echoing through the vast hall. Light from the grand chandeliers danced across his face, highlighting the solemn pride of the moment.
A new chapter of his life had begun, and the weight of destiny pressed upon his shoulders — a chosen blade forged to shape the heavens themselves.