❝
FAR OFF from above the horizon came the first light of dawn, casting the sky gradually from deep indigo through gentle hues of pinks and golds. The sea reflected the changing tones of the sky; calm and shining with early light. Charlotte stood in silence beside Saevionh on the deck of Azalik's ship, her hair pleasantly tousled about by the salty breeze as she observed the slow coming of the day.
"Your sea friends..." she began after a pause, her voice subdued and sincere, "...they're... really wonderful spirits."
Saevionh gave a slight nod, arms on the railing. "They are," he murmured, keeping his gaze on the horizon. "Do you remember the first time we crossed the sea together?"
A wistful smile crept upon Charlotte as she turned slightly toward him. "Of course," she recalled. "You were... unexpected. I mean, when I finally learned you were related to Countess Dorothea, I actually thought you were some quiet substitute at the library. I never imagined that I would be crossing oceans with you."
A low laugh escaped Saevionh, followed by exhaling slowly. "It is a little strange, yes?" he murmured. And then he spoke gently again: "About last night… what I said, forget it. I was just thinking out loud. I wondered whether that was why you seemed a little bit off."
Charlotte slowly shook her head as her gaze drifted back to the rippling water. "It's not what you said," she replied. "I've just been... thinking. A lot… About my family…. Ever since I ran away from them, I wonder whether I made the right choice."
She then hesitated for a moment, brushing her hair off her cheek as the wind blew so gently. "They're a lovely family, or they used to be. A lovely family. But growing up, something changed. The warmth... became something else; perhaps a cage. I was to behave in a certain way, smile at the right people, host, obey, and squeeze into every mold of a noble daughter."
Now steadying her voice, her expression fell. "And the older I got, the more it felt that whatever I ever did was for them, not for me. I didn't hate them... I just ceased to recognize myself in the person they helped raise. I did things because I was told to, not because I wanted to. That kind of life-it leaves you hollow if you let it."
In an exhalation, her eyes reflected the morning glint. "I think that's been the heaviest thought in my head. Not really regret...just a dull ache for what used to be."
Saevionh didn't speak for a moment, letting her words hang between them like the quiet between swells of the sea. Eventually, he said, "I see..."
Another breath, and now in a lighter tone, he obviously sought to steer the conversation elsewhere saying, "Well, Azalik and the others are planning an informal, buffet-style dinner tonight-celebration at sea. Maybe you'd care to join?"
Charlotte's gaze fell on him, her lips forming a small but honest smile. "That sounds like such an amazing idea! I'd love to."
He returned the smile and gave a light nod. "Great! I'll tell them. Meanwhile, I need to talk with Vladimir. We have some preparations to make before we disembark in Corsavenna–three days from now, wind permitting."
"Of course," Charlotte said, tucking aside another of her locks of hair. "I shall remain here...just watching the sunrise for a while longer."
For a last time, Saevionh glanced back at her, a flicker of something undefined crossing his enveloped eyes, then quietly turned and slipped below the deck. Charlotte remained standing, with the golden horizon reflected in her eyes, allowing the silence to cradle her like a gentle tide.
Charlotte remained on the deck, her figure slightly leaning against the rail, arms crossed against the cool metal, while her chin found comfort there. Her gaze remained fixated on the distant horizon, where the amber light of the sun was slowly unfurling across the sky. A sight far too mesmerizing–its kind of beauty that silenced everything for a few moments. The sea shimmered away in a wash of pink, gold, and soft lavender, with the gentle wind taking strands of her unbound hair, carrying along the salty kiss of the ocean.
For a moment, she kept her eyes shut, allowing the winds to speak. It sounded somewhere calm and vast, and for the first time in years, the storm within her found calm.
It was then, out of this silence, came a soft whistling, clear and melodic, like someone calling forth the morning. Blinks from Charlotte, as she turned slightly, most curious at being taken from the tranquility of the spell. A young man strolled down the deck a few paces behind her, the rope carelessly hunched over his shoulder swaying with each step he took. As he turned, she remembered from Kali's stories-Ajak, one of the crew boys she mentioned. His hair was tied back haphazardly, and he wore a faded sleeveless tunic that accentuated the lean build of someone used to sea life. He was unruly but with an air of mischief, and his whistling was not following any tune in particular, just something light and carefree from the spirit.
Charlotte sat up straighter, brushing her skirt and silently watching him with an interested eye. "Excuse me," she whispered, still colored with morning reverence, "what are you doing with that rope?"
Ajak turned back with an easy grin that brightened his already warm features. "Captain's orders," he nodded toward the sea, "to get some fish while the water is calm. Best fishing right after dawn, before the sun gets too high."
Charlotte tilted her head. "What's that? A rope?"
He laughed pleasantly. "Not just a normal rope. Watch me, my lady."
He was half on the deck, at the edge of which there was a jut that protruded slightly outward. He knelt from this position now in order to attach the rope to one from a carved hook resting in the loop at his waist. Then he peeled off the rest of his tunic and creased pants in one smooth movement, revealing a body weathered by sun and sea–lean, agile, smooth. Without much pause, he took a few steps back and connected a few sharp tugs to test the tension held in the knot before sprinting toward the railing.
Charlotte gasped softly as he sailed off the edge in a graceful arc, catching the morning light halfway before disappearing into the clear, glistening waters below with hardly a splash.
She hurried to the edge, peering down, and for a moment saw nothing. Just the gentle sound of waves slapping against the hull. Then she saw a shadow dart beneath the surface–fast and sure. Ajak swam with the ease of a sea creature, the motion fluid and confident, diving deeper as the surface closed in on him until he disappeared from sight for a few heartbeats, then surfaced near the rope, his hands grasping the smooth sides of a large, silver fish writhing in his possession. He held it up with triumphant laughter, water dripping down his arms as he called out something in their native tongue-perhaps a cheer or an announcement of his catch.
From above, Charlotte watched as he secured the fish to a net line tied around his waist and dove again, as if second nature to him; there were a few more jumps afterward, and at each, he brought another prized possession from below, tossing it effortlessly into a small floating crate aside.
Long she was there, arms once more folded on the railing, watching Ajak swim across the morning tides. There was something very poetic-something ancient about it. The harmony of man with sea, instinctive dance, and survival as rhythm. Charlotte found herself smiling faintly, not just at the boy's skill but at the rare quiet joy that came with witnessing it.
And so the sun climbed steadily behind her, golden light beginning to stretch across the ship's wooden decks as the sea awoke with life. And still, she watched. After several minutes of watching Ajak make every ripple and dive, Charlotte pushed herself forward over the railing. At last, the crate next to him was already filled with modest but decent hauls of fish–silver, blue, and even a couple of brilliant striped fish glittering under the morning light. Tugging on his rope twice, Ajak signaled to someone above and began pulling himself back up, strong, practiced movements.
Almost instantaneously, he hopped back onto the rails, wet as a drowned rat and beaming from ear to ear. Water flicked off his skin, pooling onto the deck as he shook his head like a dog. Behind him, a fellow crewman pulled the crate up using a pulley, and Ajak gave the man a thumbs-up before turning back to Charlotte.
She offered a small, polite clap, her expression still lit with admiration. "That was... impressive."
He gave a mild chuckle, sheepishly wringing out the ends of his hair. "Thank you, my lady. Not every day I get an audience. Usually, it's just Kali shouting at me not to lose a limb."
Charlotte smiled. "You make it look effortless. Like you belong in the sea." Ajak shrugged, still grinning. "Maybe I do. Grew up with it, really. Some of us learn to read books-others learn to read currents. I can tell the sea's mood better than most people's."
She tilted her head curiously. "And what is it saying this morning?"
He looked out toward the horizon where the sun was rising slowly and golden. "Hmm... Quiet. Kind. But that usually means she's planning something big later. She's tricky like that." He winked.
Charlotte laughed softly and brought her gaze back to the rising sun before replying, "I think I understand that."
Ajak gave a nod as he slung the rope back over his shoulder and picked up the crate. "Better take these to the kitchen before Kali skins me. She gets grumpy if the fish sit too long."
"Of course, thank you, Ajak," replied Charlotte while stepping aside for him to pass. He made a brief two-fingered salute. "Anytime, milady." Then he walked off, whistling again, leaving a few wet footprints and a lighter air behind him. Charlotte turned back to the sea, her smile still lingering on her lips as the golden horizon now fully awoke.
The world continued on. The wind hummed. The sea whispered. Yet for once, her heart wasn't quite as weighted.
The ship continued to carve its way across the calm waters like a ghostly wanderer gliding over a sheet of molten glass. The sea smiled that day without sudden gusts or brewing storms. Just the endless whisper of wind against the sails, the occasional creak of wood and the rhythmic splash of the hull cutting through smooth waves. By noon, the sun stood high, suspended above like a vigilant god watching over the voyage. Its light pooled across the deck and licked the surfaces in tones of brass and gold-and, like an ever-present perfume, the tang of brine and salt swirled in the air.
The crew moved with the gracefulness of practice, some mending ropes or adjusting sails, while others enjoyed their moment of rest under the southern shade of the upper deck. Above, seagulls trailed with their cries fading into and out of the wind, while every now and again a dolphin leapt in the distance, as if racing beside them for sport. Charlotte spends most of the day by the railing or wandering quietly about, watching the life aboard unfold like a painted scroll-each member of the crew putting to canvas every stroke as to the portrait of the voyage. Occasionally, Saevionh or Vladimir passed her by with words or, mostly, simple nods, but most of the day was held quiet. The horizon remained unchanging, endless and bright.
The afternoon began to come to an end. Slowly, the colors of the sky began their change: the golden hues giving way to rose and lavender. The wind cooled somewhat. The calmness remained, but somehow, there was that kind of expectancy in the planks and sails almost like the ship itself knew it was nearing the time when the magical transformation would take place each night.
Then, as twilight dipped its fingers into the sky and the first stars blinked above the mast, the ship awakened anew.
By nightfall, the deck was alight.
Lanterns strung between the masts cast a warm glow across the ship, their flames dancing with each sway of the sea. A fire pit-safely enclosed in iron-burned near the center, around which a few crew members were already seated with tankards in hand. The air was alive with laughter, cheers, the clink of tin mugs, and the distant beat of a drum someone had brought from the storeroom. It was not a celebration born from a singular event-this nightly festivity was a tradition, a heartbeat of the crew's routine, their way of honoring the sea's mercy and preserving their sanity as they drifted far from land.
Obasi, with tall heights and ever-composed nature, sat at the forward part of the ship with a deck laid down on the crate, inviting a challenge from any daring soul to bet rations-or dignity, which interested Makena, the carpenter with an arm thick as beams, having fashioned a makeshift stool and was now in his wild and too- unimposing rumor based on the crews' uproarious reactions.
Nyoka, the scout with sharp eyes up in the crow's nest, tied a colorful scarf around his forehead and hummed a tribal tune while tapping the mast with his fingers, keeping rhythm with the drumming below. Barakhal, the cannoneer, matched against one other Khalani, a younger deckhand, in arm-wrestling, the commotion around them erupting cheers and some dramatic wagers.
Jaiah and Rama danced by the railing, their feet light, bodies moving to the beat of the drum, carefree and wild. He had brought out a slab of wood and passed it as a flute, playing it within drinking bounds, very much messing up with the sounds around. Tavira– Kali's own sister, queen in the galley of the ship-passed roasted fish and warm stew from the galley with an apron smudged in spices and soot along her smile as fierce as that of Kali's temper.
Anekha, the apothecary, stood with an elegant composure on the side, sipping a deep green concoction from a clay cup. His mood was unreadable, but there was an undeniable magnetism about him, and he nodded politely when Vladimir came to exchange a few words.
Saevionh leaned against the railing with Charlotte and Vladimir not far from him, silently watching the scene unfold. He has simplified his coat for the evening, with his posture unpretentious but his gaze unfaltering. Vladimir, as always, the steward composed but slightly amused, glass in hand as he spoke to Anekha and offered random passing compliments to Tavira's cooking.
Charlotte caught up in the moment's warmth. The ship—this wandering home of misfits and wanderers—had turned into a village under the stars. She observed the people who milled around her and found them not to be identified as pirates or strange seafarers but as people-each with her own story, sewn together with laughter and light from a cozy fire. There was where she felt at home at that moment and not so far from it.
The ship was now swallowed by silence. The lanterns had dimmed perhaps even snuffed some completely, and the once-lively deck deserted under the cloak of the night. Everyone had sought refuge within his own quarters, fatigued after cries and stories consumed, and an evening feast for the tummy. It seemed that the sea, too, had died, waves rocking the much-sought ship in a less rigorous rhythm, as if coaxing the crew to bed.
Not so with Charlotte, though. She lay on her cot, wide awake, with her very tight wooden walls around her. Through the thin partitions echoed faint snores of pirates-some low and steady, others sputtering and loud. Not unbearable, but very much foreign. Not like the huge empty stillness of the sleeping quarters of the Deloney mansion, where every night felt like a curator's silence wrapped in velvet. There, only soft rustling sound of drapes, sometimes an intermittent crackle from the hearth.
Here, it was different. Livelier. More human. And thoroughly unfamiliar. She wriggled beneath the blanket, still clad in her clothes from earlier. Another source of discomfort. Back home, her maid would have drawn her bath, warmed her nightgown, combed her hair before bed. Now, there was only the tang of the sea in her curls and the scratchy material against her skin.
With a quiet sigh, Charlotte rose and pulled on a shawl over her shoulders. The wooden floor creaked beneath her bare feet as she stepped into the corridor, making her way to the upper deck where she hoped peace would find her again.
When she stepped out into the night, the air kissed her with a cold greeting.
The stars sprawled like shattered glass across the dark sky, brilliant and untouched. The moonlight painted the sails silver, and the sound of the waves took on a lonely lullaby. Charlotte breathed lightly, feeling the sharpness of cool air clearing her chest. She stepped toward the stern railing, arms folding over it.
But she was not alone.
A little further down the deck, seated quietly on a barrel as one rested his leg on the rail about him, was Saevionh. The silvery arc of the moon hung on him, over his shoulders his dark coat lay, hair slightly ruffled by the wind blowing at night. He seemed not even surprised when she noticed him.
Charlotte stepped closer. "You can also not sleep?" she said softly. Saevionh offered a faint smile. "No," he replied, "But not because of the snoring."
Charlotte tilted her head with mild amusement. "You heard it too? Hard not to," s he said, with a short laugh. Then his gaze drifted back out to sea. "Yeah, but it wasn't that. Something on my mind since earlier today. When you were talking about your family."
"What about your family?" she frowningly asked, taking her place beside him. He hesitated a second just to breathe out as if releasing an overly grasped thought. "My mother," he said slowly, "died when I was young."
Charlotte widened her eyes at the realization. "So it's true," she said softly. "I think there was something from Miranda... but I didn't want to assume." Saevionh nodded once, his expression far-away and distant as he muttered, "It's true.... She was killed."
There fell a silence between the two. He swallowed before addressing Charlotte, voice lowered. "I'm really sorry." Looking at her, sober eyes devoid of bitter words around them. "It's alright. I carried it for years now but one of the reasons I chose the Countess was for that alone. Someday, through her, I may learn who and why he or she does that."
Charlotte stared at him, an odd mixture of sorrow and admiration churning within her breast. For all the mystery surrounding Saevionh, she hadn't realized just how much weight he carried in silence. The calm way he spoke put it all into stark relief--like a man who had long since learned to accept grief as part of his soul yet still wouldn't let it rot him from within.
The sea murmured beneath them, and the stars blinked as if listening.
The sky had remained clear for hours. Brightly hung and glowing, it threw down ribbons of silver upon dark waters. The ship looked almost dreamlike from it-illuminated the edges of its sails and the weathered wood beneath their feet. Charlotte was still beside Saevionh, his story settling on her chest like an anchor. Neither of them spoke. There was something comforting yet steady in that silence between them.
But then, the wind changed.
It began as a small, cooler gust; sharper, it whipped through Charlotte's shawl, tugging free tufts that had escaped her pinned-up hair. She suddenly lifted her head. The bleeding sky-no, placid now displayed a subtle change: Thick, curling shadows began to gather slowly with the horizon, like ink spilling into water.
She furrowed her brows. "The wind..." she murmured.
Saivionh rose beside her. His eyes narrowed. "Something is wrong."
A gust, sharp and loud in sudden onset, gusted over the deck like wind across the ocean, leaving one of the lanterns dangling from the rafters shaking violently on its hook. The waves that had lapped gently turned and splashed higher before crashing loudly against the hull. Charlotte instinctively stepped closer toward the edge, curious but slightly alarmed as she stared down at the waters.
"Charlotte—DON'T!" Saevionh said sharply, thrusting out his arm in front of her and pulling her a step backward. "It's too dangerous. One wrong wave and you'll be overboard!"
She looked up at him, startled, then down to the sea. Her heart raced. The calm was gone. The ocean was shifting.
A deep rumble echoed through the ship-not from below, but from above the clouds. They had thickened rapidly, swallowing the moon and stars entirely. The sky turned a sickening grey, rolling with menace.
Below decks in the captain's quarters, Azalik's eyes snapped open.
His breath caught in his throat, sensing the salt water stirring up a storm by instinct. He immediately sat up and grabbed the shirt slung over the chair nearby. A moment later, the ship cracked groan as wood shifted under sudden tension, followed by a muffled shout from somewhere on board.
Then a thunderous BANG! shattered the silence as Azalik's door burst open and smashed against the wall.
He stormed out, boots clunking against planks, heading for the main hall while surveying the sails and dark sky.
"WHAT IN THE HEAVEN'S NAME IS GOING ON?"