Once everyone was aboard, Daemar had handed each student a small iron key—each engraved with a number. Noel's had the number 9.
He now wandered through the narrow wooden corridors of the ship's lower deck, passing door after door. The scent of salt, old varnish, and faint traces of mana filled the air. The hallway wasn't wide—barely enough for two people to pass without brushing shoulders—and the creaking of the ship added to the quiet atmosphere.
He stopped at the last door on the right.
'Room 9. End of the hall. Fitting.'
Noel slid the key into the lock and turned it with a soft click. The door opened to reveal a modest room, no larger than a storage closet, but it was functional.
A single bed sat against the wall with clean linen sheets. A small desk with a wooden chair stood near the round window, offering a view of the vast, shimmering ocean. Below the bed was a built-in wardrobe, barely large enough for folded clothes. No bathroom in sight.
