The sea stretched endlessly in every direction—no land, no sails on the horizon, only water and wind. Dunlowe had vanished hours ago, swallowed by waves and distance. There was no going back now.
Below deck, inside a modest cabin near the middle of the ship, Harwin and Mira sat in silence. The walls creaked softly with the ship's sway, and the candlelight flickered with every lurch of the hull. They hadn't spoken much since they'd set sail. The weight of what they'd left behind still pressed on them. Their inn. Their life. Their silence.
But so did something else—hope.
Their son lay nearby on a narrow bed, wrapped in thick blankets. Ryan had been seasick almost as soon as they'd left the coast. Mira hadn't left his side. She cleaned up quietly when he vomited, wiped his face, and helped him drink warm broth Elandor's men had brought.
Meanwhile, Harwin had gone to see Elandor.
He found the man in his cabin at the rear of the ship—a spacious, polished room with carved oak shelves, charts pinned to the walls, and a heavy table bolted to the floor. Elandor had just returned from the upper deck, drying rain from his coat.
Harwin stood awkwardly, unsure where to begin. Words of gratitude stumbled in his throat.
"I… I don't even know how to thank you," Harwin said at last.
Elandor waved it off. "Save it for when we dock safely."
Harwin didn't press. He didn't ask about the sea wall. Or the vanishing port. Some things weren't meant to be explained.
"Just tell me…" Harwin asked instead, "how long until we reach Caelondia?"
Elandor turned toward the window. "Two weeks, give or take a day. Depends on the currents."
"Two weeks," Harwin repeated, trying to measure the weight of it.
Elandor gave a small nod. "Settle in. Make this place home—for now."
By the next afternoon, Ryan had recovered enough to sit up without dizziness. The nausea came in waves, but it was nothing like the first night. He had slept long stretches, stirred by Mira's gentle hand and Elandor's occasional visit to check in.
When the worst had passed, he lay on the bed with the blanket kicked off, staring at the ceiling. He was tired of being still.
"Mama," he said softly, "can I go out for a walk? Just a short one?"
Mira looked at him with the same motherly suspicion she always did when he was sick.
"Only if you promise to come right back if you feel dizzy again."
"I promise."
She kissed his forehead and helped him into his shoes.
The ship was large, but the walk to the deck was short. The air outside was sharp and full of salt. Ryan gripped the rail, eyes wide as he looked out at the endless blue.
The wind tugged at his hair.
He smiled.
He was free.
Ryan stood at the rail, the salt wind tugging gently at his cloak.
The sky was open and blue, washed clean from the storm that had rolled through the night before. The ship creaked beneath his feet, steady and strong, parting the sea like a blade through silk.
He looked up, then out—nothing but ocean in all directions.
Dunlowe was gone.
So was the Rustwood Inn, the crooked walls, the warm hearth. His friends—not close ones, but familiar faces he had played with at quiet town gatherings—were far behind too. He wondered if any of them would even notice he was gone. Maybe they'd hear whispers. A fire. A missing family. Maybe not.
What lingered most in his mind wasn't the town, though—it was the port. Or what was left of it.
Ryan could still see it. That colossal wave rising like a god from the sea, swallowing the fireball from the mages like it was nothing. And then… gone. Just like that. With a flick of Elandor's wrist.
It had shaken him to his core.
He had stared at the drawings in his book again and again—fireballs, levitating stones, magic circles—but none of them had prepared him for what he saw that night. That wasn't a spell. That was… power.
Is that what mages in Caelondia are like? he wondered. Are they all like him? That strong?
And more importantly—
How could he ever stand among people like that… when he didn't even know how to read?
The doubts began to swirl inside him like the waves below. What if he wasn't good enough? What if, after everything his parents gave up, he failed? What if he got left behind in Caelondia too, just like in Zeronthal?
His chest tightened.
And then—a calm voice behind him.
"Careful, boy," Elandor said. "Letting your thoughts drift that far will drown you quicker than the sea."
Ryan turned, startled. He hadn't even heard him approach.
Elandor leaned on the rail beside him, arms crossed, eyes still on the horizon.
"I can guess what's on your mind," he said. "You're wondering if you'll ever be able to do what you saw me do. Or if you'll ever catch up to those who can."
Ryan didn't answer, but his silence said enough.
Elandor gave a small nod. "Let me tell you something. Most children in Caelondia—your age—can't use magic. Not a spark. It's not about blood or birth. Magic comes from within. It awakens when the body and mind are ready. Usually not before fifteen or sixteen."
Ryan blinked. "Really?"
"Really," Elandor said. "There are a few exceptions. I awakened at thirteen. But that's rare. Most begin their journey around fifteen. First they attend foundational courses, learn the theory, practice focus. Then, if they're lucky—and determined—they awaken. Then comes real training."
Ryan was quiet, listening closely.
"You'll have time," Elandor said. "First, you need to learn to read, write, and speak our language. It's called Common. Spoken across all of Caelondia. Once you've got that down, the rest will follow."
It didn't erase every worry, but Ryan felt something loosen in his chest. A little less pressure. A little more light.
"I thought… I was too far behind," he admitted.
Elandor smirked. "You're ahead of most. You've already seen the truth of the world. That's worth more than any textbook."
Ryan wanted to ask more—to ask about the sea wall, about the port, about how Elandor had done that without a single chant or staff. But there was already too much in his head. He would save that question for another day.
For now, it was enough to know he wasn't alone in this.
That he had a chance.
Feeling steadier, Ryan spent more time above deck, taking in every creak, rope, and beam of the colossal vessel beneath his feet. He wandered carefully, exploring its winding passages, cargo holds, and upper rails. Everything was masterfully crafted—solid, balanced, purposeful. The polished brass hinges, rune-marked beams, and smooth sliding compartments whispered of Dwarven hands.
Such brilliance, he thought. I want to meet the ones who built this someday.
When he returned to the cabin, his face was lit with wonder. He began recounting everything he'd seen—how the sails folded in layered reels, how the helm could be locked in place with a lever, and the way the lower corridors glowed faintly with embedded blue stones that seemed to hum.
Harwin and Mira listened quietly, watching the excitement in his eyes. Each word from Ryan reassured them that they had made the right choice. And both of them carried an ever-deepening gratitude for the man who had made it possible—not just the escape, but this hope.
Elandor joined them later that evening. After a short, polite exchange, he looked between them and said, "If you'd like, I can help you learn the basics of our language. It'll make your arrival much smoother."
They agreed without hesitation.
And so the next two weeks of their journey became a quiet, focused chapter of growth.
The language was called Common—spoken across Caelondia and many neighboring regions. Elandor's lessons were patient and thorough. Ryan, to everyone's surprise, picked it up quickly. His mind was like a sponge, absorbing words, mimicking sounds, repeating phrases under his breath long after the lesson ended.
His parents struggled more. Harwin fumbled with the softer sounds. Mira found the grammar frustrating. But Ryan's determination inspired them. He practiced late into the night, whispering syllables while lying in bed, correcting his own mistakes, repeating greetings and phrases over and over.
When Elandor was busy—locked away in his cabin, working on his plans or reviewing charts—Ryan ventured back to the deck. He had begun talking to the crew. Most of them were friendly and open, surprised by how quickly the boy had taken to the sea.
They told him that Elandor wasn't always aboard. Sometimes, the ship was leased to other merchants while Elandor handled his business on land. "Keeps the ship busy," one man chuckled, "and the coin flowing. Even a ship like this doesn't feed itself."
Some days were stormy—grey skies and crashing waves. Other days were clear, the sea calm like a sheet of glass. Through it all, Ryan focused. His motivation kept his parents going too. They followed his lead, learning slowly but steadily.
Every step forward felt like a piece of armor against the unknown.
The life they'd left behind would fade into memory, and the one ahead began to take shape—word by word, day by day.