The deck of the ship creaked beneath the steady rhythm of waves. The earlier confrontation with Levy still lingered in the air like smoke after fire. He sat hunched, one arm covering his face as though hiding from the world, or maybe from himself. His shoulders trembled faintly, betraying the weight of tears he refused to show openly.
Yograj stepped forward at last, his heavy boots thudding against the wooden planks. His expression was unusually soft, almost sympathetic, though his voice carried its usual edge of bluntness.
"Alright, now come on," the old man said, his deep voice rumbling across the quiet deck. "You're being too harsh on the kid."
Razeal, perched again on the ship's railing, didn't turn his head. His gaze remained fixed on the endless horizon where the sky met the restless sea. His white hair stirred with the wind, his expression shadowed with something more complex than anger disappointment, frustration, something harder to name.
