Dawn at Stormwatch Harbor was shrouded in a fog thicker than usual, as if the sea were trying to hide the city's sins from the sun. The heavy stench of salt, tar, and rotting fish hung in the air, mingling with the faint, copper tang of dried blood that still clung beneath Elian's cloak.
At the end of the most dilapidated wooden pier, a medium-sized vessel bobbed gently.
It wasn't a majestic merchant galleon or a gallant warship. It was a modified schooner, its hull painted dull black to blend into the night, its furled sails patched and worn.
Its name was carved roughly into the bow: The Banshee's Wail.
Elian stood on the pier, staring at the ship with hollow eyes. His body felt simultaneously as light as cotton and as heavy as lead—the effect of extreme exhaustion battling the artificial gravity of the Ring of Weight. His bandaged right shoulder throbbed with every gust of the cold sea breeze.
"Don't look like a corpse," Lunaria whispered beside him. She had swapped her cloak for a thick, rough wool traveling coat. "This captain doesn't like passengers who look like they'll die halfway. It's bad luck."
"I won't die," Elian muttered, forcing himself to stand upright. "Just... tired."
A large man with a leather eyepatch and a beard braided with bone beads descended the gangplank. He eyed Lunaria and Elian with his single remaining eye—grey, sharp, and calculating.
"You 'Lena'?" the captain asked, his voice sounding like stones grinding on the seabed.
"And you are Captain Barossa," Lunaria replied calmly. She tossed a small pouch of gold coins—the last of their loot—toward him. "Two passengers. No questions. Destination: Silent Bay on the west coast of Noctis."
Captain Barossa caught the pouch, weighed it, then checked the contents. He grinned, revealing a gold tooth.
"Silent Bay? That's a suicide route. Lots of razor reefs and Celestia Navy patrols," Barossa commented. His eye shifted to Elian. "And who is this pretty brat? He looks like he was chewed up by a shark and spat back out."
"My nephew. Mute. And yes, he's had a bad week," Lunaria replied curtly. "Is the gold enough?"
"For a cargo cabin and leftover food? Enough," Barossa spat into the sea. "Get on. We leave before the tide turns. And remember: if there's a military inspection, you are porters. I don't want to know your sins."
They ascended the swaying wooden gangplank. As Elian's foot touched the deck, he felt his world rock. Not an earthquake, but the rhythm of the sea.
To a noble son who grew up in the northern mountains and mainland forests, the ocean was a vast, unstable monster.
"Below deck," ordered a skeletal-looking crew member.
They were herded into the ship's hull. The smell down there was far worse: a mix of sweat from dozens of men, rum, and smuggled spices. They were given a small room—more accurately, a converted broom closet—near the food storage.
Just two musty hammocks.
Elian dropped his bag and immediately collapsed into one of the hammocks. His body swung gently.
"Rest," Lunaria said, closing the wooden door and locking it. She then pasted a slip of paper with a spell on the door—a simple sound barrier. "No one will disturb us here. These sailors are superstitious; they fear a woman traveling alone with a 'ghost boy'."
Elian stared at the low wooden ceiling. He pulled the Monastery Map and the Pilgrim's Badge from his pocket. He clutched the silver badge tightly.
"Master," Elian called softly.
Lunaria, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor beginning to meditate, opened one eye. "What?"
"Elara..." Elian swallowed hard. "She saw me fall from the cliff two years ago. Father screamed my name. Everyone thinks I drowned in that raging river."
"True," Lunaria replied flatly.
"If I appear before her now... with this scarred face, with these bloody hands..." Elian raised his trembling hand. "Will she even recognize me?"
"Maybe," Lunaria said honestly. "But would that be a good thing?"
Elian fell silent. He thought about what Madam Vex had said. Elara was hidden in the convent because her Aura talent was attracting the Church's attention. If the "dead brother" suddenly reappeared, it would cause an uproar. Solara spies would know. The Church would investigate their background.
And Elian right now... he was too weak. He had almost died fighting a Tier 3 thug and a crippled Tier 4 monster. How could he protect his sister from the Empire and the Church?
"She thinks I'm dead," Elian whispered, a tear leaking from the corner of his eye onto the musty pillow. "Maybe... it's better that way for now."
Lunaria looked at her student with an inscrutable gaze. She saw a painful maturity growing in the boy's eyes.
"You're right," Lunaria said gently. "Let Elian Vane remain dead. Let him be a ghost in his sister's memory. Ghosts cannot be taken hostage. Ghosts cannot be hunted."
"Until I am strong enough," Elian clenched his fist until the silver badge dug into his palm. "Until I can burn anyone who tries to touch her. I won't meet her as her brother. I will watch over her from the shadows."
The decision felt like swallowing glass shards. Rejecting the one happiness he looked forward to—reuniting with his sister—for her own safety.
"That is a wise decision, but a painful one," Lunaria stood and approached Elian's hammock. She placed her hand on Elian's forehead, channeling a bit of cool mana to soothe his headache.
"Sleep, Little Ghost. This sea voyage will take two weeks if the wind is on our side. Use this time to heal your body and... adapt to your new toy."
Lunaria pointed to the ring on Elian's finger.
"In the middle of the ocean, the water element is dominant. The pressure is different from land. That ring will feel heavier. Do not take it off, even when you sleep."
"Yes, Master," Elian whispered.
His eyes slowly closed. The crashing of waves against the hull became a strange lullaby.
In his dream, Elian didn't see monsters or blood. He saw a sunflower garden from the past. He saw little Elara laughing, chasing butterflies. And he saw himself standing in the distance, in the shadow of a great tree, just watching, unable to approach because his body was made of cracked glass.
"Goodbye, Brother," little Elara's voice echoed in the dream.
***
Elian woke hours later to violent shaking. The ship had cast off, leaving the calm harbor waters for the vicious open sea.
He sat up, head spinning. His stomach churned—his first bout of seasickness.
"Just vomit in that bucket," Lunaria said without opening her eyes from her meditation. "Don't hold it back. It's part of the training."
Elian vomited. Bile and medicine residue came up. He felt pathetic. A monster slayer made sick by waves.
However, as he wiped his mouth, he felt something different inside his body.
The Mana around him... changed.
On land, Mana felt stable and rigid like the earth. Here, in the middle of the sea, Mana was fluid, turbulent, and merciless. And Elian's body—the Child of the World—responded.
His bones vibrated, tuning their frequency to the waves. His thirsty cells began absorbing the abundant water Mana, providing a cool sensation that slowly dulled the pain in his shoulder.
Elian crawled to the small round porthole in the cabin. He looked out.
Only grey water stretched as far as the eye could see, beneath a low, overcast sky. No land. Nowhere to run.
"The world is vast," Elian murmured.
He touched the cold glass of the window.
"Wait for me, Elara. I am coming. Not as your weak brother, but as a nightmare for your enemies."
The Banshee's Wail sliced through the waves, carrying two mysterious passengers westward. Leaving Stormwatch, leaving the past, and taking Elian one step closer to his lonely destiny.
In the distance, beneath the dark surface of the sea, a giant shadow glided past, tracking the ship's path. A shark? A whale? Or something more ancient, drawn to the scent of the Blood of Fate?
The journey had only just begun.