The first day of sailing was… quiet.

Not the peaceful kind of quiet you enjoyed.

The tense kind, where everyone kept listening for the moment the sea decided it was done tolerating you.

The ship cut southeast beyond the coast with steady wind and steady pace. Ironhand worked in rotations, never fully resting, hands always on something, lines, rigging, cargo checks, lookout duty. The trainees rotated through supervised tasks in small groups, learning the basics without being allowed to break anything important.

Ludger didn’t like how normal it felt. Normal was bait.

So he let the group settle into a low, controlled vigilance. Eat. Hydrate. Check gear. Sleep in shifts. Conserve mana. Conserve stamina. No unnecessary sparring. No unnecessary magic. If something came out of the water, he wanted everyone sharp enough to respond without hesitation.

Viola spent most of the day watching.

Not just the sea, people. How the crew ran the ship. How the officers kept the recruits in line without acting like tyrants. How Ironhand handled problems before they became problems. She asked a few questions, quietly, and actually listened to the answers.

Luna did what Luna did, moved when she needed to, vanished when she didn’t, and somehow always ended up where she could see everything that mattered.

Rathen, meanwhile, tried to do the responsible thing. He approached Raukor mid-afternoon while the beastman stood near his forge wagon, arms folded, staring at the horizon like the ocean owed him money.

“So,” Rathen began carefully, “any clearer idea where exactly we’re heading?”

Raukor didn’t look at him. “Southeast.”

Rathen nodded, patient. “Yes. But where southeast? How far? Coastline? Open water? Any landmarks?”

Raukor’s ears flicked once. “Far.”

Rathen tried again. “What are we looking for? An island? A reef? A particular current?”

Raukor finally glanced down at him, expression unreadable. “Spiders.”

Rathen’s mouth tightened. “That part I know.”

Raukor shrugged, broad shoulders rising and falling like it was all the explanation the world deserved. “Wait.”

Rathen stared at him for a long moment, then exhaled slowly through his nose. He’d dealt with nobles. Merchants. Guildsmen. Even northerners who spoke in blunt declarations. Raukor was different. Not rude. Not hostile.

Just… minimal. Like words were expensive and he didn’t buy things he didn’t need.

Rathen nodded once, accepting the obvious.

“A man of few words,” he muttered.

Raukor didn’t correct him. Didn’t confirm. Didn’t deny.

He simply returned his gaze to the horizon, silent and steady, as if he’d already decided he would speak again only when it mattered. Rathen walked away with the quiet realization that he wasn’t going to get a map from that beastman.

He was going to get an order… And he was going to get it exactly when Raukor felt like giving it.

Rathen gave up on Raukor around the time he realized the beastman could have a full conversation using only nouns.

So he went to the next most reasonable person. Which, unfortunately, was Ludger.

He found him on the starboard side with a fishing rod.

A real rod, line, hook, the whole absurd ritual, except the hook wasn’t baited with worms. It was baited with a thin thread of mana, wrapped in runic tension like a trapwire. Ludger’s other hand rested on the rail, fingers lightly tapping the wood as if he was reading the ocean’s pulse through the ship.

It looked calm. It wasn’t. Rathen walked up beside him, gaze flicking over the sea. “We have enough food and water for a month.”

Ludger didn’t look away from the water. “Good.”

Rathen frowned. “So why are you fishing?”

Ludger gave the smallest shrug. “Just ’cause.”

Rathen’s expression tightened. “That’s not an answer.”

“It’s an answer,” Ludger said. “You just don’t like it.”

Rathen opened his mouth, then paused as Ludger’s line twitched, nothing on it, just the sway of the ship and current.

Ludger sighed like he’d decided being slightly less annoying was worth the effort.

“I’m keeping an eye on the ocean,” he said. “If something comes up, I want to feel it first.”

Rathen’s brow lifted. “With a fishing rod.”

“With the line.” Ludger tapped the rail again, then the rod. “It gives me a point of contact outside the ship. Something in the water has to interact with it to reach us.”

Rathen stared at him, then slowly nodded, remembering.

“The creature,” he said. “When the bridge was being built.”

The big underwater thing. The one they’d seen once, just long enough to understand it was real, and then never again, like the sea had swallowed the evidence.

“It was never found after that day,” Rathen added quietly.

Ludger’s eyes stayed on the surface, flat and unamused. “That doesn’t mean it’s gone.”

Rathen watched the waves for a moment, then asked, “You think it followed us?”

“I think the sea is full of things,” Ludger said. “And I’m used to finding trouble along the way.”

His line dipped slightly, tension changing, not a bite, just a shift. Ludger’s fingers tightened around the rod, and for a heartbeat Rathen saw the difference between “calm” and “ready.”

Then the tension eased again.

Ludger exhaled through his nose. “I won’t drop my guard because a monster decided to be polite and disappear.”

Rathen looked at him, then at the ocean, and finally understood the real point of the fishing. It wasn’t for food. It was a leash into the deep. A way to feel the moment the sea reached up and tried to touch them back.

Ludger’s rod dipped again, this time with intent.

He didn’t jerk it like an amateur. He let the line tighten, felt the pull, then reeled with steady, controlled turns. The fish fought in short bursts, tugging like it had pride, but it wasn’t strong enough to matter.

A minute later, a silvery body broke the surface.

Ludger flicked his wrist and swung it over the rail with practiced efficiency. The fish hit the deck once, flopped, then went still as he snapped its neck with a quick twist and tossed it into a bucket already half-filled.

Rathen watched the motion like he was trying to decide whether to be impressed or concerned.

Ludger caught another not long after. Then a third. Not because they needed it, because the act kept his senses tethered to the sea, and because it annoyed fate when you acted like you belonged.

When he finally paused, he noticed Rathen staring out at the horizon, expression thoughtful, shoulders a little heavier than they’d been back at the docks.

Ludger leaned on the rail. “You look pretty calm,” he said. “Considering the stunt Lucius is trying to pull.”

Rathen didn’t answer immediately. Then he let out a long sigh that sounded like someone exhaling years of political fatigue.

“I’m used to nobles doing whatever they want,” he said quietly.

Ludger’s mouth tightened.

Rathen continued, gaze still on the sea. “Besides… while we’re friends, I’ve never been under the illusion that friendship is what holds titles together.”

Ludger glanced at him.

Rathen’s expression stayed controlled, honest, but not dramatic. “Our partnership works as long as both sides benefit. That’s the truth. Lucius benefits from stability and connections. I benefit from having a legal anchor and support to the coast.”

He shrugged faintly. “If Lucius found other goals… I can’t force him to be my business partner.”

The words landed heavier than they should’ve. Not because they were cruel, but because they were clean. No denial. No romantic loyalty. Just reality.

Ludger stared at the water, jaw tight, then shifted the topic before the anger found a target.

“What are you thinking of the new Regent?” he asked.

Rathen’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Too soon to say anything with confidence.”

Ludger waited.

Rathen sighed again, shorter this time. “But there’s a lot of reformation happening.”

The way he said it made “reformation” sound like a knife being sharpened behind a curtain.

Ludger kept the rod angled over the rail, line trailing in the wake like a thin question pointed at the ocean.

“What kind of reformation?” he asked.

Rathen glanced at him. “Torvares isn’t keeping you informed?”

Ludger’s expression tightened.

“He has this bad habit,” Ludger said, voice flat, “of getting intel and acting on it without consulting me.”

Rathen’s brow lifted slightly.

Ludger continued, annoyance leaking through despite his usual control. “Which is fair. I’m thirteen. He’s a lord. Politics isn’t a child’s game.”

He paused, then added more honestly, “Still annoying.”

Rathen’s mouth twitched like he found that relatable. He leaned his elbows on the rail beside Ludger and lowered his voice.

“The new Regent is making serious moves against the Senate,” he said. “And anyone he finds suspicious who once had ties with the Rodericks.”

That name landed like a weight.

Ludger’s line went still. His hands didn’t, but his mind did, that brief, dangerous pause where he stopped reacting and started calculating.

Crackdowns. Purges. “Anti-corruption.” The kind of political cleansing that could be righteous… or just a smarter way to seize power and remove rivals. He went silent.

On paper, going after old Roderick ties sounded good. The Rodericks were part of the rot, then cutting them out was necessary. It could mean the Regent wasn’t aligned with whatever enemy network had been nudging Lucius off the board.

Could.

But Ludger wasn’t naïve enough to take “shared target” as proof of “shared interests.”

The enemy of your enemy wasn’t automatically your ally. More often than not, they were just another predator who wanted the carcass for themselves. Ludger stared at the waves for a long moment, the morning light flashing off the surface like broken glass.

“…Noted,” he said finally.

Rathen studied him. “That’s all?”

Ludger’s mouth tightened into something that wasn’t quite a smile.

“That’s all I can afford,” he replied. “Until I see who he bites after the Rodericks are gone.”

The line twitched again. Ludger reeled in, caught another fish, and dropped it into the bucket with a dull thud. Work. Vigilance. Preparation. Because politics didn’t care what you hoped the Regent was. Only what he did next.

Raukor had been sitting near his forge wagon with a bundle of tools laid out in front of him, whetstone in one hand, cloth in the other, methodically cleaning and repairing like the ship’s motion didn’t exist.

Then he stopped. Not gradually. Not because something distracted him. He froze like a predator catching a scent.

His ears angled, head turning in a slow sweep as he looked around the deck and then out over the water. The change was subtle, but it was enough. People noticed when a beastman that was calm suddenly acted like the world had shifted.

Ludger’s fingers tightened on the rail.

Viola straightened where she’d been sitting. Luna’s posture changed by a fraction, small enough that most wouldn’t see it, but Ludger did. Her gaze sharpened, scanning the horizon in the direction Raukor faced.

A moment later, the reason appeared.

A peak rose in the distance. Not land. Not an island.

A single, jagged stone spike thrusting out of the ocean like the tip of a spear. It was tall and thin, dark against the bright line of the horizon, with waves breaking around its base in white foam like it was bleeding into the sea.

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