"The air feels different from this morning," Lucious said, slowly drawing a whetstone along the edge of his blade. The soft, metallic scrape of steel against stone filled the cabin.
"Yeah… and it's getting colder the further we go," Flavian added. He lay stretched out with his eyes closed, one arm draped over his chest. After a moment, he let out a quiet sigh. "I'm not feeling anything about this thing that's supposedly following us, as Demba said earlier."
"Oh? Trying to sharpen your sense of perception?" Olivia asked, turning a page of the book in her hands. She didn't look up as she spoke. "Do you even know where to begin?"
"Not really," Flavian admitted. "I'm just trying things until something… clicks. It's not like we'd get proper training without finding a master. And that would mean joining one of the army's legions, getting noticed by a commander…" He scoffed. "Not happening. Those bastards are all twisted."
Lucious placed the whetstone in a bag that rested at the foot of his bed. After inspecting the blade's edge, he slid it back into its scabbard and lay down as well. "I'll give it a try as well, if I sense anything good. If not…" He closed his eyes. "I'm going back to sleep."
"Very well," Olivia replied lightly. "Let me know if either of you attains enlightenment before dinner."
The cabin fell into a quiet stillness. Aside from the occasional creak of wood and brief moments when one of them rose to step outside, the three remained as they were resting, waiting, listening.
Time passed unnoticed until the warm hues of evening filtered through the cabin, casting long streaks of amber light across the floor. The shift caught Olivia's attention. She closed her book and rose, moving toward the window.
The forest was gone.
In its place stretched a sandy shoreline, pale and endless beneath the fading sky. The distant cries of seagulls carried faintly on the wind.
Olivia raised her arms above her head, stretching the stiffness from her limbs, then turned and made her way to the washroom to freshen up.
When she returned, she paused, looking at the two men. Both were still either asleep or deep in their attempts at perception.
"Lucious. Flavian!" she called.
Lucious stirred first, opening his eyes and pushing himself upright. Flavian, however, did not move.
"Yeah… what is it?" Lucious asked, his voice thick with drowsiness.
"It's already evening," Olivia said. "Which means it's about time we eat, so go freshen up."
"Yeah, sure," he replied, rising to his feet.
"Flavian, think fast," Lucious called, flicking a whetstone from his bag and sending it spinning through the air.
Flavian's eyes snapped open. He twisted at the last second, the stone cutting past his shoulder with a faint whistle before clinking harmlessly against the wall.
"Lucious… really?" he muttered, scooping it up and tossing it straight back.
Lucious caught it unfazed. "It's time to eat. We need to freshen up," he said, slipping the whetstone back into his satchel at the foot of the bed.
Flavian rolled his eyes, exhaling sharply. "Still a bit much, my dude."
The tension eased as they finally got moving. Soon, different sounds were heard from the room as they went about their business: Water splashing into basins, cloth brushing against skin, the dull creak of wood shifting weight. Outside the last daylight gave way to dusk.
By the time Olivia returned from the mess hall, the boys were finished.
"Well, to make sure we don't burn through what we bought from the inn too quickly, I grabbed us something," she said, glancing out the window. The sun had nearly vanished, and the first stretch of night was settling in.
"Alright, what did you find?" Flavian asked, dropping onto the bed.
"Here." She handed him a loaf of bread and a portion of meat.
Flavian didn't wait. He tore into it with his teeth, chewing before swallowing. "Smoked chicken," he said, a note of approval in his voice.
Olivia passed Lucious his share. "Yeah, they were handing them out, so I helped myself."
"Well, that beats eating only bread," Lucious said, already tearing into his portion.
"Right," Flavian agreed, the earlier irritation gone as quickly as it had come, replaced by the simple comfort of food and the quiet rhythm of night settling around them.
While the three continued their meal below deck, the night above had grown quiet.
Up on the deck, Demba slouched against the ship's railing, his arms loosely draped over the wood as he stared into the vast stretch of sky. The stars shimmered faintly, but his attention lay elsewhere.
"Hey, Captain… should we do anything about that thing? Its presence is really starting to annoy me," the crewmate beside him muttered, taking a slow swig from his mug.
"In due time, Croix," Demba replied calmly.
His head tilted slightly, gaze shifting toward the stern of the ship as if he were looking directly at the entity trailing them through the darkness. For a brief moment, a subtle killing intent leaked from him. It was sharp, controlled.
Croix stiffened.
The air between them tightened as his own killing intent instinctively flared in response. Demba noticed immediately, exhaling softly as he reined himself back in, the tension dissolving just as quickly as it had formed.
"Croix," Demba continued, his tone now laced with faint curiosity, "if you find it so irritating… why not test your strongest slash? I'm interested to see what it's capable of."
He turned, resting his back fully against the railing.
"But you only get one try at this."
A grin spread across Croix's face.
Without hesitation, he handed his mug to Demba and stepped forward. His posture shifted looser, yet focused. Both hands moved behind his back, gripping the hilts of his twin curved blades.
Then he moved.
Croix leapt into the air, jumping a surprising distance in a single bound. Midair, his blades flashed free in one fluid motion, steel catching the faint moonlight, and in the same breath, he struck.
A cross-slash tore through the air toward the empty stretch of sky behind the ship, aimed toward the distant shoreline.
For a split second, it seemed like nothing was there.
Then, A butterfly.
It appeared almost delicately, as if drifting into existence at the last possible moment. But its wings were wrong. They shifted, elongating into sharp, diamond-like edges. A translucent sphere shimmered into place around it, and the collision rang out.
Clang!
The sound was sharp and metallic, echoing across the deck like struck iron. The force of the impact rippled outward, rattling the air itself.
Below deck, footsteps were heard as the crew rushed upward.
By the time they arrived, however, the sky was empty once more.
The butterfly had vanished.
But not completely.
Demba's eyes narrowed slightly. Croix exhaled through his nose.
They could still feel it.
Farther now… but still there. Watching. Following.
"Captain… what was that?" one of the crewmates asked, glancing between the two.
Demba didn't hesitate.
"Nothing of note," he said flatly. "Just Croix trying out a new technique. He wanted me to see the results."
A pause.
"Now get back to what you were doing."
The crew exchanged uncertain looks but obeyed, slowly dispersing back to their duties.
Demba pushed himself off the railing without another word and made his way toward his chamber, leaving behind Croix and the trio, and gave them one last glance before entering his chambers.