The sparring deck slowly emptied.
Salt wind swept across the ship's upper platform, carrying away the last traces of scorched stone and lingering mana. Crew members returned to their duties, murmuring among themselves, stealing brief glances toward Noel and Marcus before looking away again.
Noel rested his forearms against the railing, eyes fixed on the endless sea ahead. The horizon was calm—too calm for what waited beyond it.
Marcus joined him a moment later, rolling his shoulders once, a satisfied grin still lingering on his face.
"…I needed that," Marcus said honestly. "Nothing clears my head like a good fight."
Noel glanced at him briefly, then back at the ocean. "Same."
Behind them, the group gathered loosely. Clara hovered near Marcus, pretending not to fuss while clearly checking for injuries. Laziel and Garron debated loudly over which exchange had been the most brutal, while Roberto declared—far too confidently—that he could "totally keep up next time."
