The boat was barely seaworthy.
Sejin found it tied to a rotting pier on the eastern edge of Jeju Isle—a fishing skiff, maybe twenty feet long, with a cracked mast and a sail patched more times than he could count. No oars. No supplies. No map.
It was enough.
He untied the rope, pushed off, and let the current take him.
The island shrank behind him. First a mountain, then a hill, then a grey smudge on the horizon. The smoke from the burning warehouse faded into the clouds. By noon, Jeju Isle was gone.
Sejin sat in the bottom of the boat, back against the gunwale, and stared at the empty sea.
"You're bleeding again," The Other said.
Sejin looked down. The shadow-threads holding his shoulder together had frayed. Fresh blood seeped through his coat. His left arm—the broken one—hung at an unnatural angle. His ribs ground together when he breathed.
"I know."
"You'll need to reset the arm. Sew the wounds. Find fresh water. Food. All before nightfall, or you'll die of infection."
"I know."
"Then why aren't you moving?"
Sejin closed his eyes.
"Because I'm tired."
"You slept for three hours."
"Not that kind of tired."
---
He didn't know how long he sat there.
The sun moved across the sky. The waves rocked the boat. The wind whispered through the patched sail, carrying salt and the distant smell of smoke—his smoke, Jeju's smoke, the smoke of a Lord he had erased from existence.
Sejin's hands began to shake.
Not from cold. Not from blood loss. From something deeper, something he had been ignoring for seven years.
Fear.
Not of death. He had died three times. Death was an old acquaintance, boring and predictable.
Fear of himself.
The Other had killed Lord Park with a touch. One finger. A word. And the Lord—a man who had ruled Jeju Isle for twenty years, who had commanded armies, who had been untouchable—had become nothing.
Sejin had watched it happen.
He had allowed it to happen.
"If I let you out again," Sejin whispered, "will I wake up?"
The Other was silent.
That was the answer.
Sejin pulled his knees to his chest. The motion sent fire through his broken ribs. He didn't care. He wrapped his arms around himself—his good arm, his broken arm, both trembling—and pressed his forehead to his knees.
He didn't cry.
He hadn't cried since he was seven, since his mother turned to dust between his fingers. He wasn't sure he remembered how.
But something wet ran down his cheeks.
Rain, maybe.
The sky was clear.
---
"You're having a breakdown," The Other observed after a long silence.
Sejin didn't answer.
"I've seen this before. Every vessel breaks eventually. Some scream. Some pray. Some throw themselves into the sea. You just... sit there. It's almost impressive."
"Shut up."
"No. Listen to me. You're alive. The Lord is dead. You won."
"I didn't win. You won."
"Same body. Same result. The distinction is meaningless."
Sejin raised his head. His eyes were red. His cheeks were wet. He didn't wipe them.
"Then why do I feel like I lost?"
The Other didn't answer.
---
The sun was low when Sejin finally moved.
He unbuttoned his coat, stripped off his shirt, and looked at his body. Bruises covered his torso like a map of pain. The arrow wound in his shoulder was the worst—the shadow-threads had held, but the flesh around them was black with decay. Infection. He had hours, not days.
His left forearm was bent at an angle that made his stomach turn.
"Reset the arm first. The pain will clear your head."
Sejin grabbed his left wrist with his right hand. Took a breath. Pulled.
The bone snapped back into place.
He didn't scream. He had learned not to scream years ago. But his vision went white for a long moment, and when it cleared, he was on his back, gasping, tasting blood where he had bitten his tongue.
"Good. Now the shoulder."
Sejin found a fishing knife in the bottom of the boat. Rusted. Blunt. It would have to do.
He cut away the dead flesh around the arrow wound. The knife was dull—he had to saw, not slice. Each pass sent shockwaves through his chest. He bit down on his coat sleeve to keep from crying out.
The shadow-threads unraveled as he cut. Fresh blood flowed. He packed the wound with a strip of his shirt, tied it tight with another strip, and prayed to gods he didn't believe in.
"You're going to scar," The Other said.
"I'm already scars."
"Fair point."
---
Night fell.
The sea turned black. The stars came out—thousands of them, cold and distant, watching him with the same indifference as the gods he didn't believe in. Sejin lay in the bottom of the boat, wrapped in his coat, shivering despite the warmth.
He had no food. No water. No destination.
He was drifting.
"There's an island three days east," The Other said. "I can feel it. Source residue. Vessels live there."
"More Lords?"
"Stronger ones. Much stronger. The Lord of Jeju was a minor noble. A cockroach. The Vessels on this island... they are wolves."
Sejin closed his eyes. "Good."
"Good? You can barely stand. You have no Source left. You're alone, adrift, and starving. And you say 'good'?"
"If they're stronger, they might kill me."
"Yes."
"Then I won't have to wake up tomorrow."
The Other was silent for a long moment.
"You don't mean that."
Sejin didn't answer.
---
He dreamed again.
Not of his mother this time. Of the street. The Vessels. The shadow field. He watched himself from above, a broken puppet moving through darkness, killing men who had families, who had names, who had futures.
In the dream, one of the Vessels didn't run.
He turned to face Sejin. His face was young—younger than Sejin, maybe fifteen. His Ignis aura flickered weakly. He was afraid.
"Why?" the boy asked.
Sejin didn't have an answer.
The boy raised his hands. Not to attack. To plead. "I didn't want to be here. The Lord made us. We had no choice. Please—"
Sejin's shadow blade moved on its own.
The boy fell.
Sejin woke up gasping, drenched in sweat, his heart pounding so hard he could feel it in his throat.
"Nightmare," The Other said. "You're having nightmares now. Progress."
"That boy—"
"Was going to kill you. He had a fireball behind his back. I saw it. You didn't. I killed him to save you. You're welcome."
Sejin pressed his palms to his eyes. "I didn't ask you to save me."
"You never do. That's the problem."
---
Dawn came slowly, painting the sea in shades of gold and grey.
Sejin sat up. His body was stiff, his wounds throbbing, but he was alive. He didn't know why that disappointed him.
He looked east.
The horizon was empty. No islands. No ships. No hope.
"There," The Other said.
Sejin squinted. A speck. Small, distant, but growing larger. A ship. Black sails. Silver trim.
"Silvercrest," The Other said. "Lux Vessels. Light users. They hunt Umbra like you."
Sejin watched the ship approach.
"Should I run?"
"Where? You're on a boat with no oars."
"Then what do I do?"
The ship was close enough now to see the figures on deck. Armed. Armored. Their Source auras glowed white and gold—Lux, pure and blinding.
"You do what you always do," The Other said. "You survive."
Sejin stood. His legs shook. He ignored them.
The ship pulled alongside his skiff. A woman looked down at him—platinum hair, cold blue eyes, a scar on her chin. She wore white and silver, and her Source burned like a small sun.
"Sejin Yun," she said. "You're a long way from home."
"I don't have a home."
The woman smiled. It didn't reach her eyes.
"Neither do we. That's why we're going to be friends."