The crashing of waves echoed through the ship, a steady percussion beneath the storm. A few hours ago, the vessel had been alive with laughter and chatter, but now only footsteps moved through its corridors, soft and deliberate, echoing from one cabin to the next. Every room held sleepers who didn't know a thing about the night's visitors. Every room except Cabin D-6.
A hooded man crouched beside Marco's bunk, his shadow bending with the flicker of the lantern. He smiled faintly as he scribbled notes, the quill whispering against damp paper. He never sensed that death was standing less than a step behind him.
Comm on, man… sneaking around people's beds like this? Milo's fingers brushed the hilt hidden in his sleeve. If not for that quill, I'd have opened your throat. What the hell are you trying to test? He waited, breath steady, heartbeat keeping time with the storm. Maybe I should reveal myself now.
A voice called from the hall, half-muffled by wind. "Hey, why are you late?"
The man by the bunk straightened. "What can I say? We've got an outlier here. He almost escaped the Somnus Mist." Relief colored his tone.
"Are you sure he's not awake?" the one outside asked.
Milo tensed, weight shifting forward. Guess it's time to let them know I'm awake, but the next sentence froze him. "Are you kidding? If you tell me a participant has an antidote for the new version of Somnus Mist developed by Miss Lyla, that'd be heaven-defying."
Shit. Milo sank back into the shadows, knife lowering. I can't be 'heaven-defying' this early. Not when I'm still this weak. The thought tasted bitter, almost funny.
Footsteps scraped near the door again. "Come on, let's move. One outlier's enough. Think you'll find another?"
The man inside chuckled. "You're just jealous I found him first. Extra credit's mine." He gave the bunks a lazy sweep, ready to leave, then something caught his eye.
He crouched, holding up a small glass vial between two fingers. "Well, look at that. Empty potion bottle. The kid must've used this to stay conscious. Clever little bastard." His smile widened.
"Tch. Lucky you," the voice outside grumbled. "All I got were deadweights. Half of them didn't even need the Mist; they were already out cold from the banquet. And these are supposed to be our academy's elites? With juniors like this, we're doomed."
Their voices faded as they stepped into the corridor, boots thudding away until only the storm remained.
Milo stayed crouched in the dark, the faint glow of the lantern brushing his face. A crooked smile tugged at his lips, half satisfaction, half irritation. The storm might have been easing outside, but inside, his thoughts were louder than the sea.
The glass vial… damn it. It must have fallen when I rushed. Am I losing my edge? I hope it doesn't lead back to me.
***
On the entire ship, perhaps Milo was the only one who hadn't slept. The sea had calmed, but his mind hadn't. He sat on the edge of the bunk, watching the lantern light sway with the motion of the waves. Then, a deep clang tore through the silence.
The ship's bell rang again and again, its echo carried by the wind. A booming voice followed, rough and commanding. "Everyone to the deck within three hundred breaths!"
Milo exhaled through his nose. Finally.
***
Within minutes, the once-silent corridors filled with footsteps, curses, and hurried voices. The storm's chill lingered in the air as students stumbled from their cabins, still half-dazed from sleep. When Milo stepped onto the deck, sunlight stabbed through the thinning clouds, turning the wet planks to sheets of gold.
The students gathered in uneven lines, some still yawning, others straight-backed and eager. Seems I'm the only one aware of what happened last night. Milo's eyes moved over faces too relaxed for what they'd endured.
An instructor stepped forward, cloak snapping in the wind. His voice carried clearly across the crowd. "In about an hour, we'll arrive at the island town of Cliverland. Prepare accordingly."
He paused, eyes scanning the rows. "There's good news and bad news. Bad news first—because of certain circumstances, the Cliverland Academy cannot receive you at the port. Neither can we accompany you." Murmurs rose immediately, whispers rolling like a low tide.
"So," he continued, tone even, "you'll travel to the academy on your own."
That silenced them.
"The good news: each of you will be provided with travel funds. Hire a cart, take a ferry, rent a beast, whatever means you prefer. And for the miserly ones among you…" His mouth twitched into a smile. "You can always walk."
A ripple of laughter broke across the deck. Even the sea breeze seemed lighter for a moment.
He let them have it before speaking again, voice hardening slightly. "The final qualification test begins three days from now. If you travel on foot, you'll still make it in time, assuming you don't get lost or eaten."
That earned another round of chuckles, softer this time, as excitement spread through the group.
"Well," the instructor said, clapping his hands once. "You've earned it. Before we part ways, you'll each receive an Academy Medallion. It'll serve as your identification at Cliverland."
He gestured toward a crate beside him, where other staff began handing out small, rune-etched medallions.
A student raised his hand. "Sir! Will they be ranked?"
The instructor's smile flattened. "No. They're the same for all. It's just an identifier for those who have been selected for the final test. You all start from zero in the finals, regardless of how well you did before."
A timid voice of a girl came from Milo's back. "But… if you can't come with us, what if something happens on the road?"
Before the instructor could answer, Cannon turned sharply, his tone dripping with disdain. "If you fear minor danger, maybe cultivation isn't for you."
Her shoulders hunched, face flushing as she lowered her head.
The instructor's eyes flicked toward Cannon, faint amusement in them. "Well said! Besides, it's not that we don't want to go, we simply can't. We have our own evaluations for promotion. None of us has time to act as your nanny."
A gust swept across the deck, carrying salt and sunlight. The instructor's expression softened again. "That's all. Disperse and prepare. We dock soon."
He smiled once more and strode away, coat billowing behind him.
Milo watched him leave, fingers brushing the cool metal of the medallion now hanging from his neck. The runes pulsed faintly under his touch, warm against the skin.
***
After what felt like an hour, three figures stood before the port: Milo, Marco, and Lily, their shadows stretching long across the wooden planks. Morning sunlight spilled over the sea, turning the waves to ribbons of molten silver. Behind them, the ship's ropes creaked and gulls wheeled above, crying for scraps.
Before them lay Cliverland, the port town closest to Brinewall, a place larger and more lively than Driftmoor but still carrying the raw scent of salt and ambition. The air was thick with motion. Dockhands shouted orders as crates thudded onto carts. Fishermen hauled nets heavy with spirit fish, their scales glimmering faintly under the light. Nearby, hawkers balanced trays of fried shrimp and skewered eels, the sizzling aroma fighting against the stench of tar and seaweed.
They stepped forward, swallowed by the crowd. The cobbled street beyond the docks wound upward through rows of weathered timber houses, their shutters half open to the sea breeze. Red and blue banners hung from balconies, flapping lazily above the chaos below. Vendors lined every inch of space, selling smoked meat, fresh fruit, and charms carved from bone. The sound of bargaining rose and fell like the tide itself.
A forge near the crossroads added its own rhythm to the town's morning chorus. Sparks burst into the air as the blacksmith hammered at a glowing blade, sweat darkening his apron. The scent of hot iron mingled with spice and roasted grain, drifting from nearby taverns. The signboards of lodges creaked softly in the wind, promising warm meals and soft beds for a few coins more than they were worth.
Carriages rumbled by, pulled by shaggy, horned beasts or sleek, scaled lizards harnessed like horses. A few adventurers clattered past in armor, laughter echoing behind them, while street urchins darted between legs, clutching half-eaten fruit. Deep somewhere in the town, a flute played faintly over the din.
Milo paused at the edge of it all, eyes narrowed slightly. A world that breathes in noise and trade, he thought. Louder than Driftmoor—richer, too… and it's just a side island. How grand Brinewall would be?
The port buzzed with energy, alive in every direction.
"Come quickly! Book the cart and leave before the prices rise!"
"Forget that; let's enjoy the town. We've got two days!"
"Find an inn first!"
"I'm starving. Let's eat something!"
Dozens of voices clashed behind them, each group arguing its own plan. Milo didn't bother to turn; the crowd's excitement rolled past him like the tide.
"Oh… It's only three of you left." The voice came from behind, light and teasing. It was Pixie. She leaned against a wooden post, her grin catching the morning light. "See, brother? There's still time. Why don't you join our group? Even Melody has joined our group." She pointed, looking at Melody, who could only lower her head.
Marco didn't bother looking at her and spoke directly. "No, thank you."
She pouted and turned away, her boots tapping against the wet planks. Cannon followed her, the corner of his mouth curled into a devilish smile that lingered on too long. Milo only lowered his head, letting it pass.
"So, what's the plan now?" Lily asked, voice sharp with irritation.
Marco tightened the strap of his pack and looked around. "Find a place to stay first." He glanced at Milo.
Milo didn't answer. His eyes followed the movement of the harbor: crates being hauled, gulls circling, steam rising from a food stall nearby. The smell of fried shrimp, sea salt, and oil mingled in the air.
"It's that paranoia again," Lily muttered, brushing hair from her face. "You've been overthinking recently. When did that start?"
"Oh, my Queen of Alchemy," Milo said, his tone dry. "A talentless man like me has to be cautious in every step. Not everyone can relax gracefully, but even if you fail, you'll still have a cauldron to cry into."
Lily's glare softened into disbelief. "Back to shameless again, huh?"
Marco laughed, dodging a passing cart pulled by a horned beast. "Don't overthink. Let's ask around and see how far Cliverland Academy really is. If it's close, we can rest and enjoy a bit."
Lily nodded, but Milo's next words came slowly. "Do you remember what the instructor said about the medallion?"
"Yeah," she replied, confused. "It's just proof we passed the prelims."
"What happens if someone loses it?"
She blinked. "No one's that careless, Milo."
Marco caught Milo's glance and became alert, realizing something. He turned toward Lily. "Just humor him. What would you do if it disappeared?"
Lily hesitated. "They're all the same, so… we'd have no way to tell whose is whose." Her voice trailed off, realization dawning.
"We may not lose it, but what if someone stole it?" Marco said, his expression hardening. "After all, the fewer the participants, the less the competition."
"Exactly," Milo murmured. He lifted a hand, pointing toward the docks. "Look at that flag."
A black-and-gold banner snapped in the wind above a nearby ship. Lily's eyes widened. "Morgoth Academy."
"Right. We're not the only ones here." His tone remained even. "Even if every Driftmoor student banded together, which won't happen, the Morgoth group might decide to steal from us to cut off their competitor."
The realization settled over them like a chill. Marco and Lily instinctively gripped their medallions.
"Assuming the test has already begun," Milo said, voice lower. "we're still missing two academies. Even if Northriver Academy arrives late, Cliverland Academy must be involved. So why haven't we seen them?"
Marco's frown deepened. "You're right. Our academy's head and teachers will never agree if only Driftmoor Academy has to undergo this elimination."
"Exactly. We're missing information." Milo's gaze flicked to Marco's ration bag, then the gold pouch tied to his belt. "Use what we brought. Spend as little as possible until we know what's happening."
"Regarding the medallion…" He pulled it out, then slipped it inside his waistband and put it where his family jewels were.
"You're disgusting, Milo," both Marco and Lily spoke in unison.
"Isn't it the safest place where no one will try to steal it? Heck! Even if I give it to them, I doubt they will take it." Milo laughed.
After some thought, Marco did the same as Milo, while Lily slipped the medallion beneath her coat and let it rest flat against her chest, where no thief would think to search.
"Let's rent a temporary place first. I have a plan…" Milo smiled as if he were back in his game.
***
Inside a closed cabin, far from the noise of the deck, a woman sat at a narrow desk. The lantern beside her flickered weakly, its flame bending with each roll of the ship. In her hand, an almost-empty vial caught the light, a trace of translucent liquid clinging to its rim. She brought it to her nose, inhaled, then took a careful sip. A faint shiver ran down her spine.
"It's too strong…" she murmured. "No matter what variation of Somnus Mist I craft, this would prevent sleep entirely. It could even counter higher-grade potions." Her lips curved into a small, delighted smile. "What a brilliant formulation."
Setting the vial down, she reached for the parchment beside it. The heading read: Participants, Cabin D-6.
"Hmm…" her voice softened, becoming analytical. "Only one child, Marco, showed partial resistance. The rest succumbed within moments." Her gaze drifted back to the vial, the smile fading. "But that can't be right."
She tapped the parchment with a gloved finger, irritation creeping into her tone. "It seems the instructors weren't thorough. The true mind among the participants slipped right past their shallow eyes." The lantern light trembled as she leaned closer, eyes narrowing in thought. The sharp scent of the potion residue still lingered on her lips.
"Who are you, really?" she whispered. "No matter how well one hides, a true diamond can't stay buried forever. Polished or not, it shines."
Her irritation melted into something sharper, almost reverent. She brushed her thumb across the glass vial, watching the last drop cling to its edge.
"I'll find you," she breathed, a smile ghosting across her face. "Soon enough… you'll be mine."