The secondary dock of Dead Ledger looked more like a graveyard than a marketplace. The ships tied there weren't being sold for their history or beauty, but for one simple reason: they could still float.
Caelum walked a few steps behind Nami and Carina, hands in his pockets, scanning the vessels with quiet unease. To him, they all looked fragile. After months surviving on driftwood and scraps, trusting his life to another piece of wood didn't come easily.
—That one's too big —Nami said, pointing at an old caravel—. Three people can't handle something like that. And it draws too much attention.
—And that one's too expensive —Carina added, eyeing a sleek, well-maintained boat—. We need something that looks like junk… but isn't.
Caelum didn't argue. He wasn't a sailor, and he knew it. But he had learned to trust small details—the way things felt, the way they held together.
At the far end of the dock, almost forgotten, they found it.
A small sloop, tied loosely with a worn rope that looked like it might snap if the wind picked up. Its wood was darkened by salt and time, and its sail had been patched so many times it looked like a quilt of survival.
Caelum stepped closer.
He didn't inspect it like an expert. Instead, he rested his hand on the railing. For a moment, he just stood there, feeling it. The faint hum he had learned to recognize ran through the metal fittings.
It wasn't loose.
—This one… feels steady —he said simply.
Nami glanced at him, then jumped aboard without hesitation.
She walked across the deck, testing the planks, pulling lightly at the rigging. Carina followed, peeking into the cabin.
—It's ugly —Carina said—, but it works.
—Ugly is good —Nami replied.
The seller showed up soon after. A man who smelled like cheap tobacco and bad luck.
He started high, as expected.
Nami didn't let him finish.
—The mast is crooked —she said, tapping it with her staff—. The sail's patched beyond saving. And the paint? I've seen better on a broken barrel.
Carina leaned against the railing, arms crossed, looking unimpressed.
—Honestly, we're doing you a favor taking this off your hands.
Caelum stayed silent, standing nearby. He wasn't trying to look intimidating, but between his height, his calm expression, and the faint tension in the air around him, the seller kept glancing his way.
After a few minutes, the price dropped. Then dropped again.
In the end, they got the sloop for far less than it was worth.
It didn't have a name. Just a faded registration number barely visible on the stern.
They set sail that same night.
The sea was calm, but the boat creaked with every movement, each sound making Caelum's shoulders tense slightly. Old habits—listening for things going wrong—were hard to shake.
Nami took control of the sail without hesitation, adjusting it with practiced hands. Carina handled the ropes, moving quickly and efficiently.
They didn't need to explain things to each other.
Caelum watched for a while, then moved below deck.
The space was small, but usable. A narrow sleeping area, a storage corner, and just enough room to sit without hitting your head if you were careful.
He crouched near the base of the mast, running his fingers along the metal fastenings.
They were worn. Not broken—but not perfect either.
He focused, letting just a little heat gather in his fingertips. Nothing wild, nothing visible. Just enough.
The metal expanded slightly under the warmth, tightening its grip.
He moved to the next one. Then another.
It wasn't about power. It was about small improvements.
By the time he was done, the structure felt… quieter.
—Better —he muttered to himself.
Not perfect. But better.
When he returned to the deck, the sky was beginning to lighten.
Nami stood at the helm, eyes on the horizon.
—You did something down there —she said without turning.
Caelum leaned against the railing.
—Just fixed a few loose parts.
Nami adjusted the sail slightly. The boat responded smoother this time.
—Huh.
Carina emerged from below, stretching as she yawned.
—So this is our new home? —she said, looking around—. Not bad. I've seen worse.
She leaned on the railing, smirking at Caelum.
—Now that we have a boat, I hope you're planning to be useful, "steam man." Because unless you've been hiding a secret talent, we've got a long trip ahead.
Caelum exhaled softly, looking out at the open sea.
A few months ago, he wouldn't have imagined this. Not the ocean, not the danger, not the strange energy in his body.
And definitely not this.
Two girls who didn't trust him—but didn't push him away either.
A fragile boat that somehow felt like a step forward.
—Yeah —he said quietly—. I'll figure something out.
Nami gave a small, almost approving glance.
Carina just smiled.
The wind shifted slightly, filling the patched sail.
The little sloop moved forward, cutting through the water—not fast, not impressive, but steady.
For now, that was enough.
Caelum rested his hands on the railing, feeling the rhythm of the sea beneath his feet.
He wasn't lost anymore.
Not completely.
And for the first time in a long while, that was enough to keep moving forward.