There were quite a few landlubbers aboard the North Sea Ghost.
For example, the Khajiit J'zargo—his temperament was a bit catlike, and he absolutely refused to touch the water.
Skyl couldn't swim either. He had once witnessed a childhood friend drown, leaving him with a lingering psychological shadow. Even after all these years, he still hadn't fully let it go.
As captain, he found himself an excuse—like how many pirates can't swim. When you sail the sea, you treat the ship as your home; if you can't even defend your home, you might as well be dead.
Skyl adjusted his captain's hat and declared with utmost seriousness, "As the captain of the North Sea Ghost, I must have the resolve to live with the ship, and die with the ship!"
Dumbledore, hailing from the British Empire, smiled and applauded warmly. Back in the day, the Royal Navy's victory over the Spanish Armada—and the fame of ruling the seas—had relied on brave captains like that. This kind of honor tradition, dying with one's ship, was something you couldn't find in modern times.
Onmund muttered under his breath, "So after all that, you're just scared."
Skyl's gaze turned gloomy. Onmund was standing perfectly fine on the deck when, all of a sudden, his feet slipped for no reason at all. His body flew right over the railing, and dropped straight into the sea.
Brelyna covered her mouth, stifling a laugh. She stepped forward and lightly touched Skyl's wrist. "Mage Skyl, let me teach you."
"I can use Alteration spells. It's fine."
Lady Moonshadow came to his side and casually lifted her chest a little, silently asserting her big-sister status. "Why don't I teach you? As captain, not knowing how to swim won't do."
"Like you can," Skyl drawled, side-eyeing her. Moonshadow wasn't even used to walking—she usually floated in the air.
Moonshadow beamed. She stepped up onto the railing and, in a moment that left everyone dazzled, arched back and dropped. In the magical aura swirling around her, her long legs transformed into a silver fish tail. Fan-like bony spines unfurled from her ears; fine scales spread over her cheeks; gills opened along her neck; and thin webbing grew between her fingers. She entered the water gently, wrapped in glittering waves, and with a single flick of her tail, she shot away like an arrow.
Aranea leapt into the sea right after her.
People jumped off the deck in pairs and threes. Even Dumbledore, the old man, went into the water too—wearing a pink life ring.
J'zargo sprinted back to the stern to take the helm. At the bow, only Skyl and Brelyna remained.
"Mage Skyl… are you afraid?"
"Yes."
"Then that's good too. You still carry fear—so the world is still vivid to you."
"Aren't you going down for a swim?"
"Keeping you company while we enjoy the sea breeze is enough."
Every night, everyone gathered in the ship's cabin—chatting, playing cards, or discussing magic.
And that Azura's Star really ought to be repaired. The despicable necromancer Malyn still occupied the pocket of Oblivion within the gem, stubborn as a computer virus. Leaving him alone wouldn't cause any real trouble, but it was still an irritant you couldn't ignore.
Moonshadow entrusted the task to Dumbledore. "Azura will guide you to complete the purification."
She and Aranea set up a small shrine to Azura in the cabin, placing the shattered artifact on the offering table. Dumbledore stood before the shrine and waited—practically bursting with excitement, as though he'd become forty years younger.
Skyl was still worried about his professor's safety. After all, he was advanced in age, so—as usual—Skyl layered him in thick armor.
"Have a little faith in Azura," Moonshadow sighed helplessly.
Standing before the shrine, Dumbledore heard a woman's voice by his ear—slightly familiar, solemn and clear. It was the Daedric Prince Azura speaking to him.
"Greetings, mortal. You have followed in my footsteps through the veil of twilight, and you have rescued my Azura's Star from the hands of Malyn Varen. Now I will guide you inside, so you may destroy the criminal who has stolen my artifact."
"Gladly," Dumbledore said with a pleased nod.
Divine power wrapped around him. In the next instant he was transported into the interior of Azura's Star. The place looked like a crystalline archipelago, floating in a strange teal-blue void, brilliance flooding his sight. On a crystal islet ahead stood many Daedra, crowding around a human mage seated upon a throne.
That was Malyn Varen—the mad wizard who had abandoned his body and made himself king in this bizarre land of exile.
"Ah, my disciples have brought me food again—perfect timing, I'm hungry." Malyn strode to the edge of the islet and looked down at Dumbledore. "Why is it an old man again? Those crafty, lazy fools… Wait. You're different. You have a body!"
Dumbledore drew the Elder Wand. "Malyn who has done evil—your apprentices have been judged. You will not escape this day either."
"And who are you supposed to be? What right do you have to lecture me? I have conquered death and obtained immortality, and I even humiliated a Daedric Prince. This place is my realm of Oblivion now—no one will take it from me!"
Dumbledore shook his head. "Pitiful man. You never truly possessed this realm. You are nothing but a bandit squatting in an empty house—a thief who convinces himself he's the owner."
Malyn flew into a rage and ordered the Daedra to destroy the intruder with him.
With a crack, Dumbledore Apparated behind Malyn. He pointed the Elder Wand at him. "Petrificus Totalus!"
Malyn's body went rigid and toppled over like a board. He wasn't dead yet. The Daedra around him seized the chance, hurling destructive elements at Dumbledore.
Dumbledore Apparated again, pulling away to create distance. He faced the fallen Malyn, hesitation flickering across his expression.
One small spell now would be enough to take Malyn's life.
So—should he be judged?
He thought of the corpses by Lake Ilinalta.
Yes. He should be given death. Even Azkaban could not hold him.
"Confringo!"
Even with his Daedric servants swarming around him, Malyn died cleanly. He never even got to cast the magic he'd once been so proud of in retaliation.
That was what a battle of life and death was like. Warrior or spellcaster—without thorough preparation, victory and defeat were decided in an instant. And once you lost, no amount of regret could change anything.
As Malyn died, the magic binding this place collapsed with him. Azura's Star began to repair itself, to cleanse itself. The light around them surged like a rising tide. The Daedra swallowed by it perished one after another.
Dumbledore heard that faintly familiar voice again. "Mortal, you have done well. Now I will return you to Mundus."
Light flashed before his eyes, and the old wizard found himself back in the cabin of the North Sea Ghost. Everyone applauded, congratulating him on completing an adventure and returning safely.
On the offering table before the shrine, Azura's Star had already been restored. The oddly shaped gem radiated a mesmerizing brilliance, outshining every jewel in the world—more precious than all the British royal family's treasures combined. If someone made it into a crown or a scepter, it would be magnificent.
Moonshadow said to Dumbledore, "You may keep it. After you die, it will return to Azura's realm."
"Skyl, come—take a look at this artifact. Is it of any help to you?"
"Professor, you keep it." Skyl didn't care much. "Enchanted industry doesn't need a single Azura's Star. It needs endless ordinary soul gems."
And just like that, the matter was settled. Dumbledore had gained himself a divine artifact.
The ship followed the currents eastward. The easy, cheerful sea journey soon came to an end. Looking toward the southeastern horizon, Red Mountain on Vvardenfell was belching a towering pillar of smoke, staining half the sky a dirty gray-yellow.
"We're almost there—Solstheim," the navigator reported to the captain.
"Find a place to make landfall."
The North Sea Ghost slowly sailed into the harbor of Raven Rock.
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