Pale sunlight finally managed to pierce the curtain of grey fog, illuminating the deck of The Banshee's Wail with a sickly yellowish hue.
The ocean remained calm, yet this silence felt different from before. The suffocating presence of The Watcher was gone. The monster had returned to eternal darkness, but the trail it left upon the ship—and inside Elian—still felt palpably real.
Inside the narrow cargo cabin, Elian lay motionless in his hammock. His usually pale face now looked almost transparent. Dark circles under his eyes betrayed the heavy price he had paid to silence the Void chests the night before.
He lifted his left hand, staring at his index finger circled by the Ring of Weight.
"Does it still feel heavy?"
Lunaria's voice drifted from the doorway. The Elf Queen entered carrying a wooden tray with a bowl of clear broth and several silver-colored herbal leaves.
Elian tried to sit up, but every fiber of muscle in his body screamed in protest. His heart beat stiffly, pumping blood that felt thicker than usual.
"More than usual," Elian answered briefly. His voice was hoarse, barely a whisper.
Lunaria placed the tray on a small crate beside Elian. She reached out, touching Elian's forehead, then traced down to his wrist. Her violet eyes narrowed, analyzing the energy flow inside her student.
"Your blood," Lunaria whispered. "You used your blood to activate that seal. Who taught you?"
"No one," Elian stared at his own hand. "It... just felt right at the moment. Like water finding a crack in the earth. My blood seemed to know what to do."
Lunaria sighed deeply, a rare expression showing genuine anxiety. She took the silver leaves and began crushing them, then applied the pulp to Elian's nostrils to stem the residual internal bleeding.
"Listen to me well, Elian," Lunaria said with deadly seriousness. "You are a Child of the World. To you, blood isn't merely the fluid of life. Your blood is mana essence condensed into physical form. It is a catalyst that can destroy or build reality. Spilling it intentionally at your current age... is like burning down your own house just to get a flicker of light."
Elian fell silent. He recalled the sensation when his blood touched the salt. It wasn't the pain of blood loss, but a feeling of losing a fragment of his soul.
"Don't ever do it again unless there is no other choice," Lunaria asserted. "This world loves you, Elian. But it also demands a price for every miracle you ask of it."
***
By late afternoon, Elian forced himself out onto the deck. He knew if he stayed inside, his body would only grow stiffer under the ring's weight. He had to move.
When he emerged, the atmosphere on the ship had shifted.
There was no more crude laughter or mockery directed at him. The sailors who usually dismissed him as the "Mute Princess" now averted their gazes as he passed. There was respect in their eyes, mixed with pure fear.
To these sailors, Elian was no longer just a weak boy. He was a mysterious entity who could negotiate with the darkness.
"Eli!"
Jax waved from near the main mast. He was oiling the rigging. His face looked much fresher, though bandages still wrapped his calf from the Remora attack yesterday.
Elian walked closer, his steps dragging but stable. The weight of the Ring of Weight on this calm sea felt like dead weight trying to pull him straight through the floorboards to the bilge.
"Captain was looking for you earlier," Jax whispered when Elian was close. "But the Aunt (Lunaria) forbade anyone from entering your cabin. She looked terrifying, Eli. Like a storm taking a break."
Elian gave a small nod. He picked up a rag and began helping Jax oil the ropes, even though his left hand trembled every time he had to lift the heavy hemp line.
"Eli... about last night," Jax hesitated. "Thank you. I don't know what you did down there, but the moment you went down, that cold feeling that made me want to kill myself vanished."
Elian looked at Jax. He saw sincerity in the young man's eyes. Jax was one of the few people on this ship who still saw Elian as a human, not a tool or a monster.
"Just... luck," Elian signed with his hands (gestures Jax was beginning to understand).
"Luck, huh?" Jax chuckled, though his eyes remained serious. "In this sea, luck is the only valuable currency. Oh, by the way, Captain Barossa left this for you."
Jax handed him a small weapon sheath made of dried shark skin. Inside lay a jet-black whetstone with fine crystal grains.
"Basalt-Mana Whetstone," Jax said. "Very expensive. Good for keeping that Karambit of yours sharp. Captain said, 'A dull weapon is an insult to the sea'."
Elian accepted the gift. He could feel the weight of Captain Barossa's intent. The Captain knew the journey to the Kingdom of Noctis was still long, and the threats might not be over.
Suddenly, from the bow, a shout rang out.
"Land! I see the coastline!"
Elian and Jax turned simultaneously. Far on the western horizon, behind the remnants of the fog, a thin black line split the sea and sky. It wasn't Noctis, but the Broken Fang Islands, the last stopover before entering the territorial waters of the Kingdom.
Elian's heart trembled. Land meant one step closer to the Convent of Saint Marigold. One step closer to Elara.
However, amidst that small joy, Elian's Nature Sense picked up something wrong. Not from the sea, but from inside the ship.
He glanced at the bridge.
Silas, the Quartermaster, was watching him from a distance. The old man's eyes were no longer filled with explosive hatred, but were cold and calculating. Silas was clutching a bone charm that now glowed with a dim red light—the exact same color as the runes on the Void chests in the lower hold.
Silas wasn't just a superstitious sailor.
Elian squeezed the whetstone in his hand. He realized the betrayal that destroyed his family in the northern lands might have a web far wider than he imagined.
"The journey isn't over," Elian whispered to himself.
He went back to work, pulling the hemp rope with his ring-burdened hand, letting the pain forge his muscles. Every inch of progress he made against that weight was preparation for the real storm—a storm not born of nature, but of human greed.