The ship sailed in silence.
Not the comfortable kind Vale had begun to recognize, but a heavier one—measured, deliberate. Orders were given in short phrases. Movements were precise. No one joked. No one laughed.
Vale stood near the railing, eyes fixed on the water sliding past the hull.
The pressure in his chest was steady again. Controlled. But it no longer felt neutral. It felt watched.
"You crossed a line," Papaya said quietly, joining him.
Vale didn't turn. "The boy was being hurt."
Papaya nodded. "I know."
"Then why—"
"Because this isn't land," Papaya interrupted. "And it isn't the open sea either. That place doesn't forgive mistakes."
Vale clenched his jaw. "So we let people suffer?"
Papaya sighed. "We survive."
That answer sat poorly in Vale's stomach.
Captain DD didn't call Vale immediately.
That made it worse.
Hours passed. The crew rotated duties. Food was served. Vale barely tasted it. Every creak of the ship sounded like judgment.
Alfred watched him quietly.
"You won't win this by arguing," Alfred said at last.
"I'm not trying to win," Vale replied. "I'm trying to understand."
Alfred's gaze sharpened. "Those aren't always compatible."
Before Vale could respond, Papaya returned.
"Captain wants you," he said. "Now."
The captain's quarters were simple.
A table bolted to the floor. Maps secured by weights. A lantern casting steady light. No decoration. No excess.
Captain DD stood with his back to the door, staring at the map.
"You acted without permission," he said without turning.
Vale stood straight. "Yes."
"You used something you don't understand," DD continued. "In a place where misunderstanding gets people killed."
Vale swallowed. "He was hurting a child."
Captain DD turned slowly.
"And you decided that made you responsible for everything that followed."
Vale met his gaze. "I decided it mattered."
For a long moment, Captain DD said nothing.
Then he nodded once.
"That," he said, "is exactly the problem."
Vale frowned. "What problem?"
Captain DD stepped closer. "Power doesn't care about your reasons. It only cares about your reach."
The pressure in Vale's chest stirred faintly, as if listening.
"On my ship," DD continued, "there is one rule above all others."
He tapped the table once.
"No one creates consequences they can't carry."
Vale's fists tightened. "So I should have done nothing?"
"No," DD said calmly. "You should have waited."
"Waited for what?" Vale snapped. "Permission to be human?"
Captain DD's eyes hardened.
"Permission to not burn the deck under your own feet."
Silence filled the room.
Alfred spoke from the corner. "He's new."
DD glanced at him. "That's why he's still alive."
Vale exhaled slowly. "Then tell me where the line is."
Captain DD studied him for a long moment.
"You don't decide on land," he said. "You don't decide in neutral waters. And you never decide in places you don't control."
He leaned in slightly.
"If you want to decide… earn ground first."
The words landed heavily.
Vale was dismissed without punishment.
That disturbed him more than if he'd been beaten.
The crew's reactions were mixed.
Some avoided him. Others watched with curiosity. A few nodded in quiet approval.
At night, Vale lay awake in his hammock, staring into darkness.
The pressure in his chest pulsed slowly.
No one creates consequences they can't carry.
He tested it—just a little.
He focused on the crate near his hammock.
Nothing happened.
He focused on the rope beside it.
Nothing.
Then he focused on the ship itself.
The pressure responded—not violently, but firmly. Like a door refusing to open.
Vale released his breath.
I can't claim what claims others.
The realization settled deep.
The next morning, the sea changed.
Waves grew heavier. The wind shifted. The ship adjusted course.
Papaya approached Vale with a coil of rope. "Captain's giving you work."
Vale took it. "What kind?"
"The kind that tells us what you're made of."
They moved to the side deck where cargo nets hung low over the water. The task was simple: secure, lift, inspect.
Vale worked carefully, listening to instructions, watching how others moved. He followed every rule. Asked permission before touching shared tools.
The pressure stayed calm.
At one point, a crate slipped.
Instinct screamed at him to grab it.
He hesitated.
"Hold!" Papaya shouted.
Three sailors moved together, catching the crate safely.
Papaya glanced at Vale. "Good call."
Vale nodded, heart pounding.
Restraint, he realized, is also a choice.
Later that day, Alfred joined him near the bow.
"You're adjusting," Alfred said.
Vale stared at the horizon. "I don't like the idea that doing the right thing depends on territory."
Alfred smiled faintly. "That's because you still think in absolutes."
Vale frowned. "And you don't?"
"I think in costs," Alfred replied. "Who pays. How much. And whether they survive it."
Vale was quiet for a long moment.
"Do you?" he asked.
Alfred met his gaze. "I try to."
As dusk fell, Captain DD gathered the crew.
"We're approaching the outer islands," he announced. "Different waters. Different rules."
His eyes found Vale.
"What you did yesterday," DD said, "would have started a war here."
A murmur rippled through the crew.
Vale stiffened.
"But," DD continued, "it also showed restraint when it mattered."
He nodded once. "You stay."
Relief mixed with unease in Vale's chest.
The pressure pulsed—not approval, not warning.
Expectation.
That night, Vale stood alone at the railing.
The sea stretched endlessly before him, dark and alive.
He understood now.
His power wasn't about taking.
It was about deciding when not to.
And somewhere ahead—beyond these waters—there would be places where the line wasn't just unclear…
…but deliberately erased.
Vale tightened his grip on the rail.
When that moment came, waiting would no longer be an option.