Dawn arrived without warmth.

A flat, gray light seeped through low clouds and spread across the deck, revealing the aftermath in full. Blood had been scrubbed away where it could, diluted by seawater and time, but the marks of the battle remained. Bent railings leaned inward like broken ribs. Hairline fractures ran along sections of the deck where stone and lightning had struck. One sail hung partially slack, its enchantments intact but strained.

The sea itself was calm.

Not peacefully so—more like something holding its breath.

Noel stood near the center of the deck, arms crossed loosely as he listened to reports come in. His posture was steady, but his eyes tracked everything: the way sailors moved more carefully now, the way some avoided looking at the water, the way fatigue sat heavy even on those still standing.

"Twelve injured total," Elyra said, closing a glowing sigil with a flick of her fingers. "Four serious. None critical anymore."

None dead.

That fact still mattered.

Charlotte knelt nearby, finishing with the last of the lightly wounded. Her movements were slower now, measured, her breathing controlled but unmistakably tired. Soft radiance faded from her hands as she sealed the final cut and helped the sailor to his feet.

"There," she said gently. "That one will ache, but it won't reopen."

"Thank you, Saint," the man replied, voice hoarse with emotion rather than pain.

Charlotte smiled, warm but subdued, and waited until he was gone before sitting back on her heels for a moment. Noel noticed how she rested her hands on her knees, how she took an extra breath before standing again.

Elena moved along the inner hull without pause. Thick roots spread from her palms, weaving into cracks along the ship's frame and hardening into bark-like reinforcement. Where metal had warped, living supports formed beneath it, temporary but strong.

"The hull's fine," Elena reported. "Superficial damage only. Nothing that compromises integrity."

"That's a relief," Marcus muttered. "I'd rather not swim out here."

Elyra turned back to Noel. "Mana expenditure's within acceptable limits overall. You burned a lot, but you're stable. Charlotte's the most drained."

Noel nodded once, acknowledging it without comment.

At the helm, Captain Gustave never stopped adjusting course. His eyes remained forward, hands steady on the wheel as if the night hadn't tried to tear his ship apart.

"We don't stop," he said calmly when Noel approached. "Repairs continue while we move. Slowing down out here invites worse than what we just faced."

Noel studied the horizon, then the crew moving with renewed purpose despite exhaustion.

"Understood," he replied. "We keep going."

The deck had quieted into a tense, working silence.

Crew members moved with purpose now, not panic—hauling damaged rope aside, reinforcing bent railings, scrubbing blood from the planks before it could dry into something harder to forget. The ship cut through the water without deviation, sails catching the weak morning wind as if nothing had tried to drag them under hours ago.

Noel stood near the helm, watching the horizon rather than the work behind him.

Captain Gustave remained at his post, hands resting on the wheel with the same unyielding calm as before. His eyes never left the sea ahead, but he was aware of Noel the moment he approached.

"You noticed it too," Gustave said, not a question.

Noel nodded. "They weren't reckless. Not once. Every push came after a hesitation. Every surge followed confusion." He exhaled slowly. "That wasn't an ambush meant to sink us."

Gustave's jaw tightened faintly. "No. If they wanted this ship gone, you wouldn't be standing here counting injured."

Noel leaned an arm against the railing beside the helm. "They tested us."

"Yes," Gustave agreed. "Leadership. Reaction time. Whether your people panic when the first scream hits the deck." His grip shifted slightly on the wheel. "Whether command fractures when doubt creeps in."

Noel's gaze hardened. "The song was aimed at breaking chains of command. Not minds at random. It tried to make people question orders, hear alternatives, believe they were acting independently."

Gustave finally glanced at him then, sharp-eyed. "Which means it was listening."

The words settled heavier than the fog.

"The timing was too clean," Gustave continued. "Too measured. Creatures like that don't usually coordinate so precisely unless something is guiding them. This wasn't a feeding frenzy." A pause. "It was observation."

Noel said nothing at first. He watched the sea roll on, deceptively calm, as if it hadn't tried to peel his thoughts apart hours earlier.

"They wanted to see how we respond under pressure," Noel said at last. "Who gives orders. Who hesitates. Who holds the line."

"And who changes the flow of battle," Gustave added quietly.

Noel's fingers tightened once against the railing. "Then they got their answer."

Gustave faced forward again, voice steady as stone. "Yes," he said. "And that's the problem."

Noel turned to him. "Why?"

The captain didn't look back.

"Because now," Gustave said, calmly and without drama, "they know how you fight."

The ship moved on beneath a dull, overcast sky, its pace steady, almost stubborn. The sea remained calm—too calm—but for now, no one challenged it.

Marcus leaned against a bent section of railing, arms folded, gaze fixed on the horizon. He rolled his shoulders once, then let out a breath that was half a laugh and half something heavier.

"Well," he said, breaking the silence, "that was unpleasant."

No one bit at the joke right away.

He glanced back toward the deck, where sailors were still being checked over, where Elena's roots reinforced splintered planks and Charlotte moved more slowly now, carefully. Marcus' expression sobered.

"…I'm not exaggerating," he added, quieter. "If Noel hadn't taken control when he did, we'd be drifting right now. Or worse."

Selene stood a short distance away, arms crossed, eyes unfocused as if she were still listening for something that wasn't there anymore. Her brow was faintly furrowed.

"The pressure wasn't brute force," she said at last. "It was alignment. The song wasn't trying to overwhelm us—it was trying to synchronize us incorrectly." She paused. "I've studied similar principles back in Iskandar. High-level control magic works the same way. You don't break the mind. You redirect it."

Marcus clicked his tongue. "That's somehow worse."

"It is," Selene replied calmly. "Because you don't realize you're being led until you're already moving."

Near the starboard side, Garron stood with his back to the mast, eyes scanning the water endlessly.

"Didn't like it," he muttered. "Give me beasts. Give me armor. Something I can hit and know it stays hit." His jaw tightened. "That thing… it didn't fight fair."

Laziel snorted nervously, rubbing his hands together. "Yeah, well, you say that now, but for a second there—just a second—I swear I heard—" He stopped himself, grimacing. "Never mind."

Noel looked at him.

Laziel sighed. "Someone I knew," he admitted. "Voice sounded real enough that I almost answered. Almost." He swallowed. "Didn't realize how close that was until it stopped."

That earned a quiet nod from several nearby crew.

No one had screamed about it. No one had panicked openly.

But everyone had felt it.

Marcus straightened slightly and looked around at the group, at the quiet, at the way no one quite stood where they had before.

"…Guess that's the real damage," he said. "Not the blood."

Selene exhaled slowly. "No," she agreed. "It got inside. Even briefly."

Noel listened to them all without interrupting.

'No one walked away untouched,' he thought. 'That was the point.'

The ship creaked softly as it continued north, carrying a crew that had survived—and knew, now, exactly how close they'd come to not doing so.

The main deck was quieter than it had been in hours.

Not empty—never empty on a ship like this—but subdued. Voices stayed low. Movements were deliberate. Even the sea seemed to respect the mood, rolling beneath the hull in slow, measured swells as if unwilling to draw attention to itself.

Noel stood near the center of the deck with the others gathered loosely around him.

Not a formal meeting. He hadn't called for one. But everyone who mattered had drifted there on their own.

Elyra spoke first, adjusting one of the faintly glowing sigils etched into the planks before letting the mana settle.

"The stabilization held," she said. "Footing, cohesion, command flow. Everything worked as intended." Her expression remained composed, but her eyes were sharp. "That said—this pace isn't sustainable. If we're forced into prolonged engagements back to back, mana depletion becomes a real risk. Especially for support roles."

Charlotte didn't argue. She stood a step back from the group, hands folded loosely in front of her, face calm but visibly tired. She met Noel's eyes for a brief moment and smiled faintly, as if to say she was fine.

He didn't look convinced.

"We don't chase," Noel said, voice even. "Ever. Not into the water, not into fog, not onto unknown terrain."

Marcus nodded immediately. Garron grunted his agreement.

"No splitting up," Noel continued. "No heroics. If something pulls back, we let it go. We survive by staying together."

His hand rested briefly on Revenant Fang at his side.

"And lightning stays ready," he added. "At all times. If the song returns, I want it disrupted before it finishes its first note."

No one questioned that either.

Captain Gustave cleared his throat softly from the helm.

"We maintain course," he said. "Repairs will continue while we move. Superficial damage only—nothing that'll slow us down."

He paused, eyes fixed ahead.

"One or two days," he went on. "That's when the islands start showing themselves. Not all at once. Not clearly. But once they do… the sea stops being the main concern."

A thin veil of mist drifted across the northern horizon, barely visible in the gray light.

The ship sailed toward it regardless.

Forward.

Not back.

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