Fourteen days at sea taught me something I never expected to learn.

The ocean had a rhythm.

Not a metaphor or some poetic observation — an actual, physical rhythm that the ship moved to. Rise and fall, rise and fall. The creak of wood against water. The snap of sails catching wind. Even the shouting of crew members seemed to follow patterns, the same calls repeated at the same times each day.

'If someone told me two months ago that I'd be analyzing ocean patterns while hanging off the side of a ship trying not to vomit... actually, no. I wouldn't have believed any part of that sentence.'

The seasickness had been brutal for the first few weeks. Every time I tried to look at the vast body of water stretching endlessly in all directions, my head would swim and my stomach would rebel. The crew found this endlessly entertaining. That worker with the curved mustache — I'd learned his name was Garrett — made it his personal mission to describe his breakfast in vivid detail whenever he saw me near the railing.

But somewhere around day ten, something shifted.

I'd been doing my morning routine on deck — push-ups, planks, the whole masochistic circuit Kassie had prescribed — when I realized I wasn't fighting the ship's movement anymore. I was moving with it. My body had learned to anticipate the rise and fall, adjusting without conscious thought.

'The body adapts. That's what she said. Maybe it applies to more than just the weighted bracelets.'

Now, on day fourteen, I could actually stand at the bow and watch the water without wanting to die. I believed this was great progress.

The routine had become everything. Wake up. Eat whatever Po had prepared — usually some variation of fish stew or hardtack that he somehow made taste better than it had any right to. Then the workout circuit while the sun was still gentle.

Push-ups until my arms trembled. Decline push-ups because apparently normal push-ups were too easy. Bulgarian squats that made my thighs burn with a holy fire. Core work — sit-ups, planks, leg raises, Russian twists — because Kassie insisted I needed to draw strength from my center.

'Draw strength from my center. Very mystical. Very painful.'

Then, when my muscles felt like they'd been replaced with wet rope, I'd find a quiet corner and enter the Nave.

And Kassie would destroy me all over again.

The weighted bracelets had become a constant companion. Forty units now — up from thirty-five. Each day she added a little more, watching me struggle with that impassive expression that I'd learned meant she was carefully observing every tremor, every failure, every inch of progress.

I had made significant progress before but only backpedaled with the constant increase in weight. I couldn't walk properly anymore. But I was standing longer. Moving more. The crawling had become stumbling, and the stumbling was slowly becoming... something else. Although through all of this I was subtly and with trial and error using the body enhancement through breathing patterns.

'One inch at a time...'

Outside of training, the ship had its own life.

The crew numbered about twenty, and they moved around me like I was furniture. Useful furniture, maybe — I'd started helping with simple tasks when my body allowed it, mostly to stave off boredom — but furniture nonetheless. They talked amongst themselves in a mix of languages and slang I could barely follow, laughing at jokes I didn't understand, working with the kind of efficiency that only came from years of experience.

Po was the exception. The fox-kin had apparently decided I was his personal responsibility, appearing at random intervals with food, water, unsolicited observations about my body, and an endless supply of enthusiasm that made me tired just watching him.

"Mr. Cade! Your form is getting better!"

I paused mid-push-up, arms shaking. "Po. Please. I'm dying here."

"Dying makes you stronger! Mr. Derry says suffering builds character!"

'I need to find out what trauma created Mr. Derry.'

Derry himself was a force of nature. The large man ran the ship with an iron fist wrapped in casual profanity, his voice booming across the deck at all hours. He seemed to exist in a constant state of exasperated competence, solving problems before I even realized they were problems.

Once, during a particularly rough patch of water, I'd watched him physically hold a crate in place while shouting orders to three different crew members simultaneously. The crate must have weighed as much as I did. He held it one-handed.

Nisha drifted in and out of my awareness like a ghost with opinions. Some days she'd sit near me while I worked out, offering commentary that ranged from mockingly encouraging to just mocking. Other days she'd vanish entirely, and I'd only see her at night, standing at the bow and staring at the dark water with an expression I couldn't read.

Tristan and Levi remained largely mysteries. They had their own routines, their own concerns. Occasionally one of them would check in on me, ask a few questions, nod at whatever answers I gave. But they weren't babysitters. They had work to do.

'I wonder… is Tristan a part of them, or he only got entangled with them because me? What then is the reason, what is it about me? And why bother to move a summoner like me halfway across the world just because they want to protect me?'

The questions made my throat thirst, there were questions I still didn't have answers to. Why had they come for me? What did the Boss want? What was waiting in Recimiras?

I've tried asking Tristan, couple of times on the ship, actually, but I only got the same response everytime: "That's a conversation for later."

Fine. I'd wait. I was good at waiting now. I had nothing but time.

The afternoon sun beat down on the deck as I finished my final set of push-ups, collapsing onto the warm wood with what remained of my dignity — which was nothing.

Garrett walked by, whistling.

"Looking better, kid."

I raised a hand in vague acknowledgment without lifting my face from the deck.

'Was that a compliment? From Garrett? Am I hallucinating from exhaustion?'

"You're getting used to it."

This voice was different. Closer.

I turned my head and found Nisha crouching beside me, her head tilted in that evaluating way she had.

"Getting used to what? The crippling muscle failure?"

"The ship. The water." She nodded toward the horizon. "You're not green anymore. You actually look like you belong here."

'I look like a sweaty mess lying on wooden planks, but sure. Belonging.'

"I've had practice."

"Two weeks of practice. That's fast." She stood, stretching. "You're adapting quicker than I expected."

Something in her tone made me push myself up onto my elbows. "Is that a good thing?"

Nisha's lips curled slightly — not quite a smile, but close.

"Depends on what you do with it."

She walked away before I could respond, leaving me with the sun and the salt air and the endless creaking of the ship.

I thought about her words. About the last two weeks. About everything Kassie had been drilling into me in the Nave.

The body adapts. The rhythm becomes natural. What was impossible starts to become merely difficult.

'Forty units. I'm handling forty units now.'

When I'd started, thirty units had nearly killed me. Now forty was... survivable. Barely. But survivable.

'What if I pushed harder?'

The thought surfaced before I could stop it. Dangerous. Stupid. Exactly the kind of thing Kassie would lecture me about if she could hear my internal dialogue.

But also...

Tomorrow morning. In the Nave. I'd ask Kassie to increase the weight again.

Not because I was ready. Because I needed to see how close I was to breaking.

'One inch at a time becomes meaningless if I don't know where the wall is.'

The sun continued its descent, painting the water in shades of orange and red. Somewhere behind me, Po shouted something about dinner. Crew members moved about their duties.

And I lay on that deck, muscles screaming, mind racing, feeling for the first time like the gap between who I was and who I needed to become might actually be crossable.

If I was willing to bleed for it.

***

[A/N]

Ahem.

Been a while since I said anything on here. Nobody really missed me, apparently.

Great. Good to know where I stand.

Anyway — Merry Christmas. Considering I already dropped ten chapters sometime ago like some kind of festive lunatic, I figure that counts as a gift. You're welcome. No need for refunds.

Now for the awkward part.

Thank you. All of you.

When I started this book, I wasn't expecting... any of this, really. I had an idea that wouldn't leave me alone, figured maybe it'd excite a few people, maybe earn me enough to become a game streamer someday. (PS: I'm nowhere close. The dream lives on a prayer and copium.)

But every day it gets a little more real. Because of you guys.

That means the world to me.

...Moving on before this gets weird.

Almost 400 golden tickets. Four hundred. I'm looking at that number and my brain keeps insisting it's a typo. You absolute madlads showed me what's possible.

So here's the deal: as we roll into the new year, I promise not to disappoint.

I'm enslaved to my readers until the very end of this book. That's just how it is now.

But also — a castle for Christmas would go a long way.

I'm certainly not begging.

That would be beneath me.

...

Please.

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