The rain poured relentlessly, the droplets cold against my bruised and bloodied skin. My arms ached, my head throbbed, and my ankle screamed in protest with every step I took. Steam hissed from the ground where plasma and lightning had collided, mingling with the iron tang of blood that hung heavy in the air.

Elius lay slumped against the base of a crumbled pillar, his armor cracked and scorched, his left arm limp at his side. His black hair was plastered to his face, blood trickling from a deep gash on his temple. Despite his condition, his lips curled into a faint, bitter smile.

"I never thought... I'd be brought down... by some rats from Cirrus Island," he rasped, his voice hoarse but laced with venom.

Galahad limped closer, his crimson-stained cloak clinging to his body. A long, jagged cut ran along his left arm, blood dripping steadily onto the wet stone. He sneered, his orange eyes burning with defiance. "You call that fighting? I wasn't even trying."

Elius coughed, a wet, rattling sound as blood spilled from the corner of his mouth. "Tch... arrogance doesn't suit you, kid. You've no idea who you're messing with." His blue eyes flicked toward me, sharp despite the haze of pain clouding them. "What are you two even doing here? What's your goal?"

I swallowed hard, ignoring the ache in my ribs and the coppery taste of blood on my tongue. "We're looking for the Order of Aesir," I said firmly, though my voice trembled with exhaustion. "What do you know about them?"

Elius gave a bitter chuckle, the sound broken and hollow. "The Order?" he repeated, shaking his head weakly. "I might've introduced myself as one of them, but I'm not. Not yet, anyway. I was trying to join them by completing this mission."

Galahad's eyes narrowed. "Then who are you?"

Elius sighed, leaning his head back against the pillar. "A noble from Ravenna," he admitted, his voice filled with bitterness. "And now a failure. The Order doesn't forgive failure. Since I'm as good as dead, I may as well tell you what you want to know."

He coughed again, his whole body shuddering. "Beringer wasn't taken by me alone. I had a group of Initiates with me, but a Baron of the Order led the mission. Half of our forces, including the Baron, took Beringer to... somewhere. I wasn't told where. My orders were to stay here and wait for an opportunity to escape unnoticed."

The rain intensified, thunder rumbling in the distance as I exchanged a glance with Galahad. He was bleeding heavily, his movements stiff and sluggish. I wasn't in much better shape—my left arm hung uselessly at my side, and every breath sent a sharp pain through my ribs.

"What's this 'Sea Curse' everyone keeps talking about?" Galahad asked, his tone sharp and demanding.

Elius raised a brow, his lips twitching into a faint smirk. "You really don't know?" he asked, his voice soft and incredulous. "You're either liars or incredibly naïve."

"Just answer the question," I snapped, my patience wearing thin.

He sighed, his breath rattling in his chest. "Sea Curses," he began, his voice low. "Powers created by the gods themselves. They exist as elemental cubes, and whoever touches one absorbs its power. But only one curse exists for each element. Fire, water, lightning—you name it."

"And what happens when someone absorbs one?" I pressed, shivering as the rain soaked through my clothes.

"They become immortal," Elius said simply. "Immune to natural death. The strongest curse users can even phase into their element, making them nearly untouchable. But it's a curse for a reason." He glanced at me, his blue eyes piercing. "They're cursed to outlive everyone they care about. No matter how powerful they become, they're doomed to watch the world change without them."

The weight of his words settled heavily in the air, the rain pounding around us.

"And the Order?" Galahad asked, his voice quieter now.

"They want them all," Elius said with a bitter laugh. "Without Sea Curses, a kingdom is weak. The Was Sea gets its name from the wars fought over these things—kingdoms tearing themselves apart for a chance at ultimate power. And Beringer... he knows where to find a particularly powerful one."

I frowned, a sinking feeling twisting in my gut. "Why stab him with that strange sword? Why not just kill him outright?"

Elius's smirk returned, though it was weaker now. "Ah... the Devourer," he said. "That sword prevents a curse from escaping when its user dies. Normally, the curse would shoot out from the body and land somewhere far away. But the Devourer absorbs the curse, reverting it to its cube form right where the person dies."

"So Beringer has a Sea Curse?" Galahad asked, his voice cold.

Elius let out a weak chuckle, blood bubbling at the corner of his lips. "Indeed," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Beringer has the Cloud Curse... one of the weaker ones. The Order will take it, of course, but that's not their real prize."

I stepped forward, clutching my side as a sharp pain shot through my ribs. The heat of plasma still radiated faintly from my hands, but my magic reserves were nearly spent. My body screamed at me to rest, but I pushed through. "What's the curse they're really after?" I demanded, my voice firm despite my exhaustion. "And who's the Baron that took him?"

Elius tilted his head back, letting the rain wash over his face. For a moment, he said nothing, the silence broken only by the distant rumble of thunder. Then, he sighed, the sound heavy with resignation.

"Those are questions I won't answer," he said quietly. "If that information became public... it could mean the downfall of the entire War Sea. The chaos it would cause isn't something I'm willing to unleash, even now." He opened his eyes, fixing me with a piercing stare. "If you want those answers, you'll have to find them yourself."

I clenched my fists, frustration boiling under my skin. "So you'll protect the Order even after this?"

Elius shook his head weakly. "I'm not protecting anyone. I've already failed my mission... my life is forfeit either way. Whether you kill me here or the Order finds me, the result is the same."

His words hung in the air like a stormcloud, heavy and suffocating. Galahad took a step closer, his boots squelching in the mud. The dagger in his hand caught the faint flicker of lightning, casting a jagged shadow across Elius's face.

"Well, isn't that convenient," Galahad said, his tone sharp but strained. His hand trembled slightly as he raised the dagger. "You mess up, and now you want us to clean up your mess for you? Typical."

"Hansen..." I started, but he didn't look at me.

Elius's smile widened, his teeth stained red with blood. "Go ahead, then," he said mockingly. "Finish me off. Show me if you've got the stomach for it, boy."

Galahad froze, his jaw tightening as his grip on the dagger faltered. I could see the conflict in his eyes, the anger fighting against something deeper—something he didn't want to admit.

"Damn it," he hissed, lowering the dagger slightly. He turned away, his shoulders tense. "I can't... I'm not going to kill a defenseless man."

Elius raised an eyebrow, looking almost amused. "Mercy? From you?" he said, his tone dripping with disbelief. "How unexpected."

I stepped between them, my body aching with every movement. "That's enough," I said, my voice firm but tired. I met Elius's gaze, searching for any trace of deceit in his battered face. "We're not going to kill you."

Elius let out a weak laugh, shaking his head. "Merciful heroes, huh? How noble. But it won't matter. The Order will find me eventually... and they'll kill me for my failure."

"Then that's your problem, not ours," I snapped, more harshly than I intended. "We're not like them, and we're not about to start acting like it."

Galahad turned back to face us, his expression unreadable. He gave a small nod, his voice quieter now. "Fine. Let him rot here for all I care."

Elius leaned back against the pillar, closing his eyes as the rain continued to fall. "You've made your choice," he murmured, almost to himself. "But don't think for a second that sparing me changes anything. The Order won't stop. And neither should you, if you're smart."

I turned to Galahad, my body swaying slightly from exhaustion. "We should go," I said, but I couldn't help but take a final glance at Elius's battered form, which wasn't better than ours.

He nodded silently, and together we limped away from the ruins, leaving Elius behind.

____________

As those two figures, bruised and bloodied, limped away into the storm, Elius's gaze locked on them. Their silhouettes blurred through the sheets of rain, but he could still hear their labored breaths and the faint squelch of their boots in the mud. They hadn't killed him. Despite everything—despite the harm he'd caused, the loyalty he'd shown to the Order—they had chosen to let him live.

Elius slumped against the cold stone pillar, his breaths shallow and labored as rainwater trickled down his battered face. Blood seeped from the deep gashes along his torso and arms, staining the mud beneath him a dark crimson. His once-pristine coat, draped over his shoulders like a mark of status, now hung in tatters, soaked through and clinging to his skin. The blue of his eyes, sharp and defiant during the fight, had dulled, replaced with a flicker of something unfamiliar: regret.

His fingers trembled as he pressed them weakly against the wound on his side, the pain a sharp reminder of his failure. His jaw tightened, his expression twisting into a grimace. He'd failed not just the Order, but himself. The bitter truth settled in his chest like a weight, heavier than any physical injury.

"They should have ended it," he muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible over the rain. His head fell back against the pillar, his black hair plastered to his face. A pang of remorse clawed its way into his thoughts, uninvited and relentless. He'd always told himself that joining the Order was a means to an end—a way to prove himself, to rise above the constraints of his noble title. But now, staring into the abyss of his defeat, he couldn't shake the feeling that he had chosen the wrong path.

Elius's lips curled into a faint, bitter smile, though his eyes burned with unshed tears. "What a fool I've been," he murmured, his voice cracking. The rain continued to fall, masking the tear that finally slipped down his cheek. He thought of the lives he had taken, the orders he had followed without question, and the twisted ideals he had embraced to gain favor with the Order. And now, with his failure, they would cast him aside as easily as they had used him.

As the figures disappeared into the misty downpour, Elius felt a hollow ache in his chest that had nothing to do with his injuries. He was a man, now without allies, without purpose. The faces of those two—the young man with the searing magic and the woman who fought with unwavering determination—lingered in his mind. There had been something about them, something that reminded him of what he had once aspired to be before ambition and desperation consumed him.

His breathing became labored, each inhale a challenge as the chill wrapped around him, penetrating deep into his bones. The weight of remorse bore down on him—not just for his own choices, but for the lives he had helped harmed, the pain he had caused in pursuit of power. In this moment of vulnerability, Elius felt a deep yearning to turn back time, to seize the chance to make different decisions. Yet, as he faced the reality of his actions, he understood that the opportunity for change had been wasted.

"They'll come for me," he whispered, closing his eyes against the rain. His body sagged further against the pillar, his strength fading. "But maybe... maybe they'll stop the Order before it's too late."

For the first time in years, Elius prayed—not for his own desires, but for the hope that someone might find the strength to achieve what he could not. As the gentle rain fell, cleansing the remnants of the pain etched on his face, he sat in the ruins, longing for the rain to also wash away the weight of his regrets.

___________

The rain had lessened to a drizzle by the time we staggered out of the ruins, leaving behind the battered form of Elius. I couldn't help but glance back, my thoughts tangling in a knot of frustration and guilt. He was the enemy, the cause of all this pain and bloodshed, but something about the hollow look in his eyes as we left gnawed at me. What would happen to him now? He'd spoken like a man resigned to his fate. Did he even deserve to survive after all he'd done?

"Forget him," I muttered under my breath, shaking my head. My limbs felt like they were made of lead, every step a monumental effort. My side throbbed where his lightning had burned through my jacket, the wound deep and raw, and my entire body ached from the constant strain of fighting, running, and pushing through the storm. But it wasn't my own injuries that worried me.

Galahad walked just ahead, his steps faltering, his posture rigid despite the fatigue that radiated off him. The dark stain of blood down the front of his shirt hadn't stopped spreading, and his usual fiery energy seemed dulled. "Hey, Hansen," I called, my voice hoarse from exhaustion, "are you—"

He stumbled. It happened so quickly that I barely had time to react. One moment he was upright, the next his knees buckled, and he hit the ground hard, his hand clutching his chest where Elius's blade had torn through him.

"Hansen!" I called out, rushing to his side despite the searing pain in my own body. My knees hit the muddy ground, and I ignored the jolt it sent through my wounds as I grabbed his shoulders. I tried to take a clearer look to his face, seeing his orange eyes fluttering open and closed as if it was taking every ounce of effort to stay awake.

"Stupid..." he muttered weakly, his voice barely audible. "Just need... to rest..."

"No, you don't," I snapped, panic creeping into my tone. Blood was still oozing from the gash on his chest, soaking through his shirt and dripping onto the ground. He was going to pass out if I didn't do something.

With shaking hands, I reached into the small pack we'd brought, fumbling for the bandages we'd managed to stock before leaving Cirrus Island. My vision blurred for a moment—whether from exhaustion or tears, I wasn't sure—but I forced myself to focus.

"You're not dying here," I muttered, half to him, half to myself. My hands were slick with blood as I pressed a strip of cloth against the wound, trying to stanch the bleeding. He hissed in pain, his body jerking, but I didn't stop. "Hold still, Hansen! I need to wrap this, or we won't make it back."

The drizzle soaked us through, the cold biting into my skin as I worked. My fingers trembled, but I managed to wrap the bandage tightly around his chest, securing it with a knot. The bleeding slowed, though it didn't stop entirely. "That's the best I can do," I said softly, brushing the damp hair out of his face. "You've got to hold on, okay?"

He gave a weak nod, his breathing shallow but steady. "You... worry too much," he rasped, a faint smirk tugging at his lips despite the pain.

I forced a smile, though my heart was pounding. "And you're too reckless. Let's get you on the skyship before you collapse completely."

It took everything I had to help him to his feet. He leaned heavily on me, his weight nearly dragging me down, but I refused to let him fall again. Together, we stumbled through the mud and the rain, every step a struggle. My own injuries screamed in protest, but I gritted my teeth and kept moving.

When the skyship finally came into view, a flicker of relief surged through me. The ramp seemed impossibly steep, but I coaxed Galahad up it, one agonizing step at a time. By the time I got him to one of the seats inside, my entire body felt like it was on the verge of giving out.

When I collapsed into the seat across from him, I noticed his eyes had closed, his breathing shallow but even. He'd fallen into a fitful sleep, his exhaustion finally overtaking him. I leaned my head back, staring at the ceiling of the ship as the rain continued to patter against it.

I slid into the pilot's seat of the skyship, my hands hovering over the controls like they were some kind of ancient artifact I wasn't supposed to touch. Galahad had always been the one to handle this—his sharp instincts and natural confidence made him a far better navigator. Now, though, his faint, uneven breathing from the seat behind me was a reminder that it was up to me.

"Alright, Lancelot, how hard can it be?" I muttered to myself, grimacing as I reached for the lever to adjust the altitude. The ship lurched slightly, and my heart leapt into my throat. I steadied it with a quick twist of the wheel, breathing a sigh of relief when the deck stopped tilting beneath us.

Outside, the rain had lightened to a mist, the skies a gloomy shade of gray. The storm from earlier had finally begun to wane, but the wind still whistled faintly, tugging at the sails of the ship. I kept the speed low, wanting to give Galahad as much time as possible to rest before we reached Cirrus Island.

Behind me, he let out a quiet groan in his sleep, his brow furrowing. I glanced over my shoulder, guilt twisting in my chest. His bandages were already darkening with blood, but at least it wasn't flowing as freely as before. For now, he was stable.

However, the ache in my own body was becoming harder to ignore. My side throbbed where Elius's lightning had torn through me, and every movement sent sharp stabs of pain radiating through my ribs. Gritting my teeth, I locked the wheel in place and stood, the ship gliding smoothly through the air at its slow pace.

I rummaged through the pack we'd brought, pulling out the last of the bandages. With shaking hands, I lifted my shirt just enough to expose the burn on my side. The skin was raw and blistered, and the edges of the wound were crusted with dried blood. My stomach churned at the sight, but I forced myself to get to work.

Biting back a groan, I pressed a clean strip of cloth against the wound, hissing as pain flared through me. It took several attempts to wrap the bandage tightly enough to hold without worsening the agony, and by the time I tied it off, I was shaking from the effort.

Leaning heavily against the console, I let out a slow breath, trying to steady myself. The ship hummed gently beneath my feet, the soothing sound of the engine a stark contrast to the chaos we'd just endured.

"You've got this," I whispered, forcing myself to straighten. I couldn't afford to lose focus—not while Galahad was depending on me. Returning to the pilot's seat, I adjusted our heading, keeping one eye on the horizon and the other on him.

For all his stubbornness, bravado, and maybe a little aggressiveness, seeing him in this state made me realize just how much I relied on him. He'd taken on so much of the burden in this journey without hesitation, always stepping up when I needed him. Now, it was my turn.

The ride back to Cirrus Island was one of the most nerve-wracking experiences of my life. My hands gripped the controls of the skyship so tightly they ached, and my arms trembled with every adjustment. I'd watched Galahad steer this thing plenty of times, but knowing and doing were completely different beasts. Every gust of wind felt like it might tip us off course, every sudden dip in altitude made my heart leap into my throat.

I kept glancing back at him, sprawled across the seat, his chest rising and falling faintly. His face was pale, his lips a bit cracked, and the bandages I'd wrapped around him earlier were already stained with fresh blood. He looked too fragile for someone as tough as him, and I hated it.

"Just hold on a little longer," I muttered, more for myself than for him.

As Cirrus Island finally came into view, relief flooded me. I adjusted the controls, preparing to dock the ship, but the moment I reached for the lever, the ship lurched. My eyes widened as the bow dipped too low, heading straight for the side of the island.

"No, no, no!" I hissed, yanking the controls back and slamming on the brakes. The skyship screeched to a halt, the sudden jolt throwing me forward and almost out of my seat.

Behind me, I heard a groggy groan. "What the hell..." Galahad's voice was weak but laced with irritation as he stirred. He cracked one eye open, glaring at me through the haze of his injuries.

"Sorry!" I blurted, quickly regaining control of the ship and easing it to a more graceful stop. My heart was pounding in my chest, and I let out a shaky breath, trying to steady myself.

He let out a low chuckle, though it was strained. "I should have let you drive more often..."

"Not helping," I muttered, carefully parking the skyship in the docking area. I turned to him, noting the faint smirk on his face despite how battered he looked. "You scared me half to death, you know that?"

"You scared me first," he retorted, closing his eyes again.

I didn't have time to argue. My own body was screaming in pain, and I knew we both needed help fast.

Once the ship was secure, I climbed out and returned to Galahad's side. "Alright, big guy. Time to move," I said, slipping my arms under his and dragging him out of the ship.

The trek toward the main part of the island was excruciating. Every step sent sharp jolts of pain through my legs and side, and Galahad wasn't exactly light. His head lolled against my shoulder, and I could tell he was barely clinging to consciousness.

When we reached the main path, I was so focused on keeping us both upright that I almost didn't notice the familiar figure ahead.

"What the hell happened to you two?"

I looked up to see Iris, her sharp green eyes wide with shock as she took in the state of us.

"Long story," I panted, struggling to keep my grip on Galahad. "We need help. Now."

Her usual snark was nowhere to be found as she rushed forward, slinging one of Galahad's arms over her shoulder. Together, we hauled him toward the healer's hut.

The moment we stepped inside, the healer—a kind-faced older woman—immediately sprang into action. She guided Galahad to a cot, her hands deftly removing his blood-soaked bandages and replacing them with clean ones.

Iris hovered for a moment, her gaze darting between me and Galahad. "Rest up," she said finally, her tone softer than I'd ever heard it. "I'll give you some space. But don't keep me waiting too long—I need to know what the hell went down."

With that, she turned and left, leaving me alone in the quiet room. I sank into a chair, my body finally giving in to the exhaustion. The healer moved to tend to my wounds, her touch gentle but firm.

I glanced over at Galahad, who had quickly drifted off after taking some painkillers. Though he was clearly in a difficult place, I couldn't help but feel a sense of compassion for him. It was somewhat bittersweet to see him so vulnerable after having tried so hard to appear strong all this time.

Maybe I could get some rest too.

_________

Just right after Galahad fell unconscious, he opened his eyes to find himself lying on a cold, smooth floor that stretched endlessly into the distance, the faint glint of polished marble catching the dim light. The first thing Galahad noticed was the silence. It wasn't the kind of peaceful quiet that settled over the ocean at night—it was an oppressive void, heavy and unnatural that made his skin crawl. He groaned as he pushed himself upright, his body aching as if he had carried the weight of a thousand battles.

Around him loomed towering bookshelves, their edges fading into an infinite darkness. The shelves stretched so high they disappeared into a ceiling he couldn't see, and their contents—or lack thereof—unnerved him. Most of the shelves were bare, their emptiness echoing an unfamiliar hollowness in his chest.

"What the hell is this...?" Galahad muttered under his breath, his voice startlingly loud in the oppressive quiet.

A sound behind him—a soft scrape like footsteps on stone—made him whirl around, fists instinctively raised. But instead of an attacker, he saw a familiar figure step from the shadows. Randal.

The man looked different now, unbound by the tree that had once encased him. His stance was tall and composed, his green aura shimmering faintly in the dim light. His dark hair and beard framed a calm yet knowing expression as he studied Galahad.

"So, you actually faced the Order," Randal said, his voice carrying an eerie certainty.

Galahad tensed, his hands curling into fists. "You... Randal? How are you here? What the hell is going on?"

Randal's gaze softened, his head tilting slightly as if amused by Galahad's confusion. "I'm here because I made it so. A fragment of my magic was fused with yours when you entered my library. Don't worry, it will return to you soon enough. For now, this is my only way to speak with you directly."

The explanation did little to ease Galahad's discomfort. "You're in my head?"

"Yes," Randal said simply, stepping closer. His green aura flickered, illuminating the bookshelves around them. "And I'm here to tell you something important."

Galahad crossed his arms, his frustration simmering. "What is it?"

"Your fate," Randal replied simply, his gaze meeting Galahad's with unsettling certainty.

"I don't believe in fate," Galahad snapped.

Randal gave a faint smile, his fingers brushing the spines of the empty shelves. "Perhaps not. But there's something you should know. In the War Sea, there is an organization called the Navy. Whether they still operate or not, I cannot say. But you should seek them out."

"The Navy? What does that have to do with me?" Galahad's voice hardened, suspicion creeping into his tone.

Randal didn't answer immediately. Instead, he moved to one of the shelves and ran his hand along its empty surface. As he did, a desk materialized between them, and on it, a stack of books appeared. Randal placed his hands on the books, flipping them open. Galahad leaned closer, only to realize each one was blank.

"What are these supposed to be?" Galahad's eyes darted from shelf to shelf. They were bare, starkly so, their emptiness a silent accusation.

Randal gestured toward the towering shelves. "This is your mind."

Galahad's stomach twisted. "It's... empty?"

"Yes," Randal said, his voice steady. "You carry no memories, no understanding of the world you belong to. But there's something else."

He lifted one book from the pile and opened it. At first, the pages were as blank as the rest, but then a single word appeared in bold, crimson letters: "NAVY."

Galahad's eyes narrowed. His fingers twitched as he stared at the word, the crimson ink seeming to bleed into the paper. "What is this?"

"It's a clue," Randal said, handing the book to him. "A fragment of your past—or perhaps your future. Only you can decide."

Galahad stared at the book, his chest tightening. The weight of its significance pressed down on him, though he couldn't grasp why. He looked up at Randal, his voice quieter but no less firm. "Why should I trust you?"

Randal's expression softened, and for the first time, there was a hint of something understanding in his gaze. "You don't have to trust me. But the truth remains: the War Sea is vast, and there are those within it who hold the answers you seek. The Navy is one of them."

Galahad ran his fingers over the pages, his thoughts a whirlwind. He wanted to press for answers, but his voice caught as the gravity of the moment settled over him.

Before Galahad could press further, Randal's aura flickered, his form beginning to fade.

Randal's tone shifted, softer now. "My time here is short. The longer I stay, the more energy I take from you. I must go soon."

"Wait," Galahad said, his grip tightening on the book. "What about Lancelot? The girl who's with me. Does she have a part in this?"

Randal paused, his brow furrowing slightly. For a moment, he seemed to weigh his words carefully. "No," he said at last. "Her mind is not one I can touch. Whatever her role may be, it lies outside my sight."

"That's it?" Galahad asked, frustration surging anew. "You drag me into this, give me nothing but cryptic answers, and leave me with this?" He held up the book, his grip tight.

Randal's fading form gave him a faint smile, tinged with something bittersweet. "If you want clarity, find a visionary. Until then, trust yourself, Galahad Hansen."

The shelves around them began to dissolve into the encroaching darkness, and Galahad's heart raced as the void closed in. The last thing he saw was Randal's piercing gaze and the single, burning word on the page. Then, with a jarring pull, the dream collapsed, and he was flung back into the waking world.

___________

The murmur of voices filtered into Galahad's consciousness as he stirred awake, his body aching and heavy. His chest throbbed with a dull pain, and he could feel the tightness of bandages wrapped around him. The faint and medicinal scent of herbs lingered in the air, mingling with the faint creak of wood from the walls around him.

"...not really, the coins are from Ren." I was saying, my voice soft but firm. "He claimed to be finding Beringer,"

The room was quiet, disturbed by our small conversation, save for the faint creak of wood beneath our feet and the steady rhythm of the rain outside. I sat near the edge of Galahad's bed, twisting the end of a loose bandage around my finger while talking to Iris. The soft light of the room barely chased away the shadows, leaving the corners dim and heavy with the scent of herbs and dried blood.

Galahad stirred awake not long ago, and although he had grumbled his usual half-hearted responses, something about him seemed... distant. He stared at the floorboards, his orange eyes dull and unfocused, as if they were gazing past the room entirely.

"So," Iris broke the silence, her tone as sharp as ever. "Did you find out where the Order is hiding out?"

I hesitated before responding, watching Galahad carefully. His hands, resting limply on his lap, twitched slightly, but he didn't look up. "We defeated them and their leader, Lord Elius. He claimed to be a noble from Ravenna," I said, hoping the words might ground him.

Iris let out a sharp breath, disbelief flashing across her freckled face. "What? I know that name. Elius was telling the truth, then. He had close relations to King Calvus, the ruler of Ravenna. So this Order... it's actually connected to Ravenna in some way. I can't believe it."

I nodded slowly, feeling the weight of it. "He also said they captured Beringer because he knows the location of a powerful Sea Curse."

"Sea Curses..." Iris muttered, her eyes narrowing. "Could that be the same reason they captured my father? Maybe they thought he knew something about it." She pushed off the wall and straightened up. "We need to track the Order down. Find out more."

I shifted my gaze back to Galahad. He hadn't moved much, still sitting stiffly, staring through the floor as if he could see something the rest of us couldn't. His brow furrowed slightly, and his lips pressed into a faint line.

"We're ready, right, Hansen?" I asked, hoping to snap him out of it.

His response was delayed, like he had to drag himself back from somewhere far away. "Ugh... yeah..." His voice was low, almost a grumble, and he didn't even glance my way.

"You don't sound ready," Iris quipped, though her usual bite was dulled. Her eyes flicked over him, narrowing slightly.

Galahad didn't respond. His hand flexed, gripping the edge of the blanket for a moment before relaxing again. He was completely zoning out now, like he wasn't even hearing us anymore. I could see the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers tapped restlessly, but whatever was going on in his head was locked tight behind that hard stare of his.

Iris sighed, pacing slightly as she spoke. "The only problem is, I don't know where we should start. The Order could be anywhere."

"Then we split up and search for Beringer," I said quickly, trying to keep the conversation moving. "Wherever he is, the Order will be close by."

"You're right," Iris agreed after a moment, nodding. "They're probably still hiding on an island somewhere with him. If there are others in the Order tied to Ravenna, they'll likely be somewhere between the Stepstones and the mainland."

Her tone shifted, growing more serious. "I'll head to Silverhold—the Grand Navy base near here—and ask if they've seen a ship sail south from the Stepstones. You two can head to Sailor's Lodge. It's a meeting place for sailors to exchange news and stories. Maybe someone there saw the Order recently."

The mention of the Grand Navy hit like a spark in a powder keg. Galahad's fingers curled into the blanket, his knuckles turning white. His expression darkened, and for the first time since he woke up, his eyes snapped up, burning with something sharp and almost dangerous.

I flinched slightly, caught off guard by the intensity. He didn't say anything, just stared at the floor again, his grip loosening only slightly.

Iris glanced at him, then back at me, her brows furrowing. "Alright. Good luck," she said, her voice quieter now, almost hesitant. "Hopefully, we'll both end up at the same place and can keep going from there to track down the Order."

With that, she left, the door clicking softly shut behind her.

The room fell into a heavy silence. I turned back to Galahad, watching him carefully. "You good?" I asked, my voice softer than usual.

He didn't answer immediately. His gaze drifted toward the window, where the faint smudges of rainwater clung to the glass. His orange eyes, usually sharp and fiery, seemed clouded now, as if something unseen weighed on him.

"I'm fine," he muttered eventually, but his tone made it clear he wasn't.

I frowned, leaning forward slightly. "You sure? You've been acting weird since you woke up."

"It's nothing," he said sharply, brushing me off.

I bit my lip, debating whether to push further, but the tension in his shoulders and the way his jaw clenched stopped me. "Alright. But you know, you can always talk to me if there ."

He glanced at me briefly, his gaze flickering before dropping again. "I know," he said, but there was something in his voice—something unsure.

I stayed quiet after that, watching him out of the corner of my eye. Whatever was going on, it wasn't something he'd talk about easily. But I could tell it was big, the kind of thing that dug deep and wouldn't let go.

Then, the healer walked in with a soft knock on the wooden door, a kind yet weary smile on her face. Her hands were full of vials, small bundles of herbs, and a bowl of something steaming faintly. Her robes were plain but clean, and her eyes were sharp despite the long hours she must have worked.

"You two look a little better," she said, her voice low and soothing. "But don't mistake that for fully healed. Take it easy. You'll need these for the road ahead."

She handed me a vial of thick amber liquid and a small jar filled with salve. Her movements were quick but careful, her practiced hands almost instinctive as she turned to Galahad, who sat on the edge of his bed, shoulders slumped.

"And you," she said, holding out a similar vial. "Drink this before you leave. It'll give you a little more strength for the journey, but it's not a miracle. You'll need rest, real rest, to fully recover."

Galahad muttered a low "thanks" and took the vial without much enthusiasm. His movements were sluggish, his usual sharpness dulled. Even as he drank the concoction, his eyes were distant, flickering to the floor like he was still lost in some internal fog.

The healer looked between us, her brow creased with faint concern. "Stay safe out there. And remember, pushing yourselves too hard will only get you killed."

With that, she left, her footsteps fading down the hall as we gathered our things. Galahad moved slower than usual, his hands trembling slightly when he tightened his coat over his bandages. I pretended not to notice, but it left a knot in my stomach.

We stepped outside into the crisp morning air, the town bathed in the pale light of a sun still struggling to break through the clouded sky. The rain had stopped, but the ground was slick with puddles, and the air smelled fresh and salty.

The streets were quiet, the usual buzz of the town subdued. We wandered aimlessly at first, just trying to stretch our legs and shake off the heaviness of the healer's room. Galahad's silence felt heavier than the air, and I couldn't help but keep glancing at him, hoping he'd snap out of it.

It wasn't until we passed a small, open-air market that something caught my eye—a large cauldron sitting in the corner of one stall, surrounded by jars of strange powders and bundles of dried herbs. The metallic sheen of the cauldron gleamed under the muted sunlight, and I couldn't help but feel a spark of curiosity.

"Hey, Hansen," I said, nudging his arm. "Look at that!"

He followed my gaze, his expression blank. "A cauldron," he said flatly.

"Yeah, but we've never used one before. Don't you want to try?"

He raised an eyebrow, but before he could answer, I was already heading toward it, my excitement overriding his lack of enthusiasm.

The vendor, an older woman with a mischievous grin, gave a brief explanation of how the cauldron worked. My hands itched to try it out, and Galahad sighed, muttering something under his breath about wasting time but following me anyway.

I rummaged through my bag, pulling out the oddest ingredients I could find—a colossal clam shell and a small bag of seaweed I'd forgotten I even had. "Perfect," I said, mostly to myself.

Galahad leaned against the stall's post, arms crossed. "What are you trying to make?"

"Something useful. Maybe a water-breathing potion?" I said, tossing the ingredients into the cauldron. The mixture hissed and bubbled, steam rising in spirals that smelled faintly of saltwater. "Don't you want to try? Perhaps you can create a poison that will damage your enemy!"

He snorted. "You're overthinking it. My magic's already poison. I don't need to brew any."

I shot him a playful glare. "Not everything has to be about your magic, Hansen. Sometimes, you should experience new things."

He shrugged, his eyes scanning the market but still unfocused like his mind was somewhere else entirely. His usual sharp wit was dull, and even his teasing lacked its usual bite.

The potion turned a faint blue, the bubbling slowing to a steady simmer. I scooped some into a small vial and held it up to the light. "Not bad," I said, pleased with myself.

Galahad glanced at it, unimpressed. "Great. You've made ocean water in a bottle."

I rolled my eyes but couldn't help the small smile tugging at my lips. Despite his lack of enthusiasm, just seeing him interact—however begrudgingly—felt like progress.

The salty air of the market mingled with the faint scent of herbs and potions, and for a brief moment, the weight of everything we'd been through felt a little lighter. But even as we walked away from the stall, I couldn't shake the image of Galahad's hollow expression, the way his eyes kept drifting back to some invisible point in the distance. Whatever was going on in his head, it was worrying me.