Torn threads

Sartor stood with Yasmine before the cabin assigned to him, angry at himself for losing control of his temper. He decided to sit with Yasmine and offered her a quiet apology for his outburst.

The cabin was simple: an ordinary bed, a chair, a wall-mounted table, and a small cabinet.

At that very moment, the masked fugitive was casting his disguise into the sea before heading to the captain's quarters.

"The captain—it's Karl." Saphir's voice came from within the cabin:

— "Come in. The door's open."

Karl entered, his hand resting on his cap, eyes avoiding Saphir's gaze as she stood behind her desk. She was still dressed in her captain's uniform. The simple desk sat in the corner, a sea chart on the wall behind it, and the oil lamp swinging with the ship's motion, casting flickering shadows.

"So, Karl," she said, "how did you find the Taklahoti boy?"

Karl tried to appear confident but stumbled at first before his voice steadied:

— "He's a smart kid, Captain. A little slow, somewhat cowardly… but not stupid."

She took a step closer, her eyes locking on his hands.

— "You disobeyed my orders, Karl. Your hands still show the marks of striking the boy."

His shoulders tightened, but he offered no defense.

— "You've been with me for a long time. I know my beauty is disarming—and men are weak—but you acted beyond what I commanded. I'll forgive you, out of generosity, but once the boy and his maid leave, you're back to scrubbing the floors."

She bent over her journal, gesturing with one hand.

— "Now go."

Before he even reached the door, her murmurs had begun to spill softly into the air:

— "A beast in the making… crude, unrefined… but he used you well, Karl. Like a first stone."

Her murmurs were less understanding than foreboding—as if she sensed the creature her ship now carried.

Saphir had obtained the information she wanted about Bach's son. But Sartor, too, had gained what he needed. It was their first true encounter—yet also the first battle of wit in which Sartor came out ahead… without even realizing it.

The night passed without Sartor seeing any of its beauty, until morning finally broke.

Inside the cabin, Sartor stirred between gasps, trying to rise—but Yasmine's embrace was tighter than he expected.

— "Yasmine, I need to go to the bathroom. Please let me up."

She ignored him and continued sleeping until he managed to slip out of her grasp.

— "I'm certain she's awake… yet she kept pretending to sleep."

He wandered the ship until he reached the bow, where the sea stretched endlessly before him.

Behind him, sailors shouted, pulling and tying the sails as if preparing for a storm. But what was coming was far greater.

Saphir kept barking orders non-stop, yet even amid the chaos, she managed to salute Sartor.

Moments later, the sea itself seemed to split open as if unseen forces were tearing at its skin.

From the deep, a monstrous marine creature emerged.

A whale with a crimson neck, colossal in size, rising toward the sky, casting showers of seawater from its body as if the ocean were shaking off its fear.

It was not alone.

Other whales followed, leaping and crashing through the waves, creating massive whirlpools that threatened to swallow the horizon.

The scene resembled a prelude to a storm symphony, with the sky watching in silence.

"The Ghula Leap" — a rare spectacle, seldom witnessed by sailors.

The ghula whales, named for the strange red markings around their necks, were infamous for sinking every ship they encountered.

Fortune had favored their vessel: they were close to the shores of the Dust Continent, and the pod was drifting at a distance.

High atop a cliff overlooking the sea, a young man sat.

His black hair streaked with crimson, dressed in scout uniform, a spyglass hanging from his neck.

He stared at the sea with gleaming eyes, watching the ghula whales leap like breathing nightmares.

He didn't blink—just whispered, as if the ocean could hear him:

— "Beautiful… but deadly."

He raised the spyglass and locked eyes on the ship that had escaped the pod.

Slowly, he clenched his fist.

— "And who are you… to survive the feast of death?"