Torn threads

The waves kept crashing, the sailors fighting to stay alive, clinging to anything their hands could reach. Sartor clenched his teeth, trying to wrap himself around the ship's mast. Some crew members were flying through the storm, held only by ropes, while Safir clung to the helm as if she were part of the ship itself. The vessel looked like it would sink at any moment.

Sartor couldn't help but scream:

"Captain! The sea may love you, but I don't see any of that love directed at me! I heard this is a rare condition—how did it happen?!"

Safir laughed as she battled the rudder, trying to steer them out of danger.

"Didn't I tell you, boy? Sailing with me is a journey most men wouldn't dare take. But even my luck wouldn't normally drag kids like you into this."

A massive wave slammed the deck, sending several crates into the depths of the sea.

Among the flying cargo… something was strange.

Something heavy fell.

Perhaps it was a man.

The mast stood empty.

Sartor had vanished.

Something was sinking… or maybe someone.

Moments before the catastrophe hit, several ropes snapped.

Among them, a figure clung to a single thread of survival.

After that final wave, The Blue Jewel emerged from the crashing waters—missing one member of her crew.

The ship reached a beach with an abandoned harbor.

There was nothing but a moss-covered dock, wrapped in seaweed.

She docked there silently.

"Captain Safir, why did you stop here?"

Safir smiled before answering:

"I'm just following my client's instructions."

Yasmin emerged from the stairway leading below deck.

"Yasmin! Where have you been? We almost died—I almost fell into the sea if not for my quick reflexes! Don't tell me you were asleep through all that?"

Yasmin's face flushed red with shame, unable to reply.

Sartor stopped picking at her wounds, while Safir gave her a sharp, disappointed glance.

But the captain soon shifted her gaze to the sail ropes, where several lines had been severed.

She sighed.

"Mr. Sartor. Miss Yasmin. We're leaving now. I hope we meet again. Safe travels."

Sartor smiled, ignoring her bitter tone, replying cheerfully:

"Same to you. I hope next time we meet, it's on steady ground."

He cast a final look at Safir, then noticed their horses had already been brought down—he followed suit.

The bitter feeling that clung to Safir's chest faded before she shouted back, returning to the helm:

"I'll see you again, young Taklahoti. If you ever want a companion at sea, I'll be ready—as an apology for my disrespect. Though I believe I already paid for it."

Her words were lost in the winds, but they reached Sartor's ears clearly.

Before them stretched a golden beach teeming with six-legged turtles and predatory white seabirds clutching fish half the size of a man.

Above the shore, a cliff-side jungle loomed, crawling with white rodents—thick-tailed, short-eared.

To the left, a strange plain covered in nothing but moss.

And ahead in the far distance, flatlands that looked simple—too simple—as if daring a traveler to cross.

On The Blue Jewel's deck, one of the sailors shouted, searching for Karl.

From the helm, Safir's voice cut the air:

"Stop searching. Karl was a sacrifice… to calm that mad Taklahoti dog. I'll count him as a price I was willing to pay."

As the ship sailed deeper into the ocean, Sartor turned to watch her, then asked:

"So, dearest Yasmin… would you do me the honor of telling me why you sent my cheerful little jester on a one-way trip to the bottom of the sea?"

Yasmin didn't answer—she was trying to see if Sartor had proof.

"Don't stall. I'm sure it was you.

The ropes they use on this ship are strong—even the abandoned ones in the cabin where you played with that clown. I checked them. They don't snap easily.

Of all the ropes carrying crew and cargo, the only ones that broke were those holding the crates near Karl… and Karl's own.

In the middle of that chaos, no one had time to kill anyone. Everyone was trying to survive. That leaves one person: someone with the motive, strength, and reason.

Even Safir noticed. I don't know how, but she didn't act—probably because of the Taklahoti.

So… what's your excuse?"

Yasmin dropped to one knee.

"Young master… that wretch touched your sacred face and still breathed the next morning. That's more mercy than anyone deserves.

I'm ready for any punishment you see fit."

Sartor sighed. He noticed this had become a habit ever since leaving the castle.

"I don't know if I'm always like this—or if you are. But I know it's in your nature. I'm not here to scold you. You act in my interest. I… don't understand this world."

He gently raised her chin.

"Yasmin, I was asking for the reason… not blaming you.

I think I've come to care, but I don't really know how to show it.

You—and my grandparents—are my only family."

He kissed her forehead, blushing afterward.

Yasmin stood up, brushing off sand with a smile.

"Seems like young master forgot someone—Sir Tian?"

Sartor couldn't help shouting:

"You're doing that on purpose! That demon's rightful place is under my boot!"

Yasmin tilted her head, used to her master's nature.

The relaxed air turned into tension once again as a voice echoed across the shore:

"Spring has come! I even see a pair flirting on the Sage's Beach!"

High on a nearby cliff stood a man, his features blurred by the red sunlight.

Yasmin shoved Sartor behind her and launched a needle toward his head.

The man fell on his back, but his voice didn't stop:

"Such a rude young lady. Allow this humble soul to introduce himself!"

Fireworks burst around him, triggering a surge in Yasmin's aura.

"This humble man is Mordred—true lover of peace, sole heir to the legacy of my great-grandfather Mordred the First, the Grand Caller of Peace across this continent!"

Yasmin couldn't keep up her seriousness. This ridiculous theatricality belonged more to a comedy play than a real confrontation.

Sartor's eyes gleamed with curiosity.

"Sir Mordred, I've never heard your name—or your grandfather's—because of my own ignorance. I apologize.

Would you be so kind as to tell me of this noble descendant of a greater ancestor?

And why someone as great as yourself would go out of their way to speak to us?"

If Yasmin had been unsettled by Mordred's tone, Sartor's calm response momentarily paused any hostile reaction she had been preparing.

"No no! I'm just as kind as my grandfather!

I came simply to warn you… about that green cliff over there."

And Mordred pointed toward the strange moss-covered plain.