Two days passed—and in that time, Elyra Estermont turned intention into reality.

An hour west of Valon, beyond the capital's walls and main trade roads, the western port was already alive with movement. Cranes creaked over dark water, sailors shouted orders in practiced rhythms, and the air smelled of salt, tar, and mana-infused fuel. This harbor didn't serve daily commerce—it served departures that mattered.

Moored slightly apart from the common vessels stood a ship that didn't need flags to announce its origin. Reinforced hull. Arcane plating along the keel. Subtle runes etched beneath fresh paint, pulsing faintly with stabilizing enchantments.

Elyra stood at the center of the dock, clipboard in hand, completely in her element.

"Supplies are secured," she said evenly. "Food for four months if rationed properly—three if certain people eat like soldiers who think logistics are optional. Fresh water enchanted against spoilage. Medical kits, mana stabilizers, emergency teleport beacons—single use, so don't waste them." She looked up. "And yes, I triple-checked."

Elena blinked. "You… already thought of everything."

Elyra shrugged. "That's what money is for."

Crates were being loaded under the watchful eyes of a hired crew—experienced sailors of mixed races, no academy insignias, no questions asked. Their contracts were ironclad. Their pay exceptional.

This wasn't an academy expedition.

Selene observed quietly, arms folded, eyes tracking details most would miss. Garron hauled crates with Laziel, grumbling but focused. Clara reviewed supply lists again, just in case. Roberto leaned against a piling, whistling low.

"Feels different," he muttered. "Like we're actually leaving something behind."

Noel stood a little apart, gaze fixed on the ship.

He didn't smile.

Noir rested against his shoulder, tail flicking. 'This isn't like before, Dad.'

"No," Noel said softly. "It isn't."

No instructors. No safety nets disguised as lectures. No guarantees that someone else would step in if things went wrong.

Ahead waited the Northern Isles.

Elyra snapped her clipboard shut. "The ship will be ready to depart soon. Once we board, there's no turning back."

Noel nodded.

"Good," he said. "That's exactly how it should be."

Boarding began shortly after.

Planks were lowered. Orders were shouted. The crew moved with efficient calm, stowing the last crates and securing rigging as the tide shifted. There was no ceremony—just motion. Purpose.

Noel stepped onto the deck and felt it immediately.

The subtle hum beneath his boots.

Mana lines running through the hull, stabilizing enchantments syncing with the sea's rhythm.

"This thing's built to survive bad waters," Garron muttered, testing the railing with a heavy grip. "And worse."

"It better be," Laziel replied. "Northern seas aren't known for hospitality."

Selene took a seat near the mast, cloak fluttering lightly in the wind. Elena stayed close to her, whispering something Noel couldn't hear—but he caught the smile. Quiet, reassuring.

Elyra supervised the final checks, speaking briefly with the captain—a seasoned human with weathered skin and eyes that had seen monsters, storms, and worse. He nodded once, respectfully, when Noel passed.

No questions. Just acknowledgment.

Marcus approached Noel near the bow, hands resting on the rail as he looked westward.

"So," he said calmly. "This is it."

Noel followed his gaze. Endless water. Open horizon.

"Yeah."

A short silence settled between them—not awkward. Familiar.

"You've been tense," Marcus continued. "Focused. More than usual."

Noel didn't deny it. "This time feels heavier."

Marcus nodded. "Good. That means you're taking it seriously."

He glanced sideways. "But it also means you're bottling things up again."

Noel huffed. "You always notice."

"That's my job," Marcus said simply. "Someone has to make sure you don't turn into a self-sacrificing idiot."

A corner of Noel's mouth twitched.

Marcus straightened. "Before we leave port… spar with me."

Noel raised an eyebrow. "Now?"

"Soon," Marcus clarified. "I want to see where you're really at now."

The ship's horn sounded—low and deep.

Crew members began untying the moorings.

Marcus met Noel's eyes, serious now. "If we're walking into something that can doom a continent… I need to know I can keep up."

Noel held his gaze.

"…Alright," he said. "One round."

From his shoulder, Noir's tail flicked. 'Try not to break the ship, Dad.'

The sea began to pull them forward.

The ship had already cleared the harbor.

Waves rolled beneath the hull, but the vessel barely swayed—its reinforced frame and spell-resistant plating humming softly as enchantments absorbed motion and pressure. This wasn't a merchant ship. It was closer to a war vessel, built to endure spells, impacts, and monsters from the deep.

They gathered on the sparring deck below the main mast—an open, rune-lined platform etched with suppression circles and impact-dampening sigils.

Perfect for this.

Clara stood near the railing, arms crossed but eyes bright. "Don't hold back," she called toward Marcus. "I want to see you keep up."

Laziel grinned. "This is going to be good."

"Finally, some entertainment," Garron added.

Roberto cracked his knuckles. "My money's on explosions."

Across from them, Elyra, Elena, Charlotte, and Selene naturally drifted to Noel's side. No shouting—just quiet confidence.

Noel stepped forward, black blade sliding free.

Revenant Fang drank the light.

Marcus rolled his shoulders once, exhaling, then planted his feet.

"Ready?" Marcus asked.

Noel lifted the sword slightly. "Anytime."

The runes embedded in the sparring deck ignited one by one, thin lines of light crawling across the metal plates until the entire arena hummed with restrained power.

Marcus didn't hesitate.

He shifted his weight forward, mana surging down his legs and into the deck.

"Stoneburst."

The surface beneath Noel didn't simply crack—it erupted.

A split second tremor warned him before jagged slabs of stone tore upward in a violent fan, shards spinning and snapping like fangs aimed straight for his knees and torso. The force wasn't meant to kill—but it would cripple anyone slow.

Noel reacted instantly.

He twisted on the ball of his foot, cloak snapping outward as he slipped sideways, the Veil of the Silent Sentinel blurring his outline just enough to throw off the spell's timing. Stone scraped past where his legs had been a heartbeat earlier, fragments shattering against the barrier runes with sharp, echoing cracks.

He didn't wait to land.

Mid-step, Noel drew mana into his sword arm, heat coiling along Revenant Fang's edge.

"Fire Arc."

The blade cut forward in a smooth, decisive sweep.

A crescent of compressed flame burst from the sword, sharp and fast, slamming into the rising stone. The arc didn't explode—it sheared. Rock edges glowed red, then liquefied, shards losing cohesion mid-air as molten fragments scattered harmlessly across the arena floor in hissing splashes of steam.

The crowd reacted immediately.

Marcus's eyes narrowed—not in frustration, but approval.

And the duel pressed on.

Marcus didn't retreat.

If anything, the near miss only sharpened him.

He drove his heel down, mana flooding into the deck as his stance locked in place.

"Rooted Stance."

The plates beneath his boots fused into stone, veins of blue fire threading through the cracks. The anchoring spell dug him into the arena itself—no knockback, no hesitation. Heat rolled off his body as molten light crawled along his arms.

Noel felt it immediately.

'He's bracing for a trade,' he thought. 'Of course he is.'

Marcus thrust his palm forward.

"Blazing Pillar."

A column of azure flame detonated straight up from the floor, timed precisely for where Noel would land if he advanced. The fire wasn't wild—it was disciplined, compressed, roaring like a forge opened too fast.

Noel moved through it.

The Veil of the Silent Sentinel pulsed once, dulling the lethal intent just enough for him to slip past the edge of the blast. His cloak singed but didn't burn, mana threads tightening as the heat washed over him.

He stepped in close—too close.

Marcus reacted instantly.

"Stoneguard."

A slab of rock snapped into existence between them, angled to deflect a sword strike. Revenant Fang hit it anyway.

CLANG—

The impact rang through the deck, stone spiderwebbing under the pressure. Noel twisted his wrist mid-swing, letting the blade slide instead of forcing the cut, and followed with his free hand.

"Voltage Needle."

The lightning spell fired point-blank.

A thin lance of electricity punched through the fractured shield, cracking stone apart as it pierced through. Marcus took the hit on his shoulder, muscles seizing for a fraction of a second as arcs danced across his arm.

Not enough.

He roared and pushed forward anyway, teeth clenched, pain ignored.

"Not done!" Marcus snapped, slamming both palms down. "Terra Slam!"

The shockwave tore forward in a straight line, jagged spikes ripping up toward Noel's chest.

Noel didn't block.

He vanished.

"Stormpiercer."

A sharp electric crack split the air. Noel became a streak of blinding light, reappearing behind Marcus in the same breath, electricity crawling over his body as momentum carried him forward.

He stopped the blade an inch from Marcus's back.

Silence fell.

Marcus froze—then exhaled, shoulders dropping, a crooked grin breaking through the exhaustion.

"…You're still ahead," he admitted. "But damn it—you don't make it easy."

Noel lowered Revenant Fang, breathing steady.

"You never do."

Marcus straightened slowly, rolling his shoulder as the residual heat faded from his spells.

Clara hurried to his side, already scolding him under her breath while checking his arm. Laziel whistled low, Garron let out a short laugh, and Roberto clapped once, clearly impressed.

"Yeah," Roberto said. "That was worth the trip."

Noel sheathed Revenant Fang, the black blade settling into silence. He offered Marcus a hand.

Marcus took it without hesitation, gripping firmly. "One day," he said with a grin, "I'm closing that gap."

Noel smiled faintly. "I'll be waiting."

Around them, the sea stretched endlessly toward the horizon—

and far beyond it, the Northern Isles awaited.

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