The sparring deck slowly emptied.

Salt wind swept across the ship's upper platform, carrying away the last traces of scorched stone and lingering mana. Crew members returned to their duties, murmuring among themselves, stealing brief glances toward Noel and Marcus before looking away again.

Noel rested his forearms against the railing, eyes fixed on the endless sea ahead. The horizon was calm—too calm for what waited beyond it.

Marcus joined him a moment later, rolling his shoulders once, a satisfied grin still lingering on his face.

"…I needed that," Marcus said honestly. "Nothing clears my head like a good fight."

Noel glanced at him briefly, then back at the ocean. "Same."

Behind them, the group gathered loosely. Clara hovered near Marcus, pretending not to fuss while clearly checking for injuries. Laziel and Garron debated loudly over which exchange had been the most brutal, while Roberto declared—far too confidently—that he could "totally keep up next time."

Noir's flat stare shut that down immediately.

Elyra stood a little apart, arms crossed, eyes sharp as she studied the sea routes ahead. Elena spoke quietly with Charlotte, the Saint listening with calm focus. Selene lingered nearby, silent, her gaze resting on Noel in a way only he noticed.

The atmosphere was light.

But underneath it, tension coiled tight.

Everyone here understood it.

This wasn't just training.

Noel straightened slowly.

The harbor was already far behind them.

Valon's coastline had shrunk into a thin silhouette, towers and walls dissolving into haze as the ship cut steadily westward. The vessel moved with deliberate confidence—its reinforced hull slicing through the waves, spell-etched plating along its sides humming faintly as it dispersed mana pressure from the sea.

This wasn't a merchant ship.

It was built to endure.

Noel stood near the bow now, cloak fluttering softly, watching the water split beneath them. The rhythmic crash of waves against the hull was almost meditative—almost.

Noir peeked out from his shadow, ears twitching. 'We're really moving now, Dad.'

"Yeah," Noel replied quietly. "No more delays."

Footsteps approached. Marcus stopped beside him and leaned against the railing, elbows resting comfortably as he looked out at the sea.

"…So," he said, tone easy, "be honest. You think Garron's the first one to puke, or Laziel?"

Noel snorted. "Garron. Laziel talks too much to get seasick. Garron bottles it up until it explodes."

"As expected." Marcus grinned. "Ten minutes, tops."

Behind them, as if on cue, Laziel's voice rose sharply. "I'm telling you, Garron, if you throw up near me—"

Garron growled something unintelligible.

Roberto laughed from where he leaned against the mast. "I'm putting money on both of them."

Clara caught Marcus watching and shook her head fondly, then raised a fist in mock warning. Behave, the gesture said.

Marcus glanced back at Noel. "Feels weird, doesn't it? Being on a ship instead of running laps or getting yelled at by Daemar."

"A little," Noel admitted. "But I'll take this over morning drills."

"Same." Marcus stretched his arms once, relaxed. "At least here, if something explodes, it's probably your fault."

Roberto pushed himself off the mast and wandered closer, hands tucked lazily into his pockets as if he'd just been passing by. He stopped a few steps from them, eyes on the sea.

"Hey," he said casually. "If something explodes, I'm blaming both of you."

Marcus snorted. "Of course you would."

Noel glanced at Roberto, then back at the water. For a moment, he said nothing. The ship rolled gently beneath their feet, steady and unbothered by the weight of the conversation that hadn't started yet.

Then Noel spoke.

"…How have you been, Roberto?"

Roberto blinked once, surprised by the shift.

"I mean," Noel continued, tone calm but direct, "these past months. You've been pretty absent."

The words weren't accusatory. Just honest.

Roberto scratched the back of his neck, gaze drifting away from the horizon and down to the deck. He let out a quiet breath.

"Argh… yeah." He gave a crooked smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Guess I have."

Marcus straightened slightly, the easy grin fading into something more attentive.

"So?" he prompted. "What happened?"

Roberto hesitated. The ship creaked softly around them, sails shifting as the wind changed.

"…Things back home," he said finally. "Stuff I couldn't just ignore. Had to stay. Be present."

He shrugged, like that explained everything.

Marcus nodded slowly. "Everything alright?"

Roberto tilted his head side to side. "Depends on your definition of 'alright.'" Then, quickly, "But yeah. It's… handled. Mostly."

Marcus studied him for a second longer, then clapped a hand lightly against the railing.

"You know," he said, voice steady, "whatever it is—you don't have to deal with it alone. You know that, right?"

Roberto looked at him, then at Noel.

For just a moment, something flickered across his face—gratitude, maybe. Or something heavier.

"…Yeah," he said quietly. "I know."

Noel didn't speak. He watched Roberto closely, sharper than his expression suggested. 'That's not the full answer,' he thought. 'But I will respect his privacy.'

Marcus seemed to sense the weight settling in. He cleared his throat and stepped back.

"Anyway," he said lightly, forcing the mood upward, "I promised Clara I'd help with something before she decides to murder me for ignoring her warning look."

Clara, a short distance away, raised a brow as if she'd heard her name.

Marcus pointed at Noel and Roberto. "Don't jump off the ship."

"Can't promise anything," Roberto replied dryly.

Marcus laughed, already walking away. "Try not to brood too hard. Dinner's soon."

And just like that, he was gone.

The space he left behind felt larger than it should've.

Noel and Roberto stood side by side, the sea stretching endlessly ahead of them.

The bell rang out across the deck not long after, impossible to ignore.

"Food," Garron muttered reverently. "Finally."

The group gathered in the ship's dining hall, a wide reinforced chamber below deck where hanging mana-lamps swayed gently with the motion of the waves. Long tables had already been set, simple but plentiful—steaming bowls, fresh bread, roasted fish, and trays of preserved vegetables enchanted to stay warm.

The mood shifted almost immediately.

Laziel launched into an exaggerated retelling of the sparring match, loudly insisting he'd "totally seen that feint coming," while Marcus openly called him a liar. Clara elbowed Marcus mid-argument, reminding him—quietly but firmly—that he still had a bruise forming on his shoulder.

Garron ate like a man preparing for war, blissfully unaware of Laziel's continued commentary. Roberto laughed along, chiming in just enough to keep the banter flowing. Charlotte listened with a soft smile, occasionally adding a gentle remark that somehow settled the table whenever the volume rose too high.

Elena laughed more than she spoke. Selene mostly watched, a small plate in front of her, her gaze drifting between Noel and the rest of the group.

Noel sat among them, responding when spoken to, smiling when it felt right.

But his attention kept drifting.

Roberto was acting normal. Too normal.

Joking. Laughing. Relaxed posture. But Noel noticed the little things—the way Roberto barely touched his drink, the way his laughter came half a second late sometimes, the way his eyes wandered whenever the conversation lulled.

Eventually, Roberto pushed his chair back.

"I'm gonna grab some air," he said casually. "Too many people, not enough sky."

"Running away already?" Laziel teased.

"Surviving," Roberto corrected, already standing.

He slipped out before anyone could reply.

The conversation continued without missing a beat. Garron complained about the fish. Clara told him to stop eating like that. Marcus leaned back, arms crossed, clearly enjoying the rare moment of calm.

Noel waited.

Five minutes.

Then he stood.

"I'll be right back," he said, already moving.

Selene glanced up, eyes meeting his for just a second. She didn't ask where he was going. She already knew.

The night air hit him the moment he stepped back onto the deck—cool, sharp, carrying salt and the low hiss of water cutting against the hull. The sky above was clear, stars scattered thick and bright, untouched by city lights.

Roberto stood near the railing, elbows resting against it, staring out into the dark sea.

Noel approached quietly and stopped beside him.

Neither spoke at first.

The ship sailed on, steady and relentless, carrying them forward whether they were ready or not.

Finally, Roberto exhaled.

"…Knew you'd follow."

Noel didn't deny it.

"Yeah," he said softly. "Figured we weren't done."

Noel rested his forearms on the railing beside him, gaze fixed on the dark water below.

"…What's eating at you?" he asked quietly. "What's been gnawing at your head all this time?"

Roberto let out a low, humorless laugh. He rubbed a hand over his face, then stared out at the sea, jaw tight.

"I don't know what to do," he admitted. "Honestly… this is the first time I've ever been in a situation like this, Noel."

Noel didn't interrupt.

Roberto swallowed, shoulders tensing.

"Two people who matter to me," he continued, voice rougher now. "Let's just say they're… not on the same side. And somehow, I'm right in the middle." He shook his head slowly. "They both expect something from me. An answer. A choice."

The wind tugged at his coat as the ship rolled onward.

"And the problem is," Roberto said, quieter, "if I choose one… I lose the other. Completely. No going back. No fixing it. No making peace later."

Noel's fingers tightened slightly around the railing.

Roberto finally turned toward him, eyes tired, stripped of the usual bravado.

"I've fought monsters. I've taken risks. I've lost before," he said. "But this? Choosing who I walk away from forever?" His voice cracked, just barely. "I don't know how to do that."

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