Marcus leaned his weight against the railing beside the helm, rocking slightly with the ship's motion. He glanced at Noel, then at Elyra, before turning his attention back to the man at the wheel.

"So, Gustave," he said, tone casual but curious, "you've been sailing these waters longer than any of us have been alive, right?"

Gustave didn't look away from the sea. "Long enough to forget what solid ground feels like some days."

Marcus grinned. "Perfect. Then you've got stories."

That finally earned a reaction. The captain's mouth twitched—not quite a smile yet, but close.

"Stories," Gustave repeated. "That's what people call warnings when they survive them."

Noel rested his forearms on the railing, relaxed but attentive. "We're listening either way."

Gustave glanced at him sidelong, measuring. Whatever he saw seemed to satisfy him. He adjusted his grip on the wheel, then exhaled slowly.

"You want something to pass the time," he said, "or something to remember when things go wrong?"

Marcus didn't even hesitate. "Both, ideally."

Elyra nodded once. "If it's the latter, even better."

Gustave huffed, a quiet sound that might've been a chuckle. "Figures. Estermont sends me fighters and scholars instead of tourists."

"Hey," Marcus protested lightly, "I can be a tourist."

"No, you can't," Noel said flatly.

Elyra didn't bother hiding her smirk.

Gustave shook his head, amused now. "Alright. Two stories, then. One about the islands themselves. One about the waters around them." He paused. "You don't interrupt unless you want the short version."

Marcus immediately zipped his lips and mimed throwing away a key.

The captain continued, voice steady, unhurried.

"People think the Northern Isles are just… land scattered across cold water. That's the first mistake. Each island up there has a temperament. Some welcome you. Some test you. Some pretend to be harmless until you're too deep to turn back."

Noel frowned slightly. "You're saying they're not uniform."

Gustave nodded. "Not even close. One island might be nothing but ice and wind. Another might be green, calm, almost peaceful." His eyes narrowed. "That doesn't make it safer."

Elyra leaned in a fraction. "Because the danger isn't always environmental."

"Exactly," Gustave said, pleased. "Sometimes it's what lives there. Sometimes it's what used to."

Marcus shifted. "That's… unsettling."

"That's honest," Gustave replied. Then, after a beat, he added dryly, "You'll notice I didn't say anything about treasure. That's on purpose."

Noel let out a quiet breath, eyes drifting briefly toward the distant peaks. "And the second story?"

Gustave's gaze returned to the sea ahead, expression sobering again.

"That one," he said, "is about the water itself."

Gustave rested both hands on the wheel, eyes fixed ahead as if the sea itself were listening.

"The water around the Northern Isles doesn't behave like water," he said calmly. "That's the first thing you need to understand. It doesn't rush you. It doesn't roar. Most of the time… it waits."

Marcus frowned. "Waits for what?"

"For mistakes," Gustave replied without hesitation.

The ship creaked softly beneath them, a slow, steady sound that suddenly felt louder than before.

"Out there," the captain continued, nodding toward the open sea beyond the Iskandar Peaks, "the sea doesn't always attack the body first. Sometimes it goes for the mind."

Noel's eyes sharpened. "How?"

Gustave exhaled through his nose. "Songs. Whispers. Distortions. You'll hear things that don't belong to the wind."

Marcus tilted his head. "Sirens?"

Gustave glanced at him, then shook his head. "Not exactly. Sirens are a story people understand, so they use the name. But these…" His fingers tightened slightly on the wheel. "These are older. And less polite."

Elyra's expression grew thoughtful. "Mental magic?"

"In part," Gustave agreed. "Confusion. Illusion. Suggestion. They don't need to shout spells at you. They nudge. Bend. Twist what you already know."

Noel crossed his arms slowly. "Do they have a form?"

"Sometimes," Gustave said. "Sometimes not. That's what makes them dangerous. You won't always see a monster rising from the waves. More often, you'll feel something is wrong before you understand why."

He glanced back at them, eyes sharp despite his age.

"Crew start doubting orders. Someone swears they heard their name called—from a voice they trust. Others see land where there is none. Calm water. Safe harbors." He paused. "They're lies."

Elyra nodded once. "That kind of magic would disrupt mana synchronization. Even disciplined mages could hesitate."

"And hesitation is enough," Gustave said grimly. "If a ship splits its attention—if the crew argues, if someone thinks they know better than the helm—you're already dead."

Marcus swallowed. "So… what's the rule?"

Gustave's voice hardened. "You stay together. You trust the timón. Always. The moment someone decides to act alone, the sea takes them."

A cold silence settled over the deck.

"There are wrecks up there," Gustave went on quietly, "that left no debris. No bodies. Just ships found drifting days later. Sails intact. Cargo untouched."

Noel frowned. "Empty?"

Gustave nodded once.

"Empty," he repeated.

The wind shifted, colder now, carrying with it the faint scent of snow.

Gustave let the silence sit for a few seconds longer, then relaxed his grip on the wheel. The severity in his expression eased—not gone, but tempered, like a man who knew when fear had done its job.

"That's the water," he said at last. "If you survive that, then you earn the right to deal with the islands."

Marcus exhaled slowly. "Comforting."

Gustave huffed, the corner of his mouth twitching. "You're still breathing. That's comfort enough."

He adjusted their course by a fraction, eyes flicking toward the distant white teeth of the Iskandar Peaks. They loomed closer now, massive and unmoving, their snow-covered slopes cutting the sky in jagged lines.

"People make a second mistake," Gustave continued. "They assume the danger ends once their boots touch land. It doesn't. It just changes its rules."

Noel watched the peaks carefully. "You said each island has a temperament."

"I did," Gustave replied. "And I meant it."

He leaned slightly against the helm, voice steady but deliberate.

"Some islands are loud. Storms, beasts, terrain that wants to break your bones the moment you step wrong. Those are honest places. They tell you exactly how they plan to kill you."

Marcus snorted. "I think I prefer those."

"Most do," Gustave said dryly. "They don't survive the others."

Elyra's eyes narrowed. "The quiet ones."

Gustave pointed at her without looking. "Exactly. Islands that feel… reasonable. Stable ground. Manageable mana flow. Maybe even shelter." He paused. "Those are the ones that lure crews into staying too long."

"How?" Noel asked.

"Patterns," Gustave answered. "An island where monsters don't attack at night. An island where wounds heal faster than they should. An island where your spells feel sharper, cleaner." His gaze hardened. "You start adjusting. Relying on it. And then when it changes—because they all do—you're not ready."

Marcus shifted his weight. "So the islands adapt."

"Or react," Gustave said. "Hard to tell the difference up there."

Elyra folded her arms, thoughtful. "That suggests localized mana ecosystems. Self-contained, possibly self-correcting."

Gustave glanced at her, impressed. "You've got a good head on you. Hold onto it."

He straightened, voice firm again.

"The Northern Isles aren't a single destination. They're a chain of tests. You don't conquer them. You endure them long enough to leave."

Noel felt the weight of that settle in his chest.

"And if you don't?" he asked quietly.

Gustave looked ahead, toward the peaks, toward what lay beyond them.

"Then you become part of the story," he said. "And the isles don't tell stories twice."

The wind shifted as if on cue.

Cold slid across the deck in a sudden, deliberate sweep, sharp enough to sting exposed skin. The sails responded with a low snap, canvas tightening as the ship adjusted its angle. Somewhere below, the hull groaned—wood and metal answering pressure with discipline rather than panic.

Gustave fell silent.

He didn't need to say anything more.

For a few moments, no one spoke. Even Marcus, who usually couldn't resist breaking tension, kept his mouth shut. He rested his forearms on the railing, gaze fixed on the Iskandar Peaks ahead. They were closer now—close enough that individual ridges could be seen, deep shadows cutting through the white like scars.

"So," Marcus said eventually, voice lower than usual, "no singing water, no friendly islands, and absolutely no getting comfortable."

Gustave gave a quiet grunt. "You learn fast."

"That's new," Marcus muttered.

Noel didn't smile.

He was watching the sea—not the surface, but the way it moved. The water didn't crash or churn. It slid. Rolled. Too smooth for something this far north, this close to broken currents. The kind of calm that felt intentional.

'It's listening,' Noir murmured from within his shadow.

Noel didn't answer her aloud, but his fingers tightened slightly against the railing.

Elyra shifted closer to him. "If what he says is accurate," she said quietly, "then separation is the real danger. Not raw force. Not even monsters."

Noel nodded. "Which means if something tries to scatter us…"

"…we regroup immediately," Elyra finished. "No improvisation."

Marcus glanced between them, then let out a breath. "You two are terrifying when you're on the same wavelength."

"Alive is better than terrifying," Elyra replied calmly.

Gustave adjusted the helm again, just a fraction. The motion was precise—measured. Like someone handling a sleeping blade.

"We'll pass the Peaks in a few days," he said. "After that, visibility gets unreliable. You'll feel it before you see it."

Marcus raised a brow. "Feel what?"

Gustave didn't look back. "The moment the world stops agreeing with itself."

That earned a low whistle.

The bell rang from below deck, calling the next watch. Crew members moved with quiet efficiency, voices subdued, laughter absent. Whatever levity had existed earlier had been sanded down by truth.

Noel took one last look at the peaks.

They weren't just mountains.

They were a threshold.

And beyond them—somewhere past distorted waters and islands that watched back—waited answers that would not come without cost.

"Alright," Marcus said finally, straightening. "I officially hate this place already."

Noel exhaled slowly.

"Good," he said. "Me too."

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