Amelia found Fritz near the edge of the deck.

He had claimed a quiet corner where the outside flaps blocked much of the wind.

His equipment was laid out in neat and deliberate rows. With a cloth in hand, he worked through each piece with a steady focus.

She paused without announcing herself, feeling like it'd be awkward if she interrupted his concentration.

Fritz didn't rush. Every movement laced with intent, like he was grounding himself through routine rather than distraction.

Amelia noted it automatically, the way she always did with people who carried responsibility well.

"You keep busy," she said at last.

Fritz glanced up, then relaxed when he saw it was her.

"Just a habit," he replied. "Can't have something break on me in a life-or-death situation."

Amelia nodded.

She stepped closer, resting a hand against the railing as she watched him finish securing a strap.

"So," she said lightly, "how are you feeling about all this?"

He hesitated—not long, but long enough to be honest.

"The Path?" Fritz asked.

Amelia nodded.

He set the cloth aside, considering his words more carefully than most people did.

"I didn't expect it," he said finally. "Being chosen, I mean."

"Really?"

He gave a short huff.

"I didn't think I'd even be considered."

Fritz paused, then added, quieter this time.

"Don't get me wrong. I've always looked up to heroes."

He shook his head slightly.

"It just… takes a bit to settle, that's all."

Amelia tilted her head slightly. "So how did it happen, then?"

Fritz glanced back down at his equipment, fingers resuming their slow, methodical work.

"Princess Taylor approached me."

"That makes sense," Amelia said. "She has an eye for people."

The question left her mouth easily enough, even though she already knew the answer.

What she wanted wasn't the story itself, but how it had felt to be on the receiving end of it.

"She didn't put it like that," he said.

Amelia looked at him again.

He tightened a strap, loosened it, then adjusted it again—like he'd lost track of what he was doing for a moment.

"She told me I'd been chosen as a Hero Candidate," Fritz said.

He paused.

"But she didn't say it was her decision."

He looked up briefly.

"She said it was the Captain's."

"…Huh," Amelia murmured.

That wasn't what she'd expected.

Fritz noticed the pause but decided to let it pass.

He returned his attention to the cloth, cleaning the black goop away from his blade.

"I don't even know who he is," he said, plainly.

Amelia looked at him.

Fritz didn't meet her eyes this time.

"Even today, we've never spoken properly."

He let out a short breath.

"Yet… it feels like he knows me."

Amelia stayed quiet, letting the words settle.

"I don't think he means harm," Fritz said after a moment. "I just…don't understand how he can be so sure."

His gaze flicked toward her, then away again.

"There was something, once," he added, slower now. "Before all this. A situation where he and Jay—"

He stopped himself short.

Fritz straightened, grounding himself again. She wasn't looking at him, just lending an ear.

"Then why did you agree?"

He froze.

Not dramatically, just enough to register the question,

He opened his mouth, then closed it again, brows knitting as if he'd expected the answer to be there and found only empty space.

"…I don't know," he said finally.

The words came out slower than the rest had.

He let out a breath, almost a huff, and shook his head at himself.

"I don't have a clean reason. Nothing I can point to and say that's it."

He glanced down at his hands, flexed them once.

"I just knew that saying no would've felt worse," Fritz admitted. "Like I'd be turning away from something I was supposed to at least try."

Silence settled between them.

Just honest.

Amelia hesitated, then spoke before the moment slipped away.

"There are things I can't tell you," she said quietly.

Fritz looked up, surprised.

"About our Captain," Amelia continued. "About how he makes certain decisions."

She exhaled, fingers tightening briefly against the railing before relaxing again.

"I don't know everything either."

That earned his full attention.

"But I do know this," she added. "He wants the best outcome for everyone involved. Even when it doesn't look like it. Even when he comes off… distant."

Fritz listened without interrupting.

"And he isn't perfect," Amelia said. "He doesn't see everything. He can be wrong."

She met Fritz's eyes this time.

"He knows that."

The wind brushed past them, the airship humming steadily beneath their feet.

"But if he trusts in you…" Amelia finished, her voice calm but firm. "There's a reason. Maybe it's worth trusting yourself too."

Fritz didn't answer right away.

Then he gave a small nod and returned to his work. The moment passed naturally, without ceremony.

Amelia stepped back and let it.

She left him there, grounded and occupied, the rhythm of his movements settling back into place as she moved down the corridor.

The ship felt different now.

Everyone had found something to anchor themselves to.

Everyone but one.

Amelia slowed near the mapping room, the faint scrape of parchment audible even through the door. She paused, listening for just a moment, then lifted her hand and knocked once.

"Come in," Ryn answered almost immediately.

The mapping room was lit brighter than the rest of the ship, a wide table dominating the center. Charts were spread across it, routes marked in red string and notes pinned to certain locations.

Ryn stood over the table, one hand braced against its edge, the other hovering just above the parchment as if he were mid-thought. He didn't look up right away.

Amelia stepped inside and closed the door behind her.

Only then did he glance over.

"Hey," he said, like he'd expected her. "Give me a second."

She nodded and moved closer, eyes tracing the lines and symbols instead. This wasn't casual planning.

The markings didn't stop at Dheam, they spilled past it, branching outward to the rest of the continent.

Ryn finished what he was writing, set the marker down, and finally turned fully toward her.

"Okay," he said. "What's up?"

Amelia met his eyes.

He was calm. Focused.

Already ahead of where they were.

"Has this happened before?" she asked.

Ryn answered immediately, already knowing what she was talking about.

"Yes."

The word came out flat.

Amelia didn't comment on it. She glanced back down at the map instead, letting the silence breathe.

"And the Cult?" she asked. "Is this connected?"

Ryn nodded once.

"Same thing. Blessings stopping is never random— it only happens when something larger is already in motion."

His hand moved, tapping a point near the edge of the table. Then another. Then another.

"Last time, it started like this," he continued. "Then, after a while…the monsters started—"

He cut himself off.

His hand stilled against the table.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was the low hum of the ship.

Ryn exhaled slowly. "…Sorry."

Amelia didn't rush him.

She waited until his shoulders eased, just slightly, before speaking again.

"What does that imply for us?" she asked.

Ryn didn't answer right away this time.

He leaned back from the table, eyes lifting from the map as if forcing himself to see past it. When he spoke, his tone was more measured, careful even.

"It means we can't treat Dheam like an endpoint," he said.

"It's a junction. Whatever happens there will ripple outward, whether we want it to or not."

He stepped around the table, gesturing more broadly now.

"It means we can't afford to mess up. We've lost the lead to the Cult—Dheam is where we'll take it back."

She nodded, then looked out the window.

"Just remember," Amelia said gently, "we're going to Dheam to help them. To solve what's already there first."

She glanced back at the maps.

"Not to turn it into a means to an end."

Ryn let out a slow breath, the tension in his shoulders easing as he leaned back against the edge of the table.

"…Yeah," he said after a moment. "I'll keep that in mind."

It wasn't dismissal, just acknowledgement.

The maps were still there. The plans hadn't vanished. But he wasn't hovering over them anymore, hands no longer tracing every possible path.

Amelia watched that small shift, then let the moment go.

"I'm going to grab something to drink," she said, already turning toward the door. "You want one?"

Ryn hesitated.

She didn't look back. "The usual black tea," she added. "No sugar."

A faint huff escaped him. "You remember too much."

"Someone has to," she replied lightly.

She paused at the doorway just long enough for him to speak again.

"…Without you," Ryn said, quieter now, almost offhand, "I'd probably still be in here. Going in circles."

Amelia smiled, just a little.

"Crazy?" she offered.

He snorted. "Something like that."

She didn't respond verbally. Just held the drink out to him.

Ryn took it, fingers brushing the cup as he accepted it. He took a small sip, the tension in his jaw easing despite himself.

Before either of them could say anything else, a soft chime echoed through the ship.

"Attention, all hands. We're breaking through the cloud layer. Dheam should be in view shortly."

They stood there for a moment, neither of them speaking.

Then Amelia was already moving.

Ryn followed without a word, setting the cup aside as they stepped out into the corridor.

The ship felt suddenly alive. Footsteps echoed, voices carrying as crew and passengers alike made their way upward.

By the time they reached the deck, the others were already there.

Jay leaned over the railing, eyes wide. Fritz stood a little apart, posture straight, gaze fixed ahead. Taylor was near the bow, hands clasped behind her back, amused as she took in the sight below.

Dheam stretched out beneath them.

From above, its scale was unmistakable. Layered terrain, fractured borders, and old structures half-swallowed by the land and mist.

It wasn't a single city, not truly…It was a place shaped by colliding conflicts.

Ryn stepped forward, joining the line at the railing.

For a brief moment, he let himself see it as it was now—not as it would become.

We really are here.

Ryn felt the thought land fully, heavier than he expected.

The Hero's Path wasn't a make-believe anymore. It was his new reality. And it would happen regardless of whether he was ready or not.

Ryn tightened his grip on the railing.

Fine. If old paths no longer held, he'd carve a new one from its remains.

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