(3rd Person POV)
It had been days since the renovation began, and the Grand Whale was steadily transforming into the ship Arthur envisioned. The construction company worked with incredible efficiency. Though Arthur's blueprints emphasized aesthetics, they were also practical—engineers quickly adapted them into reality.
Around 7,000 workers—humans, dwarves, and demons alike—labored around the clock. And in just a week, the transformation was complete. The speed stunned even seasoned dockworkers. The once aging vessel was now a gleaming marvel, its hull polished, decks restored, and grand design reborn.
At Liberty Port, early morning dockworkers gathered to admire the result.
"Look at that… The Grand Whale looks like a brand-new luxury ship," one man said, wiping his brow.
"Didn't expect it to turn around this fast," added another, a cigarette dangling from his lips. "One week. Just one week."
A burly worker hauling crates muttered, "With that kind of money, you can build a city in a month. That demon filmmaker's throwing gold like it's gravel."
"I heard the supply companies are dancing with joy. He bought materials worth millions," someone added.
"My cousin works at one of them," said a man in a straw hat. "He said Arthur Pendragon's orders were a windfall—half a year's worth of stock cleared in a few days."
Some workers sighed in envy. An older man, thin and weathered, shook his head. "He's probably gonna turn the ship into a profit machine now—tourist tickets, fancy cruises. Who renovates something like this unless they plan to milk it?"
Another nodded. "The Grand Whale used to be a national pride, but it was costing more than it made. Not enough to keep it afloat."
Just then, a newsboy dashed into the crowd, waving papers above his head.
"Extra! Extra! Read all about it! Grand Whale's future revealed! Mr. Pendragon's plans inside!"
The dockworkers snapped to attention.
"Give me one," a man called, flipping a coin to the boy. The others followed, eager hands grabbing the newsprints.
Murmurs and gasps followed as they scanned the front page.
"What the—? He's not turning it into a tourist ship?" someone blurted. "He bought it for a movie?"
"By the stars," another said, eyes wide. "He bought a whole damn ship just to shoot a film?"
"Well… considering how big Star Wars was," one muttered, "I guess he can afford it."
"Yeah, but Star Wars was all done in the VFX Studio, right?" another cut in. "They say illusions use expensive magic cores—and those things are running short."
"I heard one film eats through magic cores worth millions in global dollars," said a man with a scruffy beard. "No wonder he's moving to real sets now."
"Maybe that's why he wants a real ship this time," someone agreed. "But I doubt the Grand Whale's fans will be happy it's being used for a movie instead of preserved."
They all turned to glance at a group of quiet onlookers near the docks—former sailors, elders, and longtime admirers of the Grand Whale. Their expressions said everything.
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The Grand Whale was no longer the aging relic it once was. On the promenade deck—the former first-class walkway where rust and decay had once ruled—now stretched a beautifully restored and reimagined space.
Gleaming wood floors, brass handrails, and elegant lighting fixtures ran along the length of the open-air corridor. The sea breeze flowed freely, brushing through sheer curtains hung at intervals.
It was bright. Spacious. And dignified.
A construction developer walked beside Arthur, pride evident in his posture. "We gave it everything we had," he said, gesturing to the long deck. "Followed your blueprints to the letter." He chuckled, almost reverently. "Of course, it helped that your design was brilliant, Mr. Arthur. Straightforward, clean, elegant—it made our job easier."
Arthur gave a nod, hands behind his back as he gazed down the length of the polished walkway. His golden eyes reflected quiet satisfaction. "You did well."
Walking just behind them was Firfel. She hadn't stepped foot on the ship for a week—she'd stayed in the hotel while the renovations were underway. Now, as her heels clicked softly against the new flooring and the salty wind teased strands of her silver hair, she gently tucked a lock behind her ear and looked around in awe.
'This… doesn't even feel like the same ship,' she thought, eyes roaming the transformed deck. 'I had doubts about changing too much, but… this is breathtaking. It might be even better than the original.'
She drifted toward the carved railing, peering out at the endless sea. Around her, the deck curved gently with white-painted support beams arched like ribs overhead.
Farther ahead, grand glass doors led into what was now a reimagined lounge hall—its crystal windows catching the sunlight and scattering it into soft hues across the polished floor.
Beyond the doors, a sweeping staircase descended toward the main saloon, its bannisters carved from dark wood, accented with golden trims. The craftsmanship was meticulous—rich, refined, and stately. Everything from the gentle curve of the railings to the symmetry of the paneling gave the space an air of quiet grandeur.
After settling into the bridge—the command center of the ship—Firfel stood quietly, gazing out at the endless sea.
Once the construction developer had left, Arthur leaned against the console and watched her expression, full of wonder. "So," he asked with a grin, "what do you think of our ship? Not bad for a movie set, right?"
Firfel turned, her eyes bright. "It's incredible. I can't believe this is the same Grand Whale I saw just a week ago—it's like stepping into a dream."
Arthur chuckled and nodded. "I figured you'd prefer the original design, though. You seemed pretty taken with it."
"I did like the original," she admitted, her tone softening. "But this… this keeps its soul. It still feels like the Grand Whale—just more refined, more alive." She smiled faintly, then her gaze dropped, fingers brushing lightly over the control panel. "It's a shame, though. To think this beautiful ship will be sunk for a film…"
Arthur studied her in silence, then said calmly, "If you want to keep the ship, we don't have to destroy it."
Her head snapped toward him, eyes wide. "Really? But... what about the story?"
He gave a sly smile. "I didn't say I wouldn't sink it. I said I wouldn't destroy it."
Firfel narrowed her eyes, then swatted his arm. "Stop playing with me. So which is it—are you keeping it, or sending it to the ocean floor?"
Arthur laughed. "I'm sinking it—for the scene. But not in a way that'll ruin it. It'll go down once, just for the film. Then…" He shrugged. "It'll come back up. Good as new."
Firfel stared at him, frowning in confusion. "That's not possible. Not without damage. How could you even—"
"Trade secret," Arthur said with a wink.
Firfel huffed, but a hint of amusement curled at the corners of her lips. With a mock scowl, she turned and dashed out of the room to explore more of the ship.
Arthur watched her go, then exhaled and looked out across the horizon.
'She doesn't know yet,' he thought, his eyes steady. 'But I'm not just a filmmaker anymore… I'm a god now—even if just barely. And with that power, nothing is truly impossible.'
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