The endless sea stretched beyond, dark and uncertain.
Ragaleon's men awaited him by the seashore for a long time. Among them was Micah's personal knight, Sir Lamech.
"We should go back."
Sir Lamech said, picking up the oar that was on the wet sand, on the seashore, he began to drag his boots towards one of the boats swaying at the shore.
"You heard the king; he told us to leave."
One of the knights said, lazily seated on the wet sand.
"He also made it clear to us to come for him after a while. Minutes have passed, the moon is now hidden behind the clouds, get your lazy ass here, and we are going after him."
He cursed out, still walking away.
"You call me lazy?
The knight seated on the sand asked, annoyed by his words.
"It was your sorry ass that got us in this mess. You had one job, and you couldn't do it. Your head should be hanging over a spike."
The knight shot back, and Lamech began to boil with anger; he threw the oar in his hand aside, then turned to look at the man.
"I will make you repeat those words but without a single tooth in your mouth!
He said, lurching at the knight.
"Up ahead, I see someone coming!
The leader of the knight said, picking up his swords.
"Is it the king?"
Lamech's anger vanished into the wind; he turned towards the endless waters, his eyes searching through the vast sea. Indeed, he saw a boat making its way towards the seashore.
A shadow was approaching, a lone boat, gliding steadily toward them.
At first, it was hard to tell who it was. The oars moved with a slow, deliberate rhythm, the figure half-hidden in the dim light.
A murmur rippled through the knights as they strained their eyes.
"It's the King!" one of them shrilled in relief.
At once, the knights sprang to their feet.
Those who had been seated on the sand brushed themselves off, gripping their swords tightly. The soft murmur of the waves was drowned by the sudden clatter of metal as they all drew closer to the shore, eyes fixed on the approaching boat.
"The queen… she didn't come," one of the knights murmured, his voice breaking through the silence.
The others turned sharply toward him, their relief faltering. They looked past Ragaleon's approaching boat, scanning the dark expanse of the sea, but there was no other vessel in sight.
By the time Ragaleon's boat drew near to the shore, the knights could make out a faint, slumped figure leaning against the side of the vessel. The sight sent a ripple of alarm through them.
As the boat scraped against the sand, Ragaleon rose to his feet, his cloak heavy with seawater.
"Quickly!" he barked, his voice sharp with urgency. "Get the horses ready—she's unconscious. We must return to the castle at once!"
The knights sprang into motion. Some waded into the shallow water to steady the boat, while others ran toward the waiting horses.
Micah's pale form lay motionless, her hair damp and tangled, her face ghostly in the moonlight.
Ragaleon gathered her gently into his arms, his gaze fixed on her pale face—filled with nothing but guilt.
Her breathing was faint but steady, each rise of her chest easing the fear of her not being alive.
Without a word, he turned toward his horse. The knights quickly made way as he approached. Holding her close, he mounted with careful precision, cradling her against him so she would not fall.
For a moment, he looked down at her once more, the weight of his actions pressing heavily on his chest. Then, tightening his grip on the reins, he spurred the horse toward the direction he was heading.
With a light kick, the horse sprang into motion, letting out a sharp neigh that echoed into the night. It charged forward, hooves pounding against the damp earth as it dived into the thick woods.
The wind rushed past them in swift, whirling streams.
Ragaleon's shoulder-length hair whipped freely in the wind, brushing against his face as he held Micah tightly in his arms.
With Micah's life on the line, the journey seemed long, but some minutes later the iron gates of the castle groaned open, their echo rolling through the courtyard like distant thunder.
From within, the clatter of horses and the sharp calls of knights filled the air as several riders emerged to meet their king.
Torches flickered along the stone walls, casting long, restless shadows across the ground.
Racheal was seated in her chamber, reclined on a high-backed chair. Her brown, curly hair tumbled freely over her shoulders, and a cup of sweet wine lay untouched in her hand.
The sudden groan of the castle gates jolted her from her deep thoughts. Startled, she rose gracefully to her feet and made her way toward the terrace.
As she stepped out, the cool night breeze swept around her, tousling her curls.
She leaned slightly over the railing, her eyes straining into the darkness, listening to the echoes of distant voices that grew louder with each passing moment.
Her eyes shimmered with hope, praying that it was Ragaleon returning.
For days, she had worried over him, her thoughts consumed with his safety. She longed to have him back in her arms, to feel the warmth of his presence once more, and to reclaim the closeness they had so deeply missed.
Then she caught sight of him. Ragaleon rode majestically into the castle on his horse, head held high, cloak trailing behind him like a banner in the wind.
Her heart leapt with joy at the sight, but the moment of elation was fleeting. Her eyes were drawn downward, and they fell upon the figure cradled in his arms.
Her breath caught, and her heart skipped a beat.
He found her… Micah.
She was unconscious, pale, and lifeless in his grasp, and that stole every ounce of her happiness, leaving her frozen on the terrace, torn between relief and dread.
She stood on the terrace, watching him glide through the courtyard on his horse, a trail of knights following dutifully.
Her emerald-green eyes, once vibrant with hope, now seemed to lose their glow.
A shadow of uncertainty crept over them.
"She is back."
She muttered, refusing to believe her own words.
In another chamber, far within the cold stone walls of the eastern tower,
Amilek sat alone, his figure half-swallowed by the flickering glow of a dying candle.
His eyes, pale and orby like misted pearls, stared blankly into the void; his spirit had long traveled.
It has been like this all night; he has been monitoring Ragaleon's men through the eyes of the owl.
The owl was now within the premises of the castle; it swirled through the night air, over Ragaleon's fleet of horses that had just trooped into the castle, its wings gliding soundlessly as it turned toward the tower, where Amilek's chamber was located.
A low hoot escaped its beak before it swooped closer.
It perched upon the stone ledge of the window for a moment, its feathers ruffled from the chill outside.
Then, with a graceful leap, it crossed the short distance and came to rest upon Amilek's shoulder.
Amilek did not flinch.
Slowly, the white haze faded from his eyes, and his gaze cleared to emerald green, cold, yet alive once more.
He raised a hand and brushed the owl's wing lightly, as though to commend it.
"Good job."