Chapter 33 - Evening Voyage
--Lyra--
The wood of the upper bunk was cold against my back, but it couldn't match the hollow, aching chill settling in my chest.
Tonight was just humiliating.
I stared blankly at the dark wooden ceiling planks just inches from my face, tracing the faint lines in the grain until they blurred. Below me, Kyro's steady, rhythmic breathing ticked away the seconds. He was already asleep. Good. At least someone could rest.
...
Is there something wrong with me?
The question echoed in the quiet cabin, it bothered me so much that I couldn't even close my eyes. Slowly, I lifted my right hand into the dim moonlight, letting it enter my field of vision. I turned it over, staring at my palm as if the answers were written in the lines of my skin.
Why did I have to be the odd one out? The outlier in my own bloodline. My father was sharp, my mother brilliant. Grann did mention about how Mom would bury her nose in thick, heavy volumes for hours. Just like Kyro does now.
And Kyro... Gods, Kyro was terrifyingly smart. It wasn't just that he knew things; it was the way he walked through the world. His choices were always the right ones.
I remembered the time with Kelsey escaping...
Well, almost the right ones...
My chest tightened as the memory of Haghl flashed vividly in my mind—the sketchy shop owner, the warnings Kyro had given me that I had brushed off with a reckless laugh. If I had just listened to him, if I hadn't been so stubborn, I wouldn't have dragged him into that mess. I wouldn't have given him such a hard time.
I always did that. I laughed things off, played the loud, carefree sister, and ignored his complaints. But the truth was a bitter pill to swallow: I was jealous. Bitterly, deeply jealous of my own little brother.
With a brain like his, what limits did he even have? I knew it, deep down—when we grew up, he was going to accomplish massive, incredible things. Things I could never dream of. He was already weaving magic into reality, learning the fine edge of a sword, calculating numbers in a blink, and speaking with a vocabulary that made me feel entirely uneducated.
Lately, the gap between us felt like a chasm. He didn't just feel smarter anymore, but he felt older. The way he carried himself, the weight behind his decisions... he acted more like the older sibling than I ever did.
The way he teased me, making me feel like an inferior.
"You're totally right, Lyra. Reading is completely useless... for average people."
His words repeated through my thick skull..
"I mean, I know you can read some words,"
"Tch.."
"But you still struggle with basically any vocabulary over three syllables. Ah, well. I guess if you think those things are too 'trivial,' you'll just have to settle for being a regular, run-of-the-mill mercenary. You'll never be the strongest in the world. Oh, the tragedy! Ha. Ha. Ha."
A hot, prickling wave of shame rushed over me, burning behind my eyes. When he had said those words, a violent, desperate surge of anger had flared up inside me. I'd wanted to throw him off the ship, to throw him from the very top of the mast just to make him stop looking down on me.
But I couldn't. Because beneath the anger was the terrifying realization that he was right.
I did struggle. Words tangled in my head, numbers became a blurry mess, and spelling felt like trying to grasp water. I was failing at the basic things, while he was mastering the extraordinary.
My fingers curled inward, trembling against the cold wood before I clenched them into a tight, frustrated fist, my nails digging hard into my palm.
Every single action I took lately felt like a mistake. I didn't think. I never thought. I just reacted, threw myself headfirst into the fire, and left everyone else to sweep up the ashes of my consequences. I hated that I was only just realizing this. I hated how blind I had always been.
Unable to lie still under the suffocating weight of my own thoughts, I quietly shifted, the old mattress groaning softly under my weight. I leaned over the edge of the wooden guardrail, looking down into the dim shadows of the lower bunk.
Kyro looked so small under the blankets. A child. Yet during the day, he felt like an impassable mountain.
"Why does it feel like you're the older sibling?" I whispered into the dark. The words felt heavy, tasting of copper, envy, and a deep, aching regret.
I pulled back, burying my face in my hands. The tears didn't fall, but the tightness in my throat was agonizing, keeping the mercy of sleep far, far out of reach.
***
--Ship's Deck--
The night was quiet. Under the vast, unfiltered canopy of a cloudless sky, the brilliant silver light of the moon washed over the deck, casting long, skeletal shadows across the wood. Because the weather was clear and the sea calm, there was no reason for the crew to retreat to the stifling heat of their quarters.
Instead, they slept where they could. Some lay flat on the smooth deck boards, while others slept sitting up, their backs braced against the ship's heavy wooden railings, chests rising and falling in rhythmic exhaustion. A rotation of four men patrolled the perimeter, their eyes scanning the dark, glass-like surface of the ocean.
High above them on the quarterdeck, Captain Brohm stood at the wooden wheel. Her hands gripped the spokes with white-knuckled intensity, her eyes sharp and alert despite the hours of travel. She had pulled on a heavy, dark brown long-sleeved coat to ward off the biting chill of the ocean night, her gaze fixed entirely on the horizon.
The quiet creak of floorboards signaled an approach. Grann walked up the steps to the upper deck, his heavy footsteps muffled by the sighing of the wind.
"You should be sleeping," Brohm said, her voice a low, raspy whisper that barely carried over the creaking of the rigging. She didn't even look at him. "You're a guest here."
"I could," Grann replied casually. He wandered over to a nearby cargo crate, crossing his thick arms over his chest as he sat down. "But the threat's out there. I can't risk closing my eyes."
Brohm let out a sharp, dismissive scoff. "Please. Wavecutter isn't some helpless merchant raft, Grann. She can handle a lot more than you think."
"Oh, I don't doubt that." Grann let out a brief, quiet laugh. Even in the shadow of impending danger, he possessed that frustrating, unshakeable barbarian trait; the instinct to lighten the heaviest of moods. But the smile quickly faded from his weathered face. "But it's not a bad thing to share your burdens, Captain. Besides, I already have an idea of what this new threat might be."
Brohm paused. She slowly turned her head, raising a skeptical, hard-set brow. "And what might that be?"
"It is a Kraken," Grann said simply.
The word hung in the cold night air like a lead weight.
"I could smell it on the corpse we saw earlier," Grann continued, his voice dropping an octave. "That rancid, sweet stench of deep-abyss oil. There's no mistaking it."
"A Kraken...?" Brohm repeated. The color drained from her face, and a single bead of cold sweat rolled slowly down her temple, glistening in the moonlight. Her grip on the ship's wheel tightened so hard the old wood groaned.
"Now you understand why I'm up here with the rest of your crew," Grann said, leaning forward. The playful light in his eyes was entirely gone, replaced by a grim, chilling seriousness.
Brohm looked away, forcing her gaze back to the black water ahead, though her eyes were wide with a sudden, clawing anxiety. "I see... Then we might need far more Magic Stones than I initially budgeted for."
"Mmm... Have you ever seen one in your times of voyage, Brohm?" Grann asked, a genuine curiosity in his tone.
Brohm lowered her head. She didn't respond, her silent gaze locked onto the dark waves.
"I see. Well, I have," Grann said softly, looking up at the moon. "I can't blame you, though. They are completely rare. So rare, in fact, that seeing one is like having a god visit you in your sleep. I guess we were just unlucky enough to cross paths with one in my youth."
He turned back to her. "And now, we're unlucky enough to have another on our trail."
"I've heard that Fire Magic Stones are effective against them," Brohm muttered, her voice tight. "But we've barely had any use for them over the past year. I didn't think we would ever actually need them."
"I understand," Grann replied, his lips twitching into a faint, grim smile. "I mean, think about what we normally fight out here as sailors. If we were hunted by a Water Dragon or a Scorpion Leech, we wouldn't need magic stones at all. We'd use standard seafaring tactics. We'd tip our harpoons and heavy arrows with Schompers Venom—the most lethal, fast-acting neurotoxin in the world—and aim for their soft, unarmored bellies. It's easy hella effective. And besides, those beasts have a natural affinity for heat. Scorpion Leeches literally breed in the boiling vents of the ocean floor, and Water Dragons are, well, dragons. Fire magic would just tickle them."
He looked back toward the dark water, his face pale under the moonlight.
"But a Kraken is an anomaly of the deep. It is completely immune to almost all known poisons, including Schompers Venom. It has no soft, unarmored belly to exploit; its massive, rubbery hide acts like a kinetic sponge, absorbing the impact of our heaviest harpoons and ballista bolts without taking real damage. Steel cannot pierce deep enough to reach its vital organs."
Schompers Venom doesn't work...?
The revelation hit Brohm like a physical blow. She had sailed these seas for years, yet she hadn't known this. Despite her vast maritime experience, this was a creature beyond her horizon. This would be her very first time encountering a Kraken, while Grann—by some twist of fate—carried the heavy knowledge of a survivor.
Grann raised his hand, gesturing to the endless black sea.
"The Kraken lives in the absolute freezing, high-pressure depths of the pitch-black trench. To survive and move down there, its skin is constantly coated in a thick, highly concentrated, oil-like sebum—a deep-sea mucus that acts as a lubricant and a barrier against the freezing cold. But that very same oil is highly flammable. Fire Magic Stones are the only reliable way to penetrate that defense, especially if we can land a direct hit on its massive forehead."
He sighed, leaning his back against the ship's wooden railing, trying to force a relaxed posture he didn't truly feel. "It is its only true weakness. Fire. Let's just pray that the Kraken isn't smart enough to target our cannons first. If it takes those out, we'll be completely screwed."
Brohm's grip on the steering wheel tightened until her knuckles turned white. But Grann wasn't finished.
"Luckily, we have a mage on board."
"A mage...?" Brohm turned back to him, her brow furrowed in deep confusion. "Last time I checked, none of my men have the talent to conjure magic."
"Oh, I'm not talking about your crew."
"Grann," Brohm's voice sharpened, cold and warning. "This isn't the time for your barbarian riddles. You and I both know your people can't wield magic. It's physically impossible. It's never been in your system, your blood, or your history."
"Well," Grann leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his eyes locked onto hers. "What if I told you that Kyro Mandate can conjure magic?"
Brohm stared at him for a beat. Then, she let out a sudden, disbelieving laugh. "What? Him? The pretty boy? The quiet kid reading the book?" She shook her head, turning back to the sea. "No way in hell."
"Mmm, mmm. Yes way," Grann nodded slowly, his voice laced with a strange, fierce pride. "He's the first in our entire bloodline who can touch the veil of magic. I'm incredibly proud of that boy. But..." Grann's smile faltered, a shadow of worry crossing his face. "...he is physically weak. He doesn't have our stamina yet nor does he have an active aura protecting him. But he has a terrifyingly strong mind, and I believe he's our only real chance of keeping this ship in one piece if that monster rises."
He smiled again, a warm, genuine expression that softened the harsh lines of his weathered face. "He will achieve great things when he comes of age. I believe so."
Brohm looked at Grann, the skepticism in her eyes slowly giving way to a quiet respect. "You really have a lot of faith in him."
"I do, yeah." He smirked, leaning back as a fond glint returned to his eyes. "Kid's mature for his age, and he's my grandson. So of course I believe in him—far more than he thinks."
And so, the voyage continued, and they occasionally take turns for guarding the ship.
[End]