Chapter 32
Ink
In the bed where Kaep had been before, the alchemist now slept on his side, his face turned toward the wall.
His breathing was slow, steady, almost inaudible, but rhythmic enough to confirm that he had finally surrendered to sleep.
Kaep watched him for a few more seconds, making sure he was truly resting.
Then he looked away and settled onto an old wooden bench next to the bed.
The furniture creaked with a hollow sound under his weight.
The hall was calm.
The candles flickered slowly inside the lamps, casting irregular shadows on the walls.
Between the beds, some of the wounded breathed heavily, others tossed and turned in their dreams, but no one spoke.
Kaep remained there, in silence.
His elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped together, his gaze lost on the floor.
"Marked…" he murmured, tasting the word as if it felt strange.
He let it hang in the air for a moment. Then he rubbed his face with his hands, dragging his fingers over his tired eyes.
"So the marked are strong… and I am one of them…" he uttered, almost incredulous. "But… how strong are we supposed to be?"
A grimace formed on his face as he said it, half irony, half resignation. He lowered his gaze and let out a brief, dry laugh, little more than a scoff.
"Haha…" he let it escape, as if mocking himself.
The sound was immediately lost in the silence of the hall. No one stirred. Only the sputtering of a lamp with a candle inside.
"Third grade…" he murmured, recalling the alchemist's words. "That can't be much, from the way he said it. So, why would being a marked one make such a difference?"
He frowned. He leaned back a little, straightening up.
"After all, he said I am one too..."
The thought dissolved with a sigh. His eyes wandered around the room, distracted.
"The girl from before… I could ask her," he thought.
He turned his head, scanning the entire room. Among the prostrate bodies whose faces were still visible, among the disheveled blankets and the uniforms being used as blankets.
But not finding her immediately, he stopped.
"Right…" he murmured, with a hint of weariness. "She must be asleep somewhere. Better let her rest."
Kaep looked at the floor again, his fingers interlaced once more, and let the silence reclaim its place.
---
Still…
He stayed like that for about ten seconds… twenty… thirty…
The silence no longer felt peaceful, but crushing.
One minute… two …
"I can't last like this," thought Kaep, letting out a sigh that sounded louder than he intended.
Boredom was beginning to weigh on him more than fatigue. He felt his eyelids heavy, his mind wandering aimlessly, repeating useless thoughts just to fill the void.
He shifted in his seat, changing his posture.
The bench creaked again, complaining under his weight.
He looked around: the candles remained the same, people slept, the alchemist still had his back turned.
Everything the same.
He ran a hand over his face, rubbing his eyes, trying to chase away the drowsiness.
He couldn't take it anymore, so he stood up, turned to the right and walked towards the window, hoping to at least distract himself by seeing how things were outside the ship.
The night seemed quiet.
The slight movement of the hull made the floor vibrate under his feet, and the candles flickered with every creak of the wood.
Kaep advanced carefully, avoiding bodies lying on the floor of those who had chosen to sleep on the ground, covered with blankets, uniforms, or any fabric they had found. Some breathed deeply; others barely moved their lips, murmuring in their sleep.
The air was heavy, a mixture of weariness, with that salty undertone the sea left on everything.
Reaching the window, he placed a hand on the circular rim and leaned forward a little.
The glass was cold.
Outside, the sea stretched out, barely reflecting the moonlight between the clouds.
"Quiet night, huh…" he thought.
Out of nowhere, a shadow in the shape of a hand emerged from the lower part of the window frame.
A wet sound thudded against the glass.
Pshh—!
Kaep reacted with a start, his whole body tensing by instinct. He took a step back and his hand moved on its own, seeking a sword hilt at his belt level.
The reflection in the glass trembled from the vibration of the impact, distorting the shape.
A grayish palm, with long, thin fingers like branches, was pressed flat against the glass. The marks of the suction cups were visible, a viscous trail dripping down.
The monster was stuck on the other side.
Kaep stood still, his heart pumping hard.
For a second, the rest of the room remained calm. No one else had heard anything.
Then the hand moved again. Slow, screeching scratches, moving down the glass.
The hand peeled away from the glass, rising slowly upward, until it disappeared from the window frame.
The viscous sound faded with a soft -plop.-
Kaep didn't lower his guard.
His body remained tense, his eyes fixed on the glass, waiting for something else to appear.
One… two… three seconds. Nothing.
Only the reflection of the candles and the slight movement of the ship.
A few more moments passed.
Silence filled the room again, so thick it almost hurt.
Kaep exhaled carefully, releasing the air he didn't know he was holding.
He lowered his shoulders, his breathing gradually normalized, and he slowly straightened up.
But he wasn't calm.
So he remained for a few more seconds looking at the circular window, motionless, trying to hear something else.
Nothing. Only the sway of the ship and the faint creaking of the wood.
Finally, he decided to approach.
He advanced slowly, with measured steps so as not to step on anyone or make noise. The candlelight flickered, stretching his shadow across the floor like a living stain.
Now in front of the glass, he first looked down.
The waters stretched out black and deep, agitated in broad but controlled movements; they weren't storm waves, but open sea waves, heavy and constant.
The reflection of the moon broke into silver glints on the surface, giving it a deceptive calm.
Kaep placed a hand on the frame, feeling the cold of the metal and the vibration of the hull.
He leaned forward a little more, searching with his gaze for any trace of movement under the water.
Nothing.
Only liquid darkness.
Then he crouched a little to look up.
The reflection of the candles on the glass made it difficult to see clearly, so he squinted, trying to distinguish any shape.
He was looking for the cryptid that had pressed against the window just a minute ago.
Nothing.
Not a shadow.
Not a movement.
The circular frame returned only his own reflection: his tense face, the dark circles under his eyes, his agitated breath fogging the glass at times.
Kaep stayed there a few more seconds, waiting for something to happen.
But nothing happened.
He straightened up slowly, with a mixture of relief and suspicion.
"Did it leave?... just like that?... but if it went upward, then the upper floors must be infested at least."
He sighed and moved away from the window, carefully navigating between the sleeping bodies.
The air felt heavier than before.
He took a couple of steps…
"Wait a moment."
He looked down towards his waist.
Nothing.
Where every soldier carries a weapon, it was empty.
By reflex, he felt his belt, then the back, he even bent over a little to check, as if he could have forgotten it.
Nothing.
He became alert but even so, he placed his right hand on his chest.
Beginning to exhale and inhale, trying to calm down.
"Where—…?"
He tried to remember if he had left it by the bed, or if someone had taken it when he was being treated.
But the more he thought, the more he realized he had no idea.
"Maybe? Did they take it off me when I fainted?"
The idea crossed his mind and made him turn his head, quickly scanning the room.
The candles provided light, and among the shadows some things looked blurry: makeshift beds, tables with bandages, jars, stained rags…
His eyes moved from one point to another, looking for something familiar.
Until he saw it.
Kaep advanced slowly, avoiding those sleeping on the floor.
His steps were measured, almost silent.
The air smelled of dampness, and dried blood. The slight sway of the ship made the shadows on the walls oscillate.
Against one of the side walls, where the floor was almost covered by sleeping people, stood a pile of objects stacked haphazardly.
There was a bit of everything: deformed metal pieces, empty jars, remnants of medical equipment, straps, dented helmets, and fragments of uniforms. Some still bore insignia, which were little more than soaked strips of cloth or torn until they became unrecognizable.
The smell of salt, metal, and dried sweat mixed in the air.
And amid all that chaos, something gleamed.
A sword.
The length of an arm, sheathed in a dull bronze scabbard, with copper details at the fittings.
The metal reflected just enough of the candlelight to stand out in the darkness.
Kaep watched it for a few seconds, gauging the distance, the free space between the bodies, and the risk of making noise.
Even so, he took a step.
Then another.
Every creak of the wood under his boots sounded louder than it should.
When he was a meter from the pile, he crouched down slowly, reaching his hand toward the scabbard.
As he took it and lifted it, Kaep felt the balanced weight of the weapon and its scabbard.
It was denser than he remembered, the cold metal transmitted a slight vibration through the hilt, as if the ship itself was resonating through it.
He adjusted his grip and with his thumb, he pushed the sword's guard slightly, making the blade slide a few centimeters out of the scabbard.
The inside gleamed with a reddish tone: copper.
A strange design for a scabbard, too conductive, too heavy.
He drew the sword out a little more.
The double-edged blade had a dark bronze color with warm reflections under the candlelight. Along the edges, small copper teeth were interlocked with surgical precision, not protruding from the original edge.
It was a work of craftsmanship, but designed to damage something more resistant than flesh or bone.
Kaep carefully ran his thumb along the edge, without touching the sharp part.
The metal emitted a low, almost imperceptible hum, as if responding to the contact.
He frowned.
That wasn't normal.
He sheathed the sword until he heard a soft click, the metallic sound sealing the weapon in place.
That small, clean, dry noise felt strangely satisfying.
Looking down, he noticed something else among the pile of objects: crumpled sheets, pieces of paper stained with dried ink, and what looked like fragments of logbooks.
Some were damp from salt or sweat.
Kaep looked up for a moment, thoughtful.
"With a bit of ink… I could write down what I remember."
He rested a couple of fingers under his chin, considering the idea. While he hooked the sword to his left waist.
Writing down what had happened —the starry sky, the figure, the words, the feeling of drowning—. Everything was still too confused.
Perhaps putting it on paper would help sort it out.
Perhaps.
The silence of the room became noticeable again.
Only the distant creak of the hull and some heavy breathing from the sleepers.
Kaep took a deep breath, looking down at the paper.
"That would be best… I'll do that."
The thought gave him a strange feeling of control, a minimal stability within the disorder.
As he thought it, he brought his left hand to his head, carefully feeling the area where the stitches were.
The touch was rough, with remnants of fabric hardened by the best possible disinfection.
He felt the ridge of the suture, firm, tight against the skin.
A slight throbbing ran across his scalp, but nothing more.
He took a few pieces of paper from the pile, choosing the least damaged ones.
Sheets, crumpled, with some ink stains that looked like drops.
He crossed the room with careful steps, avoiding the sleeping bodies and the rags spread on the floor.
He reached an empty table.
He placed the papers on the surface and smoothed them with his hand, while pushing aside some obstructing objects with his forearm: empty jars, rolled bandages, loose notes with illegible writing.
The sound of the paper scraping against the wood was the only thing heard for a few seconds.
A tense calm.
Kaep straightened up, looking at what he had gathered.
"Good… now all that's missing is the ink."
His eyes scanned the rest of the table, looking for something to write with.
Then…
Among the objects he had pushed aside, he noticed something he had overlooked before: a thin, black jar, with a metallic screw-top lid.
He picked it up carefully, noting the weight of the liquid inside.
He twisted the lid slowly until he heard the click of the seal breaking.
A slight smell of iron and dry oil escaped as he opened it.
He shook it a little, observing the dense movement inside.
Dark, thick, with that shine only authentic ink had.
Kaep nodded to himself.
"Perfect."
He placed the jar on the table carefully and looked at it for a few seconds, satisfied.
It was a small triumph within the chaos: something as simple as having ink and paper made him feel useful and awake.
The ship creaked slightly with the sway of the sea.
A drop of ink slid down the side of the jar and fell onto the paper, spreading like a round, black, almost perfect stain.
Kaep watched as the stain slowly grew.
---
A few seconds passed in which Kaep simply watched the stain spread across the paper.
The dark circle stopped growing, but the center of the stained corner was still damp, glistening under the candlelight.
Without thinking too much, he took the lid between his fingers and placed it back on the jar.
He twisted it firmly until he heard the click of the seal closing.
The sound resonated more than he expected in the stillness of the room.
Too much.
He left the jar on the table, arranging it carefully, and then stood up.
The chair creaked slightly as his legs straightened.
He let out his breath with a short sigh, trying to clear his head.
The atmosphere felt heavy, as if the temperature had dropped without warning.
He looked around: the sleepers remained still, the candles sputtered without going out, and the ship's sway maintained that constant, almost hypnotic rhythm.
And in the middle, Kaep, with perfect balance.