Using the thread, Pearl somehow propelled the canoe into the encirclement of ships—everything happened too quickly.
Arthur felt numb from all the cold and pain he was enduring; his expression was that of a tired statue, but inside he was full of questions.
Thousands of ships of every kind, all connected to one another—there were hundreds of small Punts and Sloops as well as hundreds large Galleons, Schooners...even something that resembled a Windjammer . It was like some kind of gathering was happening at this place where Pearl had brought them.
Arthur recognized most of them; that was the easiest thing he could do… recognize a ship. Be it from old times or a newer generation, his hatred for the ocean had never fully buried his love for the vessels. But right now, his eyes were locked on one.
Ignoring everything around him, forgetting where he was, he gazed at the humongous vessel. There were many ships in between, but all looked insignificant in front of the wooden giant—the four masts of the ship rose hundreds of meters into the sky, while its deep, rich brown wood shone under the moonlight.
There was a metallic sound, and the canoe shifted. Arthur turned his gaze and saw a hook latch onto the canoe's edge. He followed the rope, which led to one of the nearby ships—a medium-sized vessel with six masts and deep purple sails.
"Is she dead?" Arthur asked unconsciously. Amidst everything happening so fast, he just blurted it out without much thinking.
'Fuck.'
He cursed inwardly.
There was a pause before the old man, Earl—his unconscious sister perched over his shoulder—gave Arthur a long sigh before answering, "I hope not."
Arthur lay down on his back to avoid eye contact with the man. He was losing blood fast—vision blurry, surrounding sounds growing dimmer, and his throat feeling as if he had swallowed metal needles. It was a very unpleasant sensation.
He mentally called upon Hex, and it was still the same—nothing new, no direction on what he was supposed to do. But it was better now… better than a few hours ago. He had obviously pieced together that he was brought here by the Hex.
'Damn… I hope I don't die from—'
Arthur lost consciousness from heavy blood loss.
***
There was a humming of some sort. Arthur felt warm all over his body. Gently, he opened his eyes, and the first thing he saw was mold on the wooden ceiling above him.
"Awake?"
A very feminine voice questioned. Arthur slightly rolled to the side since his back was killing him, but his vision was blocked—his nose touched something soft. He instinctively shifted back and was met with a pair of tired brown eyes…the woman looked dead inside.
She was well into her late thirties. Her curly hair was held together in a knot; her face was round but had lost any charm it might have once had. Her clothes were there, but the blouse wasn't covering as much as it should have.
"I'll stop then," the woman said, removing her palm from Arthur's forehead. The warm feeling left his body almost immediately, and the cold returned. It didn't hurt as much now—it still did, but not as badly as before.
Arthur straightened himself a bit, and surprisingly there was no pain from his left calf… because there was a calf there now. It was unscathed.
"How?" Arthur wondered. It wasn't like healing this fast was unheard of—there were stories of Challengers regenerating their whole being after each trial they faced—but finding a person with specific healing powers was still rare. One in a million, even.
"The General brought you here six hours ago. I channeled my Spark into you to speed up your healing," the woman spoke plainly as she fixed her attire.
Arthur caught onto it immediately because this was easier to understand than what he'd seen with Pearl—she had used two things in a short time that weren't exactly Scars, like the ones he would receive from the Hex. It was something different, because they didn't disappear after she lost consciousness.
'So it's not exactly the same as the real world then.'
Arthur took a mental note of it. His confrontation with the Corrupted had made him think that things here worked similarly to the real world, but it seemed he was wrong.
"I really appreciate that," he thanked the woman. It was still not easy to wrap his head around the differences between reality and trial, but since he had never experienced a power like this in the real world, this trial was his first face-off with such extraordinary elements.
The woman nodded. There was a shadow of a smile on her lips that she didn't try to hide. "You should eat that before anyone else takes it away. We're out of rations, so if you don't, someone else might snatch it from you."
Arthur blinked cluelessly for a second—this was something he was familiar with. Eat faster, or someone might snatch it from you—it was the rule they lived by back in the slums.
Beside his bed was a small table. On top of it was a lamp—the same one he'd been carrying around. Beside it was a wooden bowl, which he gently picked up.
"That was all I could manage to make amidst all this chaos. It's not that appetizing, but at least it's something," the woman spoke with a bit of regret, but all of it went in one ear and out the other for Arthur.
He tilted the bowl slightly, downing the murky, slightly warm soup. He munched on unknown chewy pieces of meat floating in it. It took him no time to finish.
'That was the best thing I've had in years.'
Arthur was no different from slum kids who starved for days only to get government-supplied rations containing mushy metallic paste that tasted of nothing but disgust. So this supposedly unappetizing meal was something Arthur would dream of having every other day.
He finished everything and placed the bowl down. The woman stared at him, stupefied.
"It was delicious, Madam..." Arthur's compliment was followed by a question.
The woman blinked. Something changed—it felt like there was a hint of glint in her eyes. She nodded, her lower lip quivering a bit, though it went unnoticed by Arthur.
"It's Theodora, I'm Glad to hear that." She then added, after a pause, "It's time for the General's call now. You can come if you want."
Arthur thought for a second, looked around—there was nothing for him to do in this small room. "I'll come."
He got up, feeling a bit tense.
Theodora turned around, and he followed her. But then he turned back and picked up the lamp, hanging it at his waist. It just felt wrong leaving it behind.
Arthur prepared himself mentally before leaving the room.