The next morning I arrived at the Mariner's Training Ground a few minutes before sunrise. The eastern horizon was just beginning to glow, the light spreading across the water in streaks of pale gold. The air carried the sharp chill of early sea wind, and the sand beneath my boots still held the night's coolness.
To my mild surprise, everyone except Lio was already present.
The training ground, used historically by crews of the Mariner's Oath, was equipped with the best practice gear available on the island. Wooden practice swords hung neatly along a rack beside weighted sandbags and rope stations used for endurance drills. A reinforced crate contained the training rifles and maintenance tools, carefully oiled and arranged.
Some of the recruits were examining the practice blades with curiosity, while others stood closer to the rifles, clearly more interested in firearms than steel.
Bren joined me at the center of the field, his expression far more composed than it had been in the tavern.
Without ceremony, we began.
We guided them first through physical conditioning: sprints across sand, weighted rope pulls to simulate sail strain, balance drills on unstable planks designed to mimic deck movement during rough waters. The sun rose steadily as sweat darkened their shirts and breathing grew heavier.
From there, we transitioned into sword practice.
Bren demonstrated proper stance and grip while I corrected footwork and balance. The sand made positioning more difficult, and that was intentional. A stable footing on an island meant little once aboard a moving vessel.
Lio arrived midway through training, running toward us with his usual lack of subtlety, but he fell into line quickly once he realized everyone else had already been working for nearly an hour.
There were only seven or eight recruits in total, though we would only be selecting four for the voyage. That knowledge hung quietly in the air, fueling their effort.
We trained for two continuous hours.
By the end, most of them were panting heavily, some collapsing to their knees, others bending forward with hands braced on thighs as they struggled to control their breathing.
Only Bren, Marina, Lio, and I remained standing with steady posture.
Simon was upright as well, though he was breathing hard.
His real work had not even begun.
I nodded toward him.
"Begin recovery rotations," I said.
Simon stepped forward, raising his hands as a faint green glow formed around his palms. One by one, he moved between the exhausted recruits, placing his hands lightly on shoulders or backs, channeling restorative mana into strained muscles and trembling limbs.
Verdant Pulse responded beautifully under controlled strain.
However, healing multiple targets in succession drained him quickly. The green light grew fainter with each application, and by the final recruit his breathing had become uneven.
Good.
He needed to understand that healing was not infinite.
While Simon worked, I walked toward Marina, who stood watching the drills with analytical focus rather than fatigue.
"Has Old Faresh begun work on the ship yet?" I asked.
"Yes," she replied, brushing stray hair from her face. "There is not much to modify on the ten-man vessel. If I assist him, it should be ready within fifteen days."
I shook my head lightly.
"There is no rush," I said. "Preparation matters more than speed."
She studied me briefly, sensing the shift in direction.
"What are you thinking?"
"If you were to build a thirty-man ship from scratch," I asked calmly, "how long would it take?"
Her eyes narrowed slightly, not in irritation but calculation.
"If I worked alone, it would take roughly three and a half months," she said. "With proper assistance and uninterrupted access to materials, perhaps slightly less."
"And the cost?"
"If you want a top-grade vessel capable of long-range sailing and structural reinforcement, it would exceed Thirty Gold," she answered. "And certain materials would need to be sourced from Kalyra Port. We do not have everything required here."
I nodded slowly.
"I can give you a budget of Fifty gold coins," I said casually. "You will be the primary builder, not Old Faresh."
She stared at me as though I had suggested constructing a floating palace.
"Are you serious?" she asked. "And where exactly are these materials coming from?"
"Yes, I am serious," I replied. "The funding will not be an issue. We can designate Kalyra Port as our first official destination. It is only a day's sail from here, and trade routes are stable. I want you to begin drafting the design immediately. I have specific structural inputs I would like incorporated."
Her suspicion did not fade.
"Why give such a responsibility to me and not to my grandfather?" she asked quietly.
I met her gaze evenly.
"Because I trust your skill," I said. "And because you are part of my crew. He is not."
The wind shifted slightly, lifting strands of her hair.
For a moment, she did not respond.
This was no longer a simple short voyage.
This was foundation laying.
If she completed both growth requirements for Keelweaver's Insight, her evolution would be inevitable. A vessel built under her hands and tested in open waters would mark the beginning of something far larger than a training expedition.
Finally, she exhaled slowly.
"You are planning further ahead than you are admitting," she said.
"Always," I replied.
Behind us, Simon finished his last healing rotation and staggered slightly before regaining balance. The recruits were beginning to stand again, fatigue replaced by cautious energy.
Marina looked toward the sea, then back at me.
"Fine," she said. "I will draft the design. But if this fails, it will fail publicly."
"It will not fail," I answered calmly.
The days that followed settled into a disciplined rhythm that transformed enthusiasm into preparation. Each morning began before sunrise with physical conditioning and sword drills at the Mariner's Training Ground. Sand sprints strengthened endurance, rope-hauling exercises hardened shoulders, and balance drills on unstable planks forced everyone to adapt to simulated deck movement. Under Bren's supervision, footwork improved noticeably, and under my corrections, blade discipline slowly replaced wild swings.
By midday, exhaustion would usually begin to show, but that was precisely when the sailing drills started. Marina took full command during those sessions, her tone steady and uncompromising as she directed simulated sail deployment, timed rope management, and coordinated movement exercises. She forced the recruits to repeat maneuvers until muscle memory replaced hesitation. What had begun as a loose gathering of eager island youths was gradually shaping into something closer to a functioning crew.
In the hours between structured sessions, everyone focused on their own responsibilities.
I spent much of my free time refining firearms.
The pair of revolvers I had created earlier were only the beginning. Over the course of several nights, I crafted three additional revolvers, carefully adjusting the balance, cylinder alignment, and recoil absorption based on earlier testing. Each component required precision, and I ensured that the metal quality and internal tolerances remained consistent. These weapons were not merely tools for the voyage; they were stepping stones toward something far greater.
Lio devoted himself to the Skyrend Eagle with surprising patience. What had begun as playful interaction deepened into genuine connection. The young eagle's feathers had begun to grow more fully, sleek and ash-gray with faint streaks near the wing edges. Its eyes followed Lio instinctively now, and it responded to his voice without hesitation. If growth continued at this pace, it would likely attempt its first sustained flight within a month.
Bren, meanwhile, immersed himself in maps and weather records. He spent hours studying trade routes to Kalyra Port and beyond, memorizing wind shifts, current variations, and seasonal cloud patterns. Occasionally he would approach me with observations about crosswinds or probable storm corridors, his confidence steadily growing as theory began to feel like lived understanding.
Marina progressed steadily with the ship design.
When I had first approached her with the proposal for a thirty-man vessel, she had been skeptical, but once she began drafting the structural layout, her focus sharpened. I gave her two specific instructions that altered the core of the design.
First, the vessel required a beast hold.
Not merely reinforced containment space, but a secure, adaptable chamber capable of housing a growing sea beast without compromising structural balance. The hold needed controlled access to seawater and reinforced plating that could withstand sudden shifts in weight.
Second, I instructed her to incorporate a water tank system at the lowest structural level of the ship. The design would allow controlled release of seawater and provide a direct channel through which a bonded sea beast could enter or exit the vessel without destabilizing it. The mechanism would require reinforced gates and controlled flow channels, a feature rarely seen in ships of this size.
The design proved complex.
Marina spent several evenings revising load distribution calculations and stability diagrams before eventually seeking Old Faresh's insight regarding hull curvature and ballast positioning. Although she remained the primary architect, she was pragmatic enough to consult experience when necessary.
The beast hold and water-channel integration would demand careful material selection and precise structural balance. It was ambitious for a first independent build, but that was precisely the point.
Each day passed with visible progress.
Simon improved his mana control under strain, though repeated healing sessions left him drained by sunset. The recruits grew stronger, coordination improved, and competition for the three rifle positions intensified as marksmanship scores became measurable.
The training month did not feel long.
It felt purposeful.
And before we fully realized it, the morning of departure arrived.
The vessel stood ready at the dock, hull freshly reinforced and rigging tightened. The crew assembled with restrained excitement, their movements disciplined rather than chaotic. Supplies were loaded, weapons checked, and sails prepared for first deployment.
The sea lay calm beyond the illusion perimeter.
And for the first time, Mariner's Hearth did not feel like the entire world.
It felt like the beginning.