As they approached, the boatman's movements slowed—then stopped entirely.
He wiped his oil-stained hands on a rag, then reached out.
With a strange, almost fatherly familiarity, he rested both hands on Einn and Nexa's heads.
"You two…" his voice rumbled, low and worn. "You disappeared right after giving me this."
He lifted his arm.
It wasn't flesh.
A precise lattice of brass, fine joints, and thin Viora-tubes ran along his forearm—engineered, not crafted. Alive in a quiet, mechanical way.
"Still holds," he said, flexing it once.
His eyes softened slightly.
"Where's the one who built it?"
A pause.
"Where's Blair?"
Nexa gently pushed her hand away, though not roughly.
"Same as always," she said. "Inside. Away from people. Away from light."
The boatman clicked his tongue softly.
"Architect who never sees his own work," she muttered.
Then—
his gaze shifted.
It landed on Shura.
Paused.
Narrowed.
The silver-threaded coat caught the Beacon light just enough to feel out of place.
"…You—"
"Oh, that?" Einn cut in casually, folding his arms. "That's Shura."
A beat.
"Don't mind him. He thinks speaking in half-sentences makes him look important."
"I don't," Shura replied flatly.
Nexa exhaled, glancing once toward the shifting light above.
"Talk later," she said. "He needs to move."
Then, to Shura—
softer now,
"You're sure you won't stay?"
A pause.
"We could actually use someone like you."
Shura didn't answer.
Not verbally.
That was enough.
The boatman stepped onto the skiff, adjusting the rope with one hand.
"Lower District. Second Ward," Shura said. "Entrance One. Iron House."
He glanced back once.
"Not far by water."
"Why can't you just stay?" Einn called out, his voice echoing slightly off the canal walls.
Shura looked at the water.
Then forward.
Then—
he stepped.
Not carefully. Not hesitantly.
Just—
off the edge.
"—Hey!"
The boat rocked violently as he landed wrong, one foot slipping immediately on the wet surface.
For a split second—
balance broke.
His body tilted—
too far.
Nexa's breath caught.
Einn moved instinctively—
But Shura didn't grab anything.
Didn't correct.
For just a moment—
he let it happen.
A faint smile touched his face.
Not panic. Not fear.
Something… testing.
Then—
he slipped.
The water took him.
A sharp splash broke the canal's surface, golden reflections shattering outward.
"Idiot—!" Einn stepped forward.
The boatman cursed under his breath, already moving to the edge—
But before either could react further—
the surface broke again.
Shura emerged, pushing himself up with one hand against the stone edge.
Water streamed from his coat, his hair flattened against his face.
He stood there for a second.
As if nothing had happened.
"…Sorry," he said simply. "I misjudged."
The boatman stared at him.
Breathing uneven.
"That wasn't a misstep," he said. "You let yourself fall."
Shura glanced once at the water behind him.
Then at his soaked sleeve.
"…I wanted to check something."
Einn blinked.
"What—? Check what?"
Shura stepped back onto the boat this time—carefully.
"The weight," he said. "And the reflection."
Nexa stared at him for a second—
then laughed.
Not loud.
But real.
"Einn," she said, shaking her head, "you're asking the wrong person for normal answers."
Einn dragged a hand down his face.
"…Yeah. I see that."
Shura adjusted his sleeve slightly, water still dripping onto the wood.
"Let's go."
The boatman didn't move immediately.
He watched Shura for a second longer—
like he was trying to decide something.
Then exhaled.
"…Fine."
He stepped back into position and steadied the skiff.
Shura glanced at him.
"How much?"
The boatman waved it off.
"You're with them. No need."
Nexa immediately cut in.
"No," she said. "He pays."
A small smirk.
"The 'rude philosopher' left comfort for freedom. Don't let him ride for free."
The boatman grunted.
"…One copp."
Shura didn't argue.
He reached into his pocket—
still damp—
and placed the coin into the man's mechanical hand.
The brass fingers closed around it with a soft, precise click.
The rope was released.
The boat drifted.
Then slowly—
Shura began to move.
The boat creaked softly as it drifted away from the dock. Water pressed against the wood in slow, steady rhythms.
"Don't forget to come back," the boatman said, pushing the pole into the riverbed. "You didn't came even after Promising next time came with Blair as well."
Shura gave a small nod, his gaze already drifting elsewhere.
"Obviously," Nexa muttered under their breath.
The current caught the boat, pulling it forward.
Shura stepped toward the edge and lowered himself slightly, letting one hand slip into the water. The cold spread instantly through his fingers, he didn't pull back.
Ripples formed, breaking his reflection.
For a moment—just a moment—it wasn't him he saw.
"I want to reach the sky."
Blair's voice lingered like a distant echo.
Shura's fingers slowed in the water.
He looked up, eyes shifting toward the boatman… then stopping at the brass arm.
Small gears moved with each adjustment of the pole.
Shura hesitated.
"What… happened to your arm?"
The question hung there.
The boatman didn't answer right away. The pole dipped again, scraping faintly against the riverbed. The boat tilted slightly before steadying.
"What?" he said at last, though he had clearly heard.
Shura looked away.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked."
A quiet exhale left the boatman.
"You like the water?" he asked instead, his tone lower now.
Shura blinked at the shift. His hand was still in the river.
"…I think so."
The boatman gave a faint nod, eyes still forward.
"I used to love it," he said. "The Seraphel River… I use to Work their in Ship"
As if responding to his words, the current grew rougher. The water slapped harder against the sides of the boat.
Shura watched the surface twist and break.
"Especially on the way to Celestium."
The name settled between them.
Shura's gaze drifted back to the arm.
This time, the boatman noticed.
He lifted it slightly. The brass joints shifted with a soft mechanical hum.
"I was setting an anchor," he said. "Routine work."
The pole rested for a second as if the memory demanded stillness.
"It got stuck in the winch… right when the anchor dropped."
Shura's fingers stilled completely in the water.
"The anchor didn't stop," the boatman went on. "Didn't care what it caught. Flesh, rope… didn't matter."
The river surged against the boat.
"It just dragged."
A pause.
"The current pulled one way. The machine pulled the other."
His jaw tightened slightly.
"I wasn't fast enough."
Shura slowly pulled his hand out of the water. Droplets fell back into the river, one by one.
"If my brother hadn't cut the line…" the boatman added quietly, "I'd be part of this river now."
Silence followed.
Only the sound of water remained.
The boatman glanced down at the brass limb.
"Blair made this," he said.
That made Shura look up.
"…after?"
A small nod.
"After."
The word carried more than it said.
Shura studied him for a moment.
"So you stayed," he said. "Even after all that."
The boatman gave a short, almost amused breath.
"I didn't leave what I loved," he replied. "I just changed how I live with it."
The pole dipped again. The boat adjusted its course.
That answer lingered.
Shura looked back at the water, but this time he didn't reach into it.
Instead, he watched it from a distance.
"Can I ask you something?" he said.
The boatman nodded.
"If your dream… doesn't exist," Shura continued slowly, "or maybe it exists, but you can't reach it… what do you do?"
For the first time, the boatman looked directly at him.
The question settled heavier than the others.
"What matters more to you," he asked, "the path… or the destination?"
Shura didn't answer immediately.
Shura shook his head.
"Neither."
The boatman raised an eyebrow.
"Then what?"
Shura's gaze softened, but didn't waver.
"The people," he said. "The ones I meet along the way."
A small pause.
"You. Nexa. Einn. Blair…"
The last name came quieter.
"…and others."
The boatman studied him, then let out a quiet chuckle.
"That's not the answer I expected."
"Maybe I don't have a proper one yet," Shura replied.
The outline of the shore began to form ahead.
The current eased slightly as they approached.
"You remind me of someone," the boatman said after a moment. "But you hold things in more."
Shura didn't respond.
"You should try opening up those compressed feelings," he added.
The boat touched the shore with a soft, dull sound.
Shura reached into his pocket and pulled out a copper coin. He placed it down without a word and stepped out.
Water shifted around his boots.
He gave a small nod.
"Going alone?" the boatman asked. "Or should I take you all the way to your destiny?"
Shura paused.
For a brief moment, he looked back at the river.
At the boat.
At the man who stayed.
"I'm not alone," he said.
His voice dropped, almost lost to the sound of water—
"Not yet."