Chapter 4: Echoes of a New World

Abel’s eyes were puffy, and his nose was slightly red. After Sena left him to his thoughts in the medical room, Abel cried until his face was streaked with tears and mucus. The tranquility he once possessed had been destroyed so abruptly and without any control on his part, filling his heart with regret. The powerlessness he felt while being carried away was a disgusting sensation that he never wanted to experience again.

Deep within his mind, Abel unknowingly planted a seed of motivation to prevent such things from happening in the future. Subconsciously, he longed for a tranquil life again—one without worries or fear for his safety—and he resolved to do whatever it took to make that a reality.

He sat up from his lying position and turned to the side, sitting on the straw bed. He took a few deep breaths, wiping away any remaining moisture on his face. His tunic, now completely dry, felt rough against his skin as he patted it down. Abel stood up from the bed, though a faint lightheadedness struck him as he rose. After a few calm breaths, the dizziness faded, and he began to feel better.

He looked around the room, noticing that the other beds were empty, and the chair near the desk was unoccupied. He was truly alone in the medical room.

Creak!

The medical room’s door moved slightly, sending a creaking sound toward Abel's ears. He turned his head, a newfound curiosity drawing him toward the door. He walked over and gently pushed it open, allowing himself to step into a hallway just over a meter wide. The walls were lined with a few doors and abstract paintings of strange fish and shapes, the colors muted by the dim light. This decorative layout led toward the end of the hall, where a single door swayed slightly with the wind and the gentle sway of the boat.

Creak!

Woosh!

The dark wooden door moved back and forth as if dancing with the calm winds that occasionally sipped into the hallway. Each time the door opened slightly, a thin stream of light crawled into the hall, only to retreat when the door slowly closed again, ending the trail of light.

Abel walked toward the slightly opened door. As he approached, a cool breeze passed him, sending a chill down his neck and beneath his ears. He pushed the door open and stepped out onto a partially lit deck. Barrels were placed here and there, and stairs led up to the upper deck. The wooden planks beneath Abel’s feet were rough and weathered, their edges softened by years at sea. The horizon, a thin line between the pitch-black sky and the dark water, reflected a faint glimmer of moonlight. The breeze, now fully embracing him, carried the fresh, salty air of the sea into Abel's nostrils, leaving a faint fishy aftertaste on his tongue.

He let go of the handle and walked toward the center of the deck, looking back at the towering decks above him. The ship was much larger than he had expected, and as he looked around, he realized that water stretched as far as the eye could see—any sign of the ravine was gone. They were finally out of it.

The ship was one of the largest structures Abel had ever seen, especially one used for transportation. He gazed up at the upper decks in awe, watching as the circular windows reflected the cold light of the partially exposed moon in the sky.

Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work!

“You should go back to your room. Curfew is at sundown.” The voice of a man came from the side, cutting through the quiet night.

Abel turned quickly to face the speaker. Thanks to his conversation with Sena, he was more aware of his current predicament, allowing him to better navigate the situations he might encounter on this ship.

A hooded figure stood on the side, his features obscured by the darkness of his robe.

Understanding that this individual likely held some power on the ship due to his authoritative tone, Abel guessed that the hooded figure might be an Apostle leading the vessel toward the tower. “I wish to return to where I came from, Mister Apostle. I ended up here by mistake,” Abel said, his voice cautious yet probing.

Though Abel knew his situation was unique and that there was no chance they would turn the ship around just for him, he still hoped to gather more information.

“Mistake? I Apostle Flint, believe It was fate, young man. You should be kneeling, thanking the heavens for granting you such a fortunate future.” The hooded figure’s tone was mocking, but there was a hint of something deeper beneath the surface. “There isn’t a way to take you back. Your best chance might be to wait until you become an Apostle or take up a task in the tower that requires travel and return to where you came from. Otherwise, take advantage of the hand you've been dealt and do something with it.”

Silence filled the air after his comment, hanging heavily between them. Abel looked down at the weathered planks beneath his feet, accepting his fate with a mix of resignation and determination.

The hooded figure, who Abel now understood to be Apostle Flint, shook his head slightly, the movement causing the shadows within his hood to shift. “There is so much more to the world than you think. You can’t be so narrow-minded and lose your way. Think of the bigger picture. I’ll show you this once, so look closely.”

Flint raised one of his hands, exposing fair skin with fingernails painted red. As his hand lifted, a red aura began to surround his fingers, and with a sudden flash, four small balls of fire ignited and floated above his palm.

Abel’s eyes widened, his breath catching in his throat. His knees shook slightly as his mind went blank, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. He had seen candles catch fire and even embers igniting things, but this…this was something entirely different. The flames danced in the air, defying all natural logic.

He raised his hands to his eyes, rubbing them in disbelief, but the flames remained, floating around Flint as if tethered to his will. A few seconds passed, and Flint lowered his hand, causing the small balls of fire to disintegrate into the air. “I’ll tell you this,” Flint continued, “keep that knife of yours close. It might prove useful in the future. And…if you ever become an Apostle, search for me: Apostle Flint. Maybe there is more to this nightly meeting than we think, and perhaps you can repay me for opening your eyes to a world you would have never seen.”

Abel instinctively placed his hand on his waist, where the small knife rested, nodding to the hooded figure without daring to meet his gaze. The words Sena had spoken to him earlier now made sense, and he began to grasp why these people were revered. Could he, one day, wield powers that defied the natural order of the world?

Before Abel, lost in thought, could think of leaving, Flint called out to him again and tossed a pair of keys his way. Abel caught them clumsily, his mind still processing what he had just witnessed.

“This key is to your room on the second deck. Get yourself acclimated; we have a few more days.” Flint’s voice, now softer, lingered in the air as he faded into the darkness of the night, disappearing into the ship.

Abel stood there for a moment, the weight of the keys in his hand grounding him in this new reality. He looked toward the stairs that led to the second deck, his thoughts swirling with questions and possibilities. With a deep breath, he headed toward his new room, ready to face whatever lay ahead.