The raft rocked gently on the waves, but Rio’s heart felt heavier than ever. The Arctic was finally behind him, yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that he had left something far more important behind—Arnoll.

He should have saved him. He should have tried harder.

The guilt gnawed at him, worse than hunger, worse than cold. He had escaped, but at what cost? Arnoll was gone, lost to the endless white, and Rio was the only one left to tell the story.

No—not the only one.

Timmy let out a soft meow from his spot on the raft. The small, striped cat curled up beside him, blinking up at Rio with trusting eyes. Arnoll had risked his life for Timmy. If nothing else, Rio had to survive for him. He couldn’t let Arnoll’s sacrifice be for nothing.

Wiping his eyes, Rio straightened his back and gripped the oar. He wasn’t just drifting anymore—he was sailing. And he was going to make it.

Rio checked the wind—it was blowing in the right direction. His heart raced as he opened the sail. The wind caught it, pulling the raft forward. He grabbed the oar to steer, and to his surprise, the raft moved smoothly over the water.

He couldn’t believe it. He was sailing across the ocean with only what he had learned from Netflix and YouTube. But Rio knew the journey wouldn’t always be easy. He had to be ready for anything.

This trip could take two weeks, maybe more. Rowing all the way was impossible, so he had to use the wind. But the wind wasn’t always on his side. He needed to take advantage of every good gust and cover as much distance as he could.

For over two hours, things went well. The wind carried him without trouble. Then it started to slow down and change direction. Rio quickly lowered the sail so he wouldn’t drift off course. It was time for a break.

He shared a meal of canned beans with Timmy, his cat. In all the excitement of leaving, he had forgotten to eat breakfast. Now, as he ate, he looked back. The land was gone. He had sailed far, but there was still a long way ahead.

Rio dropped the anchor—an old one from the wrecked boat that he had nailed to his raft. With the raft steady, he tried to catch some fish. But he wasn’t lucky.

The wind didn’t return for hours. Rio didn’t want to waste time, so he picked up the oar and started rowing in a figure-eight shape to stay on course. His arms ached, but he pushed through the pain.

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As night fell, he was too tired to row anymore. He dropped the anchor again and lay down on his makeshift bed. Staring up at the stars, he counted them one by one, trying to relax.

Even though the journey was hard, Rio was happy. He had made it out of the icy wasteland. He had spent a whole day sailing. That was something to be proud of.

Sleep came in short bursts. Every time he woke up, he checked the wind, hoping it would blow his way.

By morning, the wind had returned. Timmy stretched on top of him, letting out a small yawn. Rio sat up, his body still sore from rowing. But there was no time to waste.

He pulled up the anchor, opened the sail, and moved to the back of the raft to steer. The wind was strong, making him go faster. Timmy curled up beside his legs, his little body warm against Rio’s skin. It almost felt like Timmy was excited too.

Rio knew he still had a lot to learn—like how to keep moving even when the wind wasn’t helping. But for now, he focused on getting to the Beaufort Gyre. He checked his compass often, making sure he was going the right way.

If the wind stayed strong, he would reach the Gyre in three days. He sailed all day, only stopping once to eat.

By nightfall, the wind had grown stronger—too strong. The sea roared around him. Rio didn’t take any risks. He lowered the sail and dropped the anchor. If he sailed in such strong winds, his sail could tear, and his raft could break apart.

For dinner, he roasted a fish over his small stove. He built a little blanket cave for warmth, sharing the space with Timmy.

But sleep wouldn’t come. The wind howled like a wild animal, shaking the raft and pulling at his blankets.

By morning, the storm still hadn’t stopped. The wind was too strong for sailing. If he opened the sail now, it would rip apart.

Rio had no choice—he had to row.

He grabbed the oar and started moving, even though his muscles were already sore. The first few strokes were hard, but he got better with practice. He kept going, even when his arms burned.

When the pain became too much, he stopped for a moment, catching his breath. But he couldn’t rest for long—his food would only last two more days, and he hadn’t been able to catch any fish.

He had to keep going.

No matter how hard it was.

By evening, the wind began to slow. Rio still had a few hours before nightfall, and he decided to use them wisely. He unfurled the sail, letting the wind push him forward. A sense of pride filled him—he had come so far. But no matter how much progress he made, the guilt of losing Arnoll never left his mind.

By night, he had crossed more than half the sea. He was close now—soon, he would enter the Beaufort Gyre. He thought about stopping for the night, but he couldn’t afford to waste time. Besides, “Who knew when he would get another good wind?” he said to himself.

So, after a quick dinner, he got right back to sailing.

A few more hours passed, and Rio finally felt satisfied. At first, he had thought it would take over a week to reach his destination. But at this speed, he would arrive within a day or two.

Pleased with his progress, he decided to rest. He lowered the anchor and went to sleep. Timmy was already curled up asleep. Smiling, Rio lay beside him, feeling the warmth of his small body. As the raft rocked gently on the water, he drifted into sleep.