“Gregs? Can you even bake?” Jeremy asked.

“No, but Lenton can. He’s the one who’s convinced me, really.”

“I… see.”

Jeremy didn’t know what to make of that. The absence of Lenton from the crew only added to his hesitation about taking the helm. Delia and Jonah wouldn’t be on the crew either, he supposed. It was a saddening thought.

With a touch of nostalgia, Jeremy scanned the deck, finally absorbing the vibrant energy of the vessel.

"Any reason you've gathered the crew?"

Greg raised an eyebrow. "Did you not hear?"

"Hear what?"

The man chuckled at the unspoken joke. "Look into the distance, boy!"

Jeremy turned his eyes back to the ocean. The blue of the water met the grey of the sky; a hazy mist separated the two.

"Am I supposed to be seeing something?"

"GAVIN," the captain screamed, "BRING OVER BINOCULARS!"

The boatswain appeared quickly, handing over the object before rushing away just as fast. Absent was the slow gait in his walk and soul-deep tiredness. He almost seemed energised.

"I could've sworn I sent someone to tell you," Greg said, handing over the binoculars to him.

Jeremy wasn't an idiot. Binoculars, rum, excitement on the ship? Someone had spotted something. His heart began skipping as he placed the lens against his eyes, carefully adjusting the focus on the instrument.

It only took a few seconds before the view sharpened; the haze of the lens transformed into the haze of the mist in the distance. And beyond the wall of fog, he could see an outline of something. A distant silhouette, perched just above the waterline. Land.

Jeremy moved his eyes away from the instrument, blinking himself awake.

Then he turned towards the captain who faced him with a tired smile.

"Looks like we fuckin’ made it,” the captain said softly.

“We did…” Jeremy replied, his voice a little more than a whisper. Surprise seemed to take his breath away.

Did Fortuna finally have mercy upon him? He reaffirmed himself, placing the binoculars to his eyes once more. Unless Dionysus had plagued his mind, then sure as the setting sun before him, was land.

Jeremy’s body wilted. The promise of solid ground, a stable bed, and safe shelter caused his muscles to relax, the tension evaporating from him like the steam in a kettle.

“We did," he repeated, "WE FUCKING DID!"

The cheers of the crew met his shouts, each yell louder than the last.

“Ready to drink?” Greg asked over the noise.

“Ready?" Jeremy said, "I was born ready!”

***

The drinking commenced in earnest, the entire ship finally feeling fuller than life. Barrels were rolled onto the deck and golden liquid flowed into cups. Laughter rang, music played, and sea shanties were sung. Some of even Jonah - the Kraken Killer.

Jeremy's smile faltered at the title, the sweet taste of mead turning sour.

He eyed his drink, considering. Did emotions affect the taste of the drink? It gave meaning to the saying, but the concept was silly. As he pondered, a crewmate nudged his shoulder.

"C'mon Jeremy, tell us what happened."

The eyes of those nearby turned his way, pausing their embellished tale; all they had were renditions of the story, no true source amongst them.

Jeremy didn't know what to tell them. He gave a polite smile, taking a swig of his drink as he thought.

It was definitely bitter - could mead get spoilt?

"I'll tell you alright," he finally said, "but after we get some food. Can't be drinking without some good grub."

The circle of sailors cheered, and a few ran off towards the Galley.

“None of that Kraken crap!” a boatswain shouted after them.

Jeremy laughed. “You got that right.”

“It’s ridiculously chewy,” the boatswain complained. “God knows how Jonah cut it.”

The discussion quickly returned to the encounter, but now the seaman had someone to direct their questions to.

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“Let me go to the bathroom quickly,” Jeremy said, excusing himself.

He only had to stay away until they got drunk.

None of them had been on deck, so they didn't know what happened. In truth, there was very little to say. The battle occurred underwater. He could describe the blood, terror and relief, but what about what he saw after... He shook his head at the thought. The captain was right. There was no point worrying about it.

Jeremy walked towards the bow, each step lightening some invisible load. He walked past the crew, a gentle smile tugging his lips, watching their feet pound the wooden deck, moving to the rhythm of the drumming. They were terrible, yet Jeremy found himself beaming at the sight. Perhaps that was exactly why he smiled.

When he arrived by the bow, he leaned over the edge. Even the water looked different, a teal instead of the dark abyss they had crossed the last few months. Was that how you identified the sea from the ocean? Maybe he did care after all, though not enough to ask and find out.

He stood there for a few minutes, enjoying the cool breeze that caressed his skin. It was a lullaby, a soft jingle of bells compared to the rowdy screams of the sailors - singing was what they called it.

If Orpheus could hear them, he would have struck them for their audacity. Jeremy chuckled at the thought, his body embracing the familar reverberations.

"Guess I've been in the doldrums myself," he said to himself. "Nothing a good drink won't fix."

Straightening himself, he walked towards the main deck before pausing in thought. The crew may have forgotten about the story, but showing up would remind them. He would have to wait until they got drunk.

He sighed. "Another half an hour I guess."

Instead of going to the main deck, Jeremy made his way to the closest mast and rested against the thick support, partially hiding himself.

He leaned his head back, letting his eyes gaze at the stars above. It had been so long since he could see them. So long since the night was anything but black.

The sky was alight with an ethereal beauty, streams of colour danced and weaved to an enthralling song that he could practically hear. The greens and blues undulated, blending into shades of pink and purple, extending like fingers into the horizon. The cradling hands of Gaia.

It would have been nice to share the sight with Jonah, or Delia, though she seemed reluctant to leave the cabin.

Jeremy sighed, letting his eye trail along the ribbons of light. His mind meandered, and his worries dissipated. The nightmare was over.

But what now?

Sailing was simply a job. He had started as an ordinary seaman to make ends meet, though soon enough the flightless owl had become a second home, its members a new family.

If Greg, Lenton, Delia, and Jonah, were gone, what was left? If anything, more of the crew would leave once Greg announced his retirement.

And if he stopped sailing, what would he do? What did he enjoy? What did he want?

The last question was surprisingly easy to answer. Jeremy wanted strength. He wanted power. He wanted to make sure that he wasn’t the one standing on the sidelines as someone else fought for him.

Never in his life had he felt so helpless than when he stood, watching the sea turn crimson. Even large sea serpents, as resistant as they were to ordinary bolts, could still be harmed.

The knowledge that creatures like that existed didn't frighten him. It only served a reminder of how small he was in this large world. There was so much more to explore. And there much greater dangers.

He had seen it with his own eyes, the mutilated form of the beast. Jonah had killed it, sure, but it would've died without intervention. Half of its appendages were severed, even before the battle - and that was the least of its damage. Jeremy could tell Jonah didn't inflict them. The scars were fresh, but not new.

He had taken a few Delia's books, reading into the night, trying to narrow what new monster lurked around the corner. It was to no avail. The slices were clean, done almost by a blade. Perhaps it really was Raijin. Maybe the stories of the gods weren't so far fetched.

"Don't kill us Orpheus," he silently prayed.

It was plausible.

Before Jeremy came to the city of Sia, he had seen the royal guard. They were master mana manipulators, but didn't show off much. They could cut rock in half, jump over trees, run like a galloping horse.

Jeremy didn’t know much about mana arts, quite frankly, hardly anyone did. It was an open secret, held by the royal family. Those who showed any talent were taken to join the guard, their families well looked after.

It was what made Jonah such an odd case, being a ship guard.

Not that he would guard anymore.

If Jeremy wanted to be able to protect, he would need to learn everything about mana. Somehow.

There was a saying in the inner cities. “It’s not what one has, but how one uses it.”

It was time to learn how to make the most of his meagre mana pool.

Jeremy adjusted his position to lie on the deck, no longer feeling the need to hide behind the mast. He doubted any of the drunkards would bother searching for him.

Comfortable in his prone position, he stared back up into the endless expanse.

What would he do after getting strong? He didn't want to be a guard, that was for sure.

He pondered the question as time stretched, the sky turning a darker shade, the clouds moving to hide the stars. He didn't know for how long he was there, but when he came to, he noticed that the symphonies of the ship were louder. It surprised him, given that he expected the crew to be too drunk to sing. Some of them even sounded good.

He closed his eyes to the melody, letting his mind and body sink away.

“Jeremy, you fat lump!” A voice called, causing his eyes to shoot open. “The Cap…” The man hiccuped. “The cap…”

Jeremy looked up at the man swaying in his steps as he approached.

“The Capn… calling you,” he slurred.

Jeremy got up and dusted himself, as the man in front of him took another swig at the mug. The already empty mug.

“Take it easy, Karl,” Jermey said.

The man gave an incoherent reply before stumbling back the way he had come. The second mate laughed at the sight.

He panned his gaze across the deck, searching for the captain. Night had come fast, and illuminated by moonlight and lanterns scattered throughout, the featherless owl seemed elysian. He understood why Delia would be reluctany to sell the beauty.

Unless he found a good hangar, there was little reason to keep it. He would consult her before making any decisions, but he could think about it more deeply when they reached land.

The thought of land caused his eyes to dart behind him. The silhouette was distant, the surrounding haze thicker, but he could tell they were quickly approaching.

It just wasn't quickly enough.

The ship was moving fast, yet it still felt like he could outswim it, his desire for solid earth a greater driving force than the wind that propelled them. It was an absurd idea.

“I really do need some sleep.”

Before that, he needed to see what the captain had to say.

He just hoped it wasn't a drinking match.