Jonah stood by the bow of the ship along with Delia and Greg, watching the distant island gradually emerge on the horizon, its silhouette growing more defined as the Flightless Owl approached. He could see the outline of small trees, their leaves swaying gently in the breeze, and could smell the scent of fresh saltwater mixed with an oddly burnt aroma in the air.
A flock of distant birds caught his attention, soaring gracefully in the vast open sky, and Jonah's hand reached for the hilt of his sword, before Delia's palm gently pressed against his, reassuring him with her touch. "It's fine," she said softly, her eyes meeting his. "They are just birds."
He nodded, still keeping his hand on the hilt, drawing on the comfort of the blade, as though it were a shield against the unknown. It was less out of fear of the Sirens and more from habit, though he didn’t deny that he was feeling on edge knowing that monsters were as common as men in this foreign land.
Delia walked forward with a reassuring smile on her face, gently pulling him along as she walked until they reached the figurehead. She leaned forward, resting against the balustrade of the ship, and her hair began waving behind her like a golden banner as the helmsman picked up the speed, wind buffeting her lilac dress.
He imagined the sound of her gentle laugh as she spread her arms and her smile widened until her face was lit up as warm as the setting sun before him, casting its golden glow over the sea as it began to dip below the horizon. It was a smile that brought comfort and a sense of familiarity; a nostalgic reminder of home.
A home that he didn’t know if he would see again.
Jonah's conversation with Greg was a long and meandering one, spanning from when the ship's bell signalled noon until Lenton, the ship's cook, shouted to get dinner from the galley, though Jonah didn’t hear either of those sounds. In fact, Jonah's inability to hear likely played its part in the length of their discussion, as he forced the captain to repeat himself more than once.
Jonah and the captain began by briefly covering Delia and Jeremy's conversation during breakfast, discussing mana, the royal guard, Askern and the mysterious land of Inia Telle. And whilst the revelation was new to him, it surprised him little. He seemed to have had an intrinsic understanding of mana; perhaps it was due to his own awakening.
Jonah knew he was different, but he was also self-aware enough to know he wasn’t special. He just had more mana than average, and that was thanks to the shipwright, according to Greg.
And though he didn't know the relationship between the Shipwright and the captain — The man didn’t tell him, remaining tight-lipped even when he asked — he knew they were close.
It only reaffirmed this idea when Greg and Jonah began discussing his childhood, and his time with the Shipwright.
When Jonah recounted the details of his past, Greg's gaze was fixed on him with a gentle warmth, his eyes filled with wistful nostalgia. The stories seemed to captivate him completely, despite their uneventfulness, drawing him in until he was leaning forward with a broad, beaming smile that split his face wide open — it was a rare and unusual sight for the typically stoic captain.
Greg hung onto his every word with an unwavering attention as Jonah recounted the tedious details of his daily activities, from the backbreaking exercises that left him battered and bruised to the mundane chores that filled his every waking moment. And though Jonah remembered hating every minute of it, there was a strange sense of longing as he relived the memories.
Perhaps it was because those trials had helped shape him into the man he was today, or how they helped him grow from his days as a wandering orphan. The knowing glances and subtle implications that the Captain gave off seemed to suggest that there was more to it than just helping him gain weight or build muscle.
Or perhaps it was simply because of the shipwright himself. The fond memories of a man who became a father. The thought made his eyes water.
“Jonah,” Delia said, breaking him out of his thoughts. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine Del,” he said with a faint smile.
"Then why do you have tears in your eyes?" she asked.
Jonah quickly rubbed the corner of his eyes with his sleeves. “Oh. I’m not crying, it’s the wind.”
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Delia looked at Jonah, her eyes filled with concern. Something was off with him ever since he had woken her up. It was as if he was present in body, but his mind was elsewhere, far away.
Did he doubt her about joining him?
“Jonah,” she said softly, walking up to him. “Seriously, what’s wrong?”
“I’m fine," he said, trying to sound convincing. "Really.” He gave her a reassuring smile, though it seemed forced, not quite reaching his eyes.
“You know we don’t have to leave straight away,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, enunciating each word with care. Jonah couldn’t hear her anyway, and she didn't want to risk anyone else overhearing their conversation.
No one else knew that they were planning to go, aside from her Pa; at least, Delia assumed her Pa knew she was going to leave. By telling Jonah that he could let her know, her Pa must have been aware that he was also giving her the freedom to leave the nest.
“We can go when we’re ready,” Delia said, emphasising the plurality by pointing her fingers between them, making sure he knew he wasn’t alone.
His eyes softened slightly. “I’m fine Del, really.”
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“You seem so lost in thought,” she said. “Your gaze is distant, looking so far away.”
“The island is so far away, Del,” he said with a more teasing grin.
Before Del could reply, the captain's booming voice interrupted their conversation. "Land in half an hour!” he shouted, as if he had heard their conversation. “Get ready, everyone!"
Delia smiled at Jonah. "Guess it's not so far away after all."
The command was met by a chorus of cheers, a cacophonous noise as the members of the ship began moving away from the viewing port.
Delia glanced over at them as they busied themselves, some tending to the ship whilst others made their way into their rooms to finish packing the belongings they wanted to take to land. After so long at sea, few wanted to return to the ship to pick up things like clothing.
“I’m going to go get my things Del,” Jonah said. “I’ll meet you out here when we get to land.”
“Alright, I'll see you soon,” she said, but he had already turned around and began meandering away.
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Jonah trudged through the dimly lit corridors below the deck of the Flightless Owl, his footsteps echoing off the walls in the emptiness. Despite the bustle that was upstairs, here it was quiet; the sound felt jarring almost, the constant whooshing of the waves against the hull a drumbeat that he couldn't escape.
Each step felt like an effort, as though his shoes were made of lead, and each stride drained more energy from him, until, by the time he reached his room, he was out of breath and his legs felt like they would give out.
He closed the heavy wooden door behind him with a final concentrated effort and leaned against it for a moment as he tried to catch his breath. It felt even quieter here, the stillness heavy and oppressive, like a weight on his chest that made it hard to breathe.
The weight caused him to slowly slide down against the solid oak door, his back pressing against its rough surface as he tried to steady himself, but his legs were unable to take his burden.
"What is wrong with me?" he wondered, his voice a rasping tremble.
Jonah sat there pensively as his mind raced with a hundred different thoughts, each one vying for his attention. And though he tried to focus on one at a time, they all seemed to blend together, like a knotted rope that he couldn't untangle, despite his years at sea.
Jonah closed his eyes and took in a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart; what he now realised was the drumming noise in his head, a rhythmic pounding that seemed to grow louder and more insistent.
This was it, he realised.
The culmination of his entire life, everything he had ever worked to both make and save.
This was it. And he was going to leave it.
The creak of the wooden planks, the smell of fresh paint, and the warmth of the sun on his face all came flooding back to him as memories of him and the shipwright's labour of love came like the tide, drifting him away to days of the past.
Jonah remembered as he painstakingly carried each inscribed plank back to the shipyard, before cutting a groove into them, hammering them into each other, and then finally sanding them until they appeared like one homogenous piece. He could still feel the weight of the wood in his hands and the grit of the sawdust under his feet.
He remembered applying oil to the created panels, beautifying the drab brown until it seemed almost golden in colour, and he could still smell its rich, earthly scent fill his being.
He remembered presenting it to the shipwright, and he could still hear the pride in the shipwright's voice. “Good job, Jonah. It’s a fine piece, this.”
Jonah opened his eyes and looked around the room, pride and sadness welling in his chest.
It seemed Delia’s smile — the thought of home — and the memory of the shipwright transported him to the day's when life felt perfect.
Jonah had already left the shipyard — his first real home — and now he was going to leave the very ship he and his mentor built, which was effectively his second home.
A single tear rolled down his cheek, unable to help himself from feeling the sense of nostalgia for the days when his hands were calloused and his clothes were stained.
The minutes trickled by as he sat there, lost in thought, until a heavy sigh escaped his lips.
“I can’t stay here forever,” he muttered to himself, finding the strength to get to his feet.
Jonah slowly pushed himself up from the ground, before stretching his arms and legs, feeling the stiffness slowly fade away. He had come here for a reason; to collect his belonging — all of them.
He walked over to his bedside, withdrawing out a leather bag, gifted to him by Karl, before filling it with the few items he collated over the years. He was never one to hoard possessions for show. Instead, he valued practicality above all else, choosing to keep only what was necessary; it was perhaps a trait he picked up during his time wandering Askern.
Despite that, as he emptied his drawers and filled his bag, one Item stood out unique to him. A small pair of navy blue pants, fit for the size of a teenager. The pair he soiled the first night out at sea, and a pair that was handmade by the shipwright.
Jonah packed it in his bag.
Jonah never gave much thought to the shipwright's capabilities as a child. To him, the man was simply an adult who knew how to do things well. But now, as an adult himself, he had come to appreciate just how skilled the shipwright truly was, and how varied of a skill set the man possessed.
Not only was he a master craftsman, from woodwork to woolwork, but he taught Jonah much about medicine and combat through casual conversation. It was during walks when he would point out various herbs and plants, explaining their medicinal properties and how they could be used to treat different ailments, not that he remembered much of it now.
And on the rare occasions when Jonah would wake up at sunrise, memories of the dancing man flooded his mind — his incredible speed and agility making him seem almost superhuman.
He probably was, not that Jonah could confirm.
Despite his fascination with the shipwright, Jonah found himself growing increasingly exasperated with the lack of information available about the man. Men seemed to know of him, but they didn’t know about him. The captain seemed to be the only one privy to any information about the shipwright, and he was tight-lipped about it.
So when he and Greg sat down for their talk, when Greg asked him to talk about the man who raised him, a glimmer of hope burned within Jonah, only for it to be washed away.
Jonah sighed, as though he could expel the bitter taste in his mouth. It frustrated him to no end that Greg didn’t answer his questions about the shipwright: not telling him of his name, where he was from, or even his rank. But he had to give the captain credit; Greg had managed to evade all his questions by skillfully diverting the conversation with other tidbits of information, or by asking questions of his own. It wasn't until he spoke with Delia that Jonah realised how little he had actually learned.
But none of that mattered now. He knew he would get answers soon. He was going to the shipwright's home.