Jonah watched the floating head of Delia appear in his vision. She was illuminated in a golden halo, almost blinding.

Her smile was warm but tears spilled from her eyes.

“Delia…”

He wanted to raise his hands, stroke the tears away, but he couldn’t move.

She said something though he didn’t hear.

Her fingers caressed his skin and he felt a warm tingle, trailing the touch of her thumb.

She looked away and Jonah wanted to look with her, but he could only follow with his eyes, and his eyes didn’t reach.

“Delia. I’m sorry.”

Even if she couldn’t hear him, at least he was able to say it.

She turned to him again, mouth moving with maddening pace, both hands cupping his face.

She looked so… perfect.

Even with the matted mascara, red puffy eyes, and golden hair frayed in a messy bun, the small smile that tugged at her lips made Jonah feel warm to the core.

He had gotten to see her again. That was all that mattered.

* * *

“Pa! I told you! I told you!”

Her old man had already long bolted out of the room, but she could hear him shout back at the top of his lungs. “Of course you did!”

The declaration was followed by the screaming of orders and the sound of the horn. Delia chuckled to herself. Whoever had called the false alarm would get one telling off. Still, at least the crew would know he was ok.

“Delia. I’m sorry.”

Delia's heart danced. The voice was broken and sounded like sandpaper, but he was ok.

She turned back to him and cradled his face like a new born baby. “It’s going to be ok Jonah. It’s fine. We’re all fine.” She chuckled to herself. “You know you really had me worried. I was planning this whole elaborate prank to pull at you, and now look. I can barely stop shaking.”

Her thumb wiped the teardrops that landed on his face, and she felt the iciness of his ashen face beneath the short stubble. His cheeks seemed sunken, and his lips were cracked and flaky. With the bandages wrapped around his entire body, he almost seemed mummified. “Jonah, can you move? Let me get you some water, ok? Jonah?”

Her heart started up again and her hold on his face tightened. “Jonah? This isn’t funny Jonah. Jonah!”

His eyes were vacant, and his lips unmoving. Why wasn't he responding? Delia's stomach dropped. “PA! SOMETHINGS WRONG! PA!”

She nudged herself closer, face hovering inches above his own. Her voice was a broken plea, the fear palpable as it shook. “Jonah, please. Tell me you’re ok. Please.”

His eyes tracked her movement, but they seemed to stare from a distance, like watching from another realm.

"Jonah, you're alright aren't you..." Her voice was a silent whisper now, drowned out by the sound of drumming.

“Move out the way Del.”

“Jonah, please. Just say something.”

“Delia. Move!”

A hand gripped her by the shoulder and moved her to one side. She didn’t resist, the strength from her fading along with the view of Jonah as a handful of crewmates huddled around him.

“Delia," a soft voice said, "let me see him, alright.”

“Del, let the doc do her job," Jeremy added. "Come over here.”

Someone, likely Jeremy, nudged her; she was too focused on Jonah to notice who. Whoever it was, they helped her to her feet and walked her over to the wooden chair opposite the room. She slumped into it and watched with blurred vision as members of the crew scrambled to obey the doctor's orders.

"It's gonna be alright Del." Her pa clutched her hands in his own, his large thickened hands giving her the strength to look up at him.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

"It'll be alright," he repeated, giving a reassuring smile.

It would be alright. This was Jonah, of course he was alright, she told herself.

Delia weakly nodded and her Pa moved one arm over her shoulder, resting her head against him in an embrace. She leaned in, letting her body weight be supported by his sturdy frame, feeling like a little girl once more.

It had been so long since they sat like this.

He stroked her hair and Delia closer her eyes, his steady breathing a steep contrast to the frantic footfall of the crew. She felt each rise and fall of his chest, a calming reverberation.

"It'll be alright," he murmured like a mantra. "It'll be alright."

* * *

Delia woke up to the voice of panicked whispers.

"... compass ain' workin' and there's no stars to rely on."

"Surely he knows which way we came," Jeremy said.

"How many times have we adjusted our path? The storms themselves dragged us to who knows where. You think no one woulda noticed a Kraken?"

"It was moving underwater."

"You can spot a fish underwater, you think you wouldn' have seen the shadows of something that big? Visibility is piss poor, no tellin' left from right!" Greg sighed, his body heaving in resignation. "Ask Calvin when he wakes up. I doubt he knows where we are better than I, but give it a shot."

"He is the navigator..."

There was a brief pause in the conversation, and Delia could imagine the pointed look her Pa gave the man.

"So… we don't know where we are. But if we keep going straight, we'll reach land, right?"

"I woulda thought, but how long can we last, huh?"

"We can replenish the food stores using the Kraken. It's just a bastard of an octopus that Poseidon fed too much. I'm sure Lenton knows a good recipe or two."

Her old man grunted. "Go cut what's on deck, then have Lenton see how long it'll last us. No one's to go below the water. We still don't know what's out there. And…" Greg seemed to trail off, and after a dozen or so seconds, footsteps told Delia that the conversation was over.

The door creaked open, Jeremy's stride slowly softening the further he walked away.

"How much did you hear?" Greg said loudly.

Well, there was no point pretending anymore. Delia opened her eyes to the scantily lit room, bathed in the yellow-orange of the lantern's flame.

Jonah lay in his bed, tubes and wires puncturing into one arm. His other hand gripped the Midnight Ode tightly, which lay flat on the bed, blade pointed towards his feet. His body was still wrapped in bandages, each one inscribed with ancient letters which had a faint orange glow of its own. Healing scripts.

"Del?"

She looked up at her Pa, whom she belatedly realised she was leaning against. Separating herself and wiping her eyes, she saw a weariness in him she had never seen before.

"Not much," she answered truthfully. "How's Jonah?"

"He's…strong. Stronger than any of us that's for sure".

"Will he be okay? Why wasn't he responding to me? Wha-"

"One question at a time," he said. "Truthfully, I'm not sure any of us will be ok. We need supplies, we need rest, and we need to fix the ship. Jonah's…suffered some ear problems. Better to ask the doc, but he's practically deaf."

He held up a hand forestalling the questions that threatened to spill from her mouth.

"Temporary hearin' loss. Screamin' of the Kraken must've deafened him. The doc did whatever the doc does, and she said his hearin' will return."

Eased at what she was told, her mind focused on his other comment. "What's wrong with the ship? There's only one broken mast."

Greg shook his head. "The broken mast isn't the problem, it's the result of the problem. Power of the scripts is gone."

"And that means?"

He smiled at the question. "If you read my books instead of all those fantasy ones, you would know."

"They're not fantasy," She refuted. "Krakens are real. And look at where we are. An endless sea? We're in the ocean."

Ignoring her, Greg continued his explanation. "Scripts need power. You either give it yourself, like the sword in Jonah's hand, or you give it with a battery. Our batteries are almost out."

"Then can't we replace them?"

He shook his head again. "Not ours. Our scripts are too intensive. Buoyancy scripts, defensive scripts, heating scripts. The list goes on. In theory, our green grade cell should've taken me to retirement. But the Kraken did some serious damage."

That didn't sound good - In truth, Delia didn't truly understand, but she had gathered enough context to know they were reliant on those scripts. Living without heating didn't sound too bad, just wear warmer clothes. Buoyancy was obviously important, but they were a ship - it was meant to float. The defensive scripts were the issue, but if Greg worried about the former two, then there was probably reason to.

"So what now?" she asked, breaking the suffocating silence.

"Nothin' to do but sail to land."

The sound of fire crackling filled the room again, and Delia turned to look at its sleeping occupant. He looked so-

"Normally, I wouldn' have cared about a storm or two," Greg said, arresting her attention. "other than depleting the stores of course. Now, we need to be careful. The sea will feel rougher. Storms will be more dangerous. And," he nodded his head towards Jonah, "we have no pirate punisher."

"Kraken killer."

"Kraken killer?"

"Jonah never liked that title. Kraken killer sounds better, I'm sure he'd love a new name." She smiled at that, imagining Jonah's reaction. She had no doubt Jeremy would still mock him with pirate punisher, but at least his heroic actions could be spread.

"Kraken killer," Greg repeated thoughtfully. "Has a nice ring to it." Greg smiled at her, his eyes crinkling into the shape of prawns, but the smile… felt forced? Her old man really was tired.

"Go get some sleep," she said. "I'll wake you at dawn."