Gabrio quietly glances at the command table where most of the command is. Although not to all his credit, he can at least attest to having the idea of making a chamber where a group of the elven-kin can communicate and handle the communication.

The sprites are the best friends of the elven. If Gabrio is to describe them, they would put the humans second on their list of who they liked most. The chamber of whispers, they call it, had been constructed in the very heart of Arkshelled Island. You could say that the chamber is located below the very tree growing on the back of the shell of the monster they carry.

Gabrio often forgot that the fleet-kin itself was living like lice. Parasitizing on the health and the iron feces of the giant beast that has been puppeteered to become their new home. Although Mana had said to him once that the beast was grateful to carry the elven-kin on its back.

The campaign on the Shatran Islands was still on-going. Gabrio had been called to the Arkshelled and had to be carried by a skyship. He was going to complain, but remembered that he was now an older man wearing a youngling skin. He had always heard to those Prisoners back then in Fort Rava, how the skin gets old but the mind never changes.

For a moment he found himself in a daze. Years had passed by and he had not noticed. There are times such as this where he finds himself wondering if it had meaning.

He was not an immortal man.

But even he has somewhat understood what it means to be long-lived. Days, weeks, and months passed by so mundanely that only after a careful examination that he understood, that in the end, he has become a part of the ship. A man who healed. A man who in his past time studied to relieve himself of boredom. Would he have imagined himself learning how to fight? Or study so many skills in hopes for boredom? He couldn’t consider himself a master, but he could at least say that he had become familiar with a lot of skills.

Three generations of watching kids grow up and die young and old had taken a toll on his psyche. Colder, crueler, and perhaps a bit more loose with his morals.

It’s for the kids, Gabrio would excuse himself with those magical words that allowed him to do some evil. Steeling himself, he moves forward. The amiable gazes of the Elven-kin and their counterpart has always struck others strange.

The humans of the fleet wondered where their stoic masks went. The others are in awe of how a human could gain some respect from the hardy elves. Gabrio had heard from Mana at least that they could sense it. The older ones do, but the newer of the Kin has quite a hard time grasping it. They did say it was because of the diluted blood.

Gabrio had heard of it. Tales of raising cities with a single hand. But magic, the Artes, and the power words was a dying art. And considering how many of them are left on this journey. It makes him wonder if one day the magic would be just gone.

But that was a thought for another day. He takes a step forward to observe this wondrous magic that was done by the combination of the Sprites light. Think of each light consisting of many colors formed to create this picture. A moving picture made by dots of light.

It was somewhat a scene that he found intriguing. Like he had seen it before. In a memory of iron birds and ships. Where a great mushroom of flame fell and covered the world with a wave of devastating clouds.

Such dreams… is a mystery. A dream that he seems unable to clearly see. There are times where such dreams take inspiration, and he would write it down and claim it as his own. The inner workings are usually not made by him, though he was well-learned and well-read enough to believe that he could achieve it. But he somewhat feared it. Knowing that he could possibly tap into that dreadful dream.

He had once tried to tell Mana about that dream. He stopped himself. Then he forgot about it. It’s only now that he could recall that dream again. It’s never been on his mind. Occupied by the needs of the fleet. Utilizing his time to so many studies, hoping that he’d do better.

He was not a good doctor and surgeon, but his only achievement was that at the face of death, he stuck to his guns and never let go of the belief that he can help.

Some call it luck. But if anything it was his purpose. Like the world telling him that he needed to live. Fulfill his duty until his god takes him. He wouldn’t lie though. He had dreadful thoughts once. Three generations was enough to say that he had enough. He didn’t consider himself wise. He just lived long enough to know.

Or perhaps the sense of the elven-kin had finally developed in him. Mana joked around about him developing their senses, which led to him testing that theory and realizing that some part of him really was starting to change. At least the insides are. He had even taken the council of the eldest of the elven and had been told that he was going to change inwardly, not outwardly. To put it bluntly, his innards are simply imitating how the elven-innards are and the source of this mutation is the Treeheart.

A High-Human. That was what they called him sometimes. One of the very few who have been witnessed by the Kin and their Mother. He hasn’t taken a liking to such a title, but unlike those who have inherited the blood of others. He didn’t have their powers. He was reliant on a mask imbued with the Vitae that Mana prepared for him. Though at best, it was simply an exoskeleton that covered him like plate armor would.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

He must have been standing long enough like he had a concussion for someone to gesture him closer. He takes a stand on the table where the Sprites are forming images. On the map was the Shatran Islands, most of the islands have been marked green, while the rest were still contested by the other ships that have decided to test their mettle against the demikins of the Shatran Region.

Most of the soldiers were fighting battles. Most of the islands, at least the heavily-populated ones, are still being pounded by the constant gunshots and artillery pounding on their lairs.

One would think that the Elven were opposed to this. But fire was part of nature and they even burn some of the trees in their giant forest to fend off the winter and lay the old rotting trees to rest.

The tactics of the fleet were simple. Find areas contested with the demikins and scare them out of their holes. Most of the fleet have been reliant with guns, and although he made them take bayonet lessons and close quarter combat for exercise. Only a few were willing to engage the hordes with spears and swords nowadays.

Guns were their great tool against evil.

Everyone is equal when one holds it, and it was a tool that drove monsters away and made men unafraid of the dark.

Gabrio stood on the table. Watching the input of the elven and the humans they allowed to join. The younger ones had something to show off, while the elven listened, hoping that their input would be of help.

Once in a while they would ask him about what they thought of the status of the soldier. He answered with observations. He lacked the data for a factual report and although there are cases where a soldier finds a spear on their chest. Their engagements nonetheless are considered successful. A death might be a tragedy to those who lost their loved one, but it is simply a number to the fleet. He hated that indifference. But he wasn’t going to show it.

Most of the discussion was done by the young. The veterans and the long-lived ones continued their observation, letting them grow up while also correcting their mistakes when needed. Gabrio started to wonder if he was needed in the first place. After a two-hour long assessment, the discussion was over and most of the officers went back to their stations. Gabrio was about to leave when Felecia, the companion of the Blinder gestured for him to follow.

Gabrio followed. Walking down the hallways and long corridors of the interior of the beast. There was a constant heartbeat that echoed. He could feel the flow of blood on the beast’s veins circulating. The elven-kin had somewhat revived the beast throughout the years, and it was only when the sun shone on the world again. That the heartbeat of the beast had come.

Felecia Avara, a woman of blue blood, was someone who he didn’t have such good terms with. To be fair, he didn’t really get along well with the Blinder of the Light either. Mardon Lam, and Caldor Ando, though they had differences, still left what they knew behind.

He still could remember that day. Where Caldor Ando, with his wrinkled skin, and aged body stood before him and asked if he would allow him the honor of teaching him.

It was strange, but he understood something. He was long-lived. And perhaps he’d passed down the teachings. The way of his sword even if the world forgets him.

A brutal way of fighting. A set of techniques that emphasized on taking down those who had the ability to conjure fire from their hands and techniques that were made by his ancestors to fight monsters purely out of technique.

Those training stuck to him. And he had taken Caldor’s habit of staying physically fit all the time. Not that he needed to when his heart regulated his body to be always at the peak of physical fitness.

Not that he had fought anything in the past few years. He had sparred with the soldiers, but that was training. He didn’t know how to make use of the skills he got from Robert and Caldor Ando. He was a healer, not a fighter.

Felecia Avara led him outside of the Ark, then down to the stone bridge made by the Kin years ago to connect Swindmore and Lundy. The island was oddly deserted, bare, and although there were some who left behind to take care of what needed to be cared for. The rest of the fleet was fighting a war and manning the defenses.

Gabrio leaned on the stone bridge rail. His eyes on the farms and the water falling from the elder spring. Felecia Avara stirred. She was a beautiful woman by all accounts. A woman who somewhat remained stubborn, thinking that she could still have an Empire of her own. He was at least sure that she had gained a position of importance. Not that he cared.

“I see that you still think less of me, Doctor.”

“Perhaps.” Gabrio said flatly. “I guess I’m the kind who holds grudges.”

“Surprising, for a man of your stature.”

“Stature? Madam, I’m simply a Doctor.”

She stared at him. “I wonder if you are simply humble… or you truly don’t think so.”

Gabrio stared at the direction where the Milostiv is. “So… why call me here, Madam?”

“Always so busy, Doctor. I shall get to the point. I want you to examine the Blinder's body.”

“Examine?” Gabrio raised a brow. “Why?”

“I think he is stirring.”

“He is what?”

Gabrio followed Felecia to the part of the elder spring where the Blinder is. He pressed his ear on Terrin’s chest and was surprised to find his heartbeat more lively.

“Does anyone know yet?”

“None.”

“Have you told anyone?”

“Only you. I know that you disliked me, but you are one of the few who can be trusted in this fleet.”

Terin Gaspar was a sleeping storm and a flame in the dark.

A flame that gathers hateful moths to it.