Mero stood upright under the pale morning sky, his letter rolled and sealed in his hand. He took a deep breath of the salty air, his gaze fixed on the squat silhouette of the harbor master's office at the end of the dirt path. The mist still hovering lightly above the thatched roofs made the village almost unreal. Fishermen unloaded their nets amid the cries of gulls, and a few barefoot children ran through the dusty alleys.

Master Antonin strode ahead, indifferent to the tranquil beauty of the place. His boots clattered against the flat stones of the path, setting the pace as they advanced toward the harbor captain's office.

"Hurry up, Mero; the tide won't wait for your daydreams!" he called without looking back.

Mero quickened his pace, his heart heavy. Though simple in appearance, the letter in his hand contained the full intensity of his thoughts for Mandarine. Every word had been carefully chosen, yet it still seemed insufficient in the face of the aching void she left in him.

They entered the harbor master's office, where the scent of damp wood and rope filled the air. The captain, a massive man with skin weathered by sea winds, looked up from his ledgers.

"What can I do for you, gentlemen?" he asked in a deep voice.

"A letter to send," Master Antonin replied curtly, gesturing toward Mero.

Mero stepped forward and held out the letter.

"It must leave on the next ship bound for Sel," he specified.

The captain nodded, taking the parchment with thick, calloused fingers.

"It'll be done, young man. You're in luck; a caravel sets sail tonight."

Mero felt a weight lift from his shoulders.

"Thank you," he murmured before stepping outside with his mentor.

Back on the village square, Master Antonin resumed his lessons immediately, as though nothing of importance had happened.

"Observe," he ordered sharply. "Look at the ecosystems around you. Every plant, every animal has a precise function. The natural world is a complex mechanism you must understand if you hope to survive in unfamiliar lands."

Mero did his best to focus. He mentally noted the herbs growing along the paths, the thorny shrubs used to protect homes from sea winds, and the birds gliding high in the sky, searching for sustenance in the vast blue expanse.

"That plant over there," Antonin said, pointing to a green stem bristling with small yellow flowers, "is used by fishermen to treat jellyfish burns. It's not just a local curiosity but a valuable resource."

Mero nodded, taking care to commit the information to memory. But despite his efforts, his thoughts drifted toward Mandarine. What was she doing at that moment? Perhaps she stood on a distant beach, gazing at the sea with that same fierce look he loved so much.

A sudden shout from a sailor shattered the village's quiet.

"Master Antonin!" he called, running toward them, his face flushed with effort. "The wind's calmed down! We've got a few hours to cross the strait!"

Master Antonin's face immediately hardened.

"We're leaving. Now."

Without wasting a second, they ran toward the harbor, urgency palpable in every step. Mero felt adrenaline surge through him. The Strait of Garabol was infamous for its treacherous currents and sudden waves. Even the most experienced navigators feared this crossing.

The port was bustling with activity. Sailors hurried along the docks, hoisting crates and adjusting ropes. The ship waiting for them swayed slightly, ready to set sail.

"Get on board," Master Antonin commanded.

Mero cast one last look at the village, frozen in a serenity he might never find again. Then he turned and climbed aboard, his heart racing.

The wind barely rippled the water's surface, offering a rare calm. The sails were hoisted, and the ship glided slowly out of the harbor.

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"Focus, Mero," Master Antonin ordered. "Read the currents, observe the waves. The sea is a book you must learn to decipher if you want to survive."

Mero nodded, his gaze fixed on the liquid expanse ahead. At first, the waves seemed harmless, but soon he spotted subtle movements: a darker line of swell indicating an underlying current, a series of smaller waves breaking differently, signaling a change in the wind.

"Look over there," Master Antonin pointed to the horizon. "Do you see that slightly broken line?"

"Yes," Mero replied.

"That's a turbulence zone. If we don't adjust our course now, we'll get caught in it."

The captain, vigilant, adjusted the helm. The ship veered slightly, narrowly avoiding the dangerous zone.

Silence reigned on board, punctuated only by the creaking of wood and the snapping of sails. Every crew member was focused, attentive to the slightest variations of the sea.

"Mero, what would you do if a storm suddenly arose?" Master Antonin asked.

Mero thought quickly.

"I'd reduce the sails, keep the course as stable as possible, and try to navigate around the worst turbulence."

Master Antonin nodded.

"Not bad. But never forget that the sea is older and wiser than us. It doesn't yield to domination, only negotiation."

The crossing of the Strait of Garabol, where the three oceans Théteien, Glacial, and Green met in a colossal and unpredictable dance, was not only a trial for the ship but a rite of passage for every sailor who dared venture there. Here, the sea wasn't merely a moving and capricious expanse; it became a frenzied arena where each wave seemed to carry the fury of three aquatic worlds.

The sky itself reflected this titanic struggle. To the south, icy mists from polar seas stretched a silvery veil over the horizon, as if daylight hesitated to carve its way through the bleak expanse. To the west, the dark, heavy waters of the Green Ocean mingled with the warmer, tumultuous Théteien, creating spirals of foam that dangerously swirled at the surface. These whirlpools, sometimes as large as village squares, seemed to patiently await a careless ship to drag it down, never to reappear.

The waves were living creatures, immense and fierce. Some rose with slow majesty before collapsing in a deafening crash, sending sprays of saltwater so high they seemed to reach for the sky. Others struck without warning, like predators lurking beneath the surface, slamming into the ship's hull with a force capable of shattering even the sturdiest vessels.

Mero stood at the prow, his hands clenched on the salt-slick railing. His gaze was fixed on the uncertain horizon, where the colors of the three oceans intertwined in a hypnotic chaos. Every moment demanded absolute attention. The sea here offered no respite; it required constant vigilance, forcing one to read its changing intentions like deciphering the moods of a wild beast.

The ship pitched and rolled violently, sometimes lifted by a colossal swell, sometimes swallowed into a trough so deep the ship's sides seemed to graze the abyss. Mero felt his stomach turn under the pressure of this infernal dance, but he refused to look away. He knew this crossing was a necessary trial, a lesson only the sea could teach.

The undercurrents were treacherous, invisible but powerful. They gripped the ship from below, pulling it in unexpected directions. Sometimes the hull vibrated under the effort to resist these implacable forces. Every deviation from the course became a potential threat, and Mero now understood why so many sailors dreaded this passage.

He observed the waves with feverish concentration, seeking to distinguish the subtle signs that betrayed the presence of a particularly dangerous current. A whiter line of foam, a faster ripple on the surface — all clues that needed to be interpreted to survive.

The wind blew in gusts, wrenching shrill cries from the ship's taut ropes. The air was thick with icy moisture that clung to clothing and bit into the skin. Each breath seemed to fill the lungs with salt and cold. The sailors, hunched and determined silhouettes, moved like shadows, adjusting the sails with almost mechanical precision. Their silence testified to the respect they held for this merciless sea.

Mero felt fatigue weigh on his limbs, but he couldn't afford to falter. Time seemed suspended, each minute stretching into unbearable tension. Yet there was something almost sacred about this struggle against the elements. Each wave overcome, each current avoided became a precious victory, tangible proof that man, despite his fragility, could stand up to the raw power of nature.

There came a moment when the ship was literally lifted by a monstrous wave. For a brief instant, all sound vanished, replaced by a vertiginous sensation of suspension. Then the hull crashed down with a deafening roar, sending shimmering sprays under the gray sky. Mero felt his heart stop before racing again.

The ship held firm despite the sea's relentless assaults. The crew was exhausted but determined, each man in his place, focused on his task. Their perfect coordination spoke of their experience with similar trials, though few crossed Garabol without losing something precious, if not their lives.

At last, after endless hours, the horizon seemed to stabilize. The waves, though still restless, lost some of their aggression. The currents became less treacherous, and the water's surface regained a certain regularity.

Mero, his muscles tense and skin chilled, realized the worst was behind them. A wave of relief washed over him, far more powerful than any current. He had survived the Strait of Garabol. More importantly, he had learned to understand the sea and to respect it.

Mero gazed at the horizon, his mind already turned toward the unknown. He missed Mandarine more than ever, but he now knew he had the strength to weather many storms to see her again.