The night fell slowly, like a heavy blanket draped over the ship, as the party was in full swing on the deck. Sailors, deckhands, and officers were all dressed in their finest attire, transforming the old vessel into a scene of fiery revelry. The setting sun seemed to prolong the moment of pleasure, warming faces and making the air almost intoxicating, filled with bursts of laughter and joyful shouts. Mero, however, felt more like a spectator than a participant in this lively scene. He stood aside, leaning against the railing, his eyes lost in the horizon where the sky and the sea merged into a palette of orange and purple hues. The sailors' laughter, the lively melodies from makeshift instruments, the clatter of hooves on the deck... everything felt distant, as if he were watching the scene through a thick glass.

The sailors, in their festive attire, swayed with frantic energy. Their laughter carried over the waves, their voices and footsteps blending with the sea breeze that whipped the deck. The captain, upright and imposing, stood at an elevated table, his piercing gaze seeming to scan every movement. Leïla, the queen of the dance, glided gracefully among the sailors, her elegant figure like a sea goddess. And Mero, standing apart, felt like a bird in a golden cage, lost between the joy of the moment and the loneliness that he felt deep within his heart.

He moved slowly across the deck, the sound of the sailors' heels pounding the wood echoing in his head. His eyes scanned the joyful faces around him, observing familiar gestures, but he couldn’t seem to blend into the crowd. The spectacle was beautiful, but anxiety, invisible yet ever-present, crept into him. He did not belong to this world. Not yet. Perhaps he never would.

“You don’t look well, Mero,” said a soft, familiar voice.

Mero turned his head and saw Leïla approaching with a mischievous smile, a gleam of playfulness in her eyes. She wore a ceremonial dress of deep blue that contrasted with her black hair, and she was completely at ease in this celebration, absorbed in the festive atmosphere.

“I’m fine,” Mero replied, almost automatically, though he knew Leïla wouldn’t be fooled by his feigned calm.

She raised an eyebrow, her arms crossed over her chest, waiting for him to speak more, but Mero looked away, avoiding her persistent gaze.

“You know, Mero,” she said, her voice soft but firm, “you can’t stay away forever. This celebration is for you too.”

He took a deep breath, trying to get back into the moment, to blend into the crowd. The music now resonated in his ears, an uplifting, festive melody, while the sailors engaged in improvised dances, a dance that seemed to free them from all inhibitions. Mero, despite his heart pounding harder, eventually smiled, a timid smile that transformed into nervous laughter. His steps brought him a little closer to the crowd, part of him curious, the other fearful, wondering if he could, too, join in this circle of joy.

But at that moment, the captain made an announcement.

“Happy birthday, Mero!”

A sudden silence, as if the world around him had frozen. All eyes turned toward him, like a raging sea, swallowing him up. Mero felt his heart race, and a cold shiver ran down his spine. Him? Him, in the center of this celebration, under the gaze of so many? It was absurd. How had he ended up here? He felt like a child caught in a situation far beyond him.

The captain, unyielding as always, offered him a smile, one reserved for the most respected crew members. His expression was impassive, but his eyes glistened with a light that twisted Mero’s gut. The sailors, full of energy, applauded, their hands echoing on the wood of the deck like drums. Mero, however, felt completely detached from this collective joy. He wasn’t ready. Not ready to be in the spotlight.

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His master, who had remained on the sidelines until then, watched the scene with an almost paternal pride. He gave Mero a discreet smile, one reserved for moments when he wished to hide his true intentions. Leïla, on the other hand, allowed herself a playful wink, as if to say he had nothing to worry about. Yet, Mero was barely able to respond, the unease in his stomach weighing heavily. He stammered a few words, trying to mask his distress.

“Thank you… everyone,” he finally said, his voice trembling slightly. He wished he could speak with more strength, more conviction, but he couldn’t. The sailors’ gazes, full of respect but also expectations, weighed on him, and he felt more vulnerable than ever.

Fortunately, the celebration quickly resumed. The applause gradually died down, and the sailors, after dancing around him, returned to their merrymaking. But Mero couldn’t shake the feeling of being out of place. What was this surface world really hiding? He felt like he didn’t belong, yet he knew that, in a way, there was nowhere else he should be.

Then, as in a dream where everything feels unreal, the gifts began to be presented. The captain approached him, holding a package in his hands. He handed him a beautifully adorned sailor’s knife, its hilt made of marine tarasque bone, engraved with intricate designs depicting mermaids. The shining metal captured the last rays of the sun. Mero took it with marked hesitation, the weight of the knife feeling pleasant in his hand. This gift, seemingly simple, was a sign of trust. A promise. It was the kind of object that would become a part of him, a weapon but also a symbol of what he must become. The sailors’ gazes grew more intense, more respectful, and he couldn’t ignore the weight now resting on his shoulders.

“A knife is more than a weapon, Mero,” said the captain, his voice deep and solemn. “It’s a tool, a companion. It will protect you, but it will also remind you that you are part of this crew.”

Mero nodded, unable to find the words to express what he felt. The knife, in his hand, seemed almost alive, as if it carried a part of the ship’s soul.

Leïla handed him a smaller package. When he opened it, he found biscuits, the same ones he had loved as a child, simple treats that reminded him of a bygone past. He felt a shiver of nostalgia run down his spine. These biscuits, carefully made and offered with a tenderness he could sense in Leïla’s gesture, reminded him of a simpler time, before responsibilities, before hard choices. He thanked her with a sincere smile, nostalgia mixing with a strange feeling, that of both gratitude and loss.

“I knew you liked them,” she said simply, a soft smile on her lips. “They’ll remind you where you come from, even when you’re far away.”

Finally, his master approached him. With a solemn gesture, he handed him a sailor’s pistol. The stock, made of bloodwood, a vibrant red, gleamed under the dim light. Mero took it in his hands, aware that this gift went beyond the mere function of an object. It was an inheritance. A symbol of the transition into an adult world, filled with dangers and responsibilities. He was no longer a child. He could no longer hide behind his innocence. The look in his master’s eyes left no doubt: he expected much from him.

“This pistol, Mero, is more than a weapon,” said his master, his voice low but filled with a gravity that made Mero shiver. “It’s a reminder. A reminder that you are now responsible for your destiny, and for those who depend on you.”

Mero felt a weight settle on his shoulders, a weight he had never felt before. The gifts, each in their own way, seemed woven from the same invisible thread, a silver line that connected him to this world of sailors, to the men and women who made up his new home, his new destiny. He was now a man among them, a future member of this crew. He felt it in his bones. The weight of these objects was like a chain pulling him toward an uncertain future.

The rest of the evening unfolded in a strange atmosphere, marked by a blend of joy and introspection. Mero felt elsewhere, a little disconnected, watching the celebration as a bystander. As the night wore on and the last laughs faded into the morning mist, he made his way to his cabin, exhausted but happy, carrying with him the gifts, these symbols of his passage into adulthood.

He sat on his bed, a deep fatigue overtaking him. The silence of the night, with only the sound of the waves brushing against the ship’s hull, enveloped him in a strange peace. His eyes fell on the objects he had received. The knife, the biscuits, the pistol. Each of them carried a profound meaning. The waves of the sea, the tumult of emotions, all of it slowly drifted away as Mero was engulfed by sleep.

But deep in his mind, one question lingered: would this future, with its responsibilities and choices, be as heavy to bear as he feared?