Mero closed the door to his room with a slight creak, isolating himself from the fading revelry of the celebration behind him. The laughter of sailors, bursts of music, and warmth of the fire gradually faded, though the echoes of the evening lingered in his thoughts. Suddenly, he felt estranged from it all, as though a part of himself, one he'd never fully acknowledged, had escaped to that distant island where everything began: Mandarine, with her piercing green gaze and mischievous smile. The memory of the pirate island haunted him more than ever, just like that silent promise they'd exchanged—a pact sealed under the stars, an invisible yet unbreakable bond.

He absentmindedly ran his fingers over the pendant she'd given him, as if to feel its weight, as if to remind himself of the strength of their connection. The fragile yet meaningful trinket seemed to anchor him to a past he couldn't escape. He was curious about what this gift meant to her. Was it a symbol, a simple keepsake, or a promise she had yet to fully accept? Leïla seemed more distant than ever. Sometimes Mero felt she was slipping into another reality, something inscrutable, beyond his full comprehension.

Lost in thought, he sat on the edge of the bed. A strange weariness overtook him—not just physical exhaustion, but another weight, something intangible that pressed heavier on his mind with each passing day. Their lives were intertwined, his and Mandarine's, but how? Did he still feel as free as he'd once believed back on the island? Or had he become entangled in the invisible net of past choices?

The warmth of the celebration suddenly felt unbearable, and the laughter seemed distant, almost inaudible. He remembered the pirate city's rooftops and the night when he and Mandarine had found themselves alone under the stars. They had shared their dreams, fears, and plans for the future, laughing like children and forgetting the world around them. A gentle breeze had swept over them then, and Mero had believed, in that moment, that he could have it all, achieve anything. But now that memory felt unreal, like an illusion, a mirage eroding with time.

A shiver of uncertainty ran through him. Where was she now, Mandarine? Was she standing on the deck of her great pirate ship, scanning the horizon with a gaze as uncertain as his? Perhaps she was surrounded by her crew, commanding them with the same poise and confidence she'd shown when they first met. Maybe, just maybe, she was thinking of him. The thought gripped him, and he wondered whether she thought of him as much as he did of her. Did he still hold a place in her mind, or had the ocean already erased his image from her memory? A heavy sigh escaped him, and he pushed the question away. It was too soon to get lost in such musings. He had a path to follow, choices to make—there was no time for regret.

Eventually, he lay down, his thoughts swirling like a storm-tossed sea. The sea itself was calm tonight. He could hear the distant crash of waves against the ship's hull, a soothing sound that contrasted with the turmoil in his mind. Sleep was slow to come, and even when he closed his eyes, memories of the celebration, Mandarine, and the island returned relentlessly.

He rose, seized by a strange, irrational anxiety. The room felt stifling, the air too heavy with unspoken shadows. He had to get out.

Slowly, he got up from his bed, walking silently through the dim room. The ship was calm, the air cool. He moved cautiously across the space, careful not to disturb anyone's sleep. Leïla's bed was empty—a quiet absence. He'd grown accustomed to her presence, or at least knowing she was in the room. But that night, like many others, she wasn't there. It was becoming almost routine. Sometimes she withdrew to speak with Master Antonin or for reasons Mero didn't fully grasp. Those discussions, always discreet, had an air of mystery about them. He'd never dared ask Leïla what she talked about with the scholar, but a part of him remained curious and unsettled. What did they say to each other during those moments? What weighty words lingered in the air?

Intrigued, he approached the door to their room, trying not to make a sound. A thick silence reigned, almost oppressive. Perhaps she was there, discussing important matters—things he wasn't meant to know. Perhaps she simply didn't want to involve him in their conversations. Mero turned away from the door, preferring not to stir suspicions or curiosity. After all, he wasn't supposed to meddle in things that didn't concern him.

He made his way to the stern of the ship. The fresh sea air brought a sense of freedom, a breath of relief that lightened some of the weight on his shoulders. He stood there alone, his gaze lost in the night. The sky was dark, scattered with distant stars. The sea, restless and unstable, seemed infinite. And all around him, he felt that strange solitude that always accompanied him, even among the crew, even with Leïla and Master Antonin. Mero's gaze drifted into the darkness of the horizon, as if searching for an endless, aimless quest. The world seemed both vast and confined. The uncertainty of his future struck him at every moment. This journey... he hadn't chosen it, but he'd embarked on it without being able to turn back. He thought about the destiny he might have had, the one he'd wanted to build, but the sea offered no answers. It remained calm, distant.

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Suddenly, a sigh of relief. Mero turned back, calmer, as if this solitary time had allowed him to breathe again. He returned to his room, extinguishing the candle he'd lit to illuminate the space. Then, without a word, he collapsed onto the bed. The night wore on, and the first light of dawn broke on the horizon.

He pulled out a parchment and a quill, beginning to write a letter to Mandarine, as he sometimes did, even if those letters were never sent. A way for him to put into words what he couldn't say aloud. He described his days, his progress, his encounters, and his doubts. Time had passed so quickly, yet every word written seemed heavy, almost filled with regret. He wanted to share the little things with her—the thoughts he cherished in silence, hoping they would somehow cross the vast oceans and reach her heart. Perhaps one day, at another time, he might actually send this letter.

Mero remained still for a long time after writing the last word on the parchment. The candle flickered, casting dancing shadows on the cramped cabin walls. His thoughts were heavy, dense like the morning mist that sometimes embraced the sea. The letter spread out before him seemed insufficient to hold everything he wanted to say to Mandarine.

He reread each line, his heart tightening at every mention.

"My dear Mandarine," he wrote, the words imbued with sincere, almost painful warmth. His quill had glided across the paper with tender hesitation, seeking the right balance between restraint and passion.

He continued reading silently, his dark eyes scanning each phrase.

"The days here are both long and filled with learning. My master, as always, guides me tirelessly through a multitude of disciplines, but I feel my mind sometimes drifting into the infinity of the sea and the sciences."

Each word rekindled fleeting images: the silhouette of Master Antonin, unwavering, handing him complex nautical charts; the endless nights spent studying under the flickering lanterns. Yet despite the intensity of these lessons, one persistent thought always returned: Mandarine. She was the anchor that kept him steady, even when his mind threatened to capsize under the weight of responsibilities.

"Yet every moment spent learning brings me closer to my goal, and perhaps to a day when we can be together in this world of our choosing."

This sentence drew a sigh from him. What a strange promise they had exchanged back there on the pirate island. Mandarine, with her blazing green eyes and defiant smile, had drawn him into a bold dance, the steps and destination of which he still didn't know. But one thing was certain: he wanted to be by her side, no matter the cost.

The creaking of the wood under the swell brought him back to reality. The night was deep, but the sea never slept. Just like his heart, always stirred by thoughts of distant horizons and unfinished promises.

"The journey continues, slow and uncertain, but we move forward."

"The journey continues, slow and uncertain, but we move forward."

He relived the long days sailing under a changing sky, the threatening storms lashing the ship's deck, and those moments of grace when the ocean seemed to become a perfect mirror of the sky. Each wave, each breath of wind carried a message of infinity. Yet, despite the raw beauty of this adventure, he was missing something—or rather, someone.

"Each day is a new discovery, and I often thought of you, even in the silent moments between my studies and duties. Your memory warms me, even on the cold nights at sea."

He pictured himself once more, seated at the ship's bow, scanning the horizon with the wild hope of seeing the pirate island appear, like a mirage born of his memories. The salty scent of the sea mingled in his mind with Mandarine's gentler fragrance.

"I am writing this letter not only to tell you about my progress but also to say that even in moments of doubt, your image guides me, like a light in the night."

A deep warmth rose within him. Mandarine was not just a companion of memories; she had become a guiding star, an invisible force orienting him in this uncertain world.

"I don't know what the future holds for me, but I am determined to keep going."

He placed his hand on the parchment, his fingers slightly trembling. That determination he spoke of vibrated within him as never before. The world was hostile, but he would fight to carve a path back to her.

"I hope you are well. The journey feels both endless and too fast."

Again, a simple yet almost poetic truth. Each day felt like an endless challenge and a frantic race toward an uncertain future.

"With all my affection,

Mero"

He read those farewell words one last time. "All my affection" felt pale in comparison to what he truly felt. But words had their limits, and perhaps Mandarine would understand what remained unspoken.

Mero carefully rolled the parchment and sealed it with red wax, imprinting the discreet symbol of the ship. He knew he would have to wait for a port stop to send the letter, but the act of writing it had somewhat calmed the turmoil within him.

The candle flickered one last time before going out, plunging the cabin into darkness. Mero remained seated, his gaze lost in the shadows.

"Mandarine..." he murmured, like a prayer to the sea.

The morning arrived quietly, but he sensed deep down that this peace would not last. The future, like the waves, was unpredictable. But one thing was certain: he would continue moving forward, driven by a force greater than the sea itself.