As she looked out the window of her cabin, her thoughts drifted to a different boy aboard the Albatross.

She had not seen Ventus since she had boarded, although she had kept an eye out for him. Elodie hoped that he was alright. She was deeply grateful for what he had done for her, to help her escape Captain Reynard and the Foxtrot and the Black-Sail Fleet. But in doing so, she recognized that he had thrown away everything he'd ever known, and had ended up in what had essentially been enemy hands, the Albionese navy.

At least Captain Jennings seemed open to pardoning him, to letting him work on her ship. Hopefully that meant that he'd be safe from the same fate that befell her own father—hanged and left out on the rocks by port as a warning.

Ventus certainly didn't deserve that, for helping her.

She idly wondered what she could do, to thank him for it. She'd have to figure out something, some way to do so.

But that was a problem for the morning, she supposed. There was so much that awaited her in the morning, the true beginning of her life aboard the ship as a contributor. She only hoped that she could do her part well.

But first, she had to finish running a brush through her hair. It was all tangled from the sea-water and the distress of the past day and night. As she worked through it, her auburn tangles turned to waves as smooth as the taffeta gown that had been in her wardrobe the night Brighton Row was set aflame.

Did that dress even remain? Or was it now ash?

She couldn't let her mind linger on these questions for too long, otherwise they would drive her mad with worry.

Elodie looked out the window, an idle curiosity as she weaved her hair into a loose braid over her shoulder—and was quite surprised to see none other than a narwhal floating alongside the boat, right outside the window.

She'd read about them before, seen the illustrations of the mystical animals—but nothing compared to seeing them for herself, she decided.

They were great gray creatures, with deep lines in their skin like the designs in woodwork, the bumps and swirls and knots from the heart of the trees themselves. These lines, unlike those of the ordinary whales, glowed a silver like the moonlight as they propelled themselves from the depths and into the air. The water rolled off of them, catching the silver of the moon and their own bodies as they flew through the air in large pods.

Perhaps their most distinctive trait was the long spiraling horn that protruded from their foreheads, also that distinct yellow-tinged silver of the moon.

Elodie could see that the one on her side of the Albatross was not the only one. No, there were many narwhals around them, more and more joining their side. She'd heard that the narwhals liked to stay around ships like this one. To see it for herself was a marvel.

The floorboards began to rumble as a humming came through the air, and with it a song unlike any she had ever heard—whale-song.

Even though Elodie had never heard such a song before, it called to something within her bones. It was intimately familiar, the kind of song that you were born to hear and feel. It was so beautiful, so serene—and yet the way that the narwhals sang, it left a deep unease and sorrow in its wake.

She had to hear it, she had to get closer. She was like them, Elodie just knew it. She belonged among them, somehow. They had to teach her their song, so she could too sing like that. Maybe that would fix something in her, maybe that would save her.

She abandoned the hairbrush and did not bother to put on her boots or the jacket that Jade had lent her. Neither seemed so important. All that mattered was getting to the deck, to be able to see the narwhals, to hear them sing.

She did not need the light of the lanterns placed periodically down the corridors, even though they left little shadow in their wake. For how the corridors were labyrinthine in the daylight, navigating them now was all too easy. All she had to do was follow the call.

It was as familiar as the way home, as her mother's own shanties-turned-lullabies.

She slipped onto the deck, moving like a shadow, like a dream.

If she hadn't known better, Elodie might have suspected it all to be a dream.

The narwhals were soaring all around the ship in their pod, leaving trails of moonlight in violet, green, and deep indigo-blue with glittering silver stardust scattered all throughout, the cosmos themselves opening up into their deepest colors. And the song, it was everywhere, it was within and without, and it called to her.

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She had to be with them, she just knew it. They were her truest kin, where she belonged.

Her blood burned every second that she lingered on the polished, yet nicked floorboards. Yet with every step forward, there was something muffled, something that seemed important and yet, what could possibly be more important than this?

She made her way to the side of the ship and climbed up on it to get a better look. She reached out to one of the passerby narwhals, but it wasn't quite close enough to touch. She just had to reach a little further—

"Elodie, stop!"

It was as if cold water had been dumped on her head.

All at once, reality came rushing back. The sides of her head pounded on the beat of her racing heart as she turned—only to feel her feet slip out from under her.

She started to reach out wildly, only for strong arms to sweep under her back and knees and pull her back in to the safety of the deck.

"Ventus!" She looked up into the ocean-like eyes of her rescuer—multiple times over, it seemed. His expression betrayed nothing, with the usual stoic frown. "I'm so sorry, I—"

"It's alright. I'll carry you back to your cabin."

"No, no, I can walk—"

"I'd rather make sure you got back safely."

Elodie frowned. "At least let me down, you can still escort me back—"

"To be honest, I'm not sure I'd be able to catch you a second time," he interrupted coolly. "So I'll carry you."

"Oh." Elodie felt heat rising to her cheeks. "Thank you, I guess."

He said nothing, as he carried her back into the interior corridors of the Albatross. The narwhal song was far away now, muffled by the wind and the tide and the creaking of the ship. Otherwise, the journey passed in agonizing, eternal silence. Elodie was not used to being held this close by a young man her age, or any age for that matter.

Although she supposed if anyone had to carry her, she at least preferred Ventus to Kas. She at least was certain of his intentions, that he meant well. And there was the matter that he had at least saved her from the pirates of the Black-Sail Fleet.

She was jostled out of her thoughts when he finally set her on her feet again—mainly just to open the door.

He gestured for her to go in, which caused her to tilt her head in confusion. "After you—but—"

"I'm not leaving you alone until the pod passes."

"Oh." Her first thought was to protest. It was untoward—and what if someone like Edgeworth found out—

How's he or any of the other bachelors in Port Augustine going to find out?

An inner voice that sounded uncannily like her mother interrupted all of her worries about what was proper and what wasn't. And she was right, Elodie decided, as she looked up at Ventus. She might as well put aside what wasn and wasn't proper.

This was her adventure, after all. Her quest, to find her mother and save them both.

She was on a pirate—well, privateering—ship, far from anyone who might have any reason to care about what she was up to. She would marry soon enough to a proper man after this was all done. This would be her one and only chance to break some rulers, to do as she pleased with no care to scandal or consequence.

Such a scenario was entoxicating, and like with the song of narwhals before, she could not help but surrender to it and all that it enticed.

"Well, come on on in, then."

The door closed behind them, solidifying her choice.

She strode over to the bed and perched on it. Ventus did not take the open desk chair, instead leaning against the wall by the dresser. He looked out the window and his frown deepened.

"It's strange."

"What do you mean?' Elodie tilted her head.

He met her eyes. "I've been at sea a long time. I know some sailors are different, there are some like myself who can work above-decks in siren territories, their songs don't bother us when most can't help it. But I've never heard of anyone falling under the spell of narwhal song."

While the tips of Elodie's ears burned to hear it, she realized he was right. She had of course heard that the symphony of the majestic flying whales was beautiful—but she hadn't ever heard of it being like siren song.

That's what it had been like, she realized. The horrifying accounts of the rare sailor who managed to break free described how it had been all like it was a dream, how they had to follow it, they had to go—and how startlingly awful it felt to wake up from.

"Neither have I."

A long, terrible silence filled the space between them. Elodie found herself toying at the hem of her nightdress, unable to look at Ventus.

"It's alright, by the way." The words were awkward, but Elodie could hear the heart in them. She couldn't help but look up and meet his eyes. There was something arresting about them, she decided. He drew you in, just like the ocean itself.

He was the one who broke the gaze, who looked away. "We all have our own strengths."

Elodie bit her lip. "I don't feel like I've been all that strong."

He looked back to her and blinked. "Then you aren't giving yourself enough credit. You could have stayed in the brig. You could have taken the easy route out with Jennings back at port. But you didn't, so there must be some sailor in you."

Elodie shrugged. "I suppose we'll find out."

"It's in the blood for both of us." He smiled. "It'll come easier than sleeping."

Elodie could only hope so.

Still, she found herself smilng back at him. It was an easy thing, with those captivating ocean-eyes. But there was a bitterness to it, the taste of coffee at the back of her throat.

"Thank you." It wasn't much more than a whisper. "You don't have to do all this, you know. I wouldn't blame you if you didn't want much to do with me after all this."

Ventus frowned and crossed his arms over his chest. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Elodie flinched at the cursing. "I am grateful, don't get me wrong. But I understand if you resent that I'm the reason you had to leave your previous ship. And I'm sure I'm keeping you from duties or sleep, just to keep me company—"

"Just stop." Ventus then sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Look, I'm not the best with words. That didn't come out right. My point is, you'll drive yourself mad thinking that way. I wanted to help you, and the way I see it, we're in this together now."

He then tilted his head. "Till the ends of the seas and the skies and the world falls off, I'm your man, Elodie."