Immanuel awoke to find Syl commanding the ship from the captain's chair, with Zach still slumbering on his couch. In another corner of the bridge, the boy and girl were huddled together on a separate couch.

'I half expected Syl to leave them behind on their ship,' he mused silently.

Observing Syl's handiwork, he noticed she had applied a salve to his side and neatly bandaged it. His hand, previously stabilized with slender splints, showed signs of healing when he removed them. A wave of gratitude surged within him towards the chimera.

He was already healed and with a happy smile Immanuel looked at Syl sitting in the captain’s chair.

She looked mesmerizing in the orange light of the setting suns.

Approaching Syl, Immanuel wrapped his arms around her in a gesture of thanks. From the corner, the girl, still smeared with blood and dirt, watched him cautiously.

Zach stirred, seemingly awake, walked over and eagerly joined the embrace, climbing onto Syl's lap. Syl, however, seemed distant and detached.

“Syl,” Immanuel began.

“She's nauseous,” Zach whispered softly, his face buried in Syl’s robes.

“Sorry!” Immanuel offered his wrist to her. “You need…” Syl started, her breathing deep and deliberate, teeth gritted. “You need to recuperate.” She finished.

Impatient, Immanuel urged, “Syl, for the love of God.” Her frown deepened.

“Drink!”

She complied, drinking until Immanuel's head felt as light as air.

He then settled on the couch, noticing a newfound fear in the girl's eyes. Clearly, she had witnessed something unsettling.

He took a moment to gather himself.

“Speak to me,” Immanuel asked after a pause.

A heavy silence ensued. Syl adjusted some controls, slowing the ship's speed, and then exited the bridge. Boy Zach looked at him with caring eyes. When Syl returned, her confusion was palpable.

“I don’t understand,” she confessed, sitting down in the captain's chair.

“Initially, I wondered why you would so recklessly endanger our lives for no apparent reason,” she started, gazing out the window, avoiding Immanuel's eyes.

“It made me question why you would place so little value on our lives. Our lives,” she emphasized, turning to him with a puzzled look.

“I realized, that includes your life as well.”

Immanuel struggled to hold back his response, yearning to alleviate the situation, but knowing he needed to let her talk first, he was confused about why he did what he did..

“I just can’t fathom it,” she concluded.

Reflecting on the matter, Immanuel began, “Let me try to explain…

“…so I was shot down and landed in the alley.” He started.

He revisited the events in his mind, attempting to understand his instinctual decision.

He talked slowly, as he was thinking out loud. “I believe it was an act of courage I witnessed. With no means of self-defense, without even, uhm, hands, her first reaction was to protect the boy. She shielded him with her body, and in that moment, I recognized a quality I lacked – courage. True, unadulterated courage.”

He realized the profound impact of this revelation, for with the truth all things resonate. It was her courage that had inspired him to confront the spear-wielding adversary. Here he was, given all this power, the ability to recover from almost everything, yet never sparing a single thought to anything or anyone but himself.

“When we defeated the bitch, I thought we had a window of opportunity. Grab them, dash to our speedboat, and we’d be free,” Immanuel recounted his initial plan.

“You leapt from the ship during the assault, to retrieve them as they were attempting to flee us,” Zach interjected softly.

“Yes, that's true…

…I'm not sure... I suppose I was already in too deep. Seeing them helplessly drifting, especially her without hands, it was heart-wrenching,” Immanuel admitted.

Zach, speaking in a low tone, remarked, “I’m hardly in a position to critique your intuitions on who deserves saving.”

Before Immanuel could continue, Syl interjected, “There's more to it than that. You were upset with me for attacking the nobles. You-”

Immanuel interrupted her, “I’ve always been taught to consider the value of every life, equally.”

Her response was immediate.

“So you were a princeling?” She said looking him in the eyes.

“No, why does everyone assume...” Immanuel started, only to be interrupted by Zach.

“Isn’t that the viewpoint of a ruler? To consider everyone?” Zach questioned.

Immanuel fell silent, thinking about it.

“Perhaps the mindset of a ruler, or someone brought up in a democracy,” he suggested tentatively.

Zach, curious, inquired, “What’s a democracy?”

“It's a system where a majority of people get to select a new leader every four or something years,” Immanuel explained, his expression strained.

Zach, confused, frowned too. “Why would a leader step down after four years? And if chosen, why wouldn’t he be a good leader after four years?”

Immanuel, trying to steer the conversation back, sighed, “Zach, we're straying from topic.”

He breathed deep, trying to center his thoughts before continuing.

“Anyway, what is also true and necessary is that we need a larger crew, more hands on the wheel,” Immanuel continued.

Zach, glancing at the newcomers in the corner, remarked skeptically, “He’s blind, not exactly a valuable addition.”

Immanuel started to counter, “No, she...” but his voice faded.

“...Fuck,” he muttered.

“…They make a good team.” Immanuel tried to add.

Zach's mischievous grin was slowly spreading across his face, and Immanuel found himself struggling to avert his gaze. The overwhelming cocktail of pain, exhilaration, and panic of the whole day was reaching a tipping point. He felt on the brink of hysteria, fearing that if he started laughing now, he might end up rolling on the ground.

“I think I can heal her hands, but not his eyes,” Syl interjected, seemingly oblivious to the brewing emotional storm between Zach and Immanuel.

Immanuel snapped back to reality, his expression shifting to one of utter surprise.

“What?”

“I can help the girl. There’s a technique. We perform surgery, then heal, enabling the limbs to regrow. It’s resource-intensive, we will need your blood, but it's within our means. I can help him too but not with the resources we have,” Syl explained.

“No,” Immanuel responded instinctively.

Syl appeared somewhat relieved by his refusal, clearly valuing the resources at stake.

“You really can? My God,” Immanuel continued, his incredulity evident. Although he inhabited a world where magic was commonplace, the idea of regenerating limbs still seemed staggering.

Syl's expression softened as she observed Immanuel's enthusiasm, “we need to be cautious, she is a mortal.”

As Immanuel summoned some of the spoils from their recent escape – barrels of drink and a sizable piece of meat. They had lost a speedboat, but they had their lives, and now, a moment to breathe and celebrate.

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Leaving the food and drink next to Zach he walked over to the boy and girl in the corner.

“Syl, you need to teach me how to be a miracle worker.” He said with a smile before standing in front of the boy and girl.

Immanuel opened his hands wide and bowed deeply. He held his position, hoping there was something universal to the gesture. Or at least something that conveyed good intentions.

When he came up, he smiled broadly. ‘I hope I don’t come across as a maniac,’ he thought. But the idea of being able to help her, and eventually help him, made him feel genuinely happy.

He made a come with me gesture but she stepped back, a whole range of emotions crossing her face. He took the man’s hand. He flinched a little as Immanuel started to guide him away. She followed.

Outside, the mountain's descent into the sea painted a majestic backdrop. Syl's made slight adjustments, guiding the ship with a deft touch.

Immanuel walked to the other side of the ship, where they had a bucket and a rope and showed them how to take water from the sea. He pulled the bucket up and threw it over himself enjoying the clean water.

They understood. And with almost something like desperation, the desperation of slaves not wanting to disappoint a master, Immanuel thought wryly, she started to whisper to her blind friend, and together they managed to get a bucket of water. They started to wash themselves, and Immanuel walked away, watching the mountains.

He lit his pipe and let his thoughts run freely.

The Greek philosopher Aristotle defended slavery by arguing that if you are a slave, your nature must be submissive. A truly free man would never submit, his nature would not let him.

He lit his pipe, hearing the splashes behind him. What a thing to believe.

No.

Everyone can be beaten down, and hopefully, lifted up again. Maybe the first step is something nice to wear.

So he stood smoking and checking his inventory, perusing all the mannequins they stole as if he was window shopping.

When he heard no more splashes, he looked back and saw two people transformed. They both had black hair falling on their shoulders, a sharp nose and brown eyes. They looked like people from the Middle East. How strange, he thought.

Dripping wet but mostly clean, with clothing full of holes, Immanuel took them to the lower deck and opened a door to one of the unused sleeping quarters. There were two beds, but for the rest, it was a bare room. He walked in and pulled out a beautiful piece of clothing, some combination of a toga from the ankles that went over into a yellow buttoned shirt with a brown cape.

For her, he picked a similar piece but with a thin purple shawl on top.

Putting the mannequins in the middle of their room, he pointed at the clothing and then at them. She averted her eyes, looking down. The guy just stood there, timid, with those hollow eyes looking straight past him.

He took his hand again and pulled him to the mannequin, then he lifted the upper piece and placed it in front of him.

“This. For. You.” He pointed.

Not really knowing what else to do, he hugged him. The guy did not hug him back, but Immanuel could feel him tense. Then he tried the same with her, but she stepped back out through the open door while repeating some words.

So he bowed again and walked away.

He walked back to his and Syl's room. There he took out a beautiful golden robe with a very official-looking upper jacket, white with red knobs. There was a headdress that was somewhat Roman looking, with a comically big colorful horizontal mohawk made from feathers.

He walked up the bridge and saw Zach, having cut off big pieces of the meat, and was drinking straight from the barrel. He was in his boy form, and the barrel was so wide he could barely hold it between his hands.

He walked out and collected their table and chairs and some cups and walked back in.

Zach, now looking up, smiled at Immanuel. Immanuel winked and walked past Syl, doing his best impression of an arrogant young noble.

“Ooooh my,” Syl said with a smile. “I knew you were a princeling!” she said while checking him out.

“I could always pretend to be a noble, later on. And you, my...”

“Honor guard,” Syl finished with a smile while squinting her eyes seductively.

She looked like a priestess of Aphrodite, Immanuel thought, feeling his hands get clammy.

“This is a kingly drink,” Zach said with a satisfied smile, ignoring their talk, while placing the barrel down and plopping on his couch with another big piece of meat.

Immanuel placed the tables and cups in front of the window. And saw that Syl had dramatically slowed down to avoid the occasional rock cropping out of the water.

He poured everyone a drink and cut off a piece of meat for himself and Syl, bringing it to her. She smiled a smile that suggested everything was well again, the kind of smile you might give a puppy that did something silly but only hurt itself in the process.

“To a successful escape!” Immanuel raised his cup.

“One for all and all for one!” Zach chimed in enthusiastically.

“One for all and all for one!” Syl echoed, a hint of amusement in her voice.

‘Noooo. Not you too, Syl,’ Immanuel thought as he drank, and indeed, the drink was heavenly. It was a sort of mead, sweet with herbs, not very strong but with a delightful honey flavor.

“This is amazing,” Immanuel declared, savoring more of the drink.

“Very tasty,” Syl agreed, skillfully holding the wheel with one hand.

“How many barrels do you have?” Zach inquired, his eyes gleaming with a hint of greed.

“That will be a surprise,” Immanuel replied with a sly smile, biting into the meat. It tasted good, though it was only dried or smoked, without any herbs.

They continued drinking in comfortable silence until Immanuel, spurred by a thought, jumped up to fetch the new crew members.

Walking down, he knocked on their door. After a moment, the guy opened it, and they both looked transformed in their new clothing.

Immanuel pondered, ‘Should I give them food here? Or should I take them up so they can start hearing the language and get used to us?’ He smiled at them warmly. The guy was staring straight at the wall to Immanuel’s right, and she was behind him, looking down at her own feet.

'Best let them acclimatize, and maybe getting drunk isn't the best introduction,' Immanuel thought. He walked past the guy, opening the door fully, and took out a barrel and a big piece of meat. He then fetched another knife and two cups.

He opened the barrel and filled both cups, handing them over. He placed one in the hand of the guy. When he didn't react, Immanuel carefully lifted his hand, hearing the girl murmur something softly.

He drank, his face showing a short grimace before taking another sip. Immanuel cut off a piece of meat and handed it to her, then left.

Back on the bridge, Zach was refilling their glasses.

“Let’s do that. Is there any danger of pursuers?” Immanuel asked.

“We can lock the doors. No one can open them from that weak city,” Zach replied, placing his empty cup on the table and refilling it again.

Immanuel sat down with his drink and his pipe and looked at them both with a grave expression.

“I am really sorry for jeopardizing your life. And I just don’t want you to think I am a liability,” Immanuel started.

“Like I said, I can’t fault you for trying to save people, and a few extra hands on the wheel...” Zach began, laughing.

Syl smiled, shaking her head at Zach’s comment.

“I will start with the operation when we are at open sea again. So we will not crash into the mountain when Zach is sleeping behind the wheel,” Syl said.

“I am still not sure if we were right in killing them. I mean. I mean.” He looked at them both.

“I am going to be as complete as I can.” He gazed out over the water, where the suns were setting. Taking a drink, he lid his pipe and saw with disappointment he was almost out of herbs.

“Where I come from, it is believed that it is very difficult to take a life. And it should deeply impact anyone who does.” He reflected on his class about just war and PTSD, and the percentages of people who were affected by it.

“I do enjoy the fight. You know…”

“… I know… I oscillate between panic and, to be honest, something like pure joy during fights. The power, the complete domination.” Immanuel remembered Syl’s face again, recoiling from the slap. “It makes everything more real, it makes me more real when I can fight and burn my core…”

He thought about something he read from Kengis Khan, happiness being able to destroy your enemies or something along those lines, and he realized something profound in that. Winning an argument and winning a life and death fight, it just doesn’t compare.

“I hope I am not a psychopath, but I don’t feel bad for killing those people.” He started again.

“Why would you ever-” Zach started, while refilling their glasses.

“Zach. Let him organize his thoughts,” Syl interjected.

Zach walked over and refilled Syl's glass too.

“I am afraid of where it might lead. I hope there’s nothing wrong with me because I don’t feel bad about what happened in the city. You have to know, if I was put on trial for what I did, where I used to live, they would put me away for life.”

Thinking about his mental state and how good he actually felt he added, “I mean less than 10 percent of people in war zones really gets traumatized and-”

“What do you mean traumatized?” Zach asked, already getting a bit tipsy. He was biting off pieces of meat with his teeth, grease all over chin and cheeks.

“I mean, I don’t know if it will be the same in all societies. Your city and sect may have a completely different reaction, maybe because life is harsher and violence a normal part of life, but if a civil war were to break out and everyone had to kill or be killed…”

He inhaled deeply from his pipe letting the herbs tickle in his throat and nose.

“I am trying to explain something without using too many ideas that would also need explanation. But, in the event of a civil war, wouldn’t you think a lot of people would find it shocking? I mean many or some would find it hard to forget and sleep, and continue on normally after such an event."

“Everyone who would live but-”

Syl interrupted him again.

“We have it in the sect. We call it a broken soul if it leads to a death wish or when it leads to extreme aggression.” She glanced at Zach before adding, “Although what is considered extreme aggression with the Lycans can be a bit, much.”

“A weak soul” Zach repeated, then downed another glass. “You won’t live long in the pact with a weak soul.”

“Viriliacha, a witch who was in the sect long before me, she was afflicted this way after losing a fight with a Crunch, she was the only one that lived, but she didn’t really live, something died.”

“What happened to Viriliacha?” Immanuel asked.

“She tried ending her life, after which she was locked up and eventually used for potions. She was not coherent while she was locked away,” Syl explained, stopping the engine and sitting down next to Immanuel.

She sat down and slowly took off his ostentatious helmet before pressing her cheeks against his. When she withdrew, he kissed her for a long time. She then got up and lightly slapped the area of his groin. Immanuel tried to grab her wrist, but she darted away, saying, “I’ll drop the anchor.”

He looked wistfully at her retreating form while storing the helmet.

“So sad that these robes cover her so much, let’s find her something nice. And something for you too Zach! We will arrive in the next city looking like princes.”

“Yesh.” Zach said while trying to swallow a chunk of meat like a seagull.