CHAPTER 64: RECONCILIATION
The wooden stairs creaked beneath them as Quartermaster Bob led the group down into the narrow corridors of the ship's lower deck.
The air down here was thick with the stench of damp timber and cheap rum.
Bob stopped before two doors facing each other across the narrow hallway. He tossed a heavy iron key to Raven, who caught it effortlessly without looking at him.
"Princess gets the starboard cabin; you and the bestiar girl take the port side," Bob said with a lopsided grin.
"Try not to break anything. The captain doesn't like damage to his vessel."
Without so much as a glance back at John, Raven unlocked her door, went inside, and slammed it shut with a bang that rattled the dust off the ceiling. The bolt clicked into place seconds later.
John sighed, unlocking his own cabin door and stepping inside. The room was tiny, holding little more than a narrow wooden bunk, a small desk bolted to the floor along with a chair, and a single flickering lamp.
"Alright, Lea," John said, turning back toward the threshold. "Your room is right across—"
He stopped as Lea wasn't moving toward the cabin across the hall. Instead, she stood planted firmly in his doorway, her wide eyes staring directly at him. Her dog-like ears twitched once at the sound of waves crashing against the ship, but her body remained entirely still.
"Lea, go on. That's your room," John pointed across the hall.
She didn't budge. When John took a step toward her to usher her out, she simply stepped over the threshold into his room, standing beside the small desk like a silent guard.
John rubbed his temples, his bruised cheek throbbing at the motion.
"Can you please go to your room?"
Silence was his only answer. Recognizing the futility of arguing with her, John gave up. He collapsed backward onto the narrow mattress, letting out a heavy groan as his sore muscles finally relaxed. Lea silently walked over and sat on the wooden floor right beside the bed, pulling her oversized winter coat around her knees.
John stared up at the wooden planks of the ceiling, completely at a loss for what to do with her.
She needs to learn she is not a slave anymore… she is like a dog.
Midnight arrived with the rolling of the ship against swelling ocean waves.
John couldn't sleep. The headache that had plagued him back in Oakhaven—the terrifying pressure that had driven him to slaughter the corrupt merchant—was back with double the intensity. It was past the point of being a headache and had become an agonizing phantom throb in his mind, like a dozen invisible needles poking at his brain.
He sat up, gasping softly as he wiped a bead of cold sweat from his forehead.
Glancing down, he saw Lea curled up on the floor beside his bed, breathing steadily. She was fast asleep, her tail tucked neatly around her legs.
John carefully swung his legs over the edge of the bunk. Picking up the wool blanket resting at the foot of the bed, he gently draped it over her shoulders. She stirred slightly, her ears twitching, but remained asleep.
Needing air to cool his feverish head, John slipped out of the cabin, leaving the door slightly ajar.
The ship was dark and quiet, save for the rhythm of the waves crashing against the hull. Seeking a breeze, John wandered down the creaking hallway. He noticed a narrow staircase leading further down into the belly of the ship—toward the hold—and out of mild curiosity, stepped toward it.
"I wouldn't go down there if I were you, lad."
John froze, turning his head. Captain Flint was leaning against a thick wooden pillar near the hold entrance, the shadow of the hat he wore obscuring half his face, and his hand rested casually near the hilt of his sword.
The aura of a Stage 4 Sage lingered around him, emitting a faint pressure.
John kept his composure, adjusting his coat collar. "Just sightseeing. Can't sleep."
Flint let out a low, dry chuckle. "It's just wet cargo, rats, and mold down there. Boring stuff for paying guests. Head up to the main deck if you want fresh air."
John eyed the sealed hatch behind Flint for a fraction of a second. He wondered briefly what kind of "cargo" required a Stage 4 Sage to personally loiter near the entrance in the middle of the night, but he simply shrugged.
"Fair enough."
Turning around, John headed up the steps toward the main deck.
The night air was freezing, carrying a spray of salty ocean mist that stung his face—and helped dull the throbbing in his head. The full moon cast a brilliant silver glow across the endless dark waters.
Raven stood near the starboard railing, her dark hair blowing in the wind.
John hesitated, then took a breath and walked over. He stopped a few paces away, resting his elbows against the wooden rail as he stared out at the dark horizon.
"Are you still angry?" John asked softly, leaning on the wooden railing and looking over at her.
Raven didn't turn her head. Her crimson eyes remained fixed on the moonlit waves, her jaw clenched tight, her side profile mesmerizing in the pale night air.
"Ok you are still mad, but staying silent the entire trip isn't going to fix anything."
John let out a quiet sigh, running a hand through his hair and wincing slightly as his fingers brushed the bruised skin around his left eye.
"Look... I didn't explain it right back then," he began, keeping his voice low so it wouldn't carry over the whistle of the ocean wind.
"I was just desperate. After that session... the headache was back again, and I was starting to feel the murderous thoughts return. When you're dying, you grab at whatever hope you can find just to survive."
Silence stretched between them for a long moment as the only sound was the ocean waves and the crew's laughter.
For a second, John thought she was going to ignore him entirely.
Then, Raven clicked her tongue loudly, frustrated, and finally turned her face toward him. Her glare was furious, but beneath the anger, there was a flash of genuine exasperation.
"Why are you so damn stupid?" she demanded.
John blinked, taken aback by her harshness. "Raven—"
"Do you think you're the first person in history to try necromancy?" she snapped, stepping closer, her crimson eyes burning.
"Do you think people avoid Thanatos's taboo just because of some dusty old laws? There is a reason even the most power-hungry cultivators reject it, despite how absurdly strong it makes you."
She leaned in, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper that cut through the ocean breeze.
"It demands a toll no mortal can pay. Thanatos's power isn't free. The moment you touch his domain, you invite the weight of the dead into your mind. Not to mention, you become Thanatos's instant enemy; nobody can bear the consequences. Nobody."
A faint, bitter smile touched his lips.
"We'll see," he whispered.
Raven let out a long sigh, her shoulders dropping as she relaxed a little.
She pinched the bridge of her nose, her anger giving way to plain exhaustion.
"You're infuriating. You know that, right?"
"I've been told," John said quietly, offering a small, apologetic shrug.
She studied him for a long moment before letting out a quiet scoff, though the sharp edge was gone from her eyes.
"Just... don't die... because if you do, you will suffer for eternity."
"Deal," John said, breathing a faint sigh of relief as the tension between them finally eased. He looked back out over the black water, hesitating for a moment before speaking again.
"Hey, Raven... do you know anything about a dark shard?"
Raven glanced sideways at him, her brows furrowing. "A dark shard? What is that?"
"I'm not entirely sure," John admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "Forget it… just tell me if you find anything."