The sun was glaring, the temperature rising sharply. Captain Scarbough wiped a sweat as he tightened and knotted the ropes—made of wire, grease-soaked hemp, and animal hair.
These chores should’ve been left to the sailors—no reason for a captain to do them himself. But with the ship shorthanded, there was only the old ship’s doctor, a dopey young apprentice, the professor who was a walking accident risk, and a dragonrider who had appeared out of nowhere.
The lookout perch, normally reserved for sailors, was now occupied. The dragonrider’s striking golden hair had inexplicably been cut short, and despite the heat, he wore a deep indigo cloak, speaking softly with the professor on deck.
It was mating season, and flocks of colorful small dragons skimmed the ocean’s surface, their calls mixing with those of seabirds—it was a lively scene. A few dragons tilted toward the ship out of curiosity, but before they could get close, a sudden gust of wind sent them tumbling through the air. They flailed and scattered in alarm.
Wind and water elementalists were every sailor’s dream companions, but they were rare—and typically too proud to associate with poor fishermen. This was Captain Scarbough’s first time enjoying the fortune of having a spellcaster onboard. His mind drifted to the memory of the storm-shredded first mate, the lost crew, and the wreck of his Seeker. His elation at being able to return home faded in an instant.
The sun was blazing. Nova stood on the deck, first confirming their position with the Divine Chosen, then calculating the course using the sun and shadows. Once he had his conclusion, he stared idly at the glimmering ocean until he completely lost interest. The savior’s golden hair dazzled under the light, making Nova long for his glasses again—at this rate, he was almost getting used to the constant blur in the distance.
Their destination was Graybridge Port. Including the return trip, Nova estimated that the Dawn Festival was probably nearing its end. Still, he’d likely catch up with the other returning colleagues—just in time to prove he hadn’t perished at sea. The captain and the rest had been heading to Graybridge anyway, so this marked a return to their original route.
As for the Divine Chosen, he claimed he was going to trace the origins of the rumor about the “dragon lair” and deal with the Samman Family issue along the way. Besides, with the Wall of Sighs not fully collapsed yet, no one could leave without him. Windstrider Aizela had been left behind in Asachi Valley to protect their people.
Before they departed, Nova went to ask about their return date and found the Divine Chosen holding a small knife, measuring it against his hair. The beads—crafted from coral and turquoise and braided into his hair—had already been removed and laid out in neat rows.
“These are my mother’s keepsakes,” the Divine Chosen offered graciously, noticing Nova’s curious glance at the vibrantly colored, archaic beads with a strong foreign flair. “You’re welcome to look.”
“A taste typical of the Karak people,” the professor said, carefully picking up a deep red coral bead etched with odd wave-like patterns. He held it up to the oil lamp and squinted at it. “One branch of the Karak migrated to Atlantka County long ago. They largely assimilated into the Natalin. Your blond hair likely comes from that bloodline. Look here—this is a classic motif of oceanic cultures. I’ve even seen similar patterns on your wool socks.”
The other leaned in as well. With their heads nearly touching, they studied the bead for a while before the Divine Chosen murmured in surprise, “You’re right. Runi’s grandmother was blond too… I never imagined you could deduce so much from a single bead. Do you know a lot of this kind of fascinating stuff?”
The professor placed the coral bead back into his hand, tone indifferent. “I just see things, and remember them.”
Still, most people thought he was just showing off. Over time, unless he was deliberately trying to annoy someone, he couldn’t be bothered to speak. That was how Nova Brody became known as the most reclusive and eccentric professor at White Spire University.
He changed the subject. “Why did you cut your hair? And why are you collecting the strands?”
That golden hair, once like flowing sunlight, was now cut short to ear length. The soft, delicate features took on a more spirited sharpness—he now looked a bit like the protagonist of a hot-blooded shonen manga.
“Hair from a spellcaster contains magic too. It can serve as a medium for spellcasting,” the Divine Chosen replied while carefully picking up the golden strands scattered across the table. “Some even believe that burning the hair into ash and consuming it allows one to inherit that person’s power.”
Azukar was amused by the professor’s look of disdain and tossed the strands into a nearby burning oil lamp. The lamp flared with a sudden burst of brightness—Nova was starting to believe this man was a true, proper magician.
“Most importantly,” he added, speaking from clear experience, “long hair takes too much effort to manage. Better to cut it short for a long journey.”
Sometimes, the Savior’s former companions calling him “Your Highness the Princess” really did make sense.
The ship suddenly jolted. Caught off guard mid-thought, Nova nearly fell—luckily, the Divine Chosen leapt from the lookout post, grabbed his shoulder with lightning reflexes, and released him politely once he had regained balance.
The sky had darkened without warning. Nova squinted and saw a massive shadow approaching rapidly—like a dark, heavy cloud. The sea surface, once calm, is now wrinkled with tension.
“We’ve reached the vicinity of the Wall of Sighs,” the Divine Chosen’s voice rang clear to everyone aboard. “All hands below deck!”
The professor suddenly felt a weight sink beneath his feet—the previous sense of being lifted by every wave vanished. It was as if something had added weight to his body. The other sailors looked just as surprised—there was no doubt it was the work of the spellcaster.
They hid inside the simple wooden hold of the Natalin-made cedar ship. Against the crashing waves, the tiny vessel felt no more significant than a grain of wheat on the ocean.
Through an unsealed window, Nova saw the Divine Chosen standing with his back to them on deck, golden hair whipping violently in the wind. He raised his right hand toward the bow—an incoming monstrous wave slammed into something invisible, halting abruptly, splitting around the ship, and fanning upward into murky sheets of water.
The storm’s terrifying noises outside sounded muffled, as if through a thin membrane. The violently spinning helm was caught by an invisible force, and the wood groaned under pressure.
The ship was like a toy sealed inside a glass dome, its occupants tiny figures in a snow globe. It rolled across roaring crests, seemingly about to be swallowed by one wave, only to miraculously emerge from between two others.
Though their feet were weighted down and prevented from rolling around, Nova was getting seasick. Nearby, the apprentice was already vomiting violently, the stench of bile quickly filling the cabin.
He leaned his head against the window and squinted. The ship was now entirely surrounded by mountainous waves, and in the bleak, murky expanse, he caught sight of a single point of clarity—until their vessel suddenly plunged underwater, and the view was overtaken by a violent current filled with seaweed, silt, and terrifyingly shapeless, unknown things.
Nova heard the apprentice Balu screaming, the sound distorted and unreal. The old ship doctor was curled up in a corner, and beside him, the captain clung tightly to the window frame, murmuring a prayer to Odras, the god of the sea.
Yet the water did not steal their breath. Beneath the rolling surface of the sea, everything around them was dark, save for the dim shadows of crashing waves above. Their fragile ship seemed to inhabit a strange, forgotten pocket in the sea—like a weightless bubble drifting with the current.
Then the Divine Chosen opened the cabin door and stood there, framed by the apocalyptic chaos of the sea behind him.
“It’ll be over soon,” he said calmly in the common tongue, glancing around at the wrecked cabin as the sailors stared at him with growing reverence.
Then he smiled slightly. “Professor, would you come out for a moment?”
Under the sailors’ wary stares, Nova gripped the doorframe and climbed out. Seen up close, the glass-like membrane of the “bubble” surrounding them was even more astonishing.
Nova thought of the old submarines he’d seen at the naval museum—humans sealed within layer upon layer of thick steel, able to see the simulated depths of the sea only through tiny reinforced portholes. But now, they were surrounded only by a delicate membrane of swirling air, and the horrors of the deep were laid bare before their eyes.
Something brushed lightly against his cheek. The professor blinked in confusion and turned—meeting a pair of vivid, luminous blue eyes, even more striking in the darkness.
“Your face is scratched and bleeding,” said the Divine Chosen gently. He didn’t mention the strange gleam of fervent curiosity he’d just seen in Nova’s clear smoke-grey eyes—something he had never glimpsed in anyone else.
Nova belatedly touched the damp spot beneath his eye and finally felt a sting. A thin crust of blood stained his glove.
“Must’ve been a wood splinter from the window earlier,” he said offhandedly. “Why did you want me out here?”
“I want to confirm a hypothesis,” Azukar said, quickly checking Nova’s condition and relaxing a little upon seeing it was only a superficial wound. “You just need to stay on deck with me.”
It had been a long time since he’d worked alongside a fragile ordinary person—let alone someone as seemingly “delicate” as a noble.
The Natalin revered him and rarely included him in hunting or fishing. Azukar, too, was careful not to let them grow too reliant on him. He would have to leave someday. His role was to act only in moments of great need or crisis.
Even the youngest Natalin children had been raised running wild through the hills—sturdy and tough. The pretty-faced “little bird” of his youth had once beaten every other kid his age, and the adults merely laughed it off. No one took offense. But the professor standing before him now is practically an endangered species.
