The immediate terror of the capsizing had faded, replaced by the hollow, gnawing ache of exhaustion and hunger. Lucious sat on the floor of Jack's sturdy boat, his fingers trembling slightly as he reached into the salvaged bag he had plucked from the wreckage of the waves. Inside, nestled among the damp gear, were the kiwis he had harvested back on the island. He pulled them out, the fuzzy skins a humble reminder of the land they had left behind.
He handed one to Jack, who was still rhythmically rowing, his broad shoulders moving like a well-oiled machine. Jack grabbed the fruit without breaking his stride and gulped it down in a single go, barely stopping to taste the sweetness. Lucious then turned to Hero. The poor dog was utterly spent, his fur matted and his eyes weary from the ordeal in the deep. Lucious fed him a portion of the fruit; Hero made soft, squeaky noises of gratitude as he ate, his tail giving a weak, rhythmic thump against the wooden planks. Finally, Lucious ate his own share. It was his first real meal since the break of dawn, and the simple sugar felt like a jolt of lightning to his drained system.
But the fruit was only a stay against the hunger. Lucious looked at the red snapper he had miraculously salvaged—the fish that had survived a shipwreck while still hooked to a line.
"How are we going to cook this?" Lucious asked, glancing at the vast, wet expanse of the ocean around them. There was no dry land for miles, and the idea of a fire seemed like a distant dream.
Jack didn't say a word at first. He simply smiled, a mischievous glint in his eyes that looked out of place in the middle of the sea. He stood up, navigated to the stern of the boat, and pulled back a heavy, salt-crusted cloth. Beneath it lay a steel barbeque, a compact grill that looked as though it had seen a hundred voyages. Beside it was a small, precious bag of coal.
Preparation began with the focus of a craftsman. Lucious took charge of the snapper. He had no spices, only a small pouch of salt that had miraculously stayed dry in the center of his pack. He cleaned the fish with practiced movements, then leaned over the gunwale to rinse it in the clean, cold ocean water. Once it was glistening, he rubbed the coarse salt all over the scales and the flesh. It was ready.
Making a fire in the middle of a damp, salt-sprayed boat was a delicate art. Lucious took a small piece of cloth, smashed it into a tight ball, and soaked it in a bit of oil he found in Jack's supplies. He struck a spark, watching as the oily ball flared into a bright, stubborn flame. Using the burning cloth as his foundation, he carefully built a pyramid of coal over the fire.
The coal was slow to take. It hissed and smoked, stubborn against the humid sea air. For a long time, Lucious simply watched, shielding the tiny heat from the breeze with his hands. Slowly, the black stones began to glow with a deep, orange heart. Once the heat was steady, Lucious pulled out a small cooking pan. He placed it on the grill and laid three thick pieces of the snapper onto the hot surface.
The sound was immediate—a sharp, aggressive sizzle that made Hero's ears perk up. The aroma of searing fish and salt filled the small boat, masking the scent of brine for the first time in hours. Lucious covered the pan to trap the heat, his mouth watering in anticipation. When he finally lifted the lid, the fish was perfect: crispy and golden on the outside, yet soft and flaky on the inside.
Jack stopped rowing. The boat drifted peacefully on the calm afternoon swells as the two men sat down to eat. Jack stared at the fish from every angle, his eyes wide with genuine admiration. In all his years as a fisherman, he had never seen a catch cooked with such precision under such impossible circumstances.
"I've never seen a perfect cook like this," Jack muttered, a wide grin breaking through his weathered beard.
Despite their hunger, they were disciplined. They agreed to eat only a third of the fish, saving the rest for the uncertain days ahead. Lucious gave the head of the snapper to Hero. The dog was ecstatic; he ate every morsel, crunching through the bones with a vigor that suggested his strength was finally returning. Jack tore into his portion, his eyes closing as the fresh, hot meal hit his stomach. It was, without question, the best meal Lucious had ever tasted. For a few brief minutes, the growl of his stomach was silenced, and the three of them sat in a rare, golden moment of shared satisfaction.
As the last of the heat faded from the coals, the reality of their situation returned. Jack wiped his mouth and looked at Lucious, his expression turning serious.
"Where are we going next?" Jack asked. "There are a lot of islands around here. We could find a harbor, a place to rest properly."
Lucious didn't hesitate. He had spent too many nights staring at maps and the stars to waver now. "We are going straight to Snake Island," he said firmly.
The reaction was instantaneous. Jack's expression shifted from contentment to a mask of agitated shock. He nearly dropped his oar.
"What? Why?" Jack's voice was strained, almost a whisper. "Don't you know that place? It's dangerous. It's a graveyard for anyone who steps foot on it."
"No detours," Lucious replied, his voice rising. "I don't need detours. I need a path. Every other island is a distraction that will turn this trip into a endless wander. We need to make a decision based on geography, not fear."
Jack looked ready to argue, his face flushed with the memory of the stories he'd heard about the vipers of that island. But Lucious leaned forward, his gaze intense.
"We will travel as straight as possible," Lucious insisted. "We will be extra careful. I have anti-venom in my pack, Jack. We won't go in blind. We will be safe, but we will not slow down."
The silence hung between them, punctuated only by the sound of the water lapping against the hull. Jack looked at the horizon, then back at Lucious. He saw a man who had already survived the impossible once today. Slowly, Jack gave a solemn nod.
He reached for the compass, checking their heading against the fading light. With a grunt of effort, he pulled the boat toward the south-east. He took up the oars again, his muscles bunching as he began the long, rhythmic row into the unknown. The Solvania Empire was still a distant dream, but the path was finally set.