By noon the next day, Fifi was still bedridden. He lay curled beneath a thin blanket in the cramped cabin, his face the color of old cheese, groaning softly whenever the ship swayed.
The others went about their day above deck, gathering in a loose circle near the bow. The discussion was serious now—plans and roles for the expedition once they reached their destination. Ayumu sat on a coil of rope, answering questions wherever she could, her voice calm and measured despite the salt spray that occasionally misted over them. Maps were consulted. Responsibilities divided.
When the meeting ended, the afternoon stretched long and golden. They scattered across the dock.
Drobar practiced his sword forms with Osmond, their blades flashing in the low evening light. A small crowd of sailors had gathered to watch, murmuring appreciatively at each powerful swing.
Levain and Ayumu stood in a quiet corner near the stern, their voices low as they exchanged knowledge about the sea and Ayumus travels.
Rhea had gone below to check on Fifi—to see, as she put it dryly, "if he's still alive."
Kaiser sat alone on the edge of the dock near Ayumu and Levain, one leg dangling over the water. He pulled a cigar from his coat, lit it with a flick of his thumb, and inhaled slowly. The smoke curled upward and dissolved into the amber sky.
The evening was peaceful.
Then Ayumu stopped mid-sentence.
Her head turned sharply toward the horizon—not with alarm, but with focus. Her eyes narrowed, then widened, then glittered with something unexpected.
Kaiser noticed immediately. He straightened, the cigar forgotten between his fingers. "What's wrong, Ayumu?"
"Sir Levain," Ayumu said softly, not looking away from the sea. "Can you sense the water?"
Levain pushed off from the wall, curious. "Yes, sure."
He closed his eyes and leaned back, reaching out with his senses. The ocean was vast, alive with waves and currents and the distant pulse of creatures below. For a moment, there was nothing unusual. Then—something shifted in the deep.
His eyes shot open.
"!!!" His breath caught. "What is that? It's huge!"
Kaiser's jaw tightened. "What? What is huge?"
"It's a huge snake, right?" Ayumu said. Her voice was light. Almost cheerful. Her eyes gleamed.
Levain's face had gone pale. "That—that's no snake."
Kaiser lost what little patience he had left. "So what is it? Tell me—"
The ship lurched.
Not the gentle roll of waves, but a violent, bone-rattling crunch—as though something colossal had rammed them from below. The deck tilted. Men screamed. Barrels broke free and rolled like thunder. Waves erupted over the railing, drenching everything in cold saltwater.
And yet—strangely—the sea beyond their vessel remained calm. Flat. Still.
Only their ship was under attack.
Levain gripped a wooden pole, his knuckles white. "Lord Kaiser," he managed, his voice trembling. "It's a—"
A sailor's scream cut him off. "MONSTERRRRRR!"
Everyone looked down.
Beneath the churning water, a shape moved. It was so vast that the ship seemed like a toy floating above an abyss. Great unblinking eyes peered up from the depths—golden, ancient, hungry. A long, thick tail swept lazily through the water, creating waves that crashed against the hull.
A great serpent of the sea.
The creature shifted, and the ship rocked again, harder this time. Several sailors lost their footing and tumbled over the railing, splashing into the dark water. They flailed, screaming for help, now at the mercy of the monster.
Drobar and Osmond fought to stay upright, their boots skidding across the wet planks. Drobar lunged and grabbed a rolling sailor by the collar, hauling him to safety. "Hold on, damn you!" he barked, spitting out seawater.
Levain wrapped both arms around a pole, his robes clinging to him like wet rags. Kaiser stood drenched, his hair plastered across his face, strands clinging to his mouth and cheeks. He wiped them away franticall as he was searching for Ayumu.
Through the chaos—the screaming, the crashing, the roiling water—his eyes scanned every corner of the deck. He needed to hold her. Protect her.
Little did he know.
At the edge of the ship, Ayumu had pulled out a wooden plank and extended it over the water like a precarious bridge. She stood at its very tip, arms slightly out for balance, her white robes somehow still flowing despite the chaos.
She looked down at the enormous serpent beneath her.
"It's not nice to eat people," she said, her voice carrying clearly over the wind.
The monster bellowed—a deep, resonating sound that vibrated through the hull and into their bones. A protest. A challenge. Perhaps even a laugh.
Kaiser's heart stopped. "AYUMU! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"
Drobar, mid-struggle with another wave of seawater, spat out a mouthful of brine and howled, "My lady! You're going to get us all killedddd—ACK!" Another wave slapped him in the face.
Below deck, in the tiny swaying cabin, Rhea and Fifi were thrown against the walls like dice in a cup. Fifi clutched his stomach, his face green.
"We're gonna die... we're gonna die... bleeehhh—"
"Don't vomit at me, stupid!" Rhea shoved his head toward a bucket and braced herself against the wall as the ship tilted again.
Above, the serpent's tail rose from the water like a mountain range, casting a terrible shadow over the ship.
And Ayumu at the edge of the plank, staring up as the great serpent's head rose from the churning water. It emerged slowly, deliberately, like a nightmare surfacing from a dream. Scales the color of drowned forests caught the fading light. Its golden eyes, each the size of a shield, fixed on her with ancient hunger.
Kaiser fought to steady himself against the rocking deck, one hand gripping a broken rail. His other hand was already moving, fingers tracing sharp sigils in the air. "Azhdar!" he shouted. The air shimmered. A wyvern's silhouette began to form out of black smoke above him, scales glinting, wings unfurling—
But the serpent was faster.
With a speed that belied its immense size, the sea serpent lunged. Its jaws gaped wide—a cavern lined with teeth like spears—and snapped shut on the plank where Ayumu stood. Wood splintered like twigs.
And by the looks of it, the serpent had swallowed Ayumu too.
Levain's scream tore through the chaos. "NOOOOO! LADY AYUMU!"
Kaiser's face twisted with fury and despair. "Azhdar! Burn that being!"
The wyvern opened its maw, emerald fire already kindling in its throat—
But then the sky changed.
The gloomy clouds that had pressed low over the ocean for days suddenly parted, as though sliced open by an invisible blade. A shaft of light broke through—pure, blinding, impossibly bright. It fell upon the serpent like divine judgment.
Everyone shielded their eyes. Even the monster recoiled, hissing in pain.
The light gathered. Concentrated. Became a force—not warm, but terrible—that pierced through the serpent's thick hide like a lance through silk. The great beast convulsed. A deep, rumbling growl escaped its throat, fading into a wet, gurgling death rattle. Its massive body went limp, its grip on the ship loosening. The water turned dark with its blood.
And then—a light laugh drifted down from above.
High in the sky, where the clouds had parted, Ayumu sat astride Vesta, the phoenix. The great bird's feathers blazed with soft feathers made of light, casting a golden glow across the wrecked deck. Ayumu's white robes rippled in the wind.
She looked down at the sinking serpent and said, as though scolding a misbehaving pet, "What a bad snake."
Vesta turned its elegant head and cawked softly—a sound almost like a chuckle. Ayumu giggled in return, patting the phoenix's neck.
Then a loose piece of fabric—a sailcloth torn loose by the wind—flew up and smacked directly into Ayumu's face.
She flailed. "Ah—mmph—!"
Her hands scrambled to break free. Vesta twisted, trying to catch her, but it was too late. Ayumu tumbled sideways off the phoenix's back and plunged toward the churning sea below.
Everyone stared in stunned disbelief at the clumsy act.
Even Vesta, for a single, eternal moment, seemed frozen in shock.
Then—splash.
Ayumu hit the water hard.
Panic erupted across the deck for the second time that day. Sailors rushed to the railing, pointing and shouting. Levain gripped his head. Drobar dropped his sword.
But Kaiser was already moving.
He didn't think. He didn't hesitate. He vaulted over the railing and jumped into the dark water, the cold swallowing him whole. The sea was murky, churned with blood and foam, but he kicked hard, arms sweeping until his fingers brushed fabric—then an arm—then he grabbed and pulled.
He broke the surface with Ayumu clutched against his chest, both of them gasping. She was shaking violently, seawater streaming down her pale face, her eyes squeezed shut against the sting.
"Ayumu!" He held her tight, treading water. "I've got you. I've got you."
Above them, Azhdar descended with a powerful beat of his wings. Kaiser wrapped one arm around the wyvern's talon, and together they rose from the sea—drenched, exhausted, but alive.
The moment they landed on the deck, people rushed forward. Sailors and companions alike formed a protective circle, calling out questions, reaching with blankets and hands.
Vesta shrunk itself down to the size of a hawk and landed beside Ayumu, its glowing feathers dimming slightly. Azhdar, too, reduced his form, coiling protectively near Kaiser's feet.
But Ayumu wouldn't stop shaking. Her whole body trembled like a leaf in a storm. Her lips were pale. Her fingers clutched at Kaiser's arm with desperate strength.
Kaiser's heart clenched. A terrible thought crossed his mind—is she shaking because I touched her? Did I overstep?
He lowered his voice, gentle and steady. "Hey. Hey, look at me." He tilted his head to catch her gaze. "You're alright. It's me, Kaiser. It's okay."
But Ayumu didn't pull away.
Instead, her trembling fingers found his bare hand and gripped it—tightly. Her skin was ice-cold against his.
Kaiser's breath caught.
"C-c-cold..." Ayumu's teeth chattered violently. "Water... was so cold..."
Silence fell over the circle.
Then, one by one, people began to laugh—not mockingly, but with relief so profound it came out as shaky, disbelieving chuckles. Even Vesta let out a soft, relieved caw.
Ayumu was fine. Just cold.
The whole thing was over.
Below deck, Rhea and Fifi were hauled up to the dock by a couple of sailors. Both looked wretched—Fifi still green, Rhea sporting a bruise on her forehead from being thrown against a wall. They blinked against the evening light.
"What..." Rhea squinted at the dead serpent floating in the distance, then at the drenched, laughing crowd. "What happened?"
No one answered immediately. They were too busy sighing, slapping backs, and trying to coax the damaged ship back to life.
Kaiser, still holding Ayumu's cold hand, sighed in relief.