The silhouette of the ship disappeared, but the unease remained lodged deep in Caelum's chest. That sign of civilization forced him to act. If that ship returned—or if others came—he couldn't face them as a defenseless castaway.
The next day, he made his way around the northern cliffs. The descent was dangerous; more than once, his calloused fingers slipped against the damp rock. One mistake… and he would have fallen straight into the waves.
When he finally reached the bottom, he found a hidden cove.
And there it was.
Wedged between two massive rock formations, like a corpse abandoned by the sea, lay an ancient galleon—devoured by salt and time.
—
Caelum didn't rush in.
He observed.
His eyes traced the hull, evaluating cracks, angles, stress points.
His mind did what it always did.
Divide. Classify. Prioritize.
—If I go through the breach in the hull… the upper deck could collapse —he muttered—. The stern looks more stable.
He circled the structure and climbed up a rotting boarding net. The ropes creaked under his weight, stretching as if they might snap at any moment.
When he reached the deck, the scene was desolate.
Splintered wood.Dry ropes.Fragments scattered everywhere.
But to Caelum… this wasn't debris.
It was inventory.
He moved carefully, shifting wreckage, lifting pieces, examining each object like he was cataloging assets.
He wasn't looking for value.
He was looking for utility.
A rusted toolbox… but with two chisels still sharp.A thick sailcloth tarp… dirty, but durable.
Each find reduced, even slightly, the feeling of being at the mercy of the world.
—
He descended into the lower levels.
The air changed.
It grew heavy. Stagnant.
Down there, he found what seemed to have been a supply storage area.
Broken barrels.Useless remains.
But in one corner, protected by a hardened leather net, there were several glass jars sealed with wax.
Spices.
Peppercorns.Something that smelled like cinnamon.A bottle of oil… still usable.
Caelum froze.
For months, he had survived on raw fish and coconuts.
This wasn't food.
It was… memory.
Flavors.Textures.A former life.
And then he saw it.
A sandalwood box.
Heavy.
Sealed with bronze bolts.
—
Opening it wasn't easy.
He used one of the chisels. Struck it with a rock.
Once.Again.Again.
The metallic sound echoed through the hold, blending with his increasingly heavy breathing.
Almost an hour passed.
When the lid finally gave way… Caelum went still.
There was no gold inside.
No jewels.
There was a fruit.
Deep violet.Almost black.Covered in spiral patterns that didn't look natural.
It didn't shine.
It absorbed light.
Caelum didn't touch it immediately.
He watched it.
In his world, strange things were dangerous.
The unknown… was avoided.
But here…
Nothing made sense anymore.
He picked it up.
Its skin was cold.
He brought it closer to his face.
It didn't smell like food.
It smelled like a storm.
Like ozone.
Like the air right before lightning strikes a building.
His stomach growled.
Loud.
Painful.
His body was weak. He hadn't eaten much that day.
His mind hesitated.
Part of him screamed not to do it.
That something was wrong.
But another part…
Deeper.
More primitive.
More honest.
Only thought about survival.
—It doesn't look rotten… —he muttered, more to convince himself than out of certainty.
His fingers tightened around the fruit.
He hesitated one last second.
Then he bit into it.
—
—AGH! Damn it!
He tried to spit it out.
Too late.
The taste was impossible.
Not bitter.
Not sour.
Wrong.
As if his tongue rejected its very existence.
Like biting into live metal.
Like chewing electricity.
His body reacted instantly.
He gagged.
Vomited.
Pain surged through him.
And then—
Everything turned white.
Caelum collapsed onto the wooden floor.
His body locked.
Muscles spasming out of control.
Heat.
Not outside.
Inside.
His lungs burned.
His skin… boiled.
Sweat burst from his pores—but didn't drip.
It evaporated.
Within seconds, the air around him filled with dense, suffocating vapor.
—What… is… happening… to me…?
He tried to speak.
He couldn't.
Only a hiss escaped his mouth.
Like pressure being released.
Like something on the verge of rupture.
His hands struck the floor.
Sparks.
Small violet arcs jumped from his fingers to the bronze bolts.
The metal reacted.
Glowed.
Warped.
Dust in the air began to swirl.
Pulled.
Dragged.
Caelum gasped.
His heart was beating too fast.
Every pulse sent a shock through his body.
His vision fractured.
His breathing broke.
And then—
Darkness.
—
He didn't know how much time had passed.
When he opened his eyes, the air was heavy… but still.
The vapor was gone.
His body felt different.
Lighter.
But unstable.
He pushed himself up slowly.
The simple friction of his feet against the wood produced a spark.
He froze.
Looked at his hands.
They were the same.
But they weren't.
He could feel things that hadn't existed before.
The moisture in the air… like something tangible.Heat… like something he could shape.Metal… like it was pulling at him.
He didn't understand it.
Didn't know what it was.
Only that he had changed.
He took a step.
The air around him warped slightly.
He exhaled.
A stream of hot vapor escaped his mouth.
Caelum frowned.
He tried again.
Slower.
More controlled.
The vapor responded.
But not completely.
A spark jumped from his hand to an exposed nail.
The metal glowed red for an instant.
Caelum stepped back.
Breathing uneven.
This wasn't control.
It was instability.
—
He left the hold carrying the sailcloth and the box of spices.
By the time he reached the deck, the sun was already setting.
He moved toward the edge.
Looked out at the sea.
The wind hit his face.
He exhaled.
Vapor.
More this time.
Less violent.
But still there.
He looked at his hands again.
He didn't feel relief.
Not entirely.
He felt… responsibility.
And something else.
Risk.
—This isn't normal… —he muttered.
He clenched his fingers.
A brief spark answered.
Caelum closed his eyes for a moment.
Then opened them.
Sharper.
More aware.
—
The dead galleon hadn't given him answers.
It had given him something worse.
A tool… he didn't understand.
—
And on the horizon…
The sea remained open.
Waiting.