The waters of Whitewater Port had yet to calm.
Months had passed since the operations of the Necromancer Alistair were brought to ruin, since members of the Holy Church of the Seven Branches and students from Trinity Cross Academy worked together to drive the monsters out from the bay and freed the port from the shadow choking its waters.
Yet victory, no matter how grand, did not always wash away the aftermath.
The bay remained restless.
Even with the creatures gone, the open waters beyond Whitewater Port had become unpredictable, carrying with them strange currents and the lingering unease of a place that had been wounded too deeply to simply return to what it once was.
And so, the ferries no longer took their old route.
Where once a student returning south from Trinity Cross Academy could leave Whitewater Port and travel along the coast, reaching the Sapphire Coves in little more than a day, the ferries were now made to travel inland.
From Whitewater Port, they entered the Suanna River, following its wide and winding body through the continent before reaching the Suanna Canal, a marvel of carved stone and reinforced gates that allowed vessels to climb and descend through the uneven terrain of Melodoria.
A journey that should have taken Roc Bluebat a single day had become a week-long passage.
Leaving Aria at the beginning of the holidays, he took the Academy's Teleportation Seal all the way to Whitewater Port. Arriving in a brilliant flash of light, his nose was greeted by the salt-licked air of the ocean breeze.
"It's been a while," Fastening the buttons of his loose, grey long coat as he weathered the overcast winds of a chilled seaside morning. From the gates of the city, he made his way to the port to board the ship that would take him home.
Among the first passengers on the ship. Roc found himself at the stern of the ship, facing southward towards the edge of the coastline, where the waters shimmered the brightest with that familiar opalescent blue. He sat on the nearby bench, embracing the early morning air, as a rather pleasure tune slowly whistled from his pursed lips.
Each day, the ferry drifted through forests, cliffs, river settlements, old watch posts, and narrow stretches of water that cut between stone like a blade drawn through earth. Each night, the ship rested at one of the canal stations, waiting as the water either rose beneath it or dropped away, carrying it from one elevation to another.
Some passengers complained.
Others marveled.
Roc did neither.
Instead, he watched.
Beneath the amber lanternlight of the ferry's lower deck, a leather booklet lay open in his hands, its cover bound with deep green twine. The same twine wrapped around his wrist, where an opalescent spearhead dangled like a quiet promise, catching fragments of moonlight each time the boat shifted upon the river.
With the edge of that spearhead, Roc carved into the page.
Not ink.
Not charcoal.
Silver.
Fine, gleaming etches spread across the paper wherever the sharpened point moved, forming shapes with such speed and care that one might think the images had already existed beneath the page, waiting only for him to uncover them.
The distant mountains of Melodoria took form first, their peaks standing pale beneath the moon.
Then came the Suanna River itself, long and winding, carrying soft reflections of the lanterns along its surface.
After that, the edge of the Violain Woods appeared in the distance, dark and watchful, its trees gathered like silent witnesses along the horizon.
And, in the corner of the page, almost without his meaning to draw it, came the wide bay of Whitewater Port.
Roc paused.
His gaze lowered to the image.
The faintest breath left him, neither sigh nor word.
Then he turned the page.
Tonight, he sketched in near-perfect silence, his hand moving only when it needed to. Even the scratch of the spearhead against paper seemed careful, as though he feared the sound might disturb the midnight piece he had been waiting for.
Because he was waiting.
The same as he had waited each night before.
For the song.
It usually came from above him, somewhere near the edge of the upper deck, carried down by the river breeze in pieces too soft to hold and too clear to ignore.
The first few notes always arrived like the opening of a door.
A weight of inspiration would settle over him then, flowing into his hand, his wrist, his breath, until the world before him took shape with a clarity that had little to do with sight.
Even without seeing the source of it, its form filled his mind.
He did not understand why.
Perhaps that was why he never spoke of it.
The melody returned again that night.
Roc stopped.
His hand, which had been carving the outline of the canal gates, froze above the page.
The first note came gently, slipping between the hush of the river and the creak of the resting ferry. Then another followed. Then another.
But tonight was different.
Before, he had heard it from afar, from the deck above him, where the wind could soften and scatter it before it reached his ears.
Tonight, it was clearer.
Closer.
The tune carried itself through the air with such certainty that Roc felt it not only in his ears, but somewhere beneath his ribs.
His fingers tightened faintly around the spearhead.
The silver lines on the page shifted beneath his hand, and without intending to, he began to draw again.
Not the river.
Not the mountains.
Not the woods.
Something else.
A shape he could not yet name.
The song lasted only as long as the silence allowed.
Then the ferry groaned.
With a great rush of water, the canal gate opened beneath them, and the vessel dropped into the lower lock. The sudden descent sent a shudder through the entire ship, lanterns swaying, wood creaking, water crashing against the hull as the ferry settled with a heavy splash.
The force rocked the boat from side to side.
A small sound escaped from nearby.
Roc lifted his gaze.
A figure had caught herself against one of the deck beams, her hand braced against the polished wood as moonlight poured over her shoulders.
For a moment, the first thing he noticed was the shimmer.
Sea-colored scales glimmered along her skin, catching the light like fragments of tide-born glass. Her hair fell over one shoulder, dark and gleaming, still touched by the dampness of river mist. Her eyes, sharp even in the dimness, turned toward him with a flicker of surprise.
"Oh," she said, steadying herself. "I am sorry. I lost my footing for a moment."
Roc closed the booklet with a quiet motion.
"Think nothing of it, miss."
Her gaze narrowed slightly.
Then, after a breath, recognition settled over her face.
"You must have just been lost in thought."
His voice was as soft as a hum, steady enough to be felt as much as heard.
"More often than I should be."
The girl watched him for a moment longer before the corner of her mouth lifted.
"Why do I find myself amongst you in the most unlikely places, at the most unlikely times, Roc?"
"I often ask myself that question."
"You are more appealing when you are silent. Do not ruin it."
Roc's expression remained composed.
Then, to her surprise, he smiled.
It was not much. Barely more than a shift at the edge of his mouth.
But Seleste Fairosee noticed it.
And from the way her own expression eased, this was not the first time she had seen such a thing from him.
Her gaze then dipped toward his hands.
"What were you doing?"
"Simply enjoying the fresh air."
"You were enjoying the fresh air with a closed book in your hands?"
"A habit."
"A suspicious one."
"A harmless one."
Seleste stepped closer.
Roc, without hurry, slipped the leather booklet into the inner pocket of his coat.
Her eyes followed the movement.
"And if I were to ask you to show me what you just hid?"
"I would refuse."
"So plainly?"
"I have nothing to hide," he said, "but I would still say no."
Seleste tilted her head, her hair shifting over her shoulder.
"Would you deny your class captain if she ordered you to?"
"I would not," Roc answered. "Were we still on school grounds."
Her smile sharpened.
"Convenient."
"Accurate."
She took another step closer, the space between them narrowing until the lanternlight caught the subtle gleam of her scales once more.
"Then would you still deny me," she asked, her voice quieter now, "if it was just me asking?"
Roc's brow, which had held itself in faint resistance, eased the moment the words left her mouth.
Seleste saw it.
It was small.
Too small for most to notice.
But she noticed.
By the devil sea, what was that?
For the first time since she approached him, she felt something in her certainty shift.
Roc turned his gaze toward the dark river beyond the ferry.
"Miss Fairosee," he said, "I would ask you not to ask me such a question."
"Why?"
His fingers brushed lightly over the edge of his coat, where the booklet had disappeared.
"I would not want to lie to you."
The answer left her silent.
It should have sounded evasive. It was evasive.
And yet, beneath it, there was something else.
Not fear.
Not embarrassment.
Not desire, not in the way she had expected to find if she pressed hard enough.
Something gentler.
Something more troublesome.
Seleste held his profile in her gaze, watching the way he refused to turn back toward her, as though the river had suddenly become more deserving of his attention than she was.
Or perhaps because it was not.
After a moment, she stepped back.
"Worry not," she said, her tone returning to its usual ease. "It was just a question, not an order. I will be on my way."
Roc said nothing.
Seleste turned and walked toward the corridor leading to the cabins.
For several steps, only the river spoke between them.
Then she began to hum.
It was not the same melody as before.
This one was lighter.
Curious.
Mischievous.
It wound through the lower deck like a thread cast into water, and Roc, against whatever better judgment he possessed, found his eyes lifting toward her retreating figure.
The tune slipped around him.
His hand moved to his coat pocket.
Then he sighed.
A very quiet, very defeated sound.
Seleste did not look back, but the faint lift of her shoulders suggested she had heard him all the same.
Roc followed.
The ferry's passenger suites were not all made equal.
That became increasingly clear the farther Seleste led him through the vessel. The lower corridor gave way to polished doors, softer lanterns, warmer carpets, and windows wide enough to show the dark shape of the river beyond the glass.
Roc stopped when she reached a door that stood slightly open.
The room beyond was far larger than his own accommodations. A private sitting area rested near the window, already set with a small tray of tea, two cups, and a covered plate that released the faint scent of something sweet and spiced into the air.
Roc looked from the room to Seleste.
Then he looked back down the corridor.
Before he could decide whether passing by would be less rude than entering, Seleste stepped through the doorway, caught him by the front of his jacket, and pulled him inside.
The door remained open behind them.
Barely.
"Now that I know you are here," she said, releasing his jacket, "it would not be so terrible to enjoy a proper conversation out of the cold. I have even made tea."
Roc glanced at the table.
Then at her.
"I—"
"Do not start stuttering, Roc."
His mouth closed.
Seleste smiled, pleased by the small victory.
"Or do you require a damsel in distress before you take charge?"
Something in him stirred.
Not anger exactly.
But enough.
Roc straightened.
Seleste blinked, her smile faltering by the smallest measure as he walked past her.
For a moment, she thought he was leaving.
Instead, Roc placed a hand against the door and pushed it shut.
The click echoed softly through the suite.
He turned back to her, arms folding over his chest.
"Would we be talking as classmates," he asked, "or as a superior and her subordinate?"
Seleste's eyes brightened.
"First, as weary travelers enjoying the calm of a river voyage."
"And after that?"
"Who knows what the night has for us?"
Roc considered her for a long moment.
Then he stepped toward the table.
"Oh," he said, "so you are looking for a friend."
"Let us not get ahead of ourselves." Seleste moved to the opposite side of the table, the green-blue shimmer of her scales catching the room's lanternlight. "Do I look like Fleurette or Greywind? I merely want your company."
Roc's gaze settled on her.
Quiet.
Patient.
Too patient.
Then he began to remove his coat.
"Then, Miss Fairosee," he said, setting it neatly over the back of a chair, "your words betray your own heart."
Seleste's smile sharpened, though it did not hide the flicker of surprise in her eyes.
Roc rolled up his sleeves with slow, careful motions.
"But we have the whole night," he continued. "I am sure we can both find the reason for how we ended up here by then."
Seleste reached for the teapot.
"We very well just might."
Her grin turned cunning as she poured the first cup.