The isolated lower halls of the galleon creak rhythmically, the roaring ocean outside seeming to fall quiet for a rare, fragile moment as the heavy timber hull crests a smooth, undulating swell. High above in the dark canopy of the sky, night-herons sweep across the silent moonlit air, their long wings fanning the humid draft that rises from the sea, while far down in the dark sea below, schools of bioluminescent jellyfish drift through the deep current, pulsing with a cold, pale light that faintly illuminates the black expanse. Tallow candles flicker in their tarnished brass sconces along the bulkhead, casting long, swaying shadows across the salt-encrusted wood. The faint scent of old oak, dry hemp, and damp sea air hangs thick in the narrow passageway, shifting only when the vessel tilts gently against the rolling tide.
Lourdes sits with her shoulders slightly hunched, her gaze fixed entirely on her hands. Her fingers are rough, the skin along her knuckles thickened by years of heavy labor and calloused from holding coarse ropes and iron tools. She trace the lines of her right palm with the pad of her thumb, her face cast in deep relief by the yellow flame of the sconce. Her chest rises and falls in a slow, deliberate rhythm before she breaks the quiet.
"Do you ever feel disappointed by adulthood?"
Lei rests his upper back against the thick support beam behind him, his dark hair falling forward slightly to shadow his forehead. His eyes, reflective and still, remain fixed on the grain of the floorboards between his boots. He does not shift his weight, nor does he look up immediately.
"Disappointed?" Lei asks softly.
Lourdes keeps her eyes on her hands, her thumbs turning over one another in a slow, circular motion. A light tremor passes through her jaw, tight with an old, simmering frustration, before her facial features soften into a somber mask.
"When I was younger, I thought adults would understand everything," Lourdes murmurs, her voice low and raspy against the creaking of the hull beams. "I thought they would know what was right and simply do it."
Lei tilts his head back, resting the base of his skull against the dark timber. His throat works once as he swallows, his dark eyes following the slow rise and fall of a thread of smoke drifting up from the candle wick toward the low ceiling planks.
"And now?"
Lourdes turns her hands over, opening her palms toward the flickering light as if examining an empty vessel. Her fingers curl inward slightly, her knuckles tightening until the skin turns pale.
"Now I know most adults are just frightened children with larger responsibilities."
Lei lets out a low, breathy exhale that expands his chest against his damp shirt before letting his shoulders settle back against the beam. His lips press together into a thin, straight line, his dark eyes shifting toward the far corner of the hold where shadowy shadows gather.
"That is a rather harsh judgment."
Lourdes rotates her head, her sharp dark eyes fixing directly on the side of his face. Her posture grows rigid, her spine straightening against the wooden ledge as her jaw sets firmly.
"Is it wrong?"
Lei turns his face toward her slowly, his expression remaining completely unreadable. His brow furrows just enough to crease the skin between his dark eyebrows, his lips parting slightly as he meets her gaze.
"Not entirely," Lei admits.
Lourdes moves her weight forward, resting her forearms over her knees. Her eyes narrow as she searches his features, her brows drawing tight together over the bridge of her nose. Her breath hitches slightly, her chest expanding with a sharp, suppressed anger.
"Everywhere I look, I see people accepting things they know are wrong. Corruption. Cruelty. Lies. Yet they continue their lives as if none of it matters."
Lei's shoulders drop an inch. He lowers his right hand, placing his calloused palm flat against his thigh, his fingers spreading out over the coarse fabric of his trousers. His face remains calm, devoid of any anger or defense, his dark eyes holding a steady, heavy stillness.
"Most people have families to feed," Lei replies quietly, his voice smooth and measured. "Stability often matters more than ideals."
Lourdes's fingers curl into tight fists against her knees. Her chin thrusts forward slightly, her lower lip trembling for a fraction of a second before she presses her teeth together. Her voice tightens, strained by the force of her conviction.
"That's exactly what bothers me. When did survival become more important than justice?"
Lei stares at her clenched fists. His eyelids lower slightly, shading his eyes from the candlelight as he breathes in the damp, salt-heavy air of the hold. His hand on his thigh remains perfectly still, not a single finger twitching.
"Perhaps when people realized justice does not always feed children."
Lourdes narrows her eyes further, the corners of her eyelids tightening into sharp folds. She tilts her chin upward, her dark gaze slicing through the dim space between them with cold scrutiny.
"You sound like you've rehearsed that answer."
A faint, fleeting twitch touches the corner of Lei's mouth before vanishing back into his flat, steady expression. He does not turn away from her gaze, his dark eyes remaining calm and unblinking.
"Maybe I have."
Lourdes leans her chest closer to him, her fingers unclenching from her knees to grasp the edge of the wooden planking beside her thighs. Her eyes burn with an urgent, searching intensity, her face flushing slightly with warmth under the pale yellow candle glow.
"Don't you ever want to change things?"
Lei's head turns slightly, his ear angling toward her voice as if weighing the sound itself. His facial muscles remain loose, his brow completely smooth.
"Change what?"
"The world. Society. The systems that keep hurting people."
Lei's eyes blink once, slow and deliberate. He lets his hands rest limp in his lap, his shoulders slumping slightly as he leans back into the corner formed by the support beam and the ship's outer wall.
"That is a very large ambition, Lourdes."
Lourdes presses her lips into a tight line, her nostrils flaring as she lets out a sharp, quiet breath through her nose. Her hands grip the edge of the wood harder, her knuckles turning stark white under the pressure.
"I'm serious."
Lei's dark eyes lock onto hers, his expression shifting from detached calm to a deep, grounded stillness. His shoulders set themselves firm against the timber.
"So am I."
Lourdes softens her posture by a fraction, her shoulders dropping slightly as her tone shifts. Her voice loses its harsh, biting edge, dropping into a gentle, pressing demand.
"Then answer me honestly."
Lei lowers his head, resting his chin near his collarbone for three long beats of his heart.
"Very well."
Lourdes watches every line of his face, her own expression suspended in sharp expectation, her lower lip slightly parted as she waits for his words.
"Have you never looked at something unjust and thought, 'Someone should stop this'?"
Lei remains completely silent for several seconds. He shifts his gaze from her face over to the flickering tallow candle mounted on the wall. The small flame dances frantically in a tiny draft, casting erratic yellow light across his sharp cheekbones and the dark hollows beneath his eyes. His hand in his lap slowly curls into a loose fist, then relaxes.
"Of course I have."
Lourdes arches her left eyebrow, her head tilting to the side as her dark eyes widen with a sudden, flicking spark of expectation.
"And?"
Lei turns his head back to face her. His eyes are flat, devoid of any spark, holding only the heavy, unchanging weight of a stone resting at the bottom of a deep well.
"And I continued walking."
Lourdes's face instantly darkens, her brow pulling down into a deep, frustrated frown. She draws back slightly, her body pulling away from him as if struck by a cold gust of air.
"That's cowardice."
Lei smoothly shifts his posture, resting his elbow on the wooden ledge beside his knee and supporting his jaw with his fingers. His facial expression remains entirely undisturbed, his eyes watching her frown with quiet composure.
"Or realism."
Lourdes lets out a sharp, dismissive scoff, shaking her head side to side. Her dark hair sways against her cheeks, her lips curling into a bitter, disappointed line.
"Realism is the excuse people use when they surrender."
Lei lowers his hand from his jaw, letting his arm drop back onto the timber. He leans forward just enough to bring his face into the bright center of the candlelight, his features sharp and uncompromising.
"And idealism is often the excuse people use when they ignore consequences."
Lourdes stares straight into his eyes, her dark pupils wide. She leans in closer, searching every crease around his eyes, every line around his mouth, looking for a break in his armor.
"You don't believe that."
Lei tilts his head slightly, his left eyebrow rising half an inch in quiet challenge.
"Don't I?"
"No," Lourdes says, her voice flat, unwavering, and rock-solid. She plants her right hand firmly on the wood between them, her chest rising with a deep, steady breath. "Because every time we talk about these things, your eyes say something different."
Lei's eyes blink rapidly once, the only visible crack in his composed posture. His chin pulls back half an inch, his shoulders rigid.
"My eyes?"
"You pretend not to care, but you do."
Lei lets out a dry, quiet breath through his nose, his lips parting into a faint, bitter smile that lasts no longer than a single beat before disappearing into his normal, solemn composure. He looks down at his boots, his gaze fixing on the salt-stained leather.
"You think you know me well."
Lourdes leans her head toward him, her tone dropping into a warm, low cadence that carries an unshakeable conviction. Her dark eyes soften, reflecting the amber light of the flame.
"I think you hate injustice almost as much as I do."
Lei falls completely silent. His jaw tightens until a small muscle twitches near his temple, his hands lying motionless in his lap. His gaze remains fixed on the floorboards, refusing to rise and meet hers. Around them, the massive wooden galleon groans softly, its deep oak timbers flexing against the immense weight of the dark, rolling ocean outside. A low, continuous rushing sound passes along the hull as the ship glides smoothly through another long, cresting wave.
Lourdes shifts her seat slightly, her posture relaxing as her face softens into a quiet, understanding smile.
"There," she notes softly, her voice barely a whisper above the creaking wood. "Silence."
Lei does not raise his head, but his lips move with precise, quiet control.
"Silence is not admission."
"It usually is."
Lei tilts his head back, letting the thick oak beam absorb the full weight of his head once more. His eyes close completely, his long dark eyelashes resting still against his pale cheeks as he takes a deep, ragged breath through his mouth.
"Perhaps there was a time when I believed people could change the world."
Lourdes keeps her gaze locked onto his closed eyes, her head tilting slightly as her expression shifts from satisfaction to a soft, lingering curiosity.
"What happened?"
Lei opens his eyes slowly. They look dark, tired, and old, reflecting none of the flickering light from the tallow candle.
"I grew older."
Lourdes shakes her head firmly, her eyebrows knitting together in immediate rejection.
"That's not an answer."
"It is the answer."
"No," Lourdes argues, her voice rising slightly in pitch as she shakes her head again, her hands spreading open on her lap. "Growing older doesn't kill ideals."
Lei's eyes narrow into thin, dark slits as he watches her face.
"Sometimes it does."
"Only if you let it."
Lei lets out a low breath, his chest contracting as he turns his head to stare out into the dark passageway beyond their alcove.
"Sometimes reality does not ask permission, Lourdes."
Lourdes presses her back hard against the support beam, her jaw setting into a stubborn line as her eyes flash with defiance.
"So what? We just accept things?"
Lei turns his dark eyes back to her face, his expression softening into a gentle, pitying calm. His voice drops into a quiet, rhythmic hum.
"We choose our battles carefully."
Lourdes shakes her head, her chin tucked low against her neck, her dark eyes flashing with stubborn resistance.
"That's not enough."
"It has to be."
"Why?"
Lei raises his right hand, pointing a single, calloused finger upward toward the heavy, creaking ceiling beams overhead, then gesturing out toward the unseen expanse of the ocean beyond the thick hull planks.
"Because the world is larger than either of us."
Lourdes leans forward, her body crossing the dark gap between them until her face is only inches from his. Her dark eyes shine with an unyielding, fierce light, her breath warm against his cheek.
"Then perhaps we should still try."
Lei watches her close face, his dark eyes tracing the line of her nose, the firm set of her lips, and the fierce, unyielding fire burning in her pupils.
"And if we fail?"
Lourdes does not flinch. Her eyelids remain wide, her posture rigid and unbending.
"Then at least we fail honestly."
Lei looks at her thoughtfully, his expression shifting as if he were studying a complex, beautiful map drawn in an unknown language. His features relax, the tension draining from his forehead.
"You speak as though meaning comes from struggle."
Lourdes tilts her chin up, her gaze steady and unbroken.
"Doesn't it?"
Lei slowly lowers his hand back into his lap, his shoulders dropping as he rests his head once more against the beam.
"I don't know."
Lourdes keeps her eyes fixed on his face, her tone pressing, gentle, and relentless.
"Then what gives life meaning?"
Lei looks up at the low oak deck beams above them. A small, genuine softness enters his eyes, smoothing away the hard, cold edges of his face.
"Small things. People. Family. Friends. Quiet moments."
Lourdes shakes her head gently, a slow, sad motion that sends her dark hair swaying against her collarbone. Her lips curve into a faint, bittersweet line.
"That's not enough for me."
Lei looks back at her, his expression filled with an undeniable, quiet understanding.
"I know."
Lourdes rests her right hand over her heart, her fingers pressing into the fabric of her vest as her chest rises with a long, trembling breath.
"I want to believe we can leave the world better than we found it."
Lei stares at her hand pressed over her heart. His eyes soften completely, the cold, protective walls behind his gaze melting away to reveal a deep, aching vulnerability. His voice drops to a barely audible whisper.
"And I want to believe that too."
Lourdes's face breaks into a faint, genuine smile, her eyes lighting up with quiet triumph.
"There it is."
Lei blinks once, his brow creasing slightly as he tries to pull his composed mask back over his features.
"What?"
"The truth."
Lei looks down at his own lap, his lips pressing together tightly before he gives a subtle, reluctant nod.
"Perhaps."
Lourdes leans in a fraction closer, her dark eyes warm and searching.
"Then why hide it?"
Lei raises his gaze back to hers, his expression turning grim, his brow darkening with a heavy, somber weight.
"Because some hopes are dangerous."
Lourdes tilts her head, her smile fading into an earnest, inquiring frown.
"Dangerous?"
Lei's hand curls into a tight, white-knuckled fist against his thigh, his jaw setting hard.
"They can consume a person."
Lourdes looks at his clenched fist, then back up into his dark, somber eyes. Her posture straightens with a quiet, fierce pride.
"Maybe some things are worth being consumed by."
Lei stares at her for two long beats, his mouth opening slightly as if to speak, before he stops himself. A faint, quiet breath escapes his nose.
"Maybe."
Lourdes lets out a small, half-amused scoff, her shoulders relaxing as she leans back against her own support beam. A brief, light spark of humor brightens her dark eyes.
"You almost sound convinced."
Lei looks at her, his lips twitching into a tiny, fleeting smile that vanishes almost instantly back into his quiet composure.
"Don't get excited."
Lourdes lets out a low, raspy chuckle that vibrates softly in her chest.
"Too late."
Lei's face turns serious once more, his tone dropping an octave, becoming soft, heavy, and infinitely gentle.
"Lourdes."
Lourdes turns her head, her dark eyes meeting his with clear, attentive focus.
"What?"
"Some dreams cannot survive adulthood."
Lourdes's smile disappears completely. Her lower lip tightens, her dark eyes filling with a deep, quiet sadness.
"That's a tragedy."
Lei lowers his gaze slightly, his voice remaining flat, steady, and unyielding.
"Or a necessity."
Lourdes plants both hands flat on her knees, her back rigid against the wall, her chin set in firm, unshakeable resistance.
"I refuse to accept that."
Lei looks up at her with a quiet, knowing sadness in his dark eyes.
"For now."
Lourdes narrows her eyes, her voice tightening with a subtle edge of defiance.
"You think I'll change."
Lei shifts his weight, leaning his side against the wooden wall, his eyes fixed on her strong, youthful face.
"I think life changes everyone."
"Even you?"
Lei lets out a short, dry breath through his nose, his gaze dropping back down to his salt-stained boots.
"Especially me."
Lourdes leans across the narrow space, staring deeply into his eyes, searching for the absolute, unvarnished core of his soul. Her voice drops into a low, trembling whisper.
"Then tell me honestly. Do you still wish things were different?"
Lei does not hesitate. His eyes lock onto hers instantly, his answer striking the air with stark, absolute clarity.
"Every day."
Lourdes holds his gaze, her chest rising and falling in slow, rhythmic sync with the steady rolling of the galleon.
"And what do we do with that feeling?"
Lei raises his hands slowly, placing both palms flat against his lap, as if balancing a heavy, invisible weight upon his legs.
"We carry it."
Lourdes's brow line tightens in quiet protest, her dark eyes wide.
"That's all?"
Lei's dark eyes hold hers with steady, unwavering strength, his voice quiet as the falling dew.
"Sometimes carrying it is all we can do."
Lourdes lets out a long, shuddering sigh. She closes her eyes tightly, her head dropping back against the thick timber beam behind her, her face turned toward the dark ceiling planks.
"I hate that answer."
Lei gently lowers his hands back to his sides, his facial expression relaxing into a soft, somber line.
"So do I."
Silence settles between them once more, heavy, dark, and completely undisturbed by the slow, rhythmic rocking of the vessel. Outside, the great ocean swells wash against the thick oak planks in a long, continuous whisper of foam and salt. High above the wooden masts, the sea wind hums through the tight hemp rigging, carrying the vessel steadily onward through the vast, empty night. Down in the depths below, deep-sea predators glide silently through the black water, their dark fins cutting through the currents without a sound.
Lourdes keeps her eyes closed, her breathing slow and measured, her face cast in soft amber light from the solitary candle flickering on the bulkhead.
"Maybe that's the saddest part of being an adult," Lourdes murmurs slowly, her raspy voice barely louder than the hum of the sea wind.
Lei keeps his dark eyes fixed on her face, his posture completely motionless against the beam.
"What is?"
Lourdes slowly opens her eyes, staring blankly into the shadowy emptiness of the lower hold.
"Realizing some ideals stay in your heart longer than they can stay in your life."
Lei's chest rises with a slow, heavy breath. He nods once, a tiny, almost imperceptible movement of his chin.
"Yes," Lei whispers.
Lourdes turns her head slightly toward him, her dark eyes shadowed and dim.
"And eventually they have to go away."
"Eventually."
Lourdes swallows hard, her throat moving in a slow, painful beat, her fingers tightening around her knees.
"Even if part of us wishes they wouldn't."
Lei's dark gaze remains locked on hers, his expression solemn and deeply still.
"Especially then."
Lourdes presses her lips together tight, her chin quivering for a fraction of a second before she regains absolute control over her facial muscles.
"I still don't agree."
Lei's voice responds instantly, soft as a shadow passing across wood.
"Neither do I."
Lourdes turns her full face toward him, her eyes wide, clear, and searching.
"Then why are we saying goodbye to them?"
Lei's posture relaxes slightly, his shoulders dropping as he leans his head back against the oak support beam.
"Because adulthood sometimes means letting go of things we love."
Lourdes lets out a soft, breathy laugh that carries no joy, only a quiet, bitter acceptance. She tilts her head back against the wall.
"That's a terrible definition."
Lei allows a tiny, faint ghost of a smile to touch the very edge of his lips before it vanishes into the dim shadows.
"It is."
Lourdes closes her eyes for two beats, then opens them, looking at him with a quiet, calm understanding.
"Yet somehow I understand it."
"As do I."
Lourdes slowly pulls her knees up toward her chest, wrapping her arms around her shins and resting her chin flat on her forearms. She stares at the tiny yellow flame of the tallow candle.
"Then perhaps we'll carry the memory of those ideals."
Lei shifts his eyes toward the candle, watching the tiny plume of dark smoke rise into the still air of the hold.
"And let the ideals themselves fade," Lei finishes quietly.
Lourdes keeps her chin resting on her arms, her dark eyes wide and clear as she watches the flickering light.
"A quiet funeral."
Lei nods slowly, his dark eyes reflecting the warm amber glow for a final, fleeting second.
"A quiet funeral."
Lourdes raises her head, looking across the narrow gap at him one last time. Her face is completely smooth, her dark eyes clear, unburdened, and calm.
"Goodbye, then."
Lei's lips curve into a gentle, quiet line. His dark eyes hold hers with steady, quiet affection.
"Goodbye," Lei replies softly.
The galleon carries them onward through the vast, empty darkness of the open sea, its heavy wooden hull slicing through the rolling black ocean swells beneath the silent, endless canopy of the night sky.