Shura rested one hand lightly against the edge of the boat.
For a moment, he hesitated.
Then lowered his fingers into the lake.
Cold water wrapped around them instantly.
The surface broke apart around his hand, then sealed itself again behind the movement like nothing had disturbed it at all.
Shura stayed there quietly.
The pull of the water felt strange against his skin. Not strong. Just constant. Beneath him, the boat creaked softly with each shift of the current while faint vibrations traveled through the wood into his arm.
The sensation settled somewhere deeper than expected.
"…Feels nice," he said faintly.
The boat continued forward. Water slipped endlessly through his fingers without trying to hold them.
Across from him, Halvic opened one eye slightly.
His gaze drifted toward Shura's hand trailing through the lake.
For a second, he simply watched.
Then his eyes closed again.
No comment.
The boatman noticed too.
"Careful," he said casually while adjusting the oar. "Lake might decide it likes you."
Shura glanced up slightly.
"…Does that happen often?"
"No."
The boatman paused.
"That's why the joke survived."
A faint smile appeared briefly beneath his beard before disappearing again.
Shura looked back toward the water.
Other boats drifted across the lake in the distance now, lanterns hanging low near their bows. Some moved back toward Tapola carrying late passengers. Others crossed deeper into the dark water toward shorelines barely visible beneath the grey night.
From this far away, the boats didn't even look solid. Just moving lights suspended above black water.
The lake didn't divide people here.
It carried them.
A smaller fishing boat drifted past not far from theirs, its lantern swinging gently from a bent wooden pole.
For a moment, warm light crossed over Halvic's face before sliding away again with the current.
Two men aboard the passing boat lifted their hands toward the boatman casually.
"Still working this late?"
"Still charging too little," the boatman answered.
One of them laughed.
Crates filled with lakefish sat near the back beside bundled nets dripping dark water onto the wood.
A child near the center of the boat slept against someone's shoulder without waking once despite the movement.
Then the boats slowly drifted apart again.
Silence returned naturally afterward.
The boatman rested the oar briefly across his knees.
"You from Ossuarium?" he asked.
Shura nodded once.
"First time on the lake?"
"…First time on a boat."
That earned another glance.
"Hm."
The boatman dipped the oar back into the water.
For a while, only the sound of the lake remained. Wood shifting. Water brushing against the hull.
The slow rhythm of movement without urgency.
Shura watched the dark surface beside the boat.
"…Do you cross this lake every day?"
"Most days."
"Doesn't it get repetitive?"
The boatman shrugged lightly.
"Water changes more than people think."
Shura considered that answer quietly.
Ahead, another boat passed at a distance, its lantern swaying gently against the darkness.
His eyes followed it for a moment.
Then drifted downward toward the water beneath him again.
The lake looked deeper away from shore.
Not darker.
Just endless in a way he couldn't measure properly.
"…Can people swim here?" he asked.
The boatman snorted softly.
"People can try."
Shura looked over.
"…That bad?"
"You'd get lost."
Shura looked out across the water again.
The farther they traveled from Tapola, the harder it became to judge distance properly.
Lights that seemed close drifted endlessly without getting nearer.
Others vanished completely whenever the boat shifted with the current.
Even the shoreline behind them no longer looked fully real.
Tapola had already become scattered lanterns and faint shapes against the dark.
The lake swallowed detail quickly.
Cold air moved quietly across the surface, carrying the smell of wet wood and rain somewhere far away.
Shura pulled his sleeve slightly higher against the wind.
Another sound reached them faintly from deeper across the water.
Music.
Soft.
Probably from another boat or one of the distant lakeside taverns.
The melody faded in and out with the movement of the lake itself until it became impossible to tell whether it was truly there or not.
Across from him, Halvic's eyes opened slightly for the briefest moment before closing again.
The boatman adjusted the angle of the oar again.
"Lake's too large. Distance disappears out here."
A brief pause followed.
Then.
"Most people stop knowing where they're moving long before they stop moving."
Shura lowered his eyes slightly at that.
The answer lingered longer than expected.
A stronger current brushed against the side of the boat.
The hull shifted softly beneath them.
Shura pulled his hand back from the water slowly, droplets sliding from his fingertips onto the wood beside him.
Ahead, faint structures began taking shape through the darkness.
Dock posts.
Lanterns.
Wooden platforms extending across the shoreline.
The opposite side of the lake.
As they drew closer, more details emerged.
An old station rested near the waterline, built from weathered timber and uneven stone. Part of the roof sagged slightly near one corner. Faded signs still hung beneath the awning, their lettering nearly erased by years of rain and lake wind.
Several boats were already docked there.
Passengers stepped off quietly carrying bags and bundled supplies before disappearing up narrow hillside paths beyond the station.
Nobody lingered near the water this late.
The boat slowed gradually.
Wood scraped softly against the dock as the boatman secured the rope.
"We're here," he said.
Shura looked toward Halvic.
The older man hadn't moved.
Not asleep.
Not resting.
Just sitting there with his eyes closed, one arm hanging loosely beside the boat while the lake shifted quietly around them.
The boatman didn't rush him.
Didn't repeat himself either.
For some reason, that felt more noticeable than if he had.
The lantern above the dock swayed once.
Its reflection bent across the dark water below.
Then Halvic finally opened his eyes.
Shura gazed toward the uneven stone stairs beyond the dock, their worn asymmetrical shape showing countless people had crossed them before him.