I sat cross-legged on the cabin floor, mechanical parts spread before me in a careful array. My fingers worked methodically, tightening joints and replacing worn components. The ship's gentle roll made the task challenging, but I'd adapted to the motion after three days at sea.
An inspection of the battle frame components stored in my Depository revealed multiple flaws. The right shoulder joint had taken some damage during the dragon fight, unnoticed until now. I pulled fresh steel from Depository, crafting parts for its replacement with practiced precision.
With my maintenance complete, I accessed my Depository's inventory. There were piles of raw materials that filled the interior of the dimensional space; steel ingots, copper wire, wooden planks, and various other metals I'd collected were all neatly stored. But the dragon parts caught my attention. The Snapper Dragon's remains were still pristine: sheets of blackest hide, chunks of bone white as pearl, and those magnificent claws. Each talon was almost as long as my forearm, curved like scythes and hard as steel.
I'd planned to forge them into weapons, but necessity overrode ambition. My coin purse felt light, and sixteen silver wouldn't get me far in Orengaad let alone pay for passage to Kaldos City. The dragon parts would fetch a good price from the right buyer.
"Dragon bone alone sells for gold pieces per pound," I remembered one of merchants in Weath saying. I had several pounds stored away, along with the hide and claws. The materials should more than cover my travel expenses, though something twisted inside me at the thought of selling such rare components.
I withdrew one claw, studying how the light from my porthole played across its surface. Such potential for crafting, wasted. But gold would serve me better than weapons right now. I needed to reach the Academy, and that meant focusing on practical matters over creative pursuits.
I carefully stored everything back in my Depository. The ship's bell rang for the evening meal; not that I needed it, but maintaining my disguise meant keeping to human schedules.
A knock at my door interrupted my inventory check. I opened it to find Stewart, the ship's cook, holding a covered tray. His broad sapien frame filled the narrow doorway, and despite the late hour his white apron remained spotless.
"Evening, ma'am." He presented the tray with a small bow. "Made you something special tonight, straight from the Captain's stores. Don't worry though, he won't mind. The man's a meat an' potatoes fella, despite his station."
I accepted the tray with a grateful nod. Rich aromas wafted up, smelling of herbs, roasted meat, and baked bread. My body had no need for sustenance, but I could appreciate the artistry in his cooking.
"Honey-glazed duck, ship's biscuits, and steamed vegetables from my personal stores. Now don't you worry about returning the tray." He smiled, crow's feet crinkling at his eyes. "I'll collect it in the morning. And remember, if you need anything at all, anything, just send word to the galley. Happy to help a lovely lady traveling alone."
Another silent nod from me. Stewart lingered a moment longer, then walked away, his heavy boots thumping against the deck.
I closed the door and set the tray on my small desk. This marked the third time Stewart had personally delivered my meals, each more elaborate than the last. The cook seemed determined to draw me out of my self-imposed silence.
Lifting the cover revealed an artfully arranged plate. The duck skin gleamed golden-brown, and fresh herbs decorated the vegetables. Such care, such skill, all destined for the sea. I carried the tray to the porthole and watched the food disappear into the dark waters below.
A waste, perhaps, but better than revealing that I had no way to actually eat it. My mechanical body could mimic human movement, but consuming food would only lead to complications; I had no stomach, after all. Still, Stewart's kindness stirred something in me, fragments of memory involving shared meals and warm kitchens, though I couldn't place when or where.
I pushed open the cabin door, hesitating at the threshold. Four days of isolation had begun to wear on me, even with my maintenance work to pass the time. The corridor stretched empty before me, late afternoon sun streaming through the portholes.
My mechanical legs carried me up the narrow steps to the main deck. Salt spray hit my face, and the wind caught my black mourning veil. The ocean stretched endless in every direction, waves capped with white foam under the cloudless sky.
Sailors worked the rigging above, their boots thumping against the wooden masts. A few glanced down as I emerged, but quickly returned to their tasks. My dark clothes marked me as someone in grief, to be given space and respect.
First Mate Garvis passed by, his orange beard catching the sunlight. "Evening, ma'am." He touched his cap but didn't stop to chat. Perfect.
I found a spot near the stern, away from the bustle of the crew. The ship's wake spread behind us in a white V, the water churning where the rudder cut through the waves. Something about the endless motion drew me in. Perhaps it reminded me of the constant flow of machinery, pieces working in harmony.
"Beautiful evening for watching the sea." The voice came from beside me. A sailor coiled rope nearby, his weathered hands working with practiced ease. He kept his eyes on his task, allowing me my privacy while making conversation. "Been sailing these waters twenty years now. Never gets old, watching the sun play on the waves."
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I gave him a slight nod, maintaining my mute facade. The sailor seemed content with that, humming an old sea shanty as he worked. Other crew members passed by, each offering small gestures of acknowledgment, whether a touch of the cap, a respectful nod, or a gentle smile. Their careful distance felt both comforting and isolating.
The sun began its descent toward the horizon, painting the clouds in shades of gold and pink. The sea breeze carried the scent of salt and tar, along with fragments of sailors' conversations and the creak of wooden planks.
More crew emerged for the evening watch change, their boots thumping across the deck. I kept to my corner, a black-clad shadow among their activity. Stewart appeared from the galley, carrying a basket of hardtack to distribute to the crew. He caught sight of me and smiled, but respected my apparent desire for solitude.
The familiar motions of the ship's routine surrounded me: the snap of canvas, calls between crew members, the rhythmic splash of waves against the hull. I found an unexpected peace in it all, a mechanical dance as precise as any assembly I could create.
I gripped the ship's railing, the wood smooth beneath my mechanical fingers. The ocean stretched before me, a stunning azure that merged with the horizon. Something tugged at the edges of my fractured mind, memories of different seas, darker times.
In those flashes of the past, ships didn't just battle waves and wind. The very water could turn against them, transforming into burning acid that ate through wood and flesh alike. I remembered screams, the crackle of dissolving hulls, entire fleets vanishing beneath waves that glowed with unnatural light.
But this ocean... this ocean held none of that remembered malice. Waves rolled past in steady rhythm, carrying us forward with gentle persistence. The breeze filled our sails with unwavering strength, no hint of the chaos that once ruled these waters.
"Steady wind like this, we'll make good time to Orengaad," the rope-coiling sailor commented, still focused on his work. "Weather's been kind these past years. My grandfather used to tell tales of storms that could swallow whole ships, but I've never seen anything like that."
The sailor finished his rope work and moved away, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the steady splash of waves against the hull. The sea breeze caught my veil again, and I reached up to secure it. Such a simple action, in such a stable world. No acid rain to eat through cloth, no sudden gusts that could tear a person apart.
The sun continued its descent, painting the calm waters in shades of gold. Everything was so ordered now, so peaceful. Even the monsters that roamed the world were bound by rules and systems, their powers contained and catalogued. Nothing like the chaos I half-remembered, when the world itself could change at a whim.
With a final look out at the calmness of the eternal sea, I turned around and headed back below decks towards my lonely cabin. Five more weeks. Only five more weeks of days like these.
The days blurred together in an endless cycle of waves and wind. I found myself spending more time above deck, drawn by both the need to maintain my human fa?ade and a genuine curiosity about the crew's routines. The mechanical precision of their movements fascinated me, with each sailor knowing their role in this floating machine.
The notification appeared as I watched First Mate Garvis direct the morning shift change. His orange beard caught the sunrise as he barked orders.
-
Garvis of Riversdell
Level 23 Sailor
Dwarf (Human)
Male
Age: 52
I'd been using the ability constantly these past weeks, gathering information about everyone aboard. The crew probably thought me a nosy widow, always watching from the shadows, but knowledge was a comfort I couldn't resist.
Stewart emerged from the galley, carrying breakfast for the crew.
-
Stewart of Hofferstak
Level 15 Chef
Sapien (Human)
Male
Age: 32
His constant attempts to feed me had become almost endearing, though disposing of the meals through my porthole felt increasingly wasteful.
The ship's bell rang, and Captain Anders appeared on deck. His heavy boots thudded against the wooden planks as he made his way to the helm.
-
Anders of Yeowell
Level 21 Swordsman
Dwarf (Human)
Male
Age: 75
The captain's class surprised me. Most of the crew were Sailors or similar seafaring classes, but Anders had clearly lived another life before taking to the sea. The scars visible on his weathered face told stories of battles far from any ocean.
The newly improved Analyze revealed more than just levels now. Species, gender, age; each piece of information helped me better understand these humans I traveled with. The ability's advancement pleased me, though I wondered if constant use was truly the most efficient way to strengthen it.
I kept to my corner near the stern, maintaining my role as the silent observer. The crew worked around me, their movements a dance of ropes and sails, their levels and information now as familiar to me as their faces.
The morning fog parted, revealing Orengaad's stone walls. After weeks at sea, the sight of land stirred something in my fractured memories: flashes of ancient battles and siege engines.
"First time in the Kingdom of Swords?" Stewart approached, carrying his usual offering of breakfast.
I gave a small nod, keeping to my mute widow persona. The city sprawled across the coastline, its gray fortifications a stark contrast to Remembrance's colorful architecture. Where that city had celebrated art and commerce, Orengaad bore the unmistakable marks of its military origins. Arrow slits dotted the walls. Guard towers rose at regular intervals. The harbor teemed with warships, their metal-reinforced hulls and weapon mounts marking them as vessels of war rather than trade.
"Used to be Fort Orengaad," Stewart continued, setting down the tray I wouldn't touch. "Back when the kingdom was pushing north. Now it's our biggest port city, but you can still see the old bones."
He was right. Despite the city's growth, its martial heritage showed in every stone. The buildings rose in ordered blocks, following military precision rather than organic sprawl. Even the newer structures maintained the fortress aesthetic: all sharp angles and defensive positions.
The Duke's Dagger joined a queue of merchant vessels waiting to dock. Ahead of us, warships dominated the best berths, sitting atop the water like sleek predators of steel and wood. Their crews drilled on deck, weapons glinting in the morning sun. This was no peaceful port like Remembrance. Here, even the air carried the sharp tang of weapon oil and training grounds.
First Mate Garvis appeared at my side. "We'll be docking within the hour, m'lady. Best gather your things."
I inclined my head in thanks, taking a final look at the city that would be my temporary home. Somewhere in those militant streets, I'd find a buyer for my dragon parts. Then on to Kaldos City and the safety of the Academy.
The morning sun caught Orengaad's walls, and for a moment they seemed to shift and flow like liquid stone. Another memory fragment, of a time when reality itself had been more malleable. I pushed the images aside. These visions, whether memories or delusions, could wait. First, I had to navigate this city of warriors.