The waiting bay brimmed with people, men and women, young and old, a field of faces rustling like river reeds.

Lucimia and Rexi stepped in, and eyes swept over them like a net; whispers fluttered like moth wings, wondering if Lucimia was Bloodkin.

Outside the Town of Tranquility in the Kingdom of Sipan, most folks took black hair as Bloodkin by default, like seeing night and expecting storm.

Lucimia and Rexi picked a spot and sat, two quiet leaves settling on worn wood.

She scanned the room; that thorn of a man sat with arms crossed like a shield, one leg slung and jackhammering.

His gaze pinned Lucimia, frown tight as a knotted rope; when she met it, he clicked his tongue and turned away like a shutter.

What’s his deal? The thought pricked, weirdness buzzing like a trapped fly.

If he were a street punk, a beauty should draw a hungry grin, not a scowl like sour wine.

Maybe he’s tangled with Bloodkin and hates the shade, a thorn stuck under his nail.

He looked like a drifter, yet claimed to be a third-tier mage; without schooling, magic here is a cliff to climb.

Whatever—she let the thought fall like a pebble into a well.

Lucimia just stretched her mind to warm it, then shut her eyes, resting like a cat in a sun patch.

Time slid by; the bearded man called for boarding, and the crowd flowed like a tide up the stairs.

He stood at the stair mouth, checking tickets with hands routine as mill wheels.

Lucimia and Rexi reached him, handed theirs, and Lucimia asked, “How long to the Lowegar Kingdom?”

“Lowegar Kingdom, the end of the line—good weather and clear routes make it a week,” he said, voice steady as rope.

“A week…” The words felt heavy, like a slow bell.

Regret swelled first, a wave slapping her ribs; she should’ve skipped the boat and taken a flying carpet.

She nodded and led Rexi aboard, steps tapping the deck like rain.

Crew moved across the deck, sleeves rolled and backs bent; guards in armor stood like iron statues, weapons gleaming.

Some chatted, some wiped the ballistae with damp rags; a few shaped a defensive Magic Array, sigils blooming like frost.

Lucimia cut them a sidelong glance and pocketed the method, lifting the pattern like silk off a loom.

The ship felt bare, not like the one in Jaha Town; the wooden deck creaked like old bones.

A nibble of worry rose, safety shimmering thin as paper.

Rexi breathed excitement, eyes bright as spring water—another rhythm entirely.

“Wow, Lucimia, this feels new,” Rexi said, staring at the deck like a market of wonders.

“What’s that, and why hang so many cloths?” she asked, finger pointing like a sparrow.

“It’s a sailboat,” Lucimia said, voice calm as shade. “Sails belong here.”

“Eh, there’s a chain here, and it’s in the water.” Her curiosity hopped like a frog.

“That’s the chain, and the anchor in the water keeps us from drifting,” Lucimia said.

She pointed at the central wheel, a wooden sun with ribs.

“When we sail, several people will push that capstan and haul it up; watch it spin.”

“Oh, I see. Lucimia, you know so much,” Rexi said, admiration warm as tea.

“Not really,” Lucimia murmured, a shadow crossing; school never took her in, but past-life memory flowed like a quiet stream.

“This is fun,” Rexi laughed; her steps made the deck chirp, and her pale green hair swung like willow.

Lucimia held her tongue, silence like a folded fan.

After running about, Rexi returned and asked, “What do we do for sleep?”

“Sleep,” Lucimia said, pointing to the stairs that dipped like a root. “Cabins below. Tickets have numbers; find your room.”

“Let’s go see where we’ll sleep!” Rexi bubbled, and she sprinted for the cabins like a kite pulling string.

The week sat on Lucimia’s chest, heavy as damp wool; flying carpet would’ve been swift as wind.

She couldn’t parse this girl’s mind; once a royal, she must’ve sailed before, and “never tried” was just amnesia.

It felt ironic; maybe she’s the one who’s never truly sailed.

She sighed, a thin reed sound, and hurried after.

The cabin corridor narrowed like a stream in rocks, enough for two slender women to pass.

Wooden doors lined both sides, rooms stitched together with numbers like beads.

Odd numbers left; even numbers right, a simple fork in a wooden grove.

Lucimia checked her ticket. “Ten. You?”

“Eight,” Rexi said, holding hers up, smile bright as fruit.

“We’re side by side, right side,” Lucimia said, relief smooth as silk.

They walked on; at five and six, the corridor turned right, and then came seven, eight, nine, ten like stepping stones.

As they turned, Lucimia saw a man at Nine—the half-shaved thug, rough as gravel.

He blinked at her, stalled a heartbeat, then clicked his tongue—tsk—and slipped inside, door shutting like a lid.

So seeing her felt unlucky? Bloodkin grudges, or something else? Questions fluttered like dry leaves.

She felt disliked for no reason, a thorn poking skin—yet let it drift past.

The two girls stopped before their doors.

“What will it be like? I’ve never seen one,” Rexi asked, hope shining like lantern light.

Lucimia cooled it first. “Don’t expect much,” she said, words like a small rain.

“Uh… okay.” The hope dimmed a shade, still warm at the core.

They pushed the doors; inside matched Lucimia’s guess, a sparse room like a monk’s bowl.

A simple wooden chair and table; two hooks in the wall for clothes; and the bed was a plain hammock.

Lucimia paused, silence pooling; she’d expected a plank, and got less—just a swinging sling of coarse fabric.

Another worry bit—how do you sleep in a hammock at sea without tumbling out?

She looked at Rexi, the girl stunned like a deer; Lucimia patted her shoulder.

“If you don’t like it, I can pull blankets from the Storage Ring and sleep on the floor,” she said.

“No—”

“Hm?” Lucimia’s brow lifted like a slight wave.

“I think this is great!” Rexi beamed, delight fizzing like soda.

Lucimia blinked, the question mark hanging like a sparrow over water.

“I’ve never slept in a hammock; it’s a new experience!” Rexi said, joy bright as sunrise.

Alright—she’d overthought it; this girl’s mind runs on a different wind, and Lucimia understood.