Luther opened his mouth to speak.
But then the wooden walls of the ship groaned with a pained creaking, like that of an old beast as a wave slamd against the hull. The floor lurched beneath his boots, sending a few papers tumbling from the nearby desk. He grabbed the doorfra to steady himself, his coat swaying with the sudden tilt.
"Gods, can’t this cursed boat just stay still for once?" he said, brushing his disheveled hair back with a tired hand.
He turned-only to find that Alina was gone.
The spot she’d been standing in monts before was empty. No trace of her angelic glow, no faint perfu, not even the soft hum that usually lingered around her presence.
Luther blinked once, then twice. "...You’ve got to be kidding ."
The lantern above them was swaying violently, casting stripes of shadow and light across the narrow corridor. Luther took a cautious step forward, peering down the hall. "Alina?" he called. "If this is one of those your disappearing acts, I’m not laughing."
Only silence answered. Just the groan of the ship and the far-off murmur of sailors above deck.
He sighed, rubbing his temple. "Perfect. First a talking sword, then a staff that turns into a tiara, and now the disappearing angel. Maybe the ocean can swallow next and save the trouble."
Sothing clattered behind him.
He whirled around. Lying on the floor near the bed, the demonic sword shone red, faintly, as though it stifled a chuckle.
"Oh, of course," Luther muttered. "You’re still here."
He did stop, for he noticed sothing was not there. He sighed.
"Where is she?"
"Who?"
Luther groaned. "The freaky God of love, that’s who!
"Oh."
The voice of the sword ca, dry and amused. "She had sothing to do."
Luther raised an eyebrow. "Sothing to do? What, plunge into the ocean seeking wisdom?
"How should I know? Humans disappear for the strangest reasons. Maybe she finally realized you’re impossible to talk to."
Luther crouched beside it, resting one elbow on his knee. "You’re really begging to be thrown overboard, aren’t you?"
"You wouldn’t dare. You’d be bored to death without ."
"I’d rather be bored than stuck talking with an overgrown butter knife.
The crimson glow from the sword flared brighter. "Watch your tongue, mortal. I’ve devoured souls for less."
"Yeah, and I’ve eaten worse cooking," Luther shot back, rising to brush off his coat. "Your bite doesn’t scare ."
The sword hissed like a cat. "Say that again."
Luther leaned in, still grinning. "The only sharp thing about you is your mouth—and even that’s duller than my patience."
"You infuriating brat!" the sword shrieked, launching itself from the ground, spinning in midair before embedding its tip into the wall an inch from his face.
Luther stared at the trembling blade for one long beat. Then he exhaled. ".You missed."
"I ant to miss!" the sword barked.
"Sure you did."
"Don’t test , mortal. I’ve slain gods."
"Right," said Luther dryly. "And I’ve slain my appetite listening to you."
The blade buzzed angrily, then went quiet.
Luther stretched, shrugged, and reached for his coat. "Anyway, if you’re done trying to redecorate my skull, I’ve got a ship to not die on."
"You’re leaving here?!"
"Yes."
"You can’t just leave ! I’m a legendary weapon!"
"You’re a headache with a blade."
A spark flew out of the sword’s hilt. "Unacceptable!"
"Complain to the floorboards," Luther said, taking a step toward the door.
He paused and his hand rested on the handle as he looked back at the sword. "...You know," he muttered, almost to himself, "for a cursed relic, you’re weirdly good company."
The sword froze. "W-what?"
A sly smile curved Luther’s mouth. "Don’t get sentintal now."
He closed the door before it could respond.
The outer corridor was dim and slt faintly of sea salt and oil. The boards creaked underfoot; water was dripping rhythmically from the ceiling.
Luther moved silently, tucking his pendant into his coat and running a hand through his hair. The ship rocked again and he grabbed a passing rope to steady himself.
He muttered under his breath, What’s next? A talking seagull? A rman who sings lullabies? I just wanted peace for one damn day.
Footsteps echoed from the end of the hall. Luther flattened against the wall as two sailors passed by, arguing loudly about ration distribution. He waited until their voices faded before slipping around the corner, narrowly dodging a servant carrying a tray of soup.
The bowl almost fell over his head.
"Watch where you’re going!" he snapped.
"Watch where you’re spilling," Luther shot back, sidestepping him easily.
The crewman blinked, then snorted a laugh despite himself. "Fair enough, priest."
"Saint," Luther corrected lazily. "Apparently."
How did they know, anyway?
Oh damn it
His sure they made a grand entrance when they took him to his room.
But the good thing is that the nobles don’t notice it.
He continued down the passageway, ducking under low beams and stepping over coiled ropes. A few sailors greeted him with uncertain nods—half out of respect, half confusion about why their supposed holy man was muttering about cursed swords.
A shout sounded ahead. "Hey! Who left the storage hatch open?!"
"Not !" soone replied
Luther rolled his eyes. By the gods, this ship’s run by drunks and fools.
A shadow lood as a burly sailor stumbled out of a side door, arms laden with barrels. Luther sidestepped him in one smooth motion; his coat brushed the man’s sleeve.
"Whoa—sorry, Saint Luther!" the man exclaid half-alard.
Luther just grinned faintly. "You’re fine. The barrels did more damage to your brain than I could.
The nearby guards snorted in laughter, one of them spitting out the drink he’d been holding.
"Good to see the holy man’s got jokes," one of them said.
"I’ve got survival instincts," Luther said. "Humor just keeps from killing everyone."
That earned another laugh, and Luther waved a hand dismissively as he slipped past them toward the stairs.
The hatch to the upper deck lood above him, sunlight seeping through its cracks. Luther pushed it open, blinking against the sudden brightness. The sea stretched out endlessly—vast, glittering, and utterly indifferent.
The wind whipped through his hair as he erged on deck. The sailors were scurrying about, tying down ropes and yelling orders everywhere. Sowhere, a gull cried overhead.
"Finally," he muttered, "fresh air and fewer idiots."
"Speak for yourself," ca a voice from the mast.
Luther looked up. Aithur was perched there, balancing like so sort of show-off acrobat, his grin sharp and wind-tossed. Liliana stood near the railing, her cloak billowing as she watched the horizon.
He sighed softly. "At least they’re not trying to stab ."
Before he could get to them, a figure stumbled into view from the other side of the deck—Lord Reyard, holding his bleeding nose.
The idiot again.
"Damn it! Who put that cursed barrel there?!" he snarled, eyes watering as he tried to wipe the blood away without ruining his coat.
Luther slowed, smirking, and said mockingly, "Rough day, my lord?"
Reyard glared through swollen eyes. "Don’t start with , child."
Luther’s grin spread wide. "Wouldn’t dream of it. Though, you might want to see a healer before your nose decides to relocate."
The nearby sailors snickered behind their hands. The muscle in Reyard’s jaw clenched. "You think this is funny?
"Oh, absolutely," said Luther cheerfully. "But don’t worry. I’m sure your nose will forgive you—eventually."
The n around them erupted into laughter. Even Aithur’s bark of amusent seed to echo from above. Reyard muttered sothing incoherent but shivered when Aithur sent him a glare. He moved back frightened before storming off toward the cabins, tripping over another barrel on the way.
Luther leaned against the railing, blowing out through his nose. "And people say I’m cursed."
Behind him, the faint sound of a sword thudding against wood reached his ears. He turned slightly—then froze.
The demonic sword floated lazily above deck, smugly glowing red.
"Oh no," Luther muttered. "How did you—"
"I got bored," the sword interjected, sounding far too pleased. "And lonely. So, I followed your divine aura.
"My what?" he deadpanned.
"Your scent of holiness! It reeks of hypocrisy and bad decisions."
Luther rubbed his face. "I’m surrounded by idiots, including the tallic kind."
A nearby sailor blinked. "Uh, Saint Luther... is that sword... talking?"
Luther didn’t miss a beat. "No, you’re hallucinating from sunstroke. Go drink water."
The sailor frowned uncertainly and walked away.
The sword humd wickedly. "Smooth."
Luther leaned in close. "Keep talking and I’ll use you as an anchor." "You’d miss ," the sword said smugly. "Like a hole in my ship," he replied, and straightened his coat.
A faint gasp sounded from behind them before the sword could retort.
Luther turned, his smirk suddenly gone.
Darkness lood as the water ruffled, the waves hitting the ship like drums.
A noble woman stood in fear, her drink shattered on the ground as she screams and pointed at sothing on the sea.
A shadow.
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