Chapter 198: A whole new world.
Black Sea Territory.
The boat rocked on the surface of the Black Sea, under the starless sky.
The lantern in the boat glowed with a faint light; insects were attracted to the light, and they danced around it, fascinated.
Joya's gaze lingered on the vast, ink-dark sky, her blue eyes catching the moonlight as it slipped in and out of the drifting clouds.
Behind her, the old man paddling the boat suddenly stopped. With a weary grunt, he let the paddle slip from his hands. It struck the side of the boat softly before settling into the water, sending out small ripples that faded almost instantly.
He lowered himself onto the bench, shoulders sagging, and reached for the wine bag he had brought along. Tilting it to his lips, he drank deeply, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before drinking again.
The boat continued forward on its own accord, nudged gently by the unseen current.
Yet the old man's eyes never left the west.
Soon his posture dulled and his limbs loosened.
The sharp scent of alcohol clung to him, heavy in the air. It came as no surprise when his head finally drooped forward, his body surrendering to sleep.
His mouth hung open slightly, his breathing slow and uneven, and his eyes sealed shut.
Time stretched thin. For what felt like an eternity, the boat barely moved, suspended between water and sky.
Joya's eyes, which were fixed on the clouds above, slowly drifted downward.
Her gaze darted as it found the old man, slumped in his seat, motionless, asleep, and utterly unaware.
She thought of how exhausted he must have been and, with a reluctant sigh, chose to leave him undisturbed. But seconds slipped by, crawling into minutes, and minutes stretched hours.
Restlessness eventually gnawed at her, and she rose to her feet, brushing invisible
dust from her dress as she took a cautious step forward.
The boat lurched beneath her weight, swaying from side to side. Her breath became erratic as she nearly lost her balance.
Slowly, she lowered herself into a squat, fingers gripping the edge of the boat, waiting for the water to calm and the boat to regain its stability. Only then did she inch her way toward the far end, where the old man lay slumped.
She reached out and tapped him lightly.
Nothing.
A faint frown creased her brow as she touched him again, and this time, she felt the coldness of his skin against her fingers.
Her eyes widened. She tapped him once more, firmer now, but he did not stir.
"No… no, this cannot be happening," she whispered.
With trembling hands, she lifted his right arm and gave it a small shake. It fell limply back into place, stiff and lifeless.
Her heart sank.
Swallowing hard, she leaned closer and pressed her ear gently against his chest.
There was no sound. No rise. No rhythm.
The truth settled over her painfully. Her shoulders sagged; she felt hollow and helpless.
He was dead.
Of all the places in the world, he had chosen to die here.
Leaving her stranded in the middle of nowhere?
Joya slowly turned, her eyes sweeping across the horizon. North, south, east, and west, nothing greeted her but endless water stretching into the dark.
No land.
No escape.
A short, hollow laugh slipped from her lips, mocking even to her own ears.
She lowered herself onto the boat, blinking slowly as she forced herself to take in the reality of her predicament.
"The gods are wonderful spectators," she said, disbelief lacing her voice.
She let out another breathless chuckle.
"They must truly enjoy watching me suffer."
Her laughter faded as necessity took over.
She leaned forward and began rummaging through the boat, fingers searching blindly for anything, anything at all that might help.
Her hand brushed against a sack. She pulled it closer and untied it. The moment it opened, a stale stench rushed out, making her recoil. Fighting it, she peered inside.
Two mangoes lay at the bottom, bruised but intact. Beside them sat a banana, dark and rotten beyond saving. Tucked to the side was a small iron container, heavy in her hand…wine.
Once again, she searched the boat for anything that might help her find a way, a map, maybe.
She found nothing.
Frustration clawed at her chest.
She felt like screaming her lungs out; if only it would ease the tension in her chest a little. But the vastness around her swallowed even the thought of it.
She was no sailor!
How, in the name of the gods, was she meant to find her way home?
Thoughts spiraled in her head, one chasing the next, and all the while, without fully realizing it, her fingers curled around the paddle.
She thought of all she had survived, every narrow escape, every wound that had healed, every moment she had been certain would be her last.
She had faced far worse than this.
She would not die here.
Not in the middle of nowhere.
Not with her body left to rot beneath the sun and picked apart by scavenging birds… No!
A fierce resolve hardened her chest. She refused to give up without a fight.
With that thought burning in her mind, she tightened her grip on the paddle and plunged it into the water.
At first, it was futile.
The wooden paddle felt unbearably heavy, fighting against the stubborn current of the water.
Her arms strained as she pulled, but the boat barely responded; it rocked weakly but didn't move.
She stopped paddling and sank back into the boat, exhaustion etched plainly across her face.
Her gaze drifted to the old man.
His presence no longer offered comfort, only anguish. A silent reminder of how alone she truly was.
A cool breeze swept across the water, brushing against her skin and drying the beads of sweat on her face. She stayed where she was, letting the boat rock gently beneath her.
After a while, a thought crept into her mind.
Slowly, she looked at the old man again. This time, the pain in her eyes has softened, giving way to something meek: pity.
She pushed herself to her feet and walked toward him, then paused there for a moment, her chest heaving.
"Forgive me," she murmured.
Already bending low, she lifted his legs and carefully swung them over the side of the boat.
She did the same with his arms; her movements were swift, and without thinking twice, she lifted the rest of the body and pushed it off the boat.
With a loud splash, the water rippled as the corpse disappeared into the dark sea below, slowly sinking before fully fading away.
Joya stared at the dark sea for a long moment, watching the last of the ripples vanish into the endless black.
"The things I have to do to survive," she muttered, turning away.
She picked up the paddle and adjusted her stance, settling into a more comfortable posture before dipping it back into the water.
This time, almost immediately, the boat responded. It forged forward, obediently, gliding with the current rather than against it.
Relief flickered across her face.
She did not know where she was going. There was no map, no guiding star, but she knew this much: anywhere was better than being stranded in the middle of nowhere.
And so she paddled on.
Joya no longer knew how long she had been paddling.
Time had lost its meaning somewhere along the endless stretch of water. Hours later, the two mangoes from the sack were long gone, and hunger clawed fiercely at her stomach.
Still, she pushed on.
Her arms ached, her shoulders burned, and her strength threatened to abandon her entirely, but her will to live was pressing.
Slowly, the night began to fade.
Darkness peeled away inch by inch as the sky lit up, and then the sun rose, its rays spilling across the world.
The break of dawn had come.
Yet when Joya looked around, she was still in the middle of nowhere.
The hunger has worsened, twisting sharply inside her.
A dull ache throbbed, persistent and impossible to ignore, making her head hurt.
Her movements slowed, growing clumsy as exhaustion seeped deep into her bones.
At last, she decided to pause.
She lifted her head toward the sky, and the sudden brilliance of the sun dazzled her vision, making the world spin.
She blinked hard, swaying slightly, dizziness washing over her.
Lowering her gaze, she reached out for the paddle but froze.
There were two.
Her brows knitted together in confusion.
She extended her hand toward the nearest one, but her fingers thrust into nothing but thin air.
Her breath caught; she was seeing things.
Only then did she understand that with hunger came many things… including hallucinations.
Suddenly, her strength vanished all at once.
Her body gave way, slow and unresponsive.
Just before the world blurred, her eyes strained ahead, and through the wavering haze, she caught a glimpse of a lone figure walking along the shoreline.
"Land."
She muttered as the paddle finally slipped from her grasp; before she could make sense of what was happening, darkness rushed in, and she lost consciousness.
The next time Joya opened her eyes, coarse air escaped her lungs as she inhaled profoundly.
She gagged, expelling seawater from her mouth and nostrils as her chest heaved.
Her lashes fluttered, heavy and wet, and when she finally managed to inhale, it came out in a harsh, broken gasp.
Cold.
That was the first thing she felt.
Her dress was drenched, clinging tightly to her body.
She groaned softly and pushed herself upright, her palms pressing into something coarse. Sand bit into her skin…sand.
She blinked through the haze and looked down. She was seated on the shoreline, grains of sand sticking to her soaked dress and some of the exposed skin of her arms and feet.
Waves rolled in and retreated just behind her from the sea.
Her mind struggled to catch up.
Just as she tried to piece together how she had ended up there, a sharp voice cut through the air.
"She's awake!"
Joya looked up.
A little boy stood a short distance away, pointing straight at her. His eyes were wide with excitement as he turned and ran, his small legs kicking up sand and leaving uneven footprints behind him.
"She's awake! She's awake!"
Some men a few distances away straightened up from where they had been casting their nets into the sea.
One by one, they abandoned their work and moved toward her, their shadows stretching across the sand as the sunrays reflected on them.
Soon, Joya found herself surrounded by strange-looking men, whose faces were unfamiliar.
Some bore scars across their cheeks; others had uneven or missing teeth, their hair unkempt from their lifestyle. The scent of the sea clung to them, strong and overwhelming.
Her shoulders tensed instinctively.
"Are you alright?" the man closest to her asked, his voice gruff but not unkind.
"Any pain in your chest?"
The little boy stood beside him now, his small hand tightly wrapped around the man's fingers. Joya didn't need to be told; this was his father.
"I… I think so," she said, sitting up straighter. Her voice came out hoarse.
A chill ran through her as the sea breeze swept over her damp clothes, raising goosebumps along her skin.
"You are fortunate," another man spoke, older than the rest, his posture firm despite his age.
"My son saw you drifting in the water."
He turned slightly, gesturing to the men behind him.
"These are my men. They swam out and pulled you from the sea."
Joya's eyes moved from face to face, quietly assessing them.
Then she looked down at the boy and managed a faint smile.
"Thank you, little one."
The boy only stared back, his curious gaze never leaving her face.
She turned to the men and dipped her head slightly. "I am grateful. I don't have enough words to thank you for saving my life."
As she spoke, she tasted salt at the back of her throat. The seawater still burned faintly in her nostrils; she must have swallowed more water than she realized.
Slowly, she rose to her feet and brushed off her dress, though the sand clung stubbornly to the fabric.
"I must go now."
"Do you have somewhere to go?" the man asked.
She nodded, even though the answer felt uncertain.
"At least eat something before you leave," he insisted.
"I will be fine, sir," she replied quickly. "You have saved me from the clutches of death, and that alone is enough to be grateful for."
It was a lie.
Her stomach twisted painfully, hunger clawing at her insides, but she kept her expression casual. Life had taught her one lesson well: trust always came at a cost.
He nodded gently before signaling his son to give her a box she hadn't noticed for a while.
"I believe this belongs to you; it was the only valuable possession we found in the boat."
Joya took the box from him slowly; it was the box Prator had given to her, a gift he had called it. She gave them a knowing smile before turning away.
Her steps were languid as she moved away from them, heart beating faster than it should.
Then she stopped.
Turning back, she ran a hand through her damp hair, pushing it away from her face.
"Gentlemen," she asked, "may I know where I am?"
The eldest man had already returned to his nets. He glanced over his shoulder briefly before answering.
"You are in a kingdom called Decreash."