The sea stretched around them in a slow, endless shimmer. Waves rolled under the patched hull, the sails catching just enough wind to keep them moving.
Art stood near the bow, fingers twitching as if sketching invisible lines into the air. His eyes drifted across the horizon, but his focus was somewhere deeper — somewhere below the surface, far beyond the deck under his feet.
Nico sat cross-legged on a coil of rope nearby, crossbow across his lap, watching him with wide eyes.
Finally, the boy couldn't hold back.
"What are you doing?" he asked, voice small but eager.
Art glanced over, his fingers pausing mid-motion.
"Thinking," he said simply.
Nico tilted his head. "About what?"
Art's gaze turned distant again, but this time he answered.
"About the ship. The one we have now is patched, half-alive. It won't last long in these waters, not with the marines and pirate hunters everywhere."
He stepped forward, eyes narrowing as he envisioned something only he could see.
"I want to build something that can slip beneath the waves. A ship that can dive under enemy lines, find wreckage, gather treasures and materials from the ocean floor. A ship no one would expect — something alive, quiet, unstoppable."
Nico's mouth fell open. "A ship… that can go under the sea?"
Art nodded once. "A submersible."
Nico scrambled closer, excitement sparking in his eyes. "And what about… you? Would you stay inside the whole time?"
Art's fingers flexed again, his mind racing faster than his words.
"No. I'd need a suit — an underwater armor. Something that lets me move outside, gather materials, fight if I have to. And weapons that work down there, strong enough to fend off sea kings and whatever else lurks in the dark."
Nico nearly toppled forward in his excitement. "That's… that's incredible! And you think… you think you can really make that?"
Art turned slowly to look at him. His gaze was sharp, bright, almost feverish.
"If my intent is strong enough," he said, voice low but certain, "I can shape anything."
For a moment, Nico just stared at him, caught between awe and disbelief. Then he nodded, as if convincing himself all over again.
"Of course you can," he said. "You've already made so much. You can do it."
---
A rough laugh sounded from the other side of the deck. Francis lounged on a crate, one boot resting against the railing, half a grin playing on his lips.
"Well," he called, "I've met plenty of lunatic pirates who talk big about gold and grand fleets — but I've never met one who dreams of turning his ship into a fish."
Art only looked at him, unbothered. "Not a fish. Something better."
Francis snorted, shaking his head. "If you pull it off, I'll toast to you every night for the rest of my life."
Art turned away, ignoring the laughter. His eyes flicked toward the horizon.
---
Later, gathered around the battered chart, Art ran a finger over the faded coastlines and the inked routes Francis had scrawled.
"We'll need more materials," Art muttered. "Hull plates. Reinforced beams. Scrap metal. Enough to strengthen the ship's frame and build the suit."
Francis stretched lazily, squinting at the chart.
"There's an outcove not far from here," he said. "Hidden pirate anchorage. Lawless, full of wrecks and half-built ships, drifting pieces waiting to be sold or stripped. If you want parts… you'll find them there."
Art's eyes sharpened, the corner of his mouth twitching in something like a smile.
"Good," he murmured. "Then we start there."
Nico fidgeted with his crossbow, glancing between them. "Won't it be dangerous? What if they see us coming?"
Art set his hand lightly on the chart, his other hand resting on the scope of the Repeater Musket strapped across his back.
"If they see us," he said calmly, "then they see us. We take what we need — and we keep moving."
Nico swallowed, then nodded, his small shoulders squaring as if bracing for a gust of wind.
---
That night, Art stood at the railing, the sea whispering below. He moved his hands slowly in the moonlight, tracing the shape of an unseen hull, the curve of an armored sleeve, the silhouette of something impossible.
Nico joined him, leaning forward against the rail. He didn't say anything at first — just watched the lines Art drew in the air.
"What do you see?" Nico finally asked.
Art didn't look at him. His fingers kept moving, weaving quiet shapes against the stars.
"Everything I've ever wanted to build," he whispered. "And all the things no one has ever dared to dream."
Nico closed his eyes, the salt wind catching in his hair.
"Then let's make it real," he said softly.
Art's hands stilled. He glanced at the boy beside him, then out over the dark horizon.
"Yes," he said at last, a quiet certainty threading through the single word. "Let's."