The divine compass shimmered under the morning light as Gilgamesh pulled it from his treasury, the golden artifact humming with magic.
Beside him, Rhyssand held a fragment of Arthur's essence in his palm, letting it glow between his fingers.
"Put them together," Rhyssand said with a smirk, "and you get a 'Find My Excalibur' spell."
Arthur chuckled, shaking his head.
Eugene, still fascinated after years, said," That's brilliant."
Then— Thud.
Like an apple falling from a tree.
Arthur froze. "Did you hear that?"
Rhyssand lifted a brow. "Has the sea made you a madlad already?"
Thud.
Gilgamesh's crimson orbs flashed, and his gaze flickered to a nearby crate.
Without a word, he walked over, placed a hand on the lid, and opened it.
And there, curled up inside, was Elizabeth. A four-year-old stowaway.
And clutched in her tiny arms, nestled in a basket of straw—Hope.
Her damn royal chicken.
For a moment, nobody moved.
Then, sensing Arthur's impending wrath, Hope flapped its wings in full panic mode and bolted out of the crate like its life depended on it. Feathers scattered everywhere.
The chicken landed squarely on Gilgamesh's head.
The King's head.
And if that wasn't enough insult. Hope gave a victorious cluck! Before taking off again, leaving Gil standing there in stunned silence, a single feather stuck in his golden hair.
Rhyssand turned away, biting his fist. Eugene wheezed. A crew member nearly dropped their mop overboard.
Gil exhaled slowly. So this is what his life had come to.
One, two, three, so no one bleeds.
He was pretty sure the chicken counts as blood.
Every so slowly, He reached up, plucked the feather from his hair, and turned back to his granddaughter, grabbing her by the scruff of her tunic and lifting her out of the crate.
Arthur's heart nearly stopped.
He stared at her, stunned, then his voice dropped.
"Elizabeth Pendragon."
A dangerous kind of quiet.
She gulped.
Elizabeth stared at her boots, fidgeting with the hem of her tunic.
"I just—"
Arthur's tone was controlled, but his breath was uneven. "You just what? Deliberately disobeyed me? What if something happened to you? What if you had hidden on the wrong ship? What if I lost you?!"
Silence.
Then, Elizabeth looked up at him with fire in her eyes.
"I'm not sorry."
The entire deck froze.
Arthur blinked.
He wasn't sure he had heard her right. "What?"
She lifted her chin, her little jaw set in determination. "I'm not sorry. You said a Pendragon knows no fear."
She pointed to her chest, eyes blazing.
"I'm a Pendragon. Am I not?"
A stunned silence fell over the deck.
Gilgamesh, standing tall beside them, crossed his arms. There was pride in his gaze. A true Pendragon indeed.
Arthur, however, felt the weight of the world collapse on his shoulders.
His knees gave out.
Right there, on the deck of his ship, he crumpled, catching himself just in time. His hands shook. His breath hitched. And then—
Then, the tears fell. The ones he was holding in for days.
His daughter—his baby girl—knew. She knew.
She slowly walked toward him, small arms wrapping around his neck as she pressed her cheek to his shoulder.
"I know you're trying to help Mama," she whispered, her voice no louder than the waves lapping against the hull. "I know she's dying."
Arthur froze.
His breath caught in his throat as his arms wrapped around her, pulling her close.
He clutched her as if he were afraid she, too, might slip away like grains of sand between his fingers.
She said, " I want to help too."
She had always wanted to help.
And now, she had followed him into the unknown to prove it.
Arthur tucked Elizabeth into bed, the soft glow of the lantern flickering against the cabin walls.
Hope, her menace of a chicken, was curled up beside her, wings tucked in, looking deceptively innocent.
She peeked up at him with big, sleepy blue eyes.
"Are you still mad?" she asked softly.
Arthur sighed, brushing a stray curl from her forehead. "No, love. Never."
She snuggled deeper into the blankets, playing with a loose thread. "If it helps… Mama said I could go. She said she didn't want you to be alone."
Arthur's heart clenched.
Of course she did.
He kissed her forehead,
Elizabeth smiled sleepily.
"Can you sing me the song Mama sings to me at night?"
Arthur smiled, of course.
They had made it up for her when she was a baby, a lullaby stitched together from quiet nights, whispers, and unbreakable love.
He sang softly, the rhythm swaying with the rocking of the ship, until her breaths evened out.
Until they both fall asleep.