The storm had faded.
Ramla blinked against the dim glow that surrounded them. Cold stone met her palms as she pushed herself upright, her wet dress clinging to her skin. Beside her, Adea sat cross-legged, eyes narrowed and alert despite the confusion on her face. Nea stood defensively between them and the figure ahead—already pouting, fists clenched.
A man stood before them. Not just any man.
The man who stood before the sisters appeared entirely human—at first glance.
Eyes Red like fresh blood, glowing faintly in the low light of the cavern. His skin was a smooth olive tone, and despite the damp chill in the air, he wore no shirt—only dark, sea-worn pants that clung to his hips. His upper body was broad and muscular, glistening slightly as if misted with seawater, every movement deliberate and graceful, like a predator that didn't need to hide what it was.
His long, dark blue hair hung loose down his back, flowing past his shoulders in silky strands that shimmered like ink beneath water. There was something both regal and wild in his bearing—like a noble beast dressed as a man.
When he spoke, his voice carried the weight of the ocean, deep and commanding, but not cruel.
"I am the Leviathan," he said. "You see me now as I choose to be seen. Do not fear."
"Be calm," he said, his voice deep and resonant, but not harsh. "You are safe here."
Ramla's breath caught slightly in her throat—not from fear, but something else. Awe, maybe. Or unease. This… being, this man, had taken them from the ship, torn their world upside down. And yet, here he stood, calm as stone, confident in every fiber of his being.
"You look—" Adea started, then stopped, frowning. "Too human."
A faint smile curved the Leviathan's lips, as if amused. "You look at me through mortal eyes. So I wear a shape you can understand."
Nea scowled, arms crossed. "I understand that you're half-naked and smug."
"I wear what suits me," he replied with a shrug of his strong shoulders, seemingly unbothered.
With a wave of his hand, the cavern wall beside him shimmered—rippling like a pool—and revealed a vision of the crew of The Dalyla. Ramla gasped softly, clutching her chest as she recognized the captain, the sailors, and Jason standing among them.
"They live," the man said. "The trial has begun."
The sisters looked at one another in uneasy silence.
"Who are you?" Adea asked, her tone wary.
He smiled faintly, though it was hard to tell if there was warmth behind it. "A vessel. A voice. The Leviathan, given form."
Ramla stepped forward cautiously, her brows knit. "Why are we here? Why did you take us?"
The man tilted his head. "Because your presence permits the crossing. Because you are keys… and something more."
Nea narrowed her eyes. "*What* more? We didn't agree to anything. We don't even know what this is!"
The Leviathan's human form studied them in silence.
"Your destinies," he said at last, "may intertwine with one who passes the trial. Should they succeed, so too may you. Your future, your purpose, will begin *then*."
He turned, showing them the vision of the crew once more, and repeated: "They are safe—for now. The trial has begun. Your destinies remain… pending."
"But why us?" Ramla pressed, her voice rising, raw with emotion. "What do we have to do with this? Why—"
The question echoed off the cavern walls.
No answer came.
The Leviathan simply turned and began walking into the dim light, fading into shadow, leaving behind only the image of the crew locked in the arena—and the uncertainty in the hearts of the three sisters.
Adea folded her arms. "I don't like being part of something I don't understand."
Nea huffed, still tense. "Me too."
As he faded back into the shadows, the sisters were left with more questions than answers—and the image of that strange, powerful man burned into their minds.
Ramla stared after the Leviathan's retreating figure, a whisper falling from her lips:
"…Why us?"
The wind within the dome was deathly still.
Jason took a slow breath, eyes sweeping over the gathered crewmen as they circled cautiously, testing each other with their gazes, measuring distance, hesitation, and intent. Some held makeshift weapons—staffs, broken oars, even a chain. Others, like Jason, stood barehanded, confident in what their body alone could do.
He knew most of these men now. Days at sea brought shared jokes, meals, complaints about the food, arguments over cards. Names and faces had become familiar. He'd sparred with two, patched up a third after a rope snapped and sent him crashing to the deck.
But now, none of that mattered.
The Leviathan had spoken. One would stand. The rest would yield.
Jason exhaled through his nose and stepped to the center of the arena, barefoot, cloak now gone—torn off when the trial began. His shirt hung open, soaked and torn. His eyes were calm.
A tall man approached him first—Andrel, the youngest sailor on board. Lean, quick, and stubborn. He'd looked up to Jason the past few days, asked questions about body training and desert survival.
Now, he crouched into a ready stance, lips pressed into a tight line.
"I won't hold back, Jason," he said.
Jason gave a small nod. "Good. You shouldn't."
Andrel moved first, darting in like a viper with a low sweeping kick. Jason sidestepped with fluid grace and answered with a palm strike to the chest—not enough to break ribs, just enough to send the boy tumbling backward, stunned and winded.
Jason didn't follow through. He waited. Another came at him.
Two more joined in—one with a short club, the other with bare fists. Jason's body moved instinctively, honed from countless battles before this. His feet barely touched the ground as he danced between strikes. He ducked, weaved, and disarmed with precision. Never cruel. Never excessive.
One by one, the others began to understand—they weren't fighting *him*. They were being *taught* by him.
And still, he stood.
Blood pulsed in his ears, not from rage, but from the weight of what lay ahead. He wasn't doing this for pride or victory.
He was doing this for *them*.
Ramla. Adea. Nea.
He knew their names now. He'd shared smiles with Ramla, puzzled glances with Adea, tense silences with Nea. He remembered the pain in Ramla's voice when she spoke of the future. The way Adea always drifted a few heartbeats behind reality. The way Nea watched everything like a hawk with something to protect.
They were somewhere down there—*watching*. Maybe in danger.
And if this was the path to reaching them, to helping them…
He would stand. No matter how many came at him.
No matter what it took.
The chamber where the sisters sat had no walls—just the illusion of skyless space stretching infinitely above and below them. Before them, hovering like a scrying mirror, was the translucent window through which they watched the trial unfold.
And at its center: Jason.
Ramla leaned forward, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, knuckles white. Her breath caught every time someone charged him. Each time, she expected to see him overwhelmed, hurt, bested. And yet—he moved like flowing water, his strength balanced with startling control. There was no hesitation. No wild aggression. Just calm, deliberate power.
Adea stood beside her, arms folded loosely, head tilted as her eyes tracked Jason's every movement. Her expression was unreadable at first, but the flicker in her gaze betrayed her wonder.
"Is he… flying?" she whispered when he leapt above two attackers and spun midair, landing gracefully behind them without a sound.
"No," Nea muttered from the far end of the platform, her arms crossed, lips pursed. "But damn close."
The youngest sister said it with a scowl, but there was a crack in her wall now. Awe. Curiosity. Maybe even a reluctant kind of respect.
Ramla swallowed hard. "I've never seen anyone move like that."
"Because no one *we've* ever met could," Adea said softly, not taking her eyes off Jason.
They were daughters of a mortal world—raised in a convent far from power and bloodshed. Their days were filled with prayer, chores, whispered dreams of a better life across the sea. Not warriors. Not cultivators. Their understanding of strength had been limited to the stories old sisters told after lights out, tales that felt more myth than real.
And yet here he was.
A man who had once helped Ramla with spilled fruit. Who had given her gold without asking anything in return. Who had walked into their quarters like a stranger, and then asked—not demanded—to sit and talk.
Now that same man danced through a storm of fists and steel with a quiet dignity that defied everything they thought they knew.
"I thought he was just kind," Ramla whispered. "But he's…"
"He's dangerous," Nea said immediately.
Adea glanced sideways at her sister. "He's protecting them."
Nea opened her mouth to argue—then stopped. Watching as Jason gently laid a crewman down after disarming him, giving the man a nod of respect before turning to face the next.
No cruelty. No boast. No blood.
Just strength with restraint.
The Leviathan's words echoed back to them.
"Your destinies… may intertwine with one who passes the trial."
Ramla pressed a hand to her chest, feeling her heart racing, unsure if it was from fear, admiration—or something else entirely.