The southeastern coastline stretched before them—endless and glistening under the midmorning sun. Gentle waves rolled in and receded like breath, leaving behind a trail of white foam that licked at their boots as they walked. The sea breeze carried a subtle saltiness, stirring the edges of Canis's cloak.
They had walked for some time in silence, following the curve of the beach. Aron remained close to Canis's side, while Easton led ahead by several paces, eyes sharp and scanning. His posture was relaxed but alert—like a bloodhound catching faint traces in the wind.
Canis narrowed his eyes at the man's back.
"You're walking like a hunter again," he remarked.
Easton turned his head slightly, flashing a grin. "That's because I'm hunting, brother. You said we're after rabbits, didn't you?"
"I did." Canis smirked faintly, then added, "But I meant earlier. Back at your place. You took longer to get ready than I've ever seen. Since when did you start fussing?"
Easton scoffed. "Come on. I've always been like this."
"No," Canis said, flat and firm. "You haven't. Even in the old days, you were quick. Always moving. Always first out the door."
Easton hesitated, gaze dropping briefly to the sand beneath his feet.
"…Alright, fine," he admitted. "I wasn't packing. I was praying."
That made Canis stop walking for half a step.
"Praying?" he echoed, skeptical.
"Yeah."
"To the gods?"
"Well, not all of them," Easton replied, rubbing the back of his neck. "Just the ones who still listen. Or maybe none of them do. I don't know. But… it helps."
Canis watched his friend closely. "Since when are you religious?"
"I'm not," Easton said quickly. "Not in the real sense. I don't follow doctrine. I don't go to temples. I barely remember the chants. But when you spend years alone—on a broken ship, surrounded by nothing but sea and rot—you start talking to whatever might be out there. I think it just… made me feel safer. Like maybe someone would notice if I died."
The wind brushed across their faces, cool and constant. Aron glanced at Easton, visibly surprised, but didn't speak.
Canis lowered his gaze.
"I never prayed," he murmured. "Not even once."
Easton raised an eyebrow. "Never? Even when things were bad?"
"No." Canis's voice remained even. "Not because I didn't want to. I just didn't see the point."
"So you don't believe in them?"
"I believe," Canis replied. "Or maybe I have to believe. Because if they don't exist… then I wouldn't know who to yell at when I die."
Easton chuckled, a low and tired sound. "That's your reason for believing? So you have someone to blame?"
"More or less," Canis muttered.
It was then that Aron, who had been quiet the entire time, finally spoke.
"Master…" he asked hesitantly. "If you ever do meet the gods after you die… what are you going to complain about?"
Canis didn't answer right away. He looked out over the sea, his expression unreadable. His voice, when it came, was soft.
"…A lot of things," he said simply.
And with that, they continued forward—three silhouettes framed against the shimmer of ocean and sun, walking side by side into the distance. The tide followed close behind, erasing their footprints almost as soon as they were made.
{Chapter 17 end}