The Lost Royal

Chapter 2.

The night was quiet but alive. The gentle rocking of the Tempest's Fortune mirrored the pull of the tides, a lullaby that soothed most of the crew into a deep slumber. But for G, who lay awake in his quarters, sleep came slowly, if at all. His senses kept him alert, picking up faint sounds that drifted through the ship—the creak of wood, the flutter of sails, the soft breaths of his crew as they slept.

And then, above all that, the sharp, distinct smell of cigarette smoke.

He sat up, an amused smile tugging at his lips. Ice was awake again. He had never known his friend to sleep more than a few hours each night. Immortality, as Ice often joked, came at a steep price, and a good night's sleep was apparently a luxury he couldn't afford.

Throwing on his coat, G stepped out of his quarters, following the familiar smell as it led him up to the deck. The sea breeze was cool against his skin, carrying with it the rich, earthy scent of tobacco mingled with salt. Ice was leaning against the railing, cigarette in hand, his gaze fixed on the dark horizon as he exhaled slowly. The orange glow of the cigarette's end illuminated his face for a brief moment, casting shadows beneath his eyes that seemed older than the sea itself.

G joined him, leaning on the railing beside him. For a few minutes, neither of them spoke, the silence between them comfortable and unbroken.

"Couldn't sleep?" Ice finally asked, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Could ask you the same," G replied, glancing at him with a knowing look.

Ice chuckled, tapping the cigarette ash into the sea. "Sleep is overrated. Who needs it, anyway?" He took another drag, his expression briefly clouding over. "It's strange, you know. I've seen countless sunrises, but they all feel... the same." He trailed off, his gaze distant, lost somewhere beyond the waves.

G watched him, the weight of Ice's words hanging in the air. There was a melancholy to his friend that few saw beneath his carefree banter. For most of the crew, Ice was a source of amusement—a quick wit, a steady hand, a devil-may-care attitude that made him seem almost invincible. But G knew better. He knew the toll that immortality had taken on him, the weariness that lingered behind his eyes, the shadow of a life that could never truly move forward.

"I'd miss it," G said softly. "The feeling of time passing. Knowing that every moment is different from the last."

Ice glanced at him, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Yeah, well, that's easy to say when you don't have to watch everyone around you age and... move on." He looked away, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's like being trapped in a painting. Everything else changes, but I stay the same."

G didn't press him further. There was no comfort he could offer that would ease that burden. Instead, he let the silence settle between them, understanding that sometimes, presence alone was enough.

The creak of footsteps interrupted the quiet, and they both looked up to see Spencer emerging onto the deck, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He squinted at them, a faint smile on his lips as he walked over.

"Midnight conference?" Spencer asked, his voice warm with sleep.

Ice shrugged, flicking his cigarette into the sea. "Just me and the Captain here, solving all of life's mysteries."

Spencer chuckled, leaning on the railing beside them. "Well, if you figure them out, let me know. I could use a few answers myself."

"Don't we all," Ice replied, his tone playful, though G noticed the glint of sadness still lingering in his eyes. "Tell me, Commander, what keeps you up at night? Thinking about your royal heritage, perhaps?" He said it with a wink, a tease that could have come across as mocking, but G knew better. It was Ice's way of lightening the mood, of reminding them that life didn't have to be so serious.