"Send word to King Alastor at once!" King Caelus bellowed. "And gather a search party to set sail. We must find the prince!"

The throne room erupted into action. Advisors and soldiers rushed to carry out the orders, leaving Captain Sylas standing alone before the king, shifting uneasily from foot to foot. His face was pale, eyes still haunted by the storm they had narrowly survived.

“Your Highness,” Sylas began, voice low and strained, “something strange happened after the young sorcerer jumped into the water. About ten minutes later, the storm just... vanished. It was as if it had never been there at all. We searched the area, but there was no sign of them—no wreckage, no bodies. The sorcerers aboard couldn’t detect any magic. It was as though they disappeared into thin air.”

King Caelus's face remained unreadable. He listened in silence, his piercing gaze fixed on the captain. When Sylas finished, the king gave a slow nod. “Thank you for your account, Captain. Assist the royal navy in locating the precise area where the prince went missing. Dismissed.”

Without another word, the king turned and left the room, leaving Sylas to his grim thoughts.

Nix’s head throbbed, his vision blurry as he blinked his eyes open. The bright sun beat down on him, and he groaned, rubbing his temples. Sand stuck to his skin, and the sound of crashing waves filled his ears. Slowly, he sat up, taking in his surroundings.

A white, sandy beach stretched out around him, bordered by lush green vegetation. The ocean glittered in the distance, its waters deceptively calm after the storm that had nearly killed him. An island? How did I get here?

Panic shot through him as the memories rushed back—Ambrose, the dwarf, the storm, the sea monster. His pulse quickened, and he scrambled to his feet, eyes frantically scanning the shore. Did they survive? Where are they?

A few meters away, he spotted a body slumped over a log. Heart in his throat, Nix rushed over. It was Hamford, the dwarf. He was alive but unconscious, his breathing shallow.

Nix knelt beside him, trying to pull him off the log, but Hamford was heavier than he looked. With great effort, Nix managed to lay him down in the sand. The dwarf’s beard was still adorned with the orange starfish from before, but now Nix noticed deep gashes across his chest and arms, likely from the creature’s tentacles.

Taking a deep breath, Nix steadied his shaking hands. He knew healing magic, thanks to his family. He wasn’t an expert, but he could at least keep the wounds from getting infected. Hovering his hands over Hamford’s injuries, he began chanting an incantation his mother had taught him. A soft glow emanated from his palms, and slowly, the wounds began to close, leaving behind jagged scars.

Hamford stirred, coughing and spitting up seawater. Nix helped him sit up, patting his back until the dwarf caught his breath.

“Ah, it’s you—” Hamford rasped, his gruff voice returning. “The little witch from the ship. What happened? How did we end up here? And where’s that daft soldier?”

“I’m not a witch, I’m a boy,” Nix muttered, flustered. “And I don’t know. I found you here first. I haven’t seen Ambrose yet.”

Hamford rubbed his head, still disoriented. “Aye, boy, that’s what I said. Now, where’s that fool of a soldier? No one told him to play hero.” Despite his gruff tone, there was concern in his voice. He stood up, squinting out at the sea.

Nix followed his gaze, scanning the horizon. The sun was shining brightly, a stark contrast to the storm they had just endured. It felt almost surreal—like the chaos of the storm had been nothing more than a bad dream.

Suddenly, something caught his eye—a glint of sunlight reflecting off metal further down the shore. “There! Something shiny in the water!” Nix pointed and took off running toward it.

“What is it?” Hamford called after him, hobbling along behind.

“I think it might be his sword!” Nix shouted over his shoulder. As he reached the object, he bent down and pulled it from the water. It was heavy, and as he examined it, he noticed the royal insignia etched into the hilt.

Hamford caught up, slightly out of breath. “Well? Is that the lad’s sword?”

Nix nodded, his brow furrowed in confusion. “It has the royal insignia on it, but that would make him more than just a soldier. He’d be a royal guard—or something higher. Why was he on a regular ship?”

Hamford stroked his beard thoughtfully. “Aye, that explains a lot. No average soldier could’ve stuck that sea beast with such precision. Only trained fighters could’ve managed that.”

Nix’s eyes darted toward the nearby treeline, and his heart skipped a beat. “Look, Hamford—footprints!” he pointed. “They lead into the forest. Maybe Ambrose woke up and headed inland.”

“Could be,” Hamford agreed, though he sounded skeptical. “Here, give me that sword before ya trip and skewer yourself.”

Nix handed over the sword, and they set off, following the trail of footprints into the dense forest, the weight of unanswered questions pressing down on them. Nix’s mind raced—Who exactly was Ambrose? And what had really happened during the storm?