Hamford had been busy. By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, he’d built a fire, caught two large fish, and even constructed a small makeshift cabin from the fallen branches and leaves they’d found scattered around the island. Now, they sat around the crackling fire, the smell of roasting fish filling the air. Ambrose had managed to find his pants, but that was all. Nix sat with his knees pulled to his chest, his eyes fixed on the flames.

“Hey, Nix,” Ambrose began, breaking the silence. “How did you end up overboard? I told you to stay below deck with the others.”

Nix hesitated, picking at the sand near his feet. “I jumped in after you,” he said quietly, still refusing to look up. “I saw you both fall into the water. You were sinking fast, so I swam down and pulled you up. I’m not sure how we ended up here. I blacked out as soon as we hit the surface.”

Ambrose frowned. The avoidance in Nix’s voice and posture gnawed at him. Why won’t he look at me? His irritation bubbled beneath the surface.

“You’re braver than I thought, Little Witch,” Hamford interjected with a chuckle, breaking the tension. “But that was dangerous, jumping in like that. Lucky we ended up here, even if Prince Boy got dragged off by some mermaids.” He laughed heartily, but Ambrose shuddered at the thought.

“I don’t even remember that happening,” Ambrose muttered, glancing at the lake uneasily. He then turned his gaze toward Hamford and narrowed his eyes. “You’re healing fast for an old man. All those gashes—how are they already scars?”

Hamford blinked and looked down at his arms, noticing for the first time that the deep wounds had closed completely, leaving only faint scars behind. “Well, I’ll be…” he muttered, running a hand over his forearm. “Did you do this, Little Witch?” he asked, turning toward Nix.

“Um… yeah,” Nix admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry. It’s not that good. Healing isn’t my specialty. My sisters are better at it—they’d leave no scars.”

Hamford let out a loud, approving grunt. “Little Witch, I told ya not to mutter. You did a fine job! A man wears his scars with pride. I appreciate the work, lad.” He handed Nix a large leaf with a steaming piece of roasted fish on it. “Here, you get the first piece.”

Nix’s eyes lit up, realizing how hungry he was as the smell of freshly cooked fish wafted through the air. “Thank you, Hamford,” he said, offering a shy smile before taking a bite. The fish was tender, smoky, and delicious—though Nix couldn’t help but long for a side of fresh strawberries to go with it.

Ambrose watched the exchange, his brows furrowing. There was something about the way Nix avoided him that gnawed at him. “Dwarf, let me borrow your knife,” he said, standing abruptly.

Hamford raised an eyebrow, twirling the short blade between his thick fingers. “What for, Prince Boy?”

Ambrose crossed his arms. “I’ll show you. You can watch me from here if you like.”

“Show me, huh?” Hamford smirked. “If you can take it from me—”

Ambrose moved swiftly, snatching the knife from Hamford’s hand before the dwarf could finish his sentence. He strode off toward the trees, leaving Hamford spluttering. Nix stifled a quiet giggle.

Ambrose returned moments later, holding a small, golden fruit in his hand. He walked over to Nix, who was still sitting cross-legged by the fire, and held it out to him. “A token to say thank you. For saving my life.”

Nix hesitated before taking the fruit, his eyes pointedly avoiding Ambrose’s bare chest. “It’s… a mango,” Ambrose explained, watching for any reaction. “Looks like we’re in the Southern Isles.”

Nix’s face softened, and his voice was barely a whisper as he replied, “I love mangoes. My grandparents live in the Southern Kingdom.”

Ambrose tilted his head, trying to catch Nix’s gaze. “Really? That makes sense,” he murmured, studying the boy’s sun-kissed skin and dark hair. “My knife, Prince Boy?” Hamford’s gruff voice interrupted from behind.

Ambrose sighed and handed the knife back to Hamford, who grumbled but took it with a smirk.

Ambrose returned to his place by the fire, sitting with his back to the others. “Whatever,” he muttered under his breath. “I don’t care about some little sorcerer who can’t even look at me properly.” He wasn’t sure why it bothered him so much—he had just met Nix, after all—but something about the boy’s shy demeanor, his quiet voice, and the way he constantly avoided eye contact stirred an odd frustration within him.

He thought back to when they’d first met on the ship. Nix had practically run into his arms, flustered and wide-eyed, so different from the confident people Ambrose usually dealt with. His family had clung to him at the dock, hugging him as though they’d never let him go, and Nix had been so utterly clueless about the world beyond his sheltered life. Yet there was something about him, something in those deep, ruby-red eyes that intrigued Ambrose, even if it annoyed him at the same time.

Across the fire, Nix nibbled at the mango Ambrose had given him. The sweet juice dribbled down his chin, and for a moment, his tension seemed to melt away. The fruit was sweeter than any he had ever tasted—better than the ones his grandparents grew, even. He let out a small sigh of contentment, savoring the flavor.

Ambrose, still brooding by the fire, cast a glance over his shoulder. He couldn’t understand why Nix’s quiet presence was bothering him so much. It was as if there was something unresolved between them, though they had barely spoken.

As the fire crackled and the stars began to appear overhead, the island fell into a deep, peaceful quiet. But even in the stillness, something hung in the air between them—an unspoken tension that neither Ambrose nor Nix could name yet.