Chương 44: CHAPTER 43 – The Vessel

The golden reflection of the winter sun mingled with the black hull of the vessel, casting a dancing shadow across the restless surface of the water. The wind moved freely between the dark flags fixed to the top of the slender violet antenna at the tip of the command cabin. On the horizon, the storm clouds grew steadily more unsettling and threatening, shaking the sea.

"I am tired…" The boy murmured, chest pressed against the silver railing. His face was spotted with small foamy flecks from the ocean. His gaze rested on the chaotic motion of the water.

"We have been sailing for a few hours now, and yet this anxiety will not stop…" He drew a deep breath, letting his tongue click for a moment against his teeth. Another wave exploded against the hull, soaking his trousers. He turned toward the waves, darkening.

"What can I do to stop him? I agreed to be the vanguard, but I have no idea…" He gripped the wet iron hard, rotating his hands outward.

"My head hurts, I am frightened, I am exhausted... I would give anything just to close my eyes!" He exclaimed, striking the railing with force. Everything vibrated with an irritating resonance, lost in the sound of the sea. He shook his head, bending along the bar.

"I have to help them. If I can do it, I will… I will think of myself afterward." He took several slow breaths, gradually releasing his grip on the railing. He sat on one of the benches arranged along the iron deck, marked by countless scars of bolts and welds.

"But… What if I were to fail?" Those words left him suddenly, after a moment of silence. Lance swallowed painfully, trying to distract himself from the thought. Everything seemed darker, even his own skin and the water of the sea, yet the sunset was still at the apex of its splendour.

"Can I truly help Dirac? Maliard would want to, but I am not like him. Could I really bring myself to kill him?" For the first time, a doubt was born in Lance's mind.

"Malcolm and the rest of Changeant are all hateful and wicked people, but from Grayson, I do not feel the same malice. He is not the same as those others. I am certain of it!" He pressed the fabric against his knees, forcing his legs to stop trembling.

"But if the opportunity did not present itself and I proved incapable of killing him, how many would lose their lives? Would I lose my life?" He closed his eyes for an instant, only to find his vision suddenly flooded with bloodied scenes. The iron of the deck was stained by a river of bloody foam. He turned and noticed how even the sea had become a mixture of bodies and blood. From the dense mix of bubbles and red on the deck, something emerged. Lance recognised the greenish fabric through the charred edges.

Then the bones of a wrist began to show, and the horrible melted iron fused to it. A white sphere grazed his foot. He noticed the bluish iris still moving. Lance covered his throat uselessly. He turned sharply, surrendering to retching and spasms. The scene had vanished, leaving only the horrible taste in his mouth. He began to gasp, coughing the few drops of vomit from his lips.

"I do not want them to die… I cannot bear to see blood and destruction everywhere I go!" He pressed his eyes shut, glistening and exhausted. His brown pupils had grown much darker and flatter.

"I cannot… I do not want to run away. How would I live, knowing I had abandoned them?" At that question, he stopped, losing all the strength remaining in his neck to hold his head upright.

"Jude…" He murmured in a thread of voice, covering his face immediately and sobbing in silence. Footsteps echoed in the hold below, rising quickly up the stairs. Lance raised his head, fixing his gaze on the figure holding two dark metallic cups. His black hair was made wet by the sea breeze, and he was dressed in a simple seaweed-green jumper and a black cloak.

"Here. This is for you." He said gently, placing a cup of yellowish liquid between Lance's hands, its calm, delicate aroma. He sat down beside him, taking a sip.

"It is a sedative. It will make you feel better, you will see." He gave a nod, encouraging the boy to drink some. Lance fixed his reflection in the golden liquid, drinking slowly. The horrible taste was washed from his palate and replaced by a warm, citrusy aroma.

"Did I wake you by chance?" He asked, looking down. Without realising it, he had already emptied the cup Maliard had given him.

"I do not sleep much either. I saw you pale and troubled, so I came down to prepare you the medicine." He offered him his own cup as well, only half empty. Lance swallowed the liquid immediately, feeling his muscles relax.

"The others?" He asked, resting his back against the iron bars. Maliard drew a breath and imitated his companion's gesture.

"They are sleeping soundly below. Monica slipped out of bed and is sleeping with Goghette. You should see how they are curled up together." An unusual smile appeared on Maliard's face, way more tender than his usual expression.

"I would not have thought you the type for certain things…" Lance smiled, setting both cups between his legs. Maliard sighed, without breaking his smile.

"As if I had any interest in watching a shy girl and my adopted sister sleep together. I have too many concerns to dedicate myself to women." Lance was quite surprised that the perpetually dark and serious Maliard had just made a joke. Maliard noticed his confused look and furrowed his brows.

"What is it? Do you mind if I joke a little?" He gave him a light pat on the shoulder. Lance remained quiet, smiling faintly. Maliard changed expression, returning to seriousness.

"Perhaps Lautre would be better suited than I am to lift your spirits, but believe me, I have been through this too, Lance." Maliard called him by name, drawing the boy's full attention toward his interlocutor.

"This is not the first conversation of this kind I have received, nor the first I have given, so I can assure you I have been through it myself." He tightened his grip on his shoulder without pressing.

"I have watched you… I am sorry for what you had to endure. You are young, and everything that has happened has shaken you. Monica saved you, but do not feel indebted to us, because you owe us nothing." He began, trying to look at him, but Lance kept his gaze fixed on the iron deck.

"You feel unwell because you are frightened? You do not want to fail? That is right, no one can be exempt from that pain…" Maliard tried to finish speaking, but Lance's words shook him for a moment. His face was pale and tired, almost hollowed.

"How do you send it away?" He murmured weakly. His brown eyes crossed the greenish glimmer of Maliard's.

"You do not. Simple as that. No one can escape the terror of our work. I simply think about the fact that it is there, and knowing that, I also know that it is something I can fight." These words shook the boy, who stopped and stared at Maliard for a moment.

"I am just like you, you know? I am afraid, I despair, I stress every night. That's because I am afraid of dying, but worse still… I am afraid of watching the people I love die." Maliard raised his gaze to the sky, slowly breathing in the sea breeze.

"It happened before, and I will not let it happen again..."

"Being serious and authoritative is my way of protecting myself from that pain. You simply need to find your own." He smiled at him again, striking him gently on the back.

"So forgive me, Jude, for making you wait… But your big brother will make up for the delay." The memory of those words flowed through his mind, followed by a sense of guilt.

"You are right, Maliard…" He answered, lifting his head this time with more vigour.

"Would you mind if we talked for a while?" Maliard asked, taking his hand from his shoulder and rising to fix his gaze on the waves at sea. Lance nodded slowly, smiling.

"You thought I hated you, didn't you?" He asked, prompting in the poor boy a reaction of embarrassment so evident it was almost an answer in itself.

"I imagined as much… Perhaps I really should change my ways after a century." He lamented, staring out at the churning, foamy sea. Lance rose, trying to apologise, but Maliard interrupted him.

"I do not hate you, Lance. But I am afraid for you. You have endured too much as a recruit in the span of a few months, and then you get back up saying everything is fine." He turned toward him, staring into his eyes again. The sound of the sea began to quiet in that moment.

"Is everything truly fine?" A wave struck the hull, drenching them both with salt water"If this mission is to succeed, then we…" Maliard seized him by the collar, pulling him close. Lance swallowed, this time with something like fear.

"I am not asking for a report. I am asking you as a person. Lance, is everything fine?" He went silent as Maliard slowly released his grip.

"Maliard, I…" He tried to speak, drawing a heavy breath with each attempt. Maliard fixed him, crossing his arms on the iron bar.

"No… Everything is not fine!" He exclaimed, striking the railing with both fists. The entire section shuddered terribly, but Maliard seemed entirely unmoved.

"I am exhausted, I feel useless, the only thing I do is make everyone worry and cause damage, you all treat me well as though I were worth something, but in reality, I am pathetic beyond measure. I would like to understand what is going on in your heads, thinking that I am someone worth worrying about, not to mention…" He interrupted the sudden torrent of self-reproach abruptly, staring at Maliard, who was smiling.

"Do you feel better?" He asked, leaning against his shoulder with a calm, relaxed expression. Lance nodded, sitting back down on the bench.

"What you said is not entirely true, however. No matter how useless you may feel, no one at NOIR thinks anything of the sort. Many of them, in truth, are afraid for you." Lance stared at him, dazed, as though the news had jolted some hidden nerve in his mind.

"You are a hard worker, and above all, you are kind. Many members of the agency love being around you." He sat beside him, continuing to speak well of him.

"The problem, however… Is that you are exactly like him." Maliard answered in a much more troubled tone. Lance kept staring at him in silence, paying no attention to the thundering sound of the sea, now dark and deep.

"You are exactly like August Noir… And that makes me both angry and sad." He explained, lowering his head slowly. This time it was Lance who helped him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"He and I would be similar? Isn't he just a traitor?" Lance asked, confused. Maliard nodded.

"I have told you once already… Your words, your manner, your anxieties, the way you behave. They are identical. August was gentle and delicate, insecure and shy, but tremendously talented, just like you. The only difference between the two of you is the aura you give off. Yours is much warmer." He smiled, squeezing the boy's hand on his shoulder. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

"I know I told you I did not appreciate you, but that was because I could not accept what happened with him." He began to apologise in a very quiet tone. His cloak was moved by the sea breeze, closing around his sides like a pair of arms.

"I always chased August's ideal of a man, to the point of imitating him, but it was not right for me…" A different expression populated his face: a dark smile with his eyes cast down.

"I hate August... But I cannot hate August Noir. He was like a brother to me, and no one at NOIR could ever have forgotten him." He struck his fist against his own leg, sending drops scattering along the bench.

"August betrayed the agency, losing his mind and attempting to kill Bluette. It was Lucas who stopped him in a confrontation off the coast…" He recovered his strength, pulling the truth out from inside his chest.

"Everyone knows why Dielmon is invisible, but have you ever wondered how we manage to reach it?" Maliard asked, fixing Lance. The boy shook his head a couple of times, stirring his damp hair.

"The barrier resonates at a particular Frequency, known only to members of the agency. It is not indestructible, but damaging it requires time." A question surfaced in Lance's mind, and Maliard nodded as though he had heard it.

"The Unnamed did not break the barrier. He passed through it. I always wondered why or how, but in the end, the only idea I could produce was that August had allied himself with him or her. No one knows what lies beneath the fog and the mire. The only one who knows the truth is Lucas. Monica has forgotten everything, and I was brutally wounded in that battle." Lance went pale, pulling back slightly. Maliard had lifted his jumper, exposing an enormous dark, nearly black cicatrice.

"Lucas reconstructed my tissues and organs, and Farbern did the rest, but this left me unstable and dangerous. The reason is that the blood of that creature caused my body to produce Frequency autonomously. That is why I use Compulsion to limit myself." Maliard drew a deep breath, looking at Lance.

"No one here hates you. We are simply too weak to drive away that tragedy." He smiled. a gesture entirely at odds with the figure Lance had constructed of him.

"I remember nothing of what I went through as a child. I simply chased the shadow of my sister for nine damned years, with nothing in return, and yet I did it. The thought of seeing her again had become my reason for living, even when I realised the only thing I knew about her was her name, I kept going. Am I not pathetic for having lived that way, without dedicating a single moment to myself?" He asked, clasping his hands.

"No. That is not pathetic, it does you honour. To live for someone you love, to sacrifice yourself to fulfil the wish of the person you care for, to rejoice in the successes of those close to you, that is not pathetic. That feeling of self-abnegation is love. It is love that your sister knows you carry." Lance released his grip, trembling.

"You are indeed an idiot who prefers martyrdom for others, but you are not a bad person." Maliard smiled, unaware of the boy's tears.

"In the course of my life, I have had three sisters: Monica, Bluette, and my sister by blood, Vim." He began to tell his story, pulling Lance close, the boy's eyes glistening.

"Bluette was more like a mother, or at least she behaved like one. Vim, on the other hand, stayed with me until the very end…" He smiled, though Lance noticed a faint tremor in his lip.

"What happened to her?" Lance asked, wiping the tears from his eyes. Maliard sighed, biting his lip.

"We fled a battalion, and both of us fell victim to an infection. We thought of splitting the medicine between us, but during the night she decided to give it all to me, praying that at least I could survive. That was the first night she asked to sleep beside me. The following morning, I found her laid out on the bed, cold, with her arms stretched across my body." A thread of tears slid along his cheek.

"I love you, Maliard… I am certain you will build a better world, because you are my brother." Those were his sister's last words, repeating in his mind in perpetual return, but Maliard never found the courage to speak them aloud.

"We all have something to tell, and something that hurts us every day." Yet again, the same vibrant smile formed on his face.

"I, too, like you, was the subject of a conversation like this one. The first days at NOIR were terrible, and I was too weak to understand what was happening to me." He released his grip, adjusting his jumper across his shoulders.

"I was still in shock. I felt alone and useless until Bluette took my hand and explained to me everything I could do and everything I ought to do. That cemented who I'm today…" The perpetually grim and severe Maliard Turner exuded something almost melancholy as he spoke, seasoned with a sweet nostalgia.

"Maliard, may I ask you something?" Lance asked, drawing back slightly without breaking his gaze. Maliard nodded quickly, wiping away his tears.

"I remember nothing of my childhood. Only my two sisters. I had no friends, and I never had the experiences a boy or a man should have. I do not even know what I wanted to be when I was small." He spoke quietly, looking down.

"I never experienced the affection of a mother or a father. I can barely remember the last time the memory of a family appeared in my mind…" He raised his voice along with his head, forcing himself to keep it steady.

"If you do not mind…May I consider NOIR my family for a while?" He asked, losing all the maturity he had shown throughout his career as an agent. Lance finally showed himself to be the boy he was. Maliard looked at him, confused, before breaking into laughter.

"I said something stupid again…" Lance thought, growing embarrassed and losing his posture entirely. Maliard smiled, poking him in the side with one finger.

"You do not need to ask permission. All of NOIR considers you and Jeanne as members. If you want something more official, however, yes, you are a member of the entire NOIR family." Lance raised his eyes, smiling distractedly.

"Everyone in the agency has that desire to belong to a group. It helps to feel protected and loved. Lautre and Edvard have lost much. Monica and Arte as well. Young Hoku travelled from the Archipelago of the Sun for his father…" He listed them one by one, giving every member of NOIR's hardships their due weight.

"Lucas… Lost everything during the war. He became a Meta, he lost Bluette, his family died without knowing what had become of their son, the Institute declared him dead, and his Awakening made him known as the Destroyer." He explained, smiling in his direction.

"Why are you telling me all this?" Lance asked while his gaze drifted toward the island in the distance, growing more defined on the horizon with every hour.

"Simple, because Lucas is strong, despite carrying all this suffering. He hides from the others, but in reality, he only wants to make the people who deserve it happy, almost as though he were their father." Maliard laughed to himself, thinking of that unsettling scientist perpetually masked.

"Lucas Hoppenheimer… Is a good person. I am certain of it." Lance repeated the thought, smiling in silence toward the orange sun.

"The lake of torment in Sector II… Lucas's Awakening created it. Not a Termìe bomb." He announced without preamble, stunning Lance.

"Really?" Maliard nodded, picturing the enormous water-filled crater and all the clearing around it. Lance had visited that place once, left thoroughly unsettled by what the war had left behind.

"That is why I feared Dirac. Lucas's calculations show that he carries the same potential." Maliard rose to his feet again, pulling off his soaked cloak and wringing it out.

"You had said that an Awakening of that kind had led to a member of the council being born! So Lucas is…" A wave struck the hull, drenching them both yet again, but this time Maliard did not change his posture in the slightest.

"Yes. Lucas Hoppenheimer is one of the founding members of the council, alongside Bluette Oudin. The Destroyer is simply a very limited codename for his capabilities. Compared to the Third Commander… Lucas could destroy Bayork on his own if he chose to. The only one who would have any hope against him is the man you call Malcolm." The atmosphere grew colder, but Lance felt neither fear nor resentment toward that man.

"I imagine that only demonstrates what a good person he is…" Lance smiled, mirroring his companion's expression.

"I was certain you would say that, Lance." He answered, letting a sigh go.

"And yet I do not understand… Why break character for me?" He asked, turning toward the island in the distance.

"Because Bluette did the same for me. I only wanted to show her that the little brother she raised was not a wretch. Perhaps I did it more out of duty than spontaneity, but everything I said, I said with my whole soul." He answered, rubbing his arms. The cicatrices beneath his abdomen appeared again.

"I have thought about the request of that night. Perhaps I do need some friends." He joked, extending his hand toward Lance. The boy laughed, seizing it firmly.

"It took you a while to figure that out." Lance joked, rising alongside him. The rays of the sun vanished behind the clouds, leaving them in the cold and complete dampness.

"In any case, you ought to socialise a little more with your partner… You would not believe how much she defends you." He stared at Maliard, surprised, with a barely formed smile.

"What do you mean by that?" He asked, releasing Maliard's hand.

"I am simply saying that she cares about you a great deal, and sometimes she is sad when you do not speak to her. She is more talented than I was at her age. So treat her well, she deserves it." He answered, yawning.

"When you were in a coma, she followed Lucas everywhere, trying to understand how to help you, and made him laugh more than once. The reason no one touched your machines was because of her… No one would have accepted watching her cry, not even me." He spoke without looking at him, shaking the drops of water from himself.

"Strange, given that you had said it was nearly impossible for me to wake up." Lance murmured, with every intention of being heard. Maliard nodded, sighing.

"Because it was true. I was so sorry to lose someone like you, but not even a miracle would have saved you after that overload. I only wanted to make Monica more realistic."

"I cannot say I have very clear preferences when it comes to women, but perhaps the two of you would truly be well together." He joked, turning his back. Lance flushed faintly.

"Friends, yes... But that remains a joke of very poor taste!" He growled, protesting under Maliard's laughter. He sat down, annoyed, quickly losing contact with reality.

"If you like, I can ask Lautre to…" He turned, noticing that the boy had finally fallen asleep. He observed his athletic frame slide along the iron bench, with a smile mixed with a drowsy grimace. Maliard sighed, taking him in his arms and carrying him down the stairs.

"A few hours until we arrive…" He thought, laying Lance on one of the bunks. The boy shifted for a moment before settling on his side.

"I will cover you when we arrive, so make sure you do a good job, Lance Klint." He slipped from the room, moving slowly through the belly of the ship toward the second cabin. Just before opening the door, however, he glanced to his right. In the room beside his own, Jeanne and Monica were sleeping curled together, almost completely wrapped in a thick blue flannel blanket. Despite the height difference, Jeanne's head rested against Monica's chest, their hair mingling between them."

Bluette used to do the same with the two of us, didn't she, Monica?" He whispered, closing the door to keep out the cold. He threw himself into his room, hanging the cloak on the porthole stand and sitting on his bed.

"Monica… it has been a long time since I last saw you happy." He lay down, closing his eyes. Every instant of that darkness was lit by his adopted sister's laugh and smile.

"Thank you, Jeanne and Lance. Thank you from the heart." He smiled, surrendering himself too to rest in the middle of the ocean.