Chapter 78
On the fourth day after the passenger ship left, a Colombian medium-sized vessel sailed across the tranquil sea. With nothing but the sun overhead and endless waves stretching to the horizon, the scene was pure and boundless.
Blue—flawless, transparent, quiet. The only color the sea allows itself, as if nature had ordained it so in the first place.
Standing on the deck, Yoren took a sip from a bottle of mineral water, letting the sea breeze wash over him. He looked relaxed, but these past four days had been anything but easy. Seasickness had hit him hard.
At first, when he boarded the ship, he felt fine. But by late night, nausea overwhelmed him, and he rushed from his bunk to the toilet. For two days straight, Yoren lay in his cabin like a discarded husk, the world tilting endlessly around him. He couldn't keep anything down, vomiting again and again until there was nothing left.
At first, Snowsant stayed by his side, worried. But after a while, unable to bear the constant retching sounds, she quietly slipped away, taking Ifrit with her to explore the deck all around.
ACE, ever dependable, checked in on him. A brief examination later, he reassured Yoren that it wasn't food poisoning or an illness—just ordinary seasickness. "You'll get used to it in a couple of days," he said before heading to the deck to join Snowsant and the others.
Aside from sleeping, Yoren barely saw them. He lay there, feeling like a sick and lonely old man, groaning to himself in misery. The only ones who kept him company were the Pu brothers from the next cabin. Loyal to a fault, Prue often dropped by to chat, while his younger brother, Puda, brought him fresh fruit from the ship's restaurant.
By the third day, fortune finally favored him. He woke up to find the nausea gone. His body had adapted. The rocking of the ship no longer tormented him; instead, it felt like the slow rhythm of a dance floor. He had survived.
Now, on the fourth day, Yoren had changed into a floral shirt, wearing the bracelet Hemer had given him on his left wrist and the Originium bracelet from her on his right. Standing by the railing, he looked the part of a man enjoying a luxurious cruise—though it would've been more convincing if the mineral water in his hand were a glass of wine.
After four days at sea, he had no idea where they were. The crew no longer restricted the passengers' movements. Most of these so-called stowaways were people of means, some even influential figures. In Colombia, even criminals were treated with a certain level of dignity—unless they had committed something truly heinous, why would they resort to illegal border crossings?
The sea stretched endlessly, the salty breeze filling his lungs. For the first time in a while, Yoren let himself relax, feeling as if he were on vacation.