The ship, bless its creaking little heart, was not much to look at. It was small — not the kind of small that felt cozy, but the kind that made one question whether dignity was truly necessary for survival.
It had three bedrooms, each grudgingly attached to servant quarters as if the ship were embarrassed to admit it had space for more than just its masters.
These so-called "master rooms" were laughably modest — so much so that Judge was convinced the palace maids back home lived in greater luxury. But alas, mobility demanded some sacrifices. Like comfort. And space. And, apparently, the right to complain.
Judge entered the room designated for him, stepping over the invisible boundary that separated "mildly tolerable" from "a very expensive wooden box."
His guards, who had the thrilling privilege of not needing much sleep, shuffled into the adjacent quarters, ready to stand vigil. Well, most of them, anyway — one poor soul had drawn the short straw and the other one was scheduled to sleep today. A rare luxury, indeed.
Judge barely had the chance to sigh before a voice, smooth as silk but laced with something far sharper, reached his ears.
"Welcome, young master," came the expected and yet thoroughly unwelcome greeting.
Judge didn't even flinch. He had long since lost the ability to be surprised by the omnipresence of one particular entity in his life.
"Why are you here?" he asked dryly, peeling off his gloves like a man who had given up on the concept of personal space. "Who told you we would be going out?"
"It is my duty to serve the young master," Lediya answered with a slight bow, her tone so polite it bordered on mockery. "Patriarch made sure I knew."
Judge groaned like a man who had just been handed a lifetime prison sentence. He dramatically collapsed into the nearest chair, throwing his head back as if he were some tragic noble suffering in exile.
"Aah, I hate this already," he muttered to the ceiling. "Should've stayed home as Mother said."
Lediya, the portrait of obedient indifference, stood by in absolute silence. It was the kind of silence that was somehow louder than an insult. Then, as if making a conscious effort not to acknowledge his theatrics, she bowed once more and took her leave.
Judge, meanwhile, continued to sink into his seat, reclining so far back that the chair itself let out a groan of protest. If furniture could weep, this chair would be sobbing into its upholstery.
He mulled over the day's absurdities, his thoughts shifting like a play written by a particularly unhinged playwright. His brother had secured a Cloudweaver, a feat that should've been impossible, and yet here they were, existing in a reality where the word "impossible" had clearly taken a long vacation. The worst part? He wasn't even supposed to be here.
Fate, however, had other plans.
And Fate, as it turned out, had a particularly nasty sense of humor.
A few hours after their departure, the ship lurched violently, nearly throwing him out of his chair. A deafening screech split the air, followed by the unsettling groan of wood bending under pressure.
Judge bolted upright, his frustration reaching dangerous levels.
"Seriously?!" He stormed out of his room, his boots hitting the floor with enough force to make the ship reconsider its life choices. "Can't the main character get a single break?"
Outside, a massive, winged nightmare loomed in the sky. A Sky Talon — one of those creatures that looked like a bird had eaten another bird and then decided to hit the gym. Its wings sent powerful gusts slamming into the ship, steering it dangerously off course.
Judge narrowed his eyes.
He had fought one of these before.
A small, annoying thought wormed its way into his brain: What if this is the same one?
Wouldn't that just be delightful? Nothing like a nostalgic reunion with an old enemy to make one question their life choices.
But before he could step onto the deck, Lediya materialized in the hallway like a ghost with an impeccable sense of timing.
"Pay it no heed, young master," she said, voice calm — too calm. "The Sky Talon is only protecting its children. If its nest were farther away, we could have simply given it a scratch, and it would've flown off."
Judge squinted at her. "...And if the nest is not far away?"
Lediya's face was still indifferent, but he could hear her sigh mentally.
"Well," she said flatly, "in that case, the bird will show you why it is classified as a catastrophe-class monster."
Judge hummed, clearly ignoring all common sense as he stepped onto the deck, a small enclosed space with glass shielding the inside. The ship trembled again, veering further off course.
The longer this dragged on, the more annoyed he became.
He had the best solution, of course. A foolproof solution.
A dragon's will had always gotten him what he wanted. If he could stare down nobles, criminals, and self-proclaimed geniuses, then surely a bird would get the message.
He focused, staring down the beast with every ounce of authority his soul could muster. His presence stretched forth, his will pressing down like an invisible hand.
And for a moment, everything was still.
Lediya barreled into the room.
"Young master, I told you not to provoke it!" she shouted, her patience finally snapping.
"When did you say that?" Judge countered, aghast at the very suggestion.
"Didn't I just say we don't have the time nor the need to fight it?" Her exasperation could have shattered glass.
"Well, I — I didn't mean to — "
A thunderous, soul-rattling roar exploded across the sky.
He slowly turned his gaze back to the Sky Talon, which now looked much angrier than before.
He glanced back at Lediya, who stared at him with the exhausted look of a woman reconsidering all of her life choices.
"...Is that a bird or a damn lion?" Judge asked, voice barely above a whisper.
"It is a monster," she deadpanned. "And monsters roar when aggravated or threatened." She then took another long, suffering pause before adding, "That was an impressive will, young master."
The Sky Talon flapped its wings, and the ship groaned in response.
"...So, uh, what now?"
Lediya did not answer.
Instead, she sighed again.
It was the kind of sigh that could end wars.
Judge saw two gleaming blades materializing from thin air and into Lediya's hand. "We will be having sky talon soup tomorrow."