CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN: THE WEIGHT OF STILLNESS

"The strongest people are not those who show strength in front of us but those who win battles we know nothing about." — Jonathan Harnisch

~~~~~~~

Gravill's footsteps echoed through the corridor, the stone cold and damp beneath his bare feet. His body ached — muscles bruised, skin scraped, and every breath felt like dragging a rusted anchor through his chest. But he kept moving, one step at a time, fingers brushing against the walls to steady himself.

The salt still clung to his skin, and though he was no longer underwater, he swore he could feel the ocean pulsing through him. Quiet. Waiting.

The corridor stretched endlessly, flickering torches casting fractured shadows on the walls. Gravill pressed forward, exhaustion tugging at him like invisible chains, but then —

A figure appeared at the end of the hallway.

Leaning casually against the stone archway, arms crossed, was Ares.

Gravill blinked, unsure if he was hallucinating, but Ares tilted his head, eyes gleaming with that familiar sharpness.

"You're finally out," Ares said, pushing off the wall. "Took you long enough."

Gravill stared, chest still heaving. "You... you haven't left?"

Ares snorted, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "I don't like you, but Nicholas asked me to escort you. And besides, if I had left..." He flicked a strand of hair out of his face, smirking. "...who would show you your room?"

Gravill wiped his face with his sleeve, letting out a tired chuckle. "I thought you'd jump at the chance to get away from me."

"Trust me," Ares muttered, already turning down another corridor. "I thought about it."

They walked in silence for a while, the quiet broken only by the distant sound of waves crashing against unseen cliffs. The air smelled of salt and old magic, the entire place humming with an ancient energy Gravill couldn't place.

Eventually, they reached a smaller chamber, dimly lit and lined with shelves stacked with neatly folded uniforms, leather-bound books, and polished weapons.

A girl stood behind a wooden counter, her hair cascading in golden waves down her back. She was stunning — her skin like polished marble, eyes like liquid gold. There was a glow to her, subtle but undeniable, like her entire being radiated beauty itself.

But Gravill didn't feel anything when he looked at her. Not like he did with Elsa.

Ares, however, stepped forward with a crooked grin. "You must be new," he purred, leaning against the counter. "Do they make all the attendants this pretty, or are you a special case?"

The girl barely glanced up as she handed Gravill a neatly folded uniform and a small satchel. "Lineage of Aphrodite," she said, voice melodic but devoid of interest. "And you're not my type."

Gravill bit down a laugh as Ares stiffened, feigning nonchalance as he scratched the back of his neck. "Tch. Your loss," he muttered, turning on his heel.

Gravill rolled his eyes and adjusted the satchel on his shoulder. "Let's just go."

Ares led him through the labyrinthine hallways, the space slowly widening until they stepped into a massive courtyard. Statues of sea creatures and warriors lined the perimeter, their stone faces solemn as if they, too, were watching Gravill's arrival.

In the distance, a towering building loomed — the dormitory.

Ares stopped at the base of the steps, hands back in his pockets. "This is as far as I go," he said, nodding toward the door. "Poseidon's heirs stay together. You'll start at the lowest grade. Standard rule."

Gravill adjusted his grip on the bag, swallowing down the lingering weight of fatigue. "So... that's it?"

"That's it," Ares echoed, eyes briefly flickering with something almost like concern before he masked it with a shrug. "Try not to die in there. I don't feel like dragging your corpse back out."

Gravill let out a breath and climbed the stairs.

He pushed open the heavy doors, stepping into a dimly lit hall lined with rows of beds. The air smelled of salt and aged wood, the distant murmur of waves ever-present.

He chose a bed near the corner, sinking onto the mattress with a shuddering exhale. The uniform lay beside him, the fabric crisp and untouched, while the room itself pulsed with the quiet hum of a thousand forgotten stories.

Gravill pressed his hand against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. It no longer felt foreign. No longer felt like something out of his control.

It felt like his.

He closed his eyes, letting the exhaustion finally take over, and for the first time in what felt like forever... he slept.