Chapter 28 – The Captain’s Right Hand (1513)

Year 1513

A few days had passed since their journey began, and already La Fortuna had become more than just a boat it was a floating chaos, a school of hard knocks, and a home all at once. The daily life of Bastien and Arthur was filled with loud arguments, louder laughter, and more near-death experiences than either of them would admit out loud.

On the second night, they'd almost capsized when Arthur accidentally dropped the anchor… while they were still moving.

"WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT?!" Bastien had shouted as the boat groaned and spun in a terrifying circle.

"I THOUGHT IT WAS THE BRAKE!"

They hadn't stopped laughing (and arguing) about it since.

Despite everything or maybe because of it they started to fall into a rhythm. Bastien usually took the wheel, Arthur handled fishing and anything involving rope (badly), and both of them took turns cooking, which was still legally considered attempted arson.

But that morning was quiet. The sea shimmered beneath a soft sun, and a gentle breeze played with the sails. Bastien stood alone at the helm, his face serious for once. He wasn't lost in thought he knew exactly what he was thinking.

Arthur climbed up from below deck, holding two steaming cups. "You didn't sleep again?" he asked, offering one.

Bastien accepted it with a nod. "Didn't feel like it. I've been thinking… We need structure. Roles. If we're a crew, we need to start acting like one."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Structure? You mean I can't just yell 'PIRATES!' and jump off the boat whenever I want anymore?"

Bastien gave him a deadpan look. "You never could."

There was a pause, then Bastien turned to face him fully. "What I mean is… I need a right-hand man. Someone I can trust with everything. Someone who tells me when I'm being stupid, and helps me steer this ship when I can't see the way forward."

Arthur blinked, stunned for just a second, before smirking. "Took you long enough. I've been doing that since the first day you tried to cook rice in a frying pan."

"I thought it would work!"

"You also thought starboard meant 'the prettier side of the boat.'"

Bastien sighed. "Anyway… it's official now. You're my right hand."

Arthur looked down, trying not to let the smile on his face get too wide. "Okay, Captain. But my first order: I want double dessert rations."

"Denied."

They toasted with their coffee like it was sake, even if it was just hot seawater with crushed beans and a little too much salt.

That afternoon, they grilled fish again this time with fewer flames and more seasoning. Bastien had read somewhere that the secret to good fish was "cooking it less like a weapon."

They sat on the deck as the sun dipped low, watching the horizon turn gold.

"You know," Arthur said, chewing on a piece of grilled snapper, "we've only been sailing for a few days, but this already feels like something real."

Bastien nodded. "Yeah. Even if we're just two idiots on a boat… we're *our* idiots. On *our* boat."

Later, Arthur took out the makeshift log pose they'd cobbled together using an old compass, some wire, and what might have once been a spoon. They started recording wind speeds, temperatures, and the vague direction of "somewhere over there."

"I feel like a real navigator," Arthur said proudly.

"You drew a smiley face where you think North is."

"It's motivational!"

By nightfall, Bastien was writing in Lazhar's old journal again. The pages were worn, ink smudged from years of sea air. But every word he added felt like carving their journey into the world.

*"Even legends start as fools. But fools with a direction… can move mountains."*

He closed the journal with a smile.

The stars blinked above them, and the ocean whispered promises of islands unknown.

"Hey, Bastien?" Arthur's voice came from his hammock.

"Yeah?"

"If we ever get a real ship, with a real crew…"

"Yeah?"

"Can I still be in charge of yelling stuff dramatically?"

Bastien chuckled. "You're promoted to Chief of Dramatic Declarations."

Arthur pumped his fist. "Yes!"

And so the waves carried them onward two boys, one boat, and a dream held together with rope, hope, and possibly duct tape.

Their legend hadn't begun yet.

But it would.