The soft murmur of the sea came through the opened circular window, carrying with it the salty scent and the lazy rhythm of waves tapping against the hull. Sunlight spilled through the round cabin window, splashing soft golden patterns across the wooden floor.

Luther stirred, one hand dragging over his face as he yawned so hard his jaw clicked.

His ocean-blue eyes blinked open, half-lidded and unfocused. His silver hair was a complete mess—sticking out in all directions like he had fought a sea monster in his sleep and lost.

".Afternoon already?" he muttered in a hoarse tone. "I could've sworn it was morning five minutes ago."

He stretched, his shirt sliding up a bit to show a faint glimmer of golden light under his skin where his divine mark seeming to have moved to his stomach from his ear reacted to the still-lingering sun. He ignored it and sat up with another long sigh.

Then came the irritated growl.

"About time you woke up, lazy bum!

Luther froze, blinking once before his eyes darted down. He glanced around the bed, under the pillow, and then finally—

"Down here, idiot!" The voice barked.

Luther leaned over the bed, and there it was: the demonic sword lay pathetically on the floor, like a wounded animal.

A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. "What in the seven seas are you doing down there? Fell off?"

The red gem in his sword hilt blinked, glowing like an angry eye. "You kicked me off, snake boy! You sleep like a possessed mule—rolling and thrashing and flailing your legs like a dying fish!"

Luther's smile expanded, then broke into a small laugh. "So, I'm a lazy bum and a dying fish. Make up your mind, blade."

"I'd make it up if my wielder wasn't a clumsy human disaster!"

He stifled another chuckle as he swung his legs off the bed. "You could've just flown back up like you did last night."

The sword went quiet. The silence was so thick Luther could almost hear its pride cracking.

".Don't tell me you can't," Luther teased.

"I was resting!"

Luther snorted. "Sure, resting. On the floor.

Before the sword could respond, a knock came at the door—sharp and professional. Luther straightened a bit, brushing his hair back into something that might pass for "half-awake nobility."

With a loud creak, the door to the cabin opened and a young knight entered, his shining armor gleaming in the sun. "Saint Luther! You're awake. I'll inform Duke Aithur and Count Liliana straight away."

Luther groaned inwardly at the title. Saint. Great. Just what I needed to hear before breakfast.

"Fine, fine," Luther said aloud, rubbing his neck. "But before you do that, could you tell the cook to send something edible? I haven't eaten since last night, and I'm starting to see halos."

The knight blinked and then chuckled softly. "Of course, my lord. I'll send it at once."

The moment the door was closed behind him, Luther let out a long sigh of relief and slumped back onto the bed.

His gaze drifted again to the sword. It lay there, muttering to itself like some old, inebriated man.

"Who's the lazy one now?" Luther muttered, and picked it up.

"Shut up," grumbled the sword. "Your face screams, 'I overslept through half the apocalypse.'"

"Better than looking like a blunt kitchen knife."

"You wound me!"

Luther smiled slightly. "That's the point."

He was about to set it down, when—

Knock.

One single knock. No follow-up. No sound after it.

Luther blinked, furrowing his brow. ".Huh.

He turned toward the door. Nothing. Not a sound beyond the wood.

He threw a glance at the sword, which suddenly felt tense.

"Don't look at me," said Luther. "I didn't order room service."

The sword's gem pulsed nervously. "That aura.

Luther cocked his head. "Aura?"

"Familiar. too familiar. Don't open the door, idiot. I'm serious."

Luther frowned but reached for the handle anyhow. "What, you scared of ghosts now?"

"I SAID DON'T OPEN—"

Click.

The door swung open.

Before he had the time to process a single thing, a blur of light and warmth launched at him—hard. Something small and soft clung to him like a vine around a tree, making Luther stumble backward with a startled grunt.

Two legs around his waist, two arms locked around his neck.

And a voice—sweet, melodious, and aggravatingly happy—filled the air.

"LUTHER! You're awake! I finally found you again!"

Luther blinked, eyes widening in disbelief. ".Oh no."

There she was: Iris, the goddess of love and chaos wrapped up in one frustratingly perfect package. Her rose-gold hair shimmered like sunlight, her eyes gleaming bright with mischief and affection. Giggling happily, she nuzzled against him, the very image of a cat that had found its owner again.

"Get. Off," Luther gritted out, his patience cracking.

"Nope!" she said brightly. "I like this position! You mortals are warm and soft!

The demonic sword groaned loudly from the bed. "Great. The goddess of bad timing has arrived."

Iris' head whipped around and she glared. "Excuse me?"

"I said, 'Welcome back, your holy nuisance."

"Nice save," Luther muttered, still trying to peel the goddess off him.

Iris ignored him completely, poking his cheek with one delicate finger. "You look so tired! Were you dreaming about me again, cutie pie?"

Luther stopped. He blinked once. Then twice. "I— what—" He took a deep breath, his jaw tightening. "Woman, do you have any concept of personal space?"

She tilted her head innocently. "Nope."

"Figures."

He grabbed her wrist and, in one smooth motion and with no hesitation whatsoever, lifted her clean off him and deposited her onto the bed. She landed with a surprised squeak, her long hair spilling like silk across the sheets.

For a moment she looked shocked. then her lips curved into a smirk. "Strong for a mortal, aren't you?"

"Glad you noticed," Luther muttered, dusting off his shirt. "Now kindly vanish before I regret being born."

She only giggled. "You're so grumpy when you wake up~."

The sword, having watched the exchange as if it were a theater performance, snickered. "I'd pay to see you fight her with a pillow."

"Keep talking," Luther said flatly. "You'll be decorating the deck next."

The sword chuckled. "You wouldn't dare discard the only one here who speaks sense."

Luther arched a brow. "You call yourself sense?

"Compared to her? Absolutely."

Iris pouted dramatically. "You're both mean! I came all this way because I missed you!"

"You missed me?" Luther repeated, rubbing his temples. "You are a god. You could've sent a message, a bird, or I don't know—not appeared in my cabin uninvited!"

She hummed thoughtfully. "Where's the fun in that?

Luther let out a dry laugh. "Right. Because tormenting mortals counts as divine fun."

The sword muttered, "She's the reason most priests drink."

"Say that again!" Iris shouted, glaring at it.

"Wonderful," Luther muttered. "I'll add this to the list of things I didn't want to hear today."

The sword laughed so hard it rattled. "You really attract the worst types, don't you?"

"Apparently," Luther said dryly, dusting off his robes.

Luther let out a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. Why? Why do gods love ruining my mornings?

He opened his mouth to say something else, probably another sarcastic remark about divine shenanigans, when another knock came.

This one was polite: Two short taps.

Luther froze. ".You've got to be kidding me."

The sword whispered, "Maybe it's breakfast."

"I highly doubt breakfast knocks twice," Luther muttered.

Iris perked up, straightening her dress. "Ooh! Another visitor?"

"Wonderful," Luther deadpanned. "It's a parade."

The knock came again, a little louder this time.

Luther groaned. "Fine. FINE. Let's see what celestial nonsense awaits me this time."

A knock again.

"Oh, for the love of—" He rolled his eyes and muttered, "If it's another god, I'm jumping off this ship."

The sword chuckled darkly. "Do it. I'll watch."

"Shut up."

He clomped to the door, his annoyance all but palpable in the air. The gem on the sword's hilt flickered nervously while Iris leaned forward, eyes glimmering with curiosity.

"I swear, if this is some holy scroll peddler again—"

Luther flung the door open and snapped, "In all the nine realms, what! WHAT do you—"

He stopped in mid-sentence.

His expression froze, the irritation bleeding out of him, replaced by something that looked a lot like shock.

Standing in the doorway, sunlight framing her figure, was a woman he never thought he'd see here.

Her hair shone softly, and her steady eyes watched him with unreadable calm.

Her expression was blank—cool and steady—but her eyes told another story altogether. They flickered between relief, anger, and something far softer. The sea breeze pulled at her dark cloak, carrying the faint scent of lilacs into the cabin.

"Alina?" Luther breathed.

The sword fell silent. Even Iris blinked.

For a long, breathless moment, neither of them said anything.

Behind Luther, Iris's voice barely above a whisper broke the silence. "Oh dear… This just got interesting."

And the sword snickered softly, as if knowing full well what was to come next.

Luther's breath caught.

She shouldn't be here?

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