The air is still tonight. The sea is calm as the ship cuts through the water, the moon reflecting on the surface in white ripples.

Kazuha's back is turned, his white hair down and spilling over his shoulders. He leans over the railing, his elbows resting on the wood. He taps his fingers against it as he watches the sea.

It's not rare to find Kazuha out here. The salty air, the ocean splashing against the side of the ship, the small creak as the Crux shifts in the water.