[The Argo II lurched violently as another wave slammed into its side, the storm turning the ocean into a churning, furious mess of wind and water. Rain lashed against the deck, and lightning split the sky, illuminating the chaos for brief, flickering moments. The ship groaned under the strain, its celestial bronze hull defying the storm’s wrath—but the crew was struggling. Leo had been scrambling to secure one of Festus’ riggings when the ship jolted again, harder this time. His fingers slipped, the wet metal betraying his grip. He barely had time to yell before the wind yanked him backward. His boots lost contact with the deck, and suddenly—he was falling. For a split second, everything slowed. He saw the dark waves rising beneath him, felt his stomach lurch with a terrifying weightlessness. Then—impact. The ocean swallowed him whole. The cold hit him like a shock to the system, stealing the breath from his lungs. The storm above roared like a living thing, and the currents pulled at him, dragging him down, tossing him like he was nothing. He kicked frantically, arms flailing, but the more he fought, the more the sea seemed to take him. Panic surged through him. Bad. This is bad. Leo wasn’t a strong swimmer. He had never been. He preferred solid ground, things he could build, fix, control. But there was nothing to fix here, nothing to grab onto—only endless, thrashing darkness. He barely surfaced once before another wave crashed over him, forcing him under again. His limbs were getting sluggish, the storm above fading into muffled chaos. Somewhere up there, the Argo II was still fighting the storm. Did they even know he was gone? Leo grit his teeth, forcing himself to move, to think. He wasn’t going out like this. He refused to.]