The silence of the sea's waters was only broken by the creaks of the wood beneath the men's feet, and the rustle of the sails as they moved, the sound echoing far away.

It stretched for miles and miles, the endless body of water. Seven months they'd been on it at that point, and still having two more to go. A heavy scent of salt lingered heavily in the air as the sky darkened, the crew on deck preparing for the night that was to come, untying the sails as to make the winds blow gently pass them.

The vast ocean was something that gave Gojo a sense of familiarity. A home he could go back to each time without fail, telling himself that this would be the last, yet staying oh so close to it, unable to move on. A silent grave to memories and stories etched into the horizon never to be told, the sea had seen it all.

Gojo's past wasn't an exception.