The Sailor and the Horizon

The sun hung low, casting long shadows across the rocky path where the four friends sat.

After telling his story, Toma stared ahead in silence. The others followed his gaze—past the trees, past the distant roofs, toward the endless sea.

Finally, Toma spoke.

“We have just one month left before school ends,” he said. “After that... we can travel to the other side.”

Hachi leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “Yeah, but... we still don’t know what’s on the other side. Just that city—what was it called? Yochi City?”

Ren gave a small nod. “That’s what people say. It’s the first stop after crossing. But it’s not the real ‘other side.’ Just the beginning.”

Kai rested his chin on his hand. “No one really knows. We’ve only heard rumors.”

Toma grinned. “Well... I know someone. A sailor. His name’s Luke. His company, Crewzer, works with LZT. They’re building a new ship here—at Tensai Harbour.”

Hachi’s eyes widened. “Wait—seriously?”

“Tomorrow after school,” Toma said. “Let’s go.”

The Next Day – Tensai Harbour

Tensai Harbour buzzed quietly under the golden sky. The smell of salt, wood, and metal filled the air. Ropes creaked. Seagulls cried overhead. A massive ship stood docked—freshly painted, shining faintly in the sunset.

The boys walked along the wooden pier. A tall figure leaned against a post, staring at the sea.

Toma waved. “Hey, Yosa! Where’s the old man?”

Yosa turned. His gaze was sharp but distant—like his body was here, but his mind was always somewhere else.

“He’s out,” Yosa replied. “Takes people across the sea now. Almost every day.”

Ren looked around. People were gathered all over—some standing in silence, others saying teary goodbyes.

“Why’s it so crowded?” he asked.

Kai narrowed his eyes. “They’re not tourists. They’re leaving. For good.”

Hachi took a step forward, curiosity burning. “Where are they going? Why now?”

Yosa hesitated.

Then, quietly, he answered.

“They’ll land in Yochi City first. But that’s just the gate. The real journey begins after that.”

“Can anyone go?” Hachi asked.

Yosa pulled something from his pocket—a small, smooth card that shimmered in the light like glass filled with stars.

“You need this,” he said. “It’s called a Maze Pass. Without it, you can’t enter Yochi.”

The boys leaned closer. The Maze Pass seemed almost alive, like it breathed light.

“What happens after Yochi?” Ren asked.

Yosa stared out at the sea.

“Some join LZT,” he said. “But only a few make it. The rest… turn back.”

Then, his eyes met Kai’s.

“Some who go beyond Yochi,” he said, voice soft, “forget why they ever left.”

That line hit hard. Even Hachi didn’t speak.

The Memory of Blood Haze

Then Hachi stepped forward, uncertain.

“Yosa,” he said quietly, “something weird happened. Not long ago.”

He glanced at Kai. “It was during the Blood Haze.”

Yosa froze.

“We were outside, past curfew,” Hachi said. “Everything was red. People were hiding. But we… we were just walking.”

Kai nodded. “The air felt wrong. Like time was bending around us.”

“There was this pulse,” Hachi added. “From far across the sea. Not lightning. Not fire. A light. Blinking. Like it was calling us.”

“It’s happened before,” Kai said. “But that night… it felt clearer. Closer. Like it meant something.”

Yosa gave a short laugh, but it didn’t sound real.

“Blood Haze messes with your head,” he said.

“I knew you’d say that,” Hachi muttered.

But Kai was watching Yosa closely.

And Yosa… wasn’t meeting their eyes.

Deep inside, a thought rose inside him like a warning bell:

Why would they use it on them…? And why now?

He said nothing.

Kai turned away and looked at the ship.

Carved into the wood near the hull were the words:

“For those who chase the horizon.”

He reached out, brushing the letters with his fingers.

Then—without thinking—he pulled a small object from his pocket.

A silver compass. Its needle no longer moved. Inside the lid, scratched in a child’s messy writing, were the words:

“Find your own path.”

Toma noticed. “What’s that?”

Kai stared at it. “A gift from my brother. Before he left the island.”

They stood quietly for a moment.

An old man nearby, overhearing, spoke in a low voice:

“Those who cross… never return the same.”

The boys turned—but he was already walking away, vanishing into the dusk.

The Second Light

Just before leaving, Yosa looked over his shoulder.

“You ever heard of the Second Light?” he asked.

The boys glanced at each other.

“What’s that?” Hachi asked.

Yosa smiled. It wasn’t his usual grin. It looked… tired.

“A light,” he said softly. “Far beyond Yochi. Some say it appears only once. Others say… it never existed.”

He turned before they could question more.

The ship began to move. Families waved. Engines hummed.

The sky darkened. Stars blinked into view.

The boys stood at the edge of the harbour, watching until the ship was only a shadow.

None of them spoke.

Because despite everything they had just learned…

They only had more questions now.

And no one—no teacher, no book, no sailor—could answer them.

Only time.

Only themselves.