(Midnight on the Oasis Cruise)
Tonight, Neva can't sleep.
She slips from the warm embrace of her lover and quietly makes her way toward the taffrail on the west side of the deck.
Her fingers graze the cold metal rail.
The air—brutal at the end of December in the heart of the ocean—is not meant for leisure.
Yet Neva smiles, gripping the railing with both hands.
Over her thick sweater and woolen pajama pants, a peach-colored shawl wraps around her figure, fluttering slightly in the icy breeze.
The crash and roar of ocean waves fills the night, a sound so vast it swallows all thought. Above, the moon glows in the dark sky, casting glittering ripples across the shifting water.
She watches her long, wavy onyx hair dance with the wind, almost amused by it.
The formidable man chasing her.
The new life she once dreamed of, longed for.
She left it all behind.
Now, she stands alone. Isolated.
And for a moment, the biting cold is a strange relief—a quiet balm against her restless, spinning mind.
Her expression sinks as she stares into the abyss of memory.
The spark in her eyes, now bare.
Why has it come to this?
Her thoughts grow heavy.
She doesn't know what tomorrow holds, and the weight of uncertainty presses against her chest.
"Why are you alone, my dear?"
Neva turns sharply, startled by the sudden voice.
A man stands nearby. Kind eyes, soft features. Umber hair tousled gently by the breeze. Hazel-brown eyes, fair skin. She guesses he's in his early thirties.
What strikes her most is the simplicity of his appearance: a thin beige sweater, no coat, no gloves.
"I'm not alone," Neva replies calmly.
Her memories, her thoughts—they're always with her.
And now, this stranger too.
"I see that," he says, smiling gently.
Neva turns her gaze back to the sea, but senses the man stepping closer. He stops a little distance away, leaning on the taffrail beside her.
"It's okay to feel lost and weary," he says softly, as if not wanting to frighten her. "But I believe you already know who to turn to."
His voice carries warmth. And strangely—she feels safe.
"I do know," Neva whispers. "But sometimes… it still feels far."
He nods. "The moments you feel the most distant—may be the moments you're closest to Him."
His voice is velvet. Steady. Gentle.
Her heart aches, hollow.
What is it she longs for?
To return to Erriador?
To see her aunt again?
Or… does she ache to be back in her mother's warm, familiar embrace?
Suddenly, it hits her.
The warmth in her chest.
She's not alone. Not really.
Her Good Shepherd is with her. Always.
She turns to him, tears streaming down her cheeks without her realizing. He meets her gaze, a flicker of surprise in his gentle eyes.
Embarrassed, Neva quickly wipes her face with her sweater sleeves.
"I'm sorry," she murmurs, head bowed.
"It's fine." His smile never falters. "You can call me Jeriah."
She inhales deeply and meets his gaze again. "My name is Neva."
"Neva!"
The sound cuts through the quiet night and the thunderous waves.
She turns, startled.
Rhett stands a little distance away, eyes fixed on the man beside her.
Jeriah turns too, his expression calm as he looks at Rhett.
Without hesitation, Rhett strides forward, eyes sharp.
"What are you doing here?" he asks Neva, his tone low, clipped.
"I couldn't sleep... I just came out for some air," Neva answers softly.
Rhett takes her cold hands into his, frowning at how frozen they feel.
"Let's go back," he says, glancing at Jeriah with unreadable eyes.
Jeriah only offers him a quiet smile.
Rhett says nothing in return. He holds onto her left hand and releases the other.
They turn to leave, Neva following him across the deck toward the warmth of their cabin.
Just before they reach the doors, Neva glances back over her shoulder.
Her brows crease.
Jeriah is gone.
Nowhere in sight.
Her eyes search the shadows—but he's vanished, as if he were never there.