Lundy’s been the center of the island’s trade. Gabrio doesn’t know if he’s getting old, but it has been years. Time’s meaningless to the old and here he was old enough to think he really have become old.

Two generations. Hard to think it has been that way. Then again there’s only a few who have been long lived enough to matter. It’s strange really. Seeing some friends pass away. Even now he finds it odd. How he had already taught some of his friends children and now they are adults.

I buried Robert yesterday. They say that it is rare for warriors to last so long, but Robert… he’s a warrior. He doesn’t cower. Robert’s Junior, Argon, told me that he’s sad about the loss of his father. But nonetheless, endure, we must.

Endure, we must.

It has become a motto for the fleet. Three simple words that continue the journey. Men and women have learned the ways. And from how things are. He finds it strange. Mana thinks it's the Treeheart making him see through things faster.

Maybe. The Treeheart is a blessing and a curse. Perhaps his affinity with the heart had been too good or perhaps it was what the one who granted half of life had wanted.

The people of the fleet had longed ago stop seeing him as human. He was called a centurian. A man granted the blessings. For years he had struggled with the thought and it was yesterday, when they buried Robert on the seas that he understood.

AON might have been lost as well. A short voyage turned into years. Watching acquaintances die, and friends passed away. With the regret of not being able to see a world. Their wish to stay on solid land. Not on the back of a moving island.

Adventure… it should have been more fun. Exciting. But the truth is it's simply hard to be adventurous with the world like this. Endless water and sunrise and sunset-stained seas. There are adventures to be found diving underwater, but it was to the benefit of the island. The survival of the fleet. The clans that have formed and the simple people who are ruling their own people must be humble enough to understand this.

But they have not forgotten.

That they are simply a big tribe now.

They understood that the island might be the only place in the world to exist anymore. The Lighthouse Fleet might be the last of its kind drifting at the end of the world.

The sentiment isn’t lost to him. Gaspar still sleeps inside the tree. With his friends forming allegiances and even birthing to generational heroes that have the duties to accompany him.

There was a spot that Gabrio had on the tree. He had found it one day. It’s like a nest located on the tree and had been his private room. There are a few kids who know it and Mana comes in once in a while to visit. She has… taken over Ristina’s duties. Gosh, it has been long since she passed away. He remembered mulling for a week. That week felt like a long week. He’s a Doctor. And maybe it’s why he’s so cool about it. Death is part of life. It’s what he says to himself. Always. Focusing on making sure that he’ll never lose that train of thought.

It has been a constant thought. He needed that. A long life is a hard one and he had learned how to cope. Of course, Mana’s presence is a blessing to him. Being near the person who had given half of her life is a comfort throughout the years. A shade in the sunny days and a cool wind.

The sun has returned after so many years of absence. It was a strange day. It was a day that scared those who have seen only the dim sky and made the old cry in tears.

He could recall Robert smiling up to his ears at the sight of the sun. “Ah, so beautiful, my fiery orb of warmth,” Robert said as he had closed his eyes forever.

Perhaps it was a blessing. Though Gabrio wished Ristina had seen the sun as well. They just went away without him noticing. He was working as usual and suddenly he found himself surrounded by new faces.

Though throughout the years he had learned from them. He learned to fight with Robert, teaching him alongside the Elven-kin and the Jesters. He had learned what Ristina knew and continued some of her experiments. Sometimes, he takes comfort that they left a part of them in him. Their knowledge and experience lives on.

But there are days such as this. Where he just needed time for himself. Go to the place he finds best to just stare on and recall memories. Arkshelled Island had changed throughout the years and yet the same as well. There are parts of the island that are still houses, but throughout the years, the Elven-kin opted to grow the houses instead, carving their homes in the trees they grow. It was much more optimal, since when there are giant tides, the trees that are rooted on the island couldn’t be removed when a large wave hits. There are stubborn ones who keep their buildings, but it has been the way of the Elven-kin to root their buildings.

Throughout the years. The Elven-kin has slowly turned into worried parents. Mana sometimes can’t help but mention how they see the humans, the old and the young as godchildren that are ignorant of the world. Especially the ones who have grown attached to the families who they got close to.

Though as far as Gabrio's concerned. They had stopped seeing him once he became an ‘adult’ in the eyes of the Elven. A Centurian, a century-old human that has been living long enough to be called an elderly.

He is an elderly despite his young appearance. He didn't even think that there’d be a day where he’d be an elder among them and sits as the ‘representative’ of the human-kin. Though most of the time he had been neutral, only acting when it concerned the balance of the Arkshelled Island.

Arkshelled Island and its fleet are mostly peaceful. But there are days where resentment builds up. It’s only those times he’d throw himself in front of them, pleading them to think hard.

There are times where he’s shot. There are moments where he’d get a beating. He had watched the young and old plead for mercy as he silently took their life away as punishment for their crimes. Painless as possible.

Perhaps it’s this new role. Carried on by wearing a mask he had made and improved throughout the years. It was supposed to be a mask that would allow him to speak the tongue of the elven-kin. It couldn’t be done. He lacked the knowledge and the form of tongue to create the tones needed.

He could at least see the sprites. And sometimes the Grey ones would assist him when he needed it. He was a friend of the Grey sprites. Mana thinks that they became friendly to him after what happened back then.

Though from what he can tell the Grey ones have been nourishing him. After so many years he had come to conclusion, after so many trials and testing that the Treeheart inside of him is improving his body. It keeps him young and because of the nourishments he’s getting from the air the sprites feed on and his own heart bettering his constitution.

One could say that he’s been stronger. Ristina, deduced once that he had reached the peak of athletic body that a human without the ability to command the words of power could have. Though they had differences. Gabrio thought of Caldor Ando who had decided to impart his teachings before his passing as well. A good body and a strict set of discipline had made him strong.

He was confident he could fight well now. He would have been more embarrassed if he wasn’t able to learn the art after a century. With enough time in his hands, he had been doing things. Perhaps, the one thing that made him eager for the last few years had been the floating balloons. Zyra, who had the blood, has been helpful in developing the balloons.

Lifting the balloon by heating the air inside the balloon with a fire sprite, it becomes lighter than the air outside of the balloon. Upon discovery, even the Elven-kin thought fondly of them. And even made their versions that are woven from wood and bark of the old treants.

The fire sprites inside the container are old sprites that are burning. They are like living flames that have turned into orbs that lift them. In a way, the sprites have become sources of fuel that can lift people in the air.

It was a contract mediated by the Elven-kin who could speak their tongue. Maybe it was his own doing, but in a way, the discovery of this method had given birth to the sky ships.

Small vessels who carry a group of a select few to scout the perimeter of the fleet and identify places where the fleet could stay for a day. Most of these are made to get the Scholars, Astronomers closer to the skies.

The dreams that he had grew stronger as days passed. There are times where he dreams of iron birds and iron ships. Although the new ships made of iron aren’t truly made, there are times where they were discovered. Sawdust in water frozen to form the hulls. Through a method that Gabrio could only describe as magic, these sawdust and water made hauls are as strong as concrete and their ships have been reinforced and maintained by it. There is plenty of saltwater and thus they were able to maintain these new hulls.

Though some of the early batches of the hulls melted. The new concoction made by the combined effort of the fleet-kin have made for new discoveries. Brilliant minds and innovation. Continuing to adapt despite the lack of resources made in the island. Some may argue the thinkers, the scholars, and the wisdoms of the Grand-Galleons are a useless bunch, but they are ignorant.

Despite all. It’s through the wisdom that keeps improving their lives. And in a way after so many years the roots of Arkshelled Island and some of the branches grown from the shell are where the workshops are, protected from the crashes of the waves.

This hideout of his was a place where he could take a look at the fleet. The tailbone port that has become a place where the sailors gather and most of the time the ships are nowadays.

The skyships are still not totally safe according to the Scholars. They needed to be designed more sleekly to resist the wind. To move them in still winds. There must be a captain and a sprite whisperer to call the wind and tend to the flame.

Looking at it now.

The Elven-kin could refuse to tolerate the machines. But they made machines and nature to be together for it to work. Yes, they could do it without the magic of the elven-kin, but it was far more efficient to do it together.

Limbs made from twisted and braided roots and wood. And now ships are flying because of the heated air. Gabrio stopped his pen from moving and traveled his gaze on the red-haired young man that scaled the tree with finesse. He takes his hat off and looks around. He clears his throat.

“Doctor. Mana is calling you.”

“Isakov. How are the flights?”

“I think they are doing well, Doctor.” He looks around. “This is really a cozy place, Doctor.”

“You are free to use it. I do hope that you keep it arranged.”

“Thank you. Though we don’t intend to do that now.”

Gabrio hides the mask deftly into his bag and turns towards Isakov. “How’s your mother?”

“She’s doing fine. She’s visiting Grandma Ristina’s markings. Please, Doctor Treeheart, Mana requires you in her laboratory.”

Every centurian has a new name. It’s granted to those who have lived long enough. Gabrio and Mana received the Treeheart name. It’s a name that he had been carrying for a while now, and despite that. It still felt odd.

Then again, there’s barely anyone in the fleet who could remember that he was taught by a Butcher from a place called Fort Rava.