The Vigil
Thorne stayed on the ship for three months.
He walked the corridors, explored the decks, sat on the bow and watched the sea. He talked to the passengers, listened to their stories, held their hands.
He was not a captain.
He was something else.
A friend. A guide. A comfort.
Elara watched him from a distance.
The first captain appeared beside her.
“He’s dying,” the old woman said.
“I know.”
“You could save him. The ship has the power.”
“He doesn’t want to be saved.”
“Then why is he here?”
Elara was silent for a long moment.
“To say goodbye.”
Thorne’s final day came on a spring morning.
The sea was calm, the sky was clear, the sun was warm. He sat on the deck, his back against the railing, his eyes closed.
Elara sat beside him.
“Are you afraid?” she asked.
“No.”
“Good.”
“I’ve been afraid my whole life. It’s nice to finally be at peace.”
“Will you see your wife?”
Thorne opened his eyes.
“I hope so.”
“I hope so too.”
He took her hand.
“Thank you, Elara.”
“For what?”
“For bringing me home.”
She squeezed his hand.
“You were always home. You just didn’t know it.”
Thorne closed his eyes.
The light consumed him.
He was gone.
Elara sat beside his empty body, holding his hand, weeping.
The first captain stood behind her.
“He’s with her now,” the old woman said.
“I know.”
“It still hurts.”
“It always hurts.”
“That’s what it means to love.”