Deborah's POV
Tirfothuinn was just across the sea.
Matthew and I exchanged a glance, our eyes brimming with excitement and joy that we could no longer conceal.
"We're almost there," I murmured softly, my heart pounding so hard I thought it might leap out of my chest.
After such a long and arduous journey, we were finally nearing the end.
The sea before us shimmered under the sunlight, the waves glistening as they danced and sparkled, filled with an indescribable beauty.
Even though the island was just on the other side, there was no bridge, boat, or any visible way to reach it.
"We'll have to build our own boat," Matthew said, turning to me with a bright smile, his voice brimming with determination.
"What are we waiting for?" I laughed, equally exhilarated, rolling up my sleeves and joining him in gathering materials.
The surrounding forest was filled with tall trees and winding vines, but our tools were scarce.
All we had were a few rusty knives and a couple of sticks we'd used for protection.
Still, we would make do with what we had.
Matthew seemed unusually enthusiastic, carefully selecting the straightest branches and then slowly whittling them down with the knife until they were smooth and sturdy.
Meanwhile, I tore strips of cloth from my already tattered clothes and began binding the branches together, trying to secure them tightly so they wouldn't come apart in the water.
What seemed like a straightforward task quickly proved to be far more complicated.
"If only I could use magic to help," I muttered, frowning.
"Don't say that," Matthew replied softly, looking back at me with a gentle expression. "You've done enough already. Let me handle this one."
His words warmed my heart.
I knew how he felt—he was frustrated that the werewolf's curse kept him from using his full strength.
I'd been the one protecting us so often with my magic, while he struggled to break free of his limitations.
That guilt, that feeling of inadequacy, weighed heavily on him.
"Don't blame yourself, Matthew," I whispered, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "It's not your fault. We're in this together. Don't you remember our wedding vows?"
I deliberately used the word "wedding," and he froze, his ears turning a light shade of red.
"Uh… that was just a dream," he stammered, looking embarrassed, his face caught in an awkward, half-smile.
"It was a beautiful dream," I teased, smiling at him.
He shook his head, but the warmth in his eyes made my heart race.
We chatted and laughed, the mood lightening as we continued building our little raft.
Branches, vines, and fabric—we used everything we could find.
Matthew painstakingly ensured that every piece was securely tied in place, checking every joint and knot as if our lives depended on it.
"Do you think this will work?" I asked skeptically, tilting my head as I scrutinized the rickety little vessel we'd cobbled together.
"As long as it floats, it's good enough," Matthew grinned, patting the boat with satisfaction. "It may not be the sturdiest, but I think it'll get us across without sinking halfway."
I couldn't help but laugh.
"Then let's set sail." I clenched my fists in mock determination.
Finally, the boat was ready. We carefully pushed it into the water.
It wobbled dangerously but held together.
We stepped in cautiously, and Matthew began to row with a long, makeshift oar.
The sea breeze brushed gently against our faces, bringing with it the salty tang of the ocean.
I'd never seen such a vast expanse of water—the deep blue waves stretched endlessly, merging with the sky on the distant horizon.
"This… is breathtaking," I whispered, watching the waves rise and fall.
"Yes, it is." Matthew's voice was soft, filled with a quiet wonder. "I never thought there could still be places like this on the surface."
"I wish we could just drift like this forever," I murmured, feeling a rare sense of peace settle over me.
Matthew didn't reply; he just kept rowing, his gaze fixed ahead.
The silence between us was comfortable, an unspoken understanding of shared emotions hanging in the air.
I turned to look at him, unable to suppress the growing affection within me.
His profile was bathed in sunlight, his golden hair tousled by the wind, and I realized—I was utterly lost in these feelings.
He protected me; I protected him.
We were each other's strength and solace.
I don't know how long we drifted like that before the silhouette of the coastline slowly emerged.
A dense forest covered the shoreline, obscuring our view, but I knew—this was Tirfothuinn.
We'd made it.
We pulled our little raft ashore, dragging it up onto the sand.
Before us stood a sprawling island, far larger than Murias.
Thick vines coiled around the entire island like a fortress wall, forming an impenetrable natural barrier around us.
We traced the dense vines' edge for a while, yet no gate or entrance came into view.
"Hello? Is anyone there?" I called out tentatively.
I hesitated for a moment, then let out a soft laugh, realizing how silly I sounded.
Matthew chuckled softly, the corners of his eyes crinkling with unrestrained amusement.
"Are we knocking on the door? Or asking for permission to be let in?"
"It seems like it," I giggled, covering my mouth to stifle the sound.
"This isn't exactly a house." He gestured at the wall of vines, a smile tugging at his lips. "No one's going to answer."
We looked at each other and burst into quiet laughter, the sound echoing softly between us.
But just as Matthew stepped forward, something unexpected happened.
He crossed the barrier without a problem—yet when I tried to follow, an invisible force stopped me in my tracks.
I stared, wide-eyed, reaching out to touch the empty space in front of me.
Nothing was visible, yet an unseen force held me back, an invisible barrier forbidding me from stepping through.
And it seared my skin, a scorching pain that seemed to pierce straight through me.