There was a small, isolated village, a place seemingly cut off from time. Here, amidst the murmuring waves and the wind's cold touch, everything began. Rai Veris lay on the ground, stretching his legs out on the dense, cold sand, his head resting on one hand like a makeshift pillow. The other hand covered his mouth as he yawned, revealing half-open eyes—dark and vacant, like the black stones at the bottom of the sea. His hair, a tangled mess of black, swayed slightly in the breeze.

In front of him, the rhythmic thuds of soccer shots punctuated the air, mixed with the sounds of children's laughter and the sharp impacts of feet against the sand. He stirred slowly, folding one leg and reaching for the bag beside him.

"It's almost time," he muttered.

Rai rose to his feet, his posture the only thing resisting the forceful gusts that swept across the beach. His loose white shirt and baggy jeans flapped violently in the wind, the bag dangling from his fingers like a rag caught in a storm. With a swift motion, he swung the bag over his shoulder and began walking towards the boat waiting on the shore. He glanced back, giving a casual wave to the children immersed in their game, then fixed his gaze on the vessel before him.

The boat, tethered but straining against its anchor like a leashed dog eager to bolt, seemed on the verge of breaking free. The wind roared, tugging at the boat as if urging it to drift away into the open sea. Rai scanned the area, searching for the man who had promised to ferry him.

The sea surged, and a dark object floated towards him, carried by the frothy waves. The cold water swirled around Rai's knees, chilling him to the bone. Then, a hand gripped the boat's edge, followed by a body tumbling in with a splash.

"Hey... made it!" the man puffed, catching his breath. "You're Rai, right? Get in!"

Rai raised an eyebrow. "Are you the oarsman? What were you doing in the ocean?"

"It's... a long story. Embarrassing, too. C'mon, get in. We're late enough as it is!"

Without further words, the boat set off. On the shore, the children playing soccer paused to watch, their figures growing smaller until they were just specks on the horizon.

The sky burned a deep orange, the sun descending behind veils of cloud. It cast a warm glow over the scene—a deceptive calm, masking the tension beneath. Rai sat opposite the oarsman, who rowed with grim determination, every stroke of the oar pulling the boat forward. Rai's gaze lingered on the man's face, studying him with half-closed eyes, as if reading a book no one else could see. His soaked jeans dripped water, evidence of that peculiar wave that had caught him earlier.

"How long will it take?" Rai asked, shifting uncomfortably as the cold sensation crept up his legs.

"We should reach the Island of Snow in two days," the oarsman replied, straining against the current.

"Two days?" Rai's expression sharpened. "I heard we could get there in six hours. And how exactly did the oar end up in the ocean?"

The oarsman chuckled nervously. "Dropped it by accident..."

"So, you dove in to fetch it?" Rai pointed to another oar stashed in the boat. "And what's that? Isn't it a spare?"

The oarsman's smile turned sheepish. "That's for you. If you want to make it before the exam starts, we both need to row."

Rai's eyes narrowed. "When is the exam?"

"Five hours from now. Eleven PM sharp."

For a brief moment, Rai's face contorted in surprise—his eyes wide, dark, and hollow like a skull's sockets. But just as quickly, his expression returned to its usual calm. He held out his hand, and the oarsman handed him the second oar without hesitation. Rai dipped it into the water, mimicking the oarsman's strokes. The boat shuddered and began to drift backward.

Rai frowned, staring at his hands and the oar. "Let's try that again."

This time, their strokes synchronized, the boat cutting through the water with purpose. Darkness fell, wrapping the sea in silence, broken only by the splashes of their oars and the murmur of the waves. The sky darkened to a deep indigo, the first stars blinking into existence overhead.

"Let's pick up the pace," Rai's voice was soft but firm, like a whisper carried on the wind.

He rowed with sudden vigor, muscles tensing, veins standing out on his forearms. The oarsman struggled to keep up, casting sideways glances at Rai, wondering who this strange, intense figure was.

As they battled the ocean's currents, Rai's mind wandered. His body moved on autopilot, rowing steadily, while his thoughts raced ahead. "We're not going to make it at this speed," he muttered. "There's something I'm missing."

They passed another boat—a man slumped over its side, breathless from exhaustion. Rai's eyes flicked to the man, then back to the horizon. More boats appeared, their occupants similarly drained. He understood instantly: if he continued like this, it was only a matter of time before he ended up the same way.

"Sir?" the oarsman's voice cut through his thoughts.

Rai didn't look up, his gaze fixed on his shoes. "Yes?"

"Only two hours left until the exam."

Rai's face remained impassive. "Alright."

The silence stretched, filled only by the rhythmic splash of the oars. But Rai's mind was far from silent. He could hear multiple boats cutting through the water behind them. He glanced up, spotting two vessels close by. One had a figure lounging, legs crossed, completely at ease—no oarsman, just a motor humming quietly.

"A motor?" Rai murmured to himself. "They've put everything into speed. Did they know the timing of the test beforehand?"

His gaze shifted to the second boat, where a bulky man rowed with both his arms and legs, his movements almost mechanical. The sight made Rai's expression darken; his grip tightened on the oar until his knuckles whitened.

"And neither boat has an oarsman," he noted grimly.