CH 106
The sun beats down as I drag my surfboard to the edge of the water, warm sand clinging to my feet. Wake follows, his board under one arm like a weapon he’s preparing to wield. His face is set in a grim determination that’s both endearing and unintentionally hilarious.
“It’s not a duel, Wake,” I tease, my grin widening as I adjust my grip on the board. “You don’t have to fight the ocean.”
He gives me a sideways look. “I do not intend to fight the ocean. I intend to conquer it.”
I laugh and wade into the water, letting the cool waves lap around my legs. “Good luck with that. The ocean’s undefeated.”
Wake doesn’t respond, but his jaw tightens as he follows me into the surf.
We paddle out, the boards slicing through the crystal-clear water. The waves grow taller as we reach the break zone, their crests glinting like shards of glass in the sunlight. I can feel the familiar adrenaline building, my pulse quickening with anticipation.
I sit up on my board, turning to face Wake. “Alright, here’s how this works. You’ve got to time it right. Watch for the wave building behind you, start paddling to match its speed, and when it picks you up, you pop up. Like this.” I demonstrate the motion—stomach flat on the board, then a quick push with my arms as I spring to my feet.
Wake’s expression is skeptical at best. “That seems… unstable.”
“It’s all about balance,” I say, balancing effortlessly on my board to emphasize the point. “Feel the rhythm of the water beneath you. You can’t force it. You have to move with it.”
Wake’s brow furrows as he eyes the incoming waves. “Do I sound this irritating when I am lecturing you?”
A laugh. “At least I’m not twice your size and frowning all the time. Now, are you actually going to try, or are you just going to sit there glaring at the sea because you’re not immediately fantastic at something, for once?”
Wake turns that glare towards me but paddles forward, his muscles rippling as he powers through the water. I watch as a wave builds behind him, lifting his board. For a moment, he seems to catch the rhythm, his movements fluid and strong. He starts to rise—his hands pushing against the board, one foot planting firmly on its surface.
And then the wave shifts. Wake’s board wobbles violently, and he loses his balance, toppling into the water with a spectacular splash.
I laugh so hard I almost fall off my own board. “You okay?”
Wake surfaces, his hair slicked back and his expression thunderous. “This is an absurd way to travel.”
“It’s not about travel,” I say between giggles. “It’s about fun. And, honestly? That wipeout was pretty spectacular.”
He chuffs in annoyance, sending a spray of water in my direction. “I will master this.”
“Good,” I say, still grinning. “Because that was just your warm-up.”
He tries again—and again, and again. Each attempt is a mix of promise and chaos. One time, he manages to stand for a full three seconds before his board tips and sends him sprawling into the surf. Another time, he catches the wave too late and is launched forward in an ungraceful belly flop. By the fifth try, he’s muttering curses in what I assume is Enkian, his frustration palpable.
Meanwhile, I’ve caught three waves and ridden them to shore with ease, carving tight turns and feeling the rush of the water beneath me. The muscle memory is still there, sharp and instinctive. It feels incredible, like coming home after a long journey.
When I paddle back out to Wake, he’s glaring at his board as if it’s personally betrayed him.
“You’re getting better,” I say, trying to keep a straight face.
“I am not,” he grumbles. “This is nonsense.”
“It’s progress,” I counter. “Even falling is part of learning. Besides, you looked pretty badass when you almost caught that last wave.”
His glare softens slightly, though he still looks annoyed. “You are good at this.”
“I’ve had practice,” I say, brushing off the compliment. “You will, too. It just takes time.”
Wake’s eyes narrow as another wave builds behind us. He paddles hard, his strong arms cutting through the water. This time, he moves with a deliberate focus, his movements precise. The wave catches him, lifting him up, and he pushes to his feet.
For a moment, he’s standing, his balance steady. He’s riding the wave, his expression a mix of determination and exhilaration.
And then the wave peaks, and he loses his footing, tumbling into the water in a mess of flailing limbs and foam.
I paddle over, laughing as he surfaces. “You did it! You stood up!”
“For a fleeting moment,” he mutters, shaking water from his hair. “But… it was thrilling.”
“See?” I say, grinning. “I told you it was worth it.”
Wake smirks, his competitive spirit reignited. “One more time.”
This time, when he catches the wave, he stands taller, his balance more sure. He rides it longer than before, his movements more confident, more controlled. When the wave finally breaks, and he steps off his board into the shallow water, he looks back at me with a triumphant grin.
“I have conquered it,” he declares.
“Easy there, Poseidon,” I say, laughing as I paddle over to join him. “Let’s see you do it again before you start naming the ocean after yourself.”
He chuffs in amusement, but I can see the pride in his eyes. For the first time since we arrived on the island, Wake looks completely at ease. And for the first time in days, I feel like we’re not just surviving—we’re living.
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