Maria talks to Jason

Jason is slumped against the railing, his silhouette set against the darkness of the sea. His tears no longer have the strength of his initial outbursts; they are nothing but muffled sobs, drowned in an exhaustion that weighs on him to his very bones. For him, the world stops at the moment he sees Tyler plunge into that pit of red light. The image of the young man falling into the void loops endlessly in his mind, a spiral of pain from which he cannot break free.

A light step, almost imperceptible on the wooden deck, announces a presence. Jason does not lift his eyes; he no longer has the strength.

Maria: The sea is calm tonight, Jason. But it does not erase the sadness of men.

The voice is calm, composed, imbued with a natural authority that needs no effort to be heard. Maria stands there, her elegant and serene silhouette contrasting with the young man's distress.

Jason lets out a soft sniffle.

Jason: He shouldn't have... he was so joyful, Maria. Everyone loved him.

Maria approaches and sits beside him. She does not try to tell him that "everything is fine," for she knows it is a lie. The void left by the disappearance of Tyler is real and deep.

Maria: Loss is a wound that cannot be healed with ointments, Jason. It is healed with time and the presence of others.

Jason turns his gaze toward her, his eyes still red from tears.

Jason: How do you stay so strong? You know what happened on that island. You healed the crew's wounds, but you cannot heal what is no longer there!

Maria gazes at the horizon.

Maria: I am not strong because I feel nothing, Jason. I am strong because I have learned to carry my own sorrow without letting it stop me from walking. Pain is like a tide: it rises, it overwhelms everything in its path, but it always eventually recedes.

She remains silent for a long time, letting the sound of the waves rhythm their exchange. She senses a bond far deeper than that which unites mere comrades-in-arms.

Maria: Do not stay alone with your ghosts. The crew needs you, and you need them. Even if the silence seems easier to bear for now, it eventually becomes too heavy.

Jason nods, a solitary tear running down his cheek. The presence of Maria does not make the pain disappear, but for the first time since the tragedy, he feels not just like a victim of the event, but as a member of a crew that, despite the mourning, must continue its journey.

He finally leans against the ship's bulwark, eyes fixed on the white foam traced by the *Vengeance*'s wake in the darkness, while Maria remains at his side, like a silent sentinel.