(3rd Person POV)
Arthur remained behind the cara, fully in his elent as the director. He carefully composed each shot—capturing the energy of the bustling port, the scale of the Titanic towering behind the crowd, and the seamless movent of extras flowing across the set like clockwork.
His eyes followed the scene as Firfel, playing Rose, stepped forward alongside Abel as Caledon and Delaney as Rose’s mother. Their entrance onto the Titanic—ticket in hand, elegance in posture—was smooth and perfectly tid.
Trailing behind them, Lady Velmira, as the elderly Rose, sat quietly in her wheelchair. People moved past her, paying her no mind, as if she were a ghost from the past. Her eyes, however, told a story of their own—distant, layered with mory and silent emotion.
So far, the takes had been clean. No reshoots needed. Velmira, despite this being her first ti on a film set, perford naturally. She adjusted instinctively to cara angles and lighting as if she’d done it for years.
’Her theatre discipline translated perfectly,’ Arthur thought, nodding to himself. ’She’s never faced a lens before, and yet... she already understands presence.’
Standing from his director’s chair, Arthur smiled faintly. "Alright. My turn."
He handed over control to Amon, his assistant director, then slipped into the tent for his transformation.
Inside, the makeup team worked quickly. Just a bit of enhancent—enough to smooth his features and give him that youthful glow. His outfit was swapped for Jack’s costu, and with a touch of magic, his hair was dyed a sun-kissed blonde. The stylist gave it a windswept charm.
By the ti Arthur stepped out of the tent, he was no longer the director.
He was Jack.
Heads turned as he passed. Crew and cast alike paused mid-task.
"Wait, is that... still the director?" Klein muttered, clearly stunned. "He looks like a different person."
"I always knew he was handso, but now?" Lilith gasped. "He looks like he stepped out of a dream!"
Other won whispered and giggled behind their hands. Even so of the n looked on with impressed expressions.
Apollonia, hearing the excitent ripple through the crowd, lifted her chin with quiet pride. Her brother had always stood out—but today, he shone.
Nearby, Dane was fidgeting as Arthur approached. The older boy placed a hand on his shoulder with a reassuring smile.
"We’re up soon. Let’s do this."
Dane nodded, though he could barely hold back the nerves. Despite the rehearsal ti they’d shared, acting beside Arthur still made his heart race. Arthur wasn’t just a director to him—he was soone to aspire to.
Inside the set’s gambling room, extras shuffled cards and got into position. Arthur checked in briefly with Amon, then joined Dane at the table.
"Action," Arthur said, slipping instantly into character.
Caras rolled.
Arthur leaned back in his seat, a cigarette balanced loosely between his fingers. With a cocky smile and that glint in his eye, he embodied Jack’s reckless charm—carefree, untad, young.
His voice was light, his tone playful and smooth. It wasn’t Arthur speaking anymore. It was soone else entirely.
’His acting... it’s unreal,’ Dane thought, staring at him in awe. ’He’s not playing a part. He is this seventeen-year-old demon...’
Not far away, Firfel had just stepped off set and moved toward the monitor. Her eyes widened as she watched the playback.
"Arthur..." she whispered. "He’s nothing like he was during rehearsal."
In rehearsal, Arthur had been sharp and focused, but never this radiant—this alive.
"He’s so handso, isn’t he?" Apollonia said beside her with a grin.
Firfel’s cheeks flushed as a warm heat crept up her neck. She gave a small nod, unable to look away from the screen.
Apollonia just smiled knowingly.
The gambling scene rolled on smoothly. Arthur, in the role of Jack, played with infectious charm, and by the end of the ga, he and Dane—playing Jack’s buddy, Fabrizio—had won a pile of coins and, more importantly, their tickets to board the Titanic.
Amon, steady behind the cara, fild Jack sprinting toward the ship in the final monts. The dockworkers barely let him through before the boarding gates closed. With laughter and celebration, Jack and Fabrizio dashed up the ramp, disappearing into the grand ship.
"Cut!" Amon called.
But while filming paused, reality continued. Arthur, without missing a beat, gave the signal.
The Titanic—forrly known as the Grand Whale—began to move.
The massive ship slowly pushed away from Liberty Port. The old man playing Captain Edward stood proudly at the helm, and he wasn’t just an actor. Captain Ollie, a retired naval officer, was leading the ship for real.
Their ti filming at Liberty Port was limited. Too much disruption would interfere with the port’s comrcial operations, and Arthur knew better than to overstay.
As the ship pulled away, ghostly cara operators floated overhead—capturing breathtaking shots of the vessel from above, the morning light catching on its gleaming hull.
Onshore, the spectators—many of whom weren’t even part of the movie—watched in stunned silence.
It felt surreal. Awe mingled with a strange emptiness in their chests.
They had just witnessed a once-in-a-lifeti spectacle. A living, breathing movie set, setting sail before their very eyes.
A TV caraman scratched his head, unable to tear his gaze away.
"Well... would you look at that," he muttered. "The movie set is actually sailing."
"Doesn’t matter," his reporter partner grinned, flipping open his notepad. "We just saw Hellfire turn an ordinary green curtain into a full-blown illusion. That alone’s headline-worthy. I’m filing this as soon as we get back."
Nearby, newspaper journalists scribbled furiously, drafting copy on the spot. Even as the Titanic grew smaller in the distance, the crowd lingered, so walking up to the green screens, trying to understand how they worked.
Only when the Hellfire crew began dismantling the illusion did the crowd start to disperse.
—
Aboard the Titanic, the energy was electric.
Actors, extras, crew, and even the nobles were filled with excitent as the ship picked up speed.
Rika stood by the railings with her entourage, a satisfied smile on her lips. She had cruised before, but never like this—on a film set, surrounded by rolling caras and staged chaos.
Oddly enough, the ongoing filming—the shouts, the retakes, the panicked scenes—didn’t ruin the mood for her. If anything, it enhanced it.
By mid-afternoon, the focus shifted once again to Jack.
With the wind tousling his freshly dyed blond hair, Arthur climbed to the ship’s highest deck.
He spread his arms wide over the edge and shouted into the open sea, "I’m the king of the world!"
The words echoed over the water, quickly swallowed by the vast ocean.
Behind the monitors, Firfel, Apollonia, and a few crew mbers smiled.
That mont—raw and childlike—captured everything about Jack’s first taste of freedom aboard a ship unlike any he’d ever seen.
Not everyone was impressed.
"Honestly," Rika scoffed, arms folded, "he looks ridiculous. Why is Arthur playing such a loud, inexperienced character?"
"I liked him more as Michael Corleone," one of her friends chid in.
Their group murmured in agreent.
Firfel, standing nearby, felt her eye twitch—but she exhaled and said nothing.
As Firfel and Apollonia continued watching the monitor, Lady Velmira stood nearby, observing with quiet intensity. The scene had gone smoothly—Arthur’s performance as Jack had been full of energy and charm, nailed in a single take. Velmira gave a small, approving nod.
But her expression shifted when Arthur reviewed the footage and suddenly said, "Let’s do another take. I don’t think I shouted loud enough."
Amon and the crew nodded without hesitation, already preparing to reset.
Velmira blinked, a flicker of confusion in her eyes.
’Again?’ she thought, puzzled. ’It was perfectly fine the first ti... Why repeat sothing that worked?’
She watched as Arthur perford the scene multiple tis. Each version seed almost identical, with only minor differences in tone, posture, or delivery. To soone like her, trained in the rhythm of live theatre, it felt redundant—like chasing shadows.
But then sothing changed.
After the final take, Arthur finally nodded, satisfied. The replay showed a version of Jack that felt... looser. Less polished. More alive.
Velmira studied the playback carefully. It wasn’t that the line was louder. It was the subtle difference in energy—less rehearsed, more spontaneous. It lacked the rigidness of performance and instead felt like truth.
And slowly, sothing clicked inside her.
All her life, she had perford on the stage—where every line had to land right the first ti, with no room for mistakes. Retakes were foreign to her. Wasteful, even.
But now, watching Arthur chase not perfection, but authenticity in those slight variations—she began to understand.
’So this is what it ans to chase the right feeling. The right mont. Even a small improvent, when captured on film, brings imnse satisfaction...’
A faint smile touched her lips.
anwhile, hidden in the shadows of the deck above, Sylwen observed silently. Cloaked by magic, she watched the replay unfold on a monitor nearby.
Arthur’s voice echoed again—"I’m the king of the world!"—but to Sylwen, it wasn’t Jack shouting.
It was Arthur.
’So that’s your ssage again, boss...’ she thought, a smirk forming. ’Another quiet claim of your ambition. Hidden beneath the performance.’
She adjusted her cloak and lted further into the shadows, quietly proud.
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