….
The first light of dawn broke over Varnhold Colony, spilling gold across the sprawling courtyards and whitewashed walls. The sea beyond the harbor shimmered like molten brass, gulls crying above the rhythmic clatter of boots and wagon wheels. A thin mist still clung to the cobblestones, curling around the feet of soldiers and servants alike as preparations for departure were well underway.
The scent of salt, oil, and dried grain mingled in the cool morning air. On the far edge of the courtyard, Zayn and Chauncey worked side by side, loading crates onto a large, oak-framed carriage fitted with iron-rimmed wheels and reinforced panels for the long journey ahead. The horses snorted and stomped impatiently, their breath puffing in ghostly clouds.
"Careful with that one,"
Zayn muttered, hefting a crate labeled Rations – Two Weeks, Sealed by Drenmarch Supply Authority.
He wiped the sweat from his brow, his dark hair already sticking to his temples. "That's salted meat. You drop it, we'll be eating biscuits and regret."
Chauncey laughed, hauling up a barrel that sloshed faintly with brine.
"Could be worse. At least the biscuits won't try to bite back."
He grunted as he secured the barrel with rope. "Tell me again why we need this much saltfish?"
Zayn gave him a sidelong glance. "Because Jasmijn said so."
Chauncey paused. "…Fair point."
The soldiers nearby moved in efficient rhythm—lifting, stacking, checking manifests. Every movement was a prelude to something greater, something tense and unspoken in the air. The journey to Valdyr was no mere voyage; it was a crossing into danger itself.
Inside the mansion, the atmosphere was quieter but no less serious.
Sunlight filtered through long glass windows, painting soft amber light across polished floors and white curtains. At a large mahogany table strewn with maps and nautical charts, Charolette stood opposite of CommanderJasmijnDoutzen, her hair loosely braided, a pencil tucked behind one ear.
Despite her youth and her country Plugish accent, Charolette's tone was all business.
"…so if the currents stay strong along the Ardent Coast,"
She said, tracing a path with her fingertip,
"We'll make landfall just before the second moon wanes. About thirteen days, if the winds are steady."
Jasmijn watched quietly, arms folded. Her expression was unreadable, but there was a rare glint of admiration in her eyes.
Charolette continued,
"There's a safe harbor along the eastern ridge where the cliffs drop. It's not marked on most maps, but if we need repairs, it's the best shot."
Her mind was elsewhere—running numbers, wind speeds, provisions—when Charolette's voice broke the silence.
"Jasmijn? …Jasmijn!"
Jasmijn blinked rapidly, coming back to herself. "Did you catch all that?"
"Yes,"
Jasmijn said softly, rubbing her temple before placing a gloved hand on Charolette's shoulder.
"Wait here."
Charolette frowned, confused. "What—where are you going?"
But Jasmijn was already gone.
Down in the mansion's basement, the air was colder. The dim torches cast flickering shadows across rows of iron bars. Chains rattled faintly as Nora stirred in her cot, one eye cracking open at the sound of boots approaching.
Jasmijn descended the steps with two soldiers in tow, her presence commanding even in silence. She drew a ring of keys from her belt and turned them with a click.
The cell door creaked open.
Nora sat up, a slow smirk spreading across her face. "Oho? You're letting me go?" she asked, brushing a loc of hair from her cheek with bound wrists.
Jasmijn stepped aside as the soldiers entered and hauled her to her feet. "There's no way I'm leaving you here. You're coming with me."
Nora's grin faltered. "To where, exactly?" she inquired as the two soldiers flanked her sides, hauling her up with a restrained roughness. They pushed her out of the cell, forcing her ascent up the narrow stairwell.
"To Valdyr," Jasmijn replied coolly.
For the first time, Nora's eyes flickered with hesitation. She stopped for just a moment before a shove from one of the soldiers urged her onward.
"Valdyr,"
she repeated under her breath, as if testing the word. Then, with a scoff: "I've always wanted to be eaten by a kraken. Seems an honorable death."
Her voice dripped with venom, but Jasmijn ignored her completely.
As they ascended, the morning light grew brighter—and so did the sounds of activity above. When the heavy doors opened, Chauncey was there waiting, leaning casually against the stairwell railing.
Jasmijn raised an eyebrow. "Are you always here when I come up?"
He stiffened, caught off guard at Nora's presence. "You're bringing her?"
"You really think I'd leave her behind to escape and burn my mansion down?"
Jasmijn replied curtly.
"Take her to a vacant carriage."
Nora gave Chauncey a long, slow look before offering a sultry wink. "You must be the muscle."
Chauncey turned red instantly. "I—uh—…"
"Move her," Jasmijn ordered sharply.
The soldiers dragged Nora away, her laughter trailing faintly behind them. Chauncey watched her go until Jasmijn's voice snapped him out of his daze.
"Well? Did you and Zayn finish loading the supplies?"
"Yeah," he said quickly, scratching his head. "They're…they're ready."
"Then let's go."
She gave him a light tap on the cheek as she passed. He blinked, flustered, before trailing behind.
As they made their way through the training grounds toward the gates, thebald vicecommander stood waiting, his arms crossed. The morning sun gleamed off the scars that crisscrossed his scalp and cheek.
"Leaving us so soon, Plugish boy?"
He asked gruffly, eyeing Chauncey.
Chauncey grinned sheepishly.
"Guess so. Figured I'd let someone else win for once."
The man chuckled—a rare, gravelly sound.
"You've got power, lad. But power without patience is a sword without a handle. Remember—don't fight your opponent. Listen to them. Every swing tells a story."
Chauncey paused, taking that in. "...I'll remember that."
The vice commander gave him a firm clap on the shoulder. "See that you do."
At the estate's gates, Jasmijn'sgrandfather waited—a stoic figure wrapped in a long, weathered cloak. His white beard caught the morning light, and his voice was steady as stone when he spoke.
"You're heading for Valdyr," he said, gaze passing from Jasmijn to the trio.
"That island eats men alive. You'll need more than weapons and courage—you'll need trust. If you don't have that, turn back now."
Jasmijn hugged him tightly.
"I'll be back before the next harvest," she whispered.
He smiled faintly, brushing a strand of hair from her face.
"You always say that."
Then, as she mounted the carriage, he raised a hand in farewell. "May the tides remember your names."
The carriages rolled through Varnhold'sMain
street, wheels clattering over cobblestones as the townsfolk gathered to wave.
"Long live Commander Doutzen!"
They called.
"Safe travels!"
Jasmijn offered polite nods from the lead carriage, her soldiers saluting crisply as they passed.
In the carriage behind, Charolette sat by the window, chin resting on her hand, watching the city blur by. She felt… numb. So many goodbyes, so many promises. She barely flinched when a hand rested gently on her shoulder.
"Hey,"
Zayn said softly.
"Don't worry about what Jasmijn's granddad said about Valdyr. We've already come this far. We won't let anything stop us."
Charolette managed a small smile, giving him a quiet nod.
At the docks of Varnhold Colony, dawn had long bled into full morning. The harbor was alive with motion: sailors shouted over the slap of waves against timbers, ropes creaked under shifting cargo, and the smell of tar, brine, and smoke from the nearby chimneys clung to the air. Gulls circled above in raucous arcs, calling to one another as they wheeled over the piers. But among the dozens of ships that bobbed gently with the tide, one stood apart.
The Seraphine.
A Drenmarch war frigate refitted for long-distance travel, her sleek black hull shimmered beneath the morning light like polished obsidian. Crimson banners streamed from her twin masts, each embroidered with the white falcon of Varnhold. Through polished gunports, the muzzles of heavy cannons gleamed like watchful eyes, ready to breathe fire at a moment's notice. The prow had been carved into the likeness of a winged angel, sword poised downward, a silent warning to anyone daring to cross her path. Everything about the vessel spoke of disciplined, lethal beauty—a floating fortress, alive with history and power.
Zayn lingered at the pier, shoulders tense, his eyes tracing the lines of the Seraphine with quiet awe.
"That's not a ship,"
He muttered, almost under his breath.
"That's… a fortress with sails."
Chauncey, wiping sweat from his brow, chuckled and hauled another crate onto his shoulder.
"A fortress that floats! Now that's my kind of engineering."
He grinned, letting the wood scrape across the deck as he lowered the crate into place.
Charolette, pale hair catching the sun in streaks of gold, crossed her arms over her chest, lips tight.
"Overkill,"
She muttered. "Who needs that many cannons?"
Jasmijn, passing behind her with measured grace, allowed a faint smile.
"A woman who's made enough enemies to warrant them." Her boots clicked softly against the pier, the sound steady and purposeful.
Meanwhile, the Auriela lay moored a few meters away, its freshly painted silver name glinting under the sun. Workers moved with mechanical precision, hauling ropes, hammering boards, and checking masts. The ship had survived the storm, but the scars of battle and neglect were still visible in splintered wood along the deck.
Crates and barrels were carried aboard the Seraphine, ropes tied and retied, sails checked and pulled taut. Every movement was a study in efficiency and order.
"That's the last of it, right?"
Chauncey asked, planting a heavy crate onto the deck with a grunt.
"I think…" Charolette began, eyes narrowing as a dust-kicked carriage rolled onto the pier.
"…we might have more cargo."
The steady rattle of carriage wheels reached their ears. Another Drenmarch transport rolled into view. Two soldiers stepped out first— then Nora followed, hands bound but chin high, eyes glinting with mockery.
Charolette's face darkened instantly, quickly looking to Jasmijn in confusion.
"What the hell were you thinking, bringing her?" she snapped, voice tight with exasperation.
Jasmijn didn't even glance at her.
"I'm not leaving her unsupervised at the estate. She won't be bothering us,"
she said flatly, walking off toward the captain's quarters as if the conversation were beneath her.
Charolette sighed heavily, shoulders sagging.
"Gods, it's too early for this…"
"Hey, crew!"
Nora's voice rang out mockingly, a sing-song tone layered with menace. Her eyes swept the deck, sharp and predatory, as if memorizing every weakness.
"Miss me?"
No one answered. The two soldiers shoved her from behind, an aggressive beckoning to continue walking. She was avoided like a disease. Soldiers dispersed, none daring to block her path as she was hauled to an unknown location below deck. The rhythmic clink of chains echoed through the hull, fading as the stairwell swallowed her presence.
Above, the last ropes were loosed, sails unfurled, and the Seraphine groaned under the pressure of wind and tide, ready to meet the sea. The masts creaked as the first gusts of morning wind filled the crimson banners, carrying them outward like arrows of color against the pale sky. The smell of brine was sharper now, tangy on the air, mixing with the warm, sun-baked scent of the deck.
Zayn, Charolette, Chauncey, and Jasmijn stood together at the railing, staring at the shifting horizon as the ship drifted from the dock. The water sparkled with the reflection of sunlight, waves rolling lazily before gathering strength beneath the hull.
Two weeks to Valdyr.
Two weeks until whatever awaited them on that cursed island would test the strength—and trust—of them all.
————————————————————
WORLD INFO>>
Varnhold Colony.
An island in the New World captured by Drenmarch decades ago. The colony is strategically located on a jagged, rocky shoreline, offering natural protection and safe anchorage for ships. Its terrain is a mix of steep cliffs, dense forests, and terraced fields, reflecting both the island's wildness and the imprint of colonial settlement. The surrounding waters are treacherous, with hidden reefs and strong currents that make navigation difficult for the inexperienced. Despite its isolation, Varnhold remains an important hub for trade and military presence in the region, marked by Drenmarch architecture and the ever-present banners of imperial authority.