The vast and infinite blue of the ocean stretched out before the Caelestis, the imposing warship of the Kingdom of Isolara, cutting through the waters with a meticulous and uninterrupted rhythm. The hull, painted in a deep metallic blue, seemed almost to merge with the sea itself, as if the ship were an extension of the ocean, defying the immensity that surrounded it. The sails, large and imposing, swelled with the force of a persistent wind blowing from the east, propelling the ship home, while the waves crashed against its hull with a constant roar, as a reminder that the sea was both an ally and an enemy.
As the Caelestis advanced through the turbulent waters, the crew maintained an unshakable calm, each member aware of their role and the importance of their mission. The sound of the sea and the crackling of the wind were the only noises heard, mixed with the rhythmic sound of the crew's hurried steps, moving in an orderly and silent manner, as though the crew's very bodies were part of the ship's mechanism.
On the deck, the atmosphere was one of silent tension, but not fear. Commander Livia Calista, imposing and calm, coordinated the movements of the crew with exemplary precision. Her orders were brief but weighed heavily like iron. Her firm hands steered the ship while her eyes kept a vigilant watch over every detail, from the positioning of the sailors to the perfect alignment of the sails. Every gesture of the commander conveyed the confidence of someone who had already faced the most treacherous seas and knew how to survive any storm.
Further back, in the artillery area, Officer Lucius Gaul inspected the cannons with his sharp and meticulous gaze. His tall, muscular figure reflected his passion for training and maintaining the weapons under his care. Every piece of armament was inspected with an almost religious zeal, ensuring that, when the time came, the firepower of the Caelestis would be devastating and unbeatable.
Near the helm, Officer Matheus Arce studied the nautical charts with absolute concentration, handling the navigation instruments with skill, while his eyes observed the stars and the currents of the sea with the precision of an astronomer. His deep knowledge of the stars and the winds allowed him to anticipate any changes in the weather conditions, and his ability to read the sea made the Caelestis a ship always prepared for the unexpected.
Although the ocean was calm that day, the crew's attention never wavered. Long voyages across the open sea were not just a test of physical endurance, but also of mental resilience. Dr. Alarico Solvan, the ship's surgeon, walked the deck with a watchful posture, observing the crew's movements and checking for any signs of fatigue or hidden injuries. His severe, yet attentive gaze never allowed any lapse in the crew's health care. He knew the sea could be cruel, not only to the body, but also to the mind.
The Caelestis was a reflection of discipline, dedication, and precision. Every movement of the ship, every sail that shifted or wave that crashed against its hull, was a manifestation of the great machine that was the Isolarian navy. The sea could be unpredictable, but the Caelestis sailed with confidence, a giant of wood and sails, guided by the steady hand of its officers and the indomitable courage of its crew.
The wind cut across Victória Navarca's face, a young officer of the Isolarian navy who had only lived seventeen days of her name. Despite her short life, she was part of the group of people who had already embarked on the Caelestis, the largest and most feared ship in the entire kingdom, and perhaps the whole continent. As it cut through the turbulent waters, she stood at the bow, her gaze fixed on the foggy horizon, where the sky and sea merged into a faint, undefined line. The wind, relentless, touched her face with the softness of a sharp blade, but she felt it like an embrace from the sea itself, a sign that nature was testing her, as it had from her very first day aboard.
Victória, born in Baia delle Perle, had learned from a young age to respect the sea. The turquoise waters and salty winds of that wild beauty had forged her untamable soul. Her dark blonde hair, tied with a simple blue ribbon, was now stirred by the breeze, with the salty reflections dancing in the morning light. Her bluish-grey eyes, which seemed to always observe everything and nothing at the same time, contemplated the fog ahead of her.
The air was fresh, with the humidity of the morning mist penetrating her skin, while the dew rested on the sails and ropes, forming droplets that shimmered in the faint light of dawn. Each breath gave her the feeling of being impregnated by the sea's salt, which blended with the cold breeze that passed over her face. It was a comforting and challenging sensation, making her feel alive and alert, ready for whatever the sea might bring her.
Her navy-blue officer uniform, with silver details that sparkled in the weak morning sun, seemed almost symbolic in that environment. It was as though she were in perfect harmony with the ship, the sea, and the world around her. Her posture was impeccable, just as she had been trained to do, and the freckles, remnants of her coastal childhood, covered her face. Victória's accent, with its unmistakable musicality, echoed in her words for those fortunate enough to hear her, but now, surrounded by the sound of the wind and waves, she had only the company of her own thoughts.
Despite the apparent calm, Victória's mind, meticulous and analytical, never rested. The sea does not forgive, she thought, and, because of that, she wrote down everything she saw in her journal – she knew that, at sea, a mistake of even one degree could be the difference between a safe harbour and the abyss of a shipwreck.
The fog began to slowly dissipate, the sky started to take on a more vivid colour, and the waves were becoming more visible, revealing the full immensity of the sea within them. She closed her eyes for a moment, absorbing the sensation of the wind on her face and the sound of the sea, which intensified like a melody guiding her on her journey. She was ready for another day at sea, and the Caelestis, under the command of Queen Luna Caelestis, continued to navigate the waters.
Victória watched, with her heart beating faster than usual, the imposing figure of the Queen on the deck, her presence radiating authority and confidence. Luna, with her tall frame and upright posture, had her gaze fixed on the distant horizon, as though the line between the sky and the sea were the limit of her sight and domain. Her royal cloak billowed in the wind, reflecting silver and deep colours that seemed to blend with the waves of the sea. The Queen was not only beautiful; she was a woman who exuded power, and her posture conveyed a fierce tranquillity, as though nothing in this world could disturb her strategic calm.
A few steps from the Queen, Victória felt an immense pride in being there as one of the junior officers, personally chosen by Luna. The fact that she had been selected from among the best young candidates was something she still struggled to fully comprehend, as if it were a dream she could never have expected to achieve. Yet, at the same time, there was no doubt within her that she had earned that place, for her dedication, her precision, her attention to detail, and her strategic vision had been noticed by several naval officers, and, especially, by the Queen herself.
She had been given a rare opportunity, but she knew she was in the right place. She was there to learn, to grow, and, possibly, to become a commander as extraordinary as the Queen herself. She would never feel close enough to cease admiring the Queen, but, in that moment, with the sound of the sea crashing against the ship's sides and the cool wind cutting across her face, Victória felt a profound connection with Luna Caelestis.
Her admiration had turned into absolute respect, and she felt more than just a member of the Caelestis; she felt part of something greater, something that transcended mere military discipline. It was a journey of honour, loyalty, and achievement, and she was there to make history, alongside the woman who commanded the future of Isolara.
The return from the patrol mission had, for all intents and purposes, been fruitless. The sails of the Caelestis were now set, catching the gentle wind that pushed the ship back towards the coast, but, deep down, there was a collective silence hanging over the crew. No pirate ships, no corsairs, nor any threat worth mentioning. The sea, as always, kept its secrets well-guarded.
Victória watched the horizon line, the calm waters reflecting the grey sky, with the soft morning light almost merging with the clouds. The mission had been one of those that made sailors question the purpose of some expeditions. No combat, no victory, just the bitter taste of time wasted.
In the distance, something began to emerge, slowly revealing itself through the mist that covered the waters. As they drew nearer, the outline of an imposing structure emerged from the fog, like a beacon of hope, a constant and faithful sight of the Kingdom of Isolara: the Faro Eterno – the 'Eternal Lighthouse'.
Rising proudly above the rocks, the lighthouse seemed an extension of the land itself, a constant presence that guided sailors, not just at sea, but also in their lives. Its white stone tower, weathered by decades of winds and seas, was crowned by a large lantern, now extinguished, but which, in stormy times, would illuminate the seas with an almost mystical light.
The lighthouse was surrounded by a crown of small rocks, as if the sea had finally decided to accept that one of the kingdom's great wonders would rest there. The rays of the sun, still shy in the morning, began to touch the structure, making it glow softly, like a distant jewel.
Upon seeing the Faro Eterno, Victória felt a shiver run down her spine. It had always had this effect on her. That tower was the embodiment of Isolara's security and the entire history of the nation. For the Isolarians, that lighthouse was more than just a building; it was the guardian of the coast, an emblem of resistance and endurance.
The young officer knew she was about to see, for the first time, the starting point of every voyage of that ship. The city of Caelestis was the place from which all the kingdom's ships set sail and to which they always returned. A beacon of hope, but also of home, it was always present in the thoughts of all sailors.
The city of Caelestis rises majestically above the cliffs of Isola Solitaria, the 'Lonely Island', an island which, despite its name, proves to be vibrant and full of life. The harbour is the beating heart of the city, where commerce, fishing, and warfare intertwine in chaotic harmony. As they approached, the sound of waves crashing against the rocks drowned out the conversations of the sailors and the cries of the seagulls, circling the harbour in search of scraps.
The sun, still low on the horizon, cast golden rays upon the surface of the sea, illuminating the white sails and warships anchored. Ships of the line, imposing and laden with history, rested in the calm waters, their sails furled and their cannons exposed, like strong arms, ready for combat. The flags of Isolara fluttered gently in the breeze, reflecting the sovereignty of the Caelestis family and the power they wielded over the kingdom. Among these giants of wood and iron, there were also simpler fishing boats, but equally essential, with their nets spread out and fishermen unloading their catch from before the sun rose above the horizon.
The smell of the harbour was a mixture of intense sea breeze, mingled with the fresh scent of freshly unloaded fish and the smoke from the forges, where artisans forged ironworks and carried out repairs for the ships. The salt in the air seemed to have a distinct taste, as if the very land itself was imbued with the strength of the sea. As the Caelestis drew nearer, Victória could see the incessant movement of the crane arms on the docks and the bustling of the merchants, with their colourful markets full of spices, fabrics, and goods from all over the kingdom. The sound of hammering and the squeak of ropes from the moving ships made the atmosphere a lively mixture of work and motion.
The city displayed white stone buildings that clung to the sloping terrain, as if the very rocks had been shaped in the image of the kingdom. The narrow streets wound through the hills, with shops and taverns exhaling tempting smells of freshly baked bread and grilled meats and fish, competing with the freshness of the sea.
Victória felt her heart tighten as she saw the coast of Caelestis drawing closer. In the distance, the Fortress of Caelestis, located at the highest point of the island, stood watch like an unflinching sentry, silent and solid, guarding the city and its people.
The sound of the moorings being thrown and the hooks securing the ship to the dock echoed through the salty air. The gangway was lowered with precision, and the first sailors began to disembark, greeted by familiar and curious faces from the crowd that had gathered along the dock. But the true awaited moment was another: the disembarkation of the Queen.
Luna Caelestis emerged on the upper deck of the Caelestis, her cloak billowing in the wind. Her posture was upright, majestic, and her golden eyes – firm and attentive – scanned the harbour with the serenity of one who masters both sea and land. Her black hair, loose but perfectly aligned, framed her face with elegance. Without haste, she descended the gangway with firm steps, each movement marked by a natural grace and an undeniable power.
On the pier, lined up with the imposing presence characteristic of court members, stood some of the kingdom's key representatives. In front of them, Admiral Ciro Marisalto, Baron of Marisalto, stood out, his cape embroidered with details reminiscent of waves shimmering in the sunlight, as if dancing in the breeze. Beside him was Lady Aria Valleflora, Marchioness of Valle Serena, wearing a light green dress adorned with small, embroidered flowers, as if nature itself had blessed her with a mantle of serenity. A little further from them was Sir Luca Ondascura, Count of Ondaguarda, with his attentive gaze and rigid posture, wearing an elegant black velvet coat with golden details. Next to him was Lady Sofia Lunaforte, Marchioness of Lunaguarda, her silver hair carefully arranged. She wore a purple velvet cloak, delicately embroidered with silver to form a lunar pattern, fitting for the supervisor of Lunaguarda.
As Luna's feet touched the stone ground of the harbour, everyone present bowed their heads in unison. She advanced with the firmness of one carrying the weight of both the sea and the crown, slowly making her way to the procession, where the Kingdom of Isolara – in its most solemn form – awaited her.
– My Queen – said Ciro, still giving a respectful bow, – we were told you would not return for at least another two rotations. If it pleases you, why have you returned so soon?
– I do not find it pleasing – Luna replied, her eyes expressionless. – Your scouts sent me on a fruitless mission. Are you certain it was confirmed that the Falcon of the Mist had been sighted in the waters of Volcanova?
– I can confirm it. I trust these men and women as if they were my own children.
– And my fiancé? I see he is not part of your entourage.
– My Queen – said the Marchioness of Valle Serena, almost sobbing, – King Caelum is not in a condition to leave his chambers. He tasked me with telling you…
– That he has many important matters to attend to which require his full attention – Luna interrupted the Marchioness. – Yes, yes, of course. My dear brother, always so concerned with the kingdom and its subjects! What else did my uncle ask you to tell me?
– He… – the Marchioness swallowed nervously, knowing there was no way to deceive her queen – he asked us to receive you. He regrets not being able to be here in person, but there are disturbances coming from the continental realms that cannot be ignored. However, to celebrate your return, they are preparing a banquet in your honour, My Queen.
– A banquet in my honour? For returning without the head of our tormentor?
– That is a pity, indeed, My Queen – said Luca Ondascura, – but I am sure that your mere presence was enough to expel him from our waters for good. The banquet is to celebrate your safe return home.
– I did not return alone. What about my crew?
The nobles looked at each other, their expressions startled, not knowing what to do, until Sofia Lunaforte stepped forward.
– My Queen, it would not be fitting to receive so many at the Celestial Palace, there would be no way to accommodate so many in its chambers.
– Then let only my officers be received. I want everything prepared to welcome them when they arrive there. Get me a horse, I need to go see my uncle immediately.
– At your orders, Your Majesty! – the nobles said in unison.
And with that, the procession hurried to make requests to their attendants to send messengers on fast horses to alert the palace of the arrival of more visitors. Several butlers and pageboys rushed to accompany the nobles and prepare their carriages for the unexpected return, while all the coachmen and stableboys in the vicinity prepared the carriages and horses to take the officers of the Caelestis to the palace.
The journey from the port to the heart of the city was brief, but for Victória Navarca, every moment seemed suspended in time. Sitting with the other junior officers in one of the hastily prepared carriages, she felt the nervousness mix with excitement. It was her first time stepping onto the soil of Caelestis, the capital, and everything around her seemed to have stepped out of an old painting – the steep alleys winding between buildings of pale stone, adorned with wrought-iron balconies and marine-coloured fabrics fluttering in the wind.
The sound of the wheels on the cobblestones, mixed with the jingling of the reins and the bustling noise of a lively city, echoed the rhythm of their arrival. Victória peeked through the half-open window, soaking in the aromas of spices, freshly baked bread, and the persistent salt in the air. The inhabitants stopped to watch the procession, their faces showing a mixture of reverence and curiosity.
As the carriage climbed the final slopes towards the plateau where the Royal Palace stood, the scene unfolded like a marble-and-wind theatre. The Celestial Palace – as it was called – loomed on the cliff top, its white stone walls sculpted with towers topped by dark-blue domes, gleaming like the sky at dusk. On the main façade, tall columns supported a portico where the banners of Isolara fluttered: a silver lighthouse over a blue field. Wide stairways descended like cascades of stone, flanked by statues of mythical figures and heroes of the past.
Victória held her breath. The palace was not merely a royal residence – it was a statement of power, beauty, and permanence.
It would be here, tonight, where the Queen's return would be celebrated with a banquet that would bring together the royal family, the nobility, and the officers aboard the Caelestis.
The interior courtyard of the Celestial Palace was cool and silent, with soft shadows cast by the arcades and the light sound of water running through marble fountains. Upon arrival, the officers were courteously, but firmly, directed to their chambers, situated in a wing reserved for the honoured guests of the Caelestis family. The stone underfoot was cold and polished, and the air smelled of lavender, soap, and sea breeze.
A young maid, with a discreet smile and light blue garments, led Victória down a glass-walled corridor that overlooked the hanging gardens. When the carved wooden door opened, the young officer held her breath: the room was more luxurious than any cabin she had ever seen, even the commander's. There were tapestries embroidered with stars and waves, a four-poster bed with light drapes, and a balcony with a view of the sea stretching to the horizon.
But what caught her attention the most was the small adjoining room, where warm water was already filling an ornate copper bathtub, with flower petals floating on the surface. The maid gave a subtle bow and spoke gently:
– The Queen ordered that the quarters of all the officers be prepared before your arrival. I wish you a restful moment, Lady Navarca. You will need energy for the banquet tonight.
Victória thanked her with a nod and, once alone, allowed herself a deep sigh. She slowly undressed her uniform, still marked by the journey, folded it carefully, and stepped into the water with a shiver of relief. The heat enveloped her body, releasing the tension from her muscles and washing away the salt and weariness from weeks at sea.
There, amidst the scent of flowers and the distant sound of the waves, she allowed herself a rare moment of silence. She knew that in a few hours, she would have to present herself before the Queen, the nobles, and all the watchful eyes of the court. But for now, there was only the murmur of the water, the soft light of dawn filtering through the curtains, and her heart beating with a mixture of anxiety and hope.
Leaning against the edge of the bathtub, Victória tilted her head slightly back, her eyes half-closed, breathing in the delicate aroma of the floating petals. The sound of the water gently rippling filled the room, muffling the distant buzz of the palace.
She ran her fingers over her arms, shoulders, and thighs, almost unconsciously, and noticed – as if suddenly seeing her reflection through someone else's eyes – the firmness of her muscles, the definition acquired over the last few years aboard ships. She was no longer a girl from the bay, but a young woman shaped by the sea: broader shoulders, a flat abdomen, calloused but precise hands, discreet but firm breasts, like everything in her – contained, functional, trained. The body of someone who belonged on the deck of a ship, not in the halls of a palace.
Then, she remembered what her father had told her before she left on the Caelestis: 'When you return, I'll speak to old Eustáquio. His son has good land in Lunaguarda. You're almost eighteen.' His voice echoed in her ears like a dark warning. The 'eighteen' loomed like a storm on the horizon. An arranged marriage. A fixed house on land. A new name. Children.
She swallowed hard and sank a little deeper into the water, as if she could hide from what awaited her. But the thought persisted. The boy from Lunaguarda – she couldn't even remember his face or name. They had exchanged two words during one of the dull lunches when her father forced her to mingle with guests to 'maintain good relations.' He smelled of cheap perfume and spoke of his vineyards as though reciting numbers.
Victória clenched her eyes shut.
This is not where I belong, she thought to herself.
She only knew happiness when she was at sea, when the wind tugged at her hair and the ship responded to her commands like a living creature, when the sky flared with fiery hues at dusk and the waves whispered ancient secrets. Aboard the Caelestis, she felt whole. She felt… free.
Here, in this scented water, surrounded by marble and silk, she felt out of place. A bird perched in a golden cage. Beautiful, perhaps, but useless.
She took a deep breath, forcing the thought to fade. There would be time for confrontations with her father. But not today. Today, she would have to dress, lift her head, and face the banquet. And if everything went well, perhaps the Queen would look at her not as the daughter of someone from the lower nobility, but as an officer. As a sailor.
As herself.
The steam hung in the air as Victória left the bath with a determined sigh. The water trickled down her body as she wrapped herself in a soft linen towel, embroidered with the royal crest of Isolara – the eternal lighthouse, surrounded by waves and stars. She dried herself quickly, trying to shake off the heaviness left by the warmth on her body, and dressed in her ceremonial uniform with precise, almost militaristic movements. The navy-blue jacket fit her torso with restrained elegance, highlighted by silver buttons and epaulettes on the shoulders. She tied her still-wet hair into a simple bun, leaving a loose lock to fall by her face.
She needed air. And space.
First, she passed through the Cypress Courtyard, a large and silent space, flanked by columns of light stone and tall, slender trees that seemed to touch the sky. The sound of water from a central fountain offered brief solace, a rhythm almost familiar. Near it, small groups of courtiers whispered, fanning themselves or adjusting their gala jackets. As she approached, their voices subtly quieted, but not without her catching a snippet:
– … they say she refuses to marry Nicolau Lunaforte, son of Eustáquio Lunaforte.
– Ah, a hard head, like all the Navarca…
So that was his name, Victória thought, ignoring the comments made about her.
She then proceeded down the Mirror Corridor, where stained glass windows cast colourful reflections onto the mosaic floor. The walls were adorned with ancient portraits of the Caelestis lineage – kings, queens, and naval heroes looking down from above with solemn expressions. She passed through the reflections like a shadow, avoiding facing herself in the polished surfaces. Two ladies-in-waiting exchanged words in carefully measured tones:
– Did you see the look in her eyes? It's as though she could command the sea with a gesture.
– She inherited that from her mother, no doubt. But they say her uncle, the Regent of the Realm, hasn't slept soundly since he learned that his…
Victória kept her gaze straight ahead, without stopping, but the weight of the comments followed her steps like silent shadows.
She turned left and crossed the Astrolabe Gallery, a long-vaulted hall, where navigational instruments were displayed in glass cases. A celestial globe slowly rotated at the centre. There, the silence was reverent, as if the stars themselves were waiting in suspension.
Victória paused for a moment, placing her fingers on the cold glass of an old sextant. Her heartbeat slower there. More anchored.
But her moment alone was interrupted by the sudden entrance of three young apprentices. They didn't notice Victória's presence in the room and stopped to examine a celestial map hanging on the wall, but their conversation was about something else:
– Do you think we'll manage to do what was asked of us for tonight? Her return was far too swift; we're not fully prepared yet.
– What did you expect? She should have had an accident at sea! They ask us to prepare everything for the future, but nothing is certain with her. We should have known...
Victória slipped quietly away from the gallery before they could notice her presence. Their words clung to her ears like a hook in flesh.
Further ahead, in the Sunset Garden, where the sea breeze offered a brief comfort, she caught another murmur between two gentlemen in embroidered cloaks:
– She returned too early from that mission to the east...
– The plan was to make it seem like an accident at sea... But with the Caelestis under her command? It would have been suicide!
– No one wants to face her with that ship. Tonight will be our best chance. Shame she brought her officers with her, they're loose ends...
– They won't be for much longer, don't worry about them.
Victória pressed her lips together and drew a deep breath. The salt in the air now mingled with a taste of unease. By the god of the sea, what is happening in this palace of traitors?, she thought, slipping away unseen.
She kept walking, skirting around the palace, until, in the distance, she saw the open doors of the Hall of Stars, where hurried servants and attendants were finishing the preparations for the banquet. The scent of cinnamon, mulled wine and roasted meat filled the corridors, and the chandeliers were ready to shine like suspended constellations later that night.
Yet no light seemed enough to banish the shadow that was gathering.
Victória quickened her pace – not running, but not hiding the urgency that simmered in her chest either. The words she had overheard echoed in her mind like muffled war drums. 'She arrived too soon.''No one wants to face her with that ship.''An accident at sea.' Queen Luna Caelestis was in danger – and seemed to be the only one who did not know.
She turned into a dimmer corridor, where the portraits of former admirals seemed to watch her with painted eyes through the centuries. The polished stone floor reflected the flickering light of the wall lanterns but offered no answers.
As she passed by the Solar Library, two voices interrupted her focus:
– We still haven't had time to arrange everything...
– She was supposed to return only in two weeks. We couldn't have predicted she'd come back so early.
– The Regent will have to act before it's too late...
Victória froze. She pretended to examine a nearby tapestry, her heart pounding in her chest. 'Act before it's too late.' The words were distilled poison. These weren't just rumours – they were clues, fragments of something bigger, darker, and hidden.
She started moving again, this time with more caution. She climbed a side staircase, trying to figure out where the Queen might be before the banquet. The last time she had seen her was at the harbour, but Luna had disappeared into the palace, and Victória didn't even know if she was surrounded by her trusted officers.
Passing a half-open door along the Corridor of Constellations, she slowed down. A low murmur caught her attention. She approached carefully, leaning slightly to peer through a crack.
Inside, beneath the golden glow of a hanging chandelier, she immediately recognised the imposing figure of Octavion Caelestis, the Regent of the Realm. He stood in profile, his greying hair tied back, his hands clasped behind his back. Before him stood three men in officer uniforms of the army. One of them was gesturing with controlled tension, while the others nodded grimly.
– ... with the Caelestis under her direct command, he would stand no chance! We have no leverage at sea.
– If we're to act, it must be subtle, before the fleet gathers again. Ciro Marisalto will always remain loyal to her, as he was during the succession matter.
– And the people still support her. She's too dangerous!
Octavion did not respond immediately, but his frozen silence spoke louder than any words.
Victória stepped back carefully, her stomach tightening into a knot. There was no longer any doubt: Luna Caelestis was being watched, calculated – and there were those who would rather see her off the throne... or out of the way entirely.
Without wasting a moment, she pressed on. She had to find her Queen – and quickly!