The final moments of the long night slowly faded as the first rays of morning stretched across the sky, unveiling its beautiful colors. The sunlight greeted not only the heavens but also the mountain peaks, which seemed eager to touch the highest clouds. As the sun climbed higher, the rest of the mountains grew clearer, their long shadows spilling across the ground.
With the dawn came a gentle breeze, drifting through the fields toward the vast, silent sea. It brushed softly against the water's surface, stirring the waves as though the sea itself were waking from a deep slumber. The waves, carried by the wind, began to run across the endless horizon until they suddenly crashed into a massive ship, followed closely by three others of its kind. The four giant ships seemed to be sailing west together. Three of them were nearly identical, yet one in particular stood out.
It followed behind the others, almost like a father watching his children play, ensuring they were safe. Though not as large as the rest, its shape bore the mark of true craftsmanship—its builders had been masters. The prow was sharp and curved, slicing through the water like a blade. Thirty-two cannons lined its sides, sixteen on each. Beneath them, two additional decks could be seen through their round windows. The vessel's hull was a brownish-gray, aged but dignified. What truly set it apart, however, was its flag. Waving proudly from the tallest mast, it bore a green background marked with a golden symbol: the delicate hand of a woman, palm turned upward. Resting upon the hand were three rings—one at the base of the fingers, another encircling the wrist, and the last just beyond it. A striking emblem, it gave the ship a beauty of its own.
Meanwhile, above the cabin, just around the corner, stood a round table with two chairs. A man in his forties leaned casually against the railing, a cup of coffee in hand as he gazed at the rising sun. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with dark eyes set beneath slightly heavy brows. His hair was short, and his beard, thick enough to cover his cheeks and upper neck, gave him the appearance of a calm and seasoned man.
The main door to the captain's quarters creaked open. From it stepped another man, a letter clutched in his right hand. He was tall, his physique strong and well-trained, his face striking and composed. His piercing blue eyes contrasted with his gray brows and long gray hair, tied neatly in a knot that fell just below his shoulders. His steps were measured and confident as he ascended the stairs.
"I see you're enjoying your coffee," he said with a hint of amusement. "But why shirtless, though?"
"The morning wind feels too good to ignore," the first man replied with a faint smile. "Besides, I've got this gut feeling I should savor these small moments now—because soon, there won't be time to rest."
"You're right about that," the other man said, lifting his right hand. "And this letter may be the reason for your concern."
The man with the cup glanced at the letter, then pulled out a chair and sat down.
"Yo, Bron, I know all of this means everything to him, but really—what are your thoughts? Is he ready for what's to come? Maybe delaying would be better."
"Hahaha… Clad, I didn't know you cared so much about that boy," Bron chuckled, taking a seat as well.
"Well, he makes it a little hard not to," Clad replied with a faint grin.
"You don't need to worry," Bron said, leaning back. "Even if we tried to stop him, he'd find a way to take that exam. My advice? Don't overthink it."
A small smile tugged at his lips.
"That's a nice saying, captain."
"Hahaha, isn't it? But tell me—don't you think it's taking a little too long, considering how smoothly we're sailing?"
"Now that you mention it, we are sailing really smoothly. Considering all these ships, we were bound to have an enemy attack. I bet if pirates saw all of this, they wouldn't just look without trying something."
"Yeah, that's right. We've clashed with pirates so often that it's basically become a routine for us."
"Our other crewmates that are watching the other ships haven't said anything, so it is kinda suspicious."
BWOOOOOOH!
A deep horn blast thundered from above, echoing across the ship. A man on the lookout shouted at the top of his lungs,
"THE THREE-WAY ISLAND IS IN VIEW!"
"Look at that, Clad." Bron rose from his chair, his eyes brightening. "Seems my wait is over."
He started toward the stairs, then turned back. "Don't waste any more time. Get ready and gather everyone at the front—it's time to depart."
Clad took the final sip of his coffee, set the cup down, and followed his captain without another word.
As Bron and Clad were going downstairs, the man who had reported the news suddenly jumped down from the crow's nest, landing right in front of Bron's face. That took both him and Clad completely by surprise. Without wasting another second, the man stood up—two meters tall, thin, pale—and spoke, breathing heavily:
"Sir… the port… has been attacked by pirates and… it seems like it has caused quite a lot of trouble…"
Bron's expression changed instantly. He tapped the man on the shoulder and looked him directly in the eyes.
"Are you sure about what you saw?" he asked, worry in his voice.
Clad tried to step in to calm him down.
"You can see it for yourself."
The man handed the spyglass to Bron—who didn't waste a second to take it. Bron hurried up the ladder to the crow's nest and raised the spyglass to his eye.
Through the lens, he could see the port clearly. The main buildings at the front were half destroyed, and the ships that once rested there were either wrecked or gone entirely.
'Where is the attackers' ship?'
Bron looked everywhere, but there was no sign of anything sailing. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a pirate flag—four tentacles and a skull burning above a ship that had been split in two and was still burning, even though half of it had already sunk beneath the waves. After a quick observation, some of his worry began to fade.
The pirates have been defeated?! But how? With the security at its lowest because of the tournament… how could they possibly have done it?
Bron analyzed the scene—then he froze.
What was he doing worrying about ships, buildings, and docks?
None of that mattered compared to human life.
He turned his spyglass toward the middle of the port—toward the road that led into the village. He saw people helping with the cleanup, it was early in the morning and he didn't expect that there would be many people. But regardless they seemed to be fine, and there was no bloodshed in sight—not that he could see. Everything seemed fine but amidst all those ruins he remembered something, something that he shouldn't have forgotten. Bron hurried and focused his vision where the road began to end, but from that point of view he couldn't see much except smoke and ruins. His face turned pale,thoughts began to spin faster all because he couldn't see a bakery in the middle street.
"Broooon!… Brooooon!"
Clad's voice echoed across the ship, snapping Bron out of his spiraling thoughts. He lowered the spyglass—and jumped down.
"You two get ready! Full speed ahead!" His orders were sharp and quick.
"How's the situation there?" Clad asked.
Bron didn't answer. He rushed toward his cabin.
As he passed, Clad grabbed his arm and stopped him.
"You need to calm down, Bron. This is not a situation for you to lose your composure."
Bron turned, his face deadly serious.
"The pirates have been defeated," he said.
"Then why are you acting like this? You are the captain—you need to stay in control. We still have responsibilities."
"Why, you ask? Because in all that mess, I couldn't see that damn bakery! I'm worried, Clad—really worried. What if something happened to her? I can't think straight with those thoughts in my head…"
"Alright, calm yourself. She's a strong woman. Don't you have a little trust in her? Besides, she lives in the village, not right at the port."
"Elia was going to make something for me today. She was going there early… and because of me she might be—"
Clad let go of his arm.
"Even so, what you're worried about are just fears your mind is creating. You can't change what is already done—but you must act wisely so the things of the past stay in the past. Make that difference clear in your mind, Bron. Do you understand?"
Bron took a deep breath.
"Alright. Tell the port to prepare for our arrival. We're going full speed ahead."
"Already done, sir!" the tall man replied.
"We need to get ready as well—and tell the other ships. We have no time to waste."
Bron headed toward his room, but before stepping inside, he turned back to Clad:
"Take care of things for me."
---
The bell at the port rang, signalling the arrival of the four great ships. This was no small island port for minor vessels—its strategic location made it one of the most important harbors in the region.
A man standing on a watchtower spotted the ships approaching at speed. Without hesitation, he ran down the stairs and rang the bell three times. After a short pause, he struck it two more times. The sound carried across the entire port, reaching even the incoming ships.
Five workers heard the bell and sprinted toward section C, the only part of the port ready to handle vessels of this size. Cleaning was still underway after the pirates had attacked, and every second counted. The workers moved with precision, guiding the ships into place. Seven anchors hit the sea floor, securing the ships—each vessel had four anchors, but only two were released for now.
Finally, the ship with the green flag came to a halt. The tall man strode toward the captain's quarters.
"Captain, we have reached the destination safely. Awaiting your orders!" he reported, standing at attention.
Bron stepped out, clad in armor covering only parts of his lower body, an axe slung across his back.
"You know what to do. Follow Clad's instructions and help the other crewmates who are monitoring the other ships!"
Without warning, Bron leapt from the deck, landing eight meters below with a thud that sent ripples through the damaged ground. Each step he took brought the sound of the sea closer, the wind carrying the smell of salt and smoke.
His steps grew faster and faster until he was running through smoke and shattered buildings. The colors of the port were muted—half-destroyed structures, scorched trees, broken streets scarred by the chaos of the recent attack.
Ahead of him he saw people trying to clear the roads from the ruins. Without thinking too much, he passed through them like the wind. The workers felt the rush of air and turned to look at him.
"Who was that guy?" one of them asked.
"That axe on his back looked like the one Bron uses," another replied.
It didn't take long before Bron reached the middle street. The very beginning of the road was crowded with people and guards helping with the cleanup. He ignored them all and turned left, speeding up even more.
'I can't seem to find any bloodshed… but these scars from the battle just don't end.'
The road that usually felt short and familiar now seemed long and unending. Bron had already passed five buildings and was looking to his right for the bakery. After the sixth building, he stopped running. He stopped completely.
The place he had rushed here for was still standing, though parts of it had taken heavy damage. He began to walk, his steps slow and uncertain—proof of his concern.
When he reached the front door of the bakery, now filled with bullet holes, his heart began to race. He took slow steps forward, each heartbeat growing faster. As he got closer, his eyes landed on the sign above the door. It was written in a child's handwriting—The Little Lilith. The sight brought precious memories back.
But memories belonged to the past. Now Bron needed courage. Patience overpowered his fear, and he pushed the door open slowly. In his mind, anything was fine as long as he didn't see blood… or the body of someone dear to him.
As the door creaked open, light spilled in, revealing only dust and shattered furniture. Bron stared for a long moment, imagining the worst.
"Are you going to stand like that for another hour?" an old voice called out. "Or are you amazed that there's nothing but dust and you can't take your eyes off it?"
Bron instantly recognized the voice and spun around.
"Old man, you're still alive?!" he said, a faint grin tugging at his lips.
Standing before him was a man in his late sixties, with gray hair, a matching mustache, and brown eyes. His weathered hands carried a crate of fresh apples.
"What do you mean still alive? Even though I'm old, I was raised in a strong generation—not like yours, who cry if they don't get told a bedtime story before sleep," the old man replied while setting the crate down.
"I know why you're staring like that, but don't worry. Your beautiful lady hasn't come down today at all. She wasn't here when the pirates attacked," he added calmly.
Bron finally exhaled, relief washing over him. "Thank God…"
But then one particular word hit him.
"Lady… my lady? What do you mean by that?" Bron asked as his face turned completely red.
"Don't act like I'm a fool. I've known both of you for years. Besides, my shop is right in front of that bakery. And that shy face of yours proves me right, so stop pretending. Everyone on this island knows about it."
Bron froze.
"Ev–everyone knooows?!" he yelled, making a ridiculous expression.
"Don't yell, you brat! Or do you want to cause even more trouble for us?" The old man scolded him. Then, after a deep breath, he reached into his pocket and took out a pocket watch. It read 6:22 AM.
"I'm running out of time. I need to set up my store for today's market. Go where you were heading."
"I don't think the market will be open today with all this mess. Why don't you take a break?"
"Mind your own business. I'll do what I want."
As the old man tried to avoid Bron he couldnt help but ask him, "Are you taking him with you today?"
"Oh right, I almost forgot." Bron took out the letter from his armor and showed it to him. "Yes, I'm taking him today. That's where I was headed first."
The old man's expression shifted slightly.
"I see. Then tell that boy not to come through the middle street."
"Alright, I'll be heading off then."
The conversation eased Bron's worries. With nothing left to stress about, he walked up the middle street that led into the town.
Leaving the port behind, Bron's boots tapped against the stone road as the cheers of the crowd faded. The sea breeze clung to him, carrying the salty scent of the ocean and the echo of distant bells. He tightened his grip on the letter.
As he walked, he entered the town. It was lively as always. Even though it was still morning, people were already up and moving. Most houses were built from sturdy, weathered wood and pale stone from the nearby cliffs. Their roofs were covered in dark-red tiles faded by the sun and sea winds. Merchants called for customers, old ladies cleaned the stone streets, and men carried heavy loads. Life went on as if the attack at the port had never happened.
Bron greeted people quickly and walked toward the center of town. The center connected four main roads—north, south, east, and west. But what truly caught the eye was the majestic willow tree standing where all four roads met. It had been there even before the town existed. Even Bron, who had seen it for years, admired its beauty every time.
But this wasn't the moment to get distracted. He took the road leading north. It was steep, and as he walked, houses became fewer until he had left the town completely.
The house he was headed for was on top of the hill. Eventually, Bron reached the last two houses. An open area spread out before him. To his right, about fifty meters away, stood a two-story house, larger than the ones in town but built in a similar style.
Bron followed the stone path leading to it. The backyard was spacious—clean grass everywhere, a single tree, and a drinking fountain. The first floor had three square windows; the second floor had only one.
It was still early morning, and a thin mist lingered over the courtyard, obscuring Bron's view. But as he got closer, he saw a woman already awake and working. She stood beside a basin of fresh water, rhythmically shaking out wet clothes. The soft dawn light fell across her face.
Her features, once full of youthful brightness, were beginning to fade with age, even though she was forty-eight. Still, one could easily call her a well-kept woman—someone age itself had forgotten to touch. Her skin, however, carried a few traces of time.
Aside from that, her face held a quiet strength, marked by two mature brown eyes that seemed to notice everything even when she wasn't looking directly at it. Her dark hair, tied back loosely, carried thin silver strands that glimmered faintly in the pale morning light.
"Good morning, Lady Marwen!" Bron's voice snapped her out of her focus. She turned her head slightly to the left to see him.
"Oh, it's you, Bron. I wasn't expecting you this early," Marwen replied calmly.
"Yeah, the seas were quiet today, so we had a smooth trip. But I see you're working hard as always."
"Well, someone has to clean these clothes. They won't wash themselves."
"I'm sorry for coming so early, but I need to see him. It has to do with this." Bron showed her the letter.
"I know. He mentioned it to me the other day. But he hasn't been home at all this morning. I think he'll be here any moment now, after he finishes saying his farewells."
Bron exhaled deeply. This morning had been a headache, and now a kid was making him wait.
As she finished speaking, Lady Marwen glanced into the distance. The mist had begun to clear, and her vision sharpened. She noticed something far away and smiled slightly.
"Well, why don't you drop that disappointed face and look to your right?"
Bron turned immediately. His expression changed in an instant, and a wide smile spread across his face.
"There you are, Kier!"