Theon did not waste a second. He pushed open the door to the raven chamber with more force than necessary. The hinges protested, the sound sharp against the quiet inside. A few birds stirred on their perches, wings shifting, eyes flicking toward him.
He moved straight to the desk.
The parchment was already there. Ink. Seal. Everything within reach. Still, his hand hovered for the briefest moment before touching the quill.
Then it dropped. The scratching began. Fast. Uneven at first, then steadier. His wrist moved with urgency, not elegance. The words formed as quickly as his thoughts could hold them. There was no room for doubt, no time to weigh meaning.
Only command. Only speed. His jaw tightened as he wrote. The sound of the quill dragged across the parchment, each stroke pressing deeper than the last. Ink pooled slightly at the curves, smudged at the edges where his hand brushed too close.
He did not stop to fix it. When he finished, he read through it once. Quickly. His eyes moved without really seeing the details, only checking that the message existed, that it was complete.
That it would be obeyed. He folded it. The wax followed. Melted, pressed. The seal came down harder than usual, leaving a deeper imprint than necessary. The sigil of Drexo Dragaria marked the command without question.
Theon exhaled sharply. He turned. One of the royal ravens shifted as he approached. Its head tilted slightly, as if sensing something beyond the room. Theon tied the message to its leg with swift fingers.
For a moment, he held the bird.
Then he released it. The raven didn't hesitate. It leapt into the air, wings cutting through the chamber, then out through the open arch. Gone within seconds. Just a black shape against the pale sky, moving fast. Faster than anything on the ground could follow.
Theon watched until it disappeared. His shoulders dropped slightly. "There has never been a Dragarian bastard," he muttered under his breath.
His gaze remained fixed on the empty sky. "Drexo won't be the first."
Meanwhile, the sea stretched wide and endless.
Maria's ship cut through it with steady ease. The repaired wood held firm against the waves, the sails full, pulling them forward without resistance. The rhythm of the water was almost calming, if one allowed it to be.
The air was cold.
Not the kind that bit sharply, but the kind that lingered. It settled into the skin, wrapped around the lungs, made each breath feel heavier than usual.
Maria stood at the front of the ship. She inhaled deeply. The cold filled her chest, expanded there, then settled. She stretched her hands forward slightly, fingers loosening, as if reaching for something unseen.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then, a sudden flutter. Soft at first. Then more. The doves returned.
They came in a rush, wings brushing against the air, circling once before settling across her hands and arms. Feathers grazed her skin, light but real. Their presence filled the space around her in a way that felt familiar.
Grounding. She closed her eyes. Their warmth contrasted the cold air. Their scent, faint but distinct, wrapped around her senses. Something in her posture shifted, tension loosening where it had been held too tightly.
She exhaled again. A surge moved through her. Not sudden. Not violent. But steady. Rising from somewhere deeper than muscle or breath.
"Oh," she let out softly. Her fingers flexed slightly, but the doves did not scatter. They stayed, adjusting only enough to remain balanced.
For a long moment, she remained like that. Still, and present. The sea moved. The ship creaked. The wind passed.
But she did not move.
The moment broke..A shadow crossed the water ahead. Then another. Shapes emerged through the distance. Dark against the horizon, growing larger with each passing second.
Ships. Not one. But several.
They moved into position quickly, cutting across her path with practiced precision. The sails bore the markings of Cliffland's sea warriors. The formation tightened, leaving no open route forward.
"Hold!" a voice rang out. Sharp, and commanding.
Maria's ship slowed. The crew reacted without needing further instruction. Ropes adjusted. Sails shifted. The forward motion eased until the ship came to a controlled halt.
The water lapped gently against the hull. Maria lowered her hands. The doves scattered at once, lifting into the air and disappearing as quickly as they had come.
She stepped forward. Each step was deliberate. She reached the very front of the ship and lifted her voice. "I am Maria Woodland," she called out. "Lord Commander of the royal army."
Her voice carried across the water. The commander on the opposing ship stepped forward. His posture remained firm, but his eyes held recognition.
"Of course I know who you are," he replied. "We do not have short memories."
Maria allowed a small smile. "If you know who I am," she said, "then let me pass."
The commander shook his head. "I can't.".The word settled heavily between them. "I just received a message from the king," he continued. "Directing me to stop you."
Maria's brows drew together. "Drexo would never direct that," she said. "He gave his blessing before I left Cliffland."
The commander shifted slightly. "Well," he said, "that is the message I received." He reached for something at his side.
The note. He held it out. Maria stepped closer to the edge, reaching just enough to take it. The parchment felt familiar before she even opened it.
The seal confirmed it. Her eyes moved across the lines.
Once, then again. Her grip tightened slightly.."This couldn't have been Drexo," she said. Her gaze lifted, sharper now.
"Friya must have used his seal to write to the sea warriors.".The air between the ships shifted.
Subtle, and tense.
Maria lowered the note. Her voice hardened. "It will be in your best interest to let me pass," she said. "Because I will have to pass whether you allow it or not."
The commander exhaled slowly. He glanced briefly at the men behind him, then back at her.
"I have no personal grievances with you," he said. "I am only doing my job."
Maria tilted her head slightly. She studied him for a moment. Then she nodded once. "I understand," she said.
Her hand moved to her sword. The metal slid free with a clean, unmistakable sound.
The warriors behind her followed without hesitation. Steel met air in a series of sharp notes, each one adding weight to the silence.
The commander's fingers tightened around his own weapon. "Please," he said, quieter now. "Do not do this."
Maria's lips curved faintly. "The only way to prevent bloodshed," she said, "is to clear off my path."
The commander's jaw tightened. He drew his sword. "You know better than anyone else," he said, "that I cannot do that."
The men behind him followed. Blades rose. The space between the ships narrowed, not in distance, but in intent.
"Then let's settle this the old way." Maria shifted her stance. Her grip adjusted. The world seemed to pause around that single moment.
She moved. Or almost did. A sound cut through the air.
Sharp, and clear.
A trumpet.
It echoed across the water, loud enough to reach every ear, strong enough to halt every motion.
Everything stopped. Swords remained suspended mid-air.
Breaths held, and eyes turned slowly toward the source.
Another ship approached. Faster than expected.
The sails bore the mark of Cliffland. The hull cut through the water with urgency, not caution. It did not slow as it drew closer.
And at the front, a figure stood.
Still, and unmistakable. King Drexo Dragaria.