1

We’ve heard of the ever-green barrier they call the Felorn woods, which stretches from the northeastern Luctretz all the way north past the plains of Arcadia. That dense blanket of untamed wilderness forms a nigh impenetrable wall several hundreds of miles wide around much of the coastline of the Edrian Bay, and is the main reason why the Empire has so little presence on those waters. We’ve heard of Emperor Yollem’s historical quest to clear a road through the woods to the ocean shore centuries back, in a bid to gain supremacy at sea; and how the unjust butchery of a single unicorn earned his majesty the wrath of the Divine of the Woods, bringing his endeavor to a wretched close.

So remained the Darkwood impassable to man for the ages to come.

Felorn being too vast and risky to challenge, the Imperials saw no choice but to go around, and build their few ports on the more open shores north of the Bay. This necessitated the subjugation of the native dwellers of those lands, and in the wake of various bitter campaigns, Tratovia at last gained the ocean view they longed for, though not without a cost. Their few naval strongholds were regrettably far removed from Bhastifal, the heart of the Empire’s power, and news were ever slow to travel. Much like the ancient Rome of the other world, Tratovia experienced constant trouble maintaining its hold on all the remote provinces, which had values and cultures of their own, and persisting dreams of independence. Give a man a uniform and a title, and he will experience the thrill and pride of being part of something greater than himself, for a moment. But with time and routine, that thrill will come to pass, and the man will begin to wonder if he shouldn’t wear a uniform of his own design, and make up his own titles.

Complacency may be far more efficient a motivator than idealism, as a rule, but were the delicate equilibrium of day-to-day life to become disturbed by whatever outer cause, such men were quick to abandon legal bindings and oaths of fealty, choosing their own well-being over forced pledges—or worse yet, cast their lot with the opposition.

Was it then any wonder how much trouble the giant Empire could experience against foes seemingly as minor and scattered as the pirates? Is not a lion equally helpless against fleas and lice, though his strength be undeniably superior? It is hard and oftentimes counterproductive to chase after apple thieves, when one’s yard is full of spoiling fruit.

The young Empress’s solution to this ages-old management problem was something none of her predecessors would likely have considered with a serious mind: make friends.

Yuliana saw no shame in the stronger asking the weaker for aid; not by means of swords and blackmail, but by polite words and appropriate compensation. So equipped, she set her mind to paying a visit to the small Principality across the Bay.

The shortest and swiftest path to the capital city of Luctretz was, as irony would have it, by sea. Riding by land would have taken her majesty’s retinue well over a month along the roundabout highways. Meanwhile, a trip of mere two weeks took Yuliana to the town of Port Bendehol in the northeastern Arcadia, whence a ship could carry her to Efastopol in two or three brief days, depending on the weather.

It was a route much too speedy to dismiss.

In less than half a year, as the legends foretold, the thirty-third cycle of the Covenant was to end, and the Night of the Ritual was drawing steadily closer. Knowing this, not one day, not one hour could be allowed to pass in vain, and the decision was easily made. With only a light escort (by Imperial standards), Yuliana rode to Bendehol, where the Marshal had already journeyed in advance, to carry out the preparations for their voyage.

Had not an Imperial fort been raised there a century before, Bendehol would likely have remained an unremarkable little fisher village to the end of time. But now, a modest but orderly small town faced the waves, on a breath-taking strip of clean white sand, which went on and on southward, straight as an arrow, for miles upon miles. No tourists were there to litter that narrow beach, a pale dividing line between the rocky mainland and the pure waters of the vast Edrian Bay.

And there, westward, lay the sea.

At the first sight of it, Yuliana had to ask her entourage to halt, and stepped out of her carriage to get a better view from the top of the bordering hills.

You might think water is only water, regardless of the shores it wets, on this planet or some other, but an astute observer might be liable to disagree with you. There were certain distinct differences between the oceans of Ortho and, for example, those of the summoned champion’s home.

First of all, the two moons orbiting this planet were much too small to impart a powerful tidal effect, save once every three months, when they came particularly close to one another. Sailors called this phenomenon the ‘blue moon tide’—or simply the blue tide, for short—yet even that paled in comparison to the day-to-day highs and lows that Earthly fishermen were accustomed to.

Most of the time, the seas here kept to their boundaries with jelly-like stiffness, and only great storms would cause them to spill over. The likes of tsunami were virtually unheard of. Not because there weren’t ever underwater earthquakes or volcanic eruptions, but because the diligent overseers of nature that men knew as Divines kept these cataclysms in a tight leash and never allowed them to reach disastrous proportions.

Setting aside all this, there could be no question that the Numénn was a magical view on its own, and more than fit to bear the name of the Old God of Seas.

The Edrian Bay in the meanwhile, in spite of its name, would have been better labeled a gulf, being close to the Gulf of Mexico in scale and shape. The character of this enormous inlet couldn’t be conveyed in mere ink; the purity of its color, or its tranquil, foamless waves, that looked so clear and smooth as to appear solid—they had to be seen to be experienced. Although there was nothing to catch the eye, in specific, only one uniform surface from this side of the world to the next, the sea transmitted a most uncanny sense of weight and fullness of presence by its mere image. Even in the heart of a hardened landsman, it would inspire an aching impression of eternity. The lazy cries of seagulls and the warm, damp breeze blowing from the west, bearing the scent of salt and aquatic flora, were the inseparable companion of the timeless portrait.

Yuliana had seen sea before, in her youth, in the summer villa of her family. But the Southern Sea and the Numénn, while seamlessly connected, were nevertheless two different things entirely, as a caring mother and an unruly step-brother. It was only with great effort that she could part with the scenery and return to her carriage to resume the ride.

Her majesty was scheduled to spend the night at the Fort of Bendehol, before setting sail early in the morning for Efastopol. Judging by the on-going hustle and bustle in the Fort, and the overall high tension levels on the streets, the Marshal had kept the locals busy for the past two weeks. Looking at the soldiers and sailors running to and fro without a moment’s rest, wearing tight faces, Yuliana was beginning to wonder if her plans truly were worth all that trouble.

Not that there could be any real question of it.

The fate of the world aside, people along the coasts of Noertia suffered and died for the evil of pirates each day. The previous Emperors had more or less ignored the problem—after all, the more the buccaneers terrorized the remote regions of the continent, the more the hapless people of those regions gravitated towards the Empire for protection. In fact, it was a poorly kept secret that some of the past sovereigns had sponsored the worst of the villains from their own pockets, just to achieve such questionable effects. Once again, the ambitions of her predecessors had become an obstacle for Yuliana. Even so, one way or the other, she had to try and untangle this centuries-old mess.

High up on the bastion wall, before the splendid sea panorama, the Marshal had assembled a great pavilion, housing her work station, whence she could keep an eye on the proceedings below in the docks, whilst simultaneously honing the travel plan.

That was where Yuliana also found her.

“Your majesty,” Miragrave came forward to receive the Empress, with a tad tired smile. “Right when I was beginning to miss you. How was the trip? No trouble, I take it?”

“Let’s see,” Yuliana replied with a thought, “there were no daemons, nor unicorns, nor basilisks, nor dryads, nor malevolent Divine entities. In fact, the only trouble was that the ride was so pleasant I was beginning to hope it would never end.”

“That’s what I want to hear,” Miragrave nodded with approval. “It’s from this spot that the true trial begins, and I can only hope and pray you’re ready for it. Even if you have the Prince’s favor on your side, it is a rough road you have ahead of you. As you well know, Luctretz is a monarchy in name only; the commoners may love him, but the Prince has no real political power. In fact, he is prohibited by law from taking any active part in decision-making. All he may do is voice his personal opinion and hope the law-makers respect it. Sometimes they do, sometimes...they respectfully disagree. It is the Ministers and Senators you must persuade to achieve lasting effects, and I’d frankly rather deal with pirates.”

“Well, my personal preference might still be the other way round,” Yuliana said.

“Yuliana,” the Marshal called her in a solemn tone. “As a pragmatist, I should say that simply signing an armistice with the Principality would be a major victory to our side. Getting them to take any open action against the pirates, with or without us, is likely too much asked. I hope you recognize the reality of where we stand.”

“I know,” Yuliana replied with a remorseful look. “Luctretz fears and loathes the Empire more than they do the corsairs. Their views are not so strange to me; only a little while ago, I shared the sentiment myself. But I am still a Langorian, Master. I am confident there is no person out there more stubborn than I am. And if my mind can change, then so can theirs.”

“Oh my,” the Marshal replied, a little surprised. “I should be calling you my master—in the troubled art of preserving one’s faith in humanity! I’m afraid I’m all spent on that front. But, before we get to winning over the people of Luctretz, there are several nautical miles in between to worry about. Walk with me, Yuliana. I’ll show you the fruits of our toils.”

They descended along a steep, winding stairway of gray brick from the bulwark down to the long docks, where two ships of war were moored. They were great caravels, like castles on waves; three tall masts with identical square rigging; hulls tarred black, with crimson linings. Both ships had high, ornate aftcastles in the local style, and slimmer, upward curving bows. Their mastheads reached so high up in the sky, Yuliana had to bend her neck far backward to see the Imperial flags attached.

A crew of no less than sixty sailors was required to manage ships of that size, at minimum. A gun deck there was not, of course, seeing as gunpowder was unknown to mankind at this stage. There were no cannons, and navy mages were more useful, at any rate, not to mention more space-efficient, and required no specialized loaders. In place of heavy ammunition, more cargo and common weaponry could be loaded. The ships had raised, steel-reinforced bulwarks with square openings for archers, and mounted ballistae. Below on the second deck, ranged combatants could be placed similar to more antique ship types, at quickly operable “gun ports”, through which flammable shells or spells could be cast at nearby enemy vessels. There was an oar deck as well for emergency maneuvering, a three-layered cargo bay, the crew’s traditional quarters in the forecastle, and various other compartments.

On the stern were attached nameplates with clear, bold, silvery letters. The one on the right read “THULE”, while the one on the left was “THEFASOS”.

“You don’t suppose we could make do with only one?” Yuliana timidly asked, her knightly modesty stirring at the sight of those intimidating vessels.

“You’re the Empress now,” Miragrave replied and humor was absent from her tone. “Get used to it. You’re not going there as a beggar to ask for alms, and neither will you convince those fools with gentle words alone. A well-timed show of power is indispensable. Let them see you’re not just ‘some girl’. I would’ve had ten ships readied, but the sad truth is, we don’t have that many to spare, nor the time to outfit them. Only two warships is pathetic for a state visit—but it has to do.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Yuliana admitted. “’In Tratovia, strength is everything’…That idea still takes some getting used to.”

“Langoria is a land of peace,” the Marshal shrugged. “You were born into nobility, you didn’t need to convince anyone of who you were. And the people would love you as a matter of course. But from hereon, the default assumption abroad is that you are the root cause of everything wrong with the world. That stigma is inescapable. The best you may do is show that you are the one in charge, and not just a puppet repeating the lies of others.”

“I shall keep that in mind,” her majesty replied, obedient as a school girl.

“If only uptight politicians were your sole concern, we could consider ourselves blessed indeed!” Miragrave continued, her expression growing darker. “I trust you haven’t forgotten, but Luctretz was also where we last saw the daemon.”

“I haven’t forgotten…”

Yuliana looked away, uneasy. What she had witnessed outside the town of Varnam in early spring wasn’t something that could casually slip out of memory. No, that sight would surely haunt her for the rest of her days. To think that Izumi had faced another such foe again in the north and emerged victorious—it was borderline unbelievable.

“It hasn’t made an appearance in all summer,” the older woman grimly continued, crossing her arms and gazing over the sea. “Not a word. I don’t like how quiet it is. Be very, very careful with who you let near you. Trust no one. As much as I’d like to, I can’t be with you all of the time. There will doubtless come moments when you’ll have to rely on your own judgment. Do not let your kind nature become your undoing then.”

“Yes, yes, mother,” Yuliana answered with a helpless shrug.

“I’m being quite serious here!” Miragrave shifted, her pitch quickly rising, and her pale cheeks took on slight color.

“And I know as much with crystalline clarity,” her majesty serenely replied. “But, worrying will only take us so far. We shall cross that bridge when the time comes. Until then, we may only do the best we can.”

“Oh, I’ve done more than grown gray hair waiting here,” the Marshal told her, confidence restored to her voice. “We have another hundred of my handpicked elite knights coming with us. I couldn’t catch any Court Wizards on such short notice, but we have a platoon of tested magic corps, led by two veteran officers. Two hundred improved Yodith arrows have also been readied, and are being loaded as we speak. And then there’s the big shot.”

“Hm?” Yuliana looked back at Miragrave, puzzled. “Big…shot?”

“One of the perks of rank,” Miragrave explained. “I’ve summoned a hero of the Guild to accompany us to Luctretz. That person is a bit of a handful, like the rest of them, but her power is genuine. So long as she’s with us, even a daemon or two shouldn’t pose much of a problem.”

“She…?” Yuliana tilted her head. “Is it someone I know?”

“It’s not who you’re thinking, alas,” the Marshal shook her head. “The Intelligence Bureau is tracking Izumi, even as we speak, but her current whereabouts are unknown. It will take a while longer to narrow down the location. I know you’re eager for news, but I would ask for your patience a little while longer.”

“I see…”

She quit.

Yuliana stared over the cerulean waves for a brief moment in silence, recalling Waramoti’s extraordinary tales, and a smile—albeit a bit sad one—made its way to her lips.

“...Please tell the Bureau to stop the search,” she then told the Marshal.

“Pardon me?” Miragrave asked, raising her brows.

“Let our friend rest,” Yuliana said. “I believe she’s earned it.”

Was this not what Yuliana had wished for Izumi all along? A peaceful life, away from bloodshed and sorrows? Finally, Izumi had found it. She had survived long enough to enjoy the rewards of her efforts. She had wealth and was blessed with magic now. Dragging her back to the troubles of this world would have been only needless and cruel. As a friend, the best Yuliana could do was be happy for her. They would have to manage on their own from hereon.

Although, meeting just one last time to say goodbye would have been well…

“As you wish,” Miragrave mouthed, not asking for reasons, recognizing they were manifold and not so easily worded.

“And then? Who might this new hero be?” Yuliana went on to ask, setting her personal feelings aside. “There aren’t a lot of female members in the Guild, as far as I recall. That person must be quite something indeed, to be counted among their number.”

“You’ll see,” Miragrave replied with a weary sigh. “This one’s an odd duck like no other. To be frank with you, I’d rather not deal with her at all. Yet, in terms of raw power, she is undeniably the best we have. According to the last contact we received, she’ll be one day late to arrive. But you don’t need to wait. Take the Thefesos and sail out tomorrow. We’ll follow with the Thule, as soon as the stray gets here, and catch up with you on the way.”

“Alright then, keep your mystery!” Yuliana replied with a smile. “But do you honestly think you can catch up? What if the winds favor me more and you’ll fall too far behind?”

The Marshal answered the joke with a somewhat condescending smile,

“My dear, you may be exceptionally gifted in many ways, but you’re no sailor. While I’ve crossed the Numénn twice, to Amarno and back, and I’ve been several times to Luctretz too. I’ll be right at home in that bath tub, and if there’s anyone the winds favor, it’s me.”

“Then it shall be a race,” Yuliana declared, out of a whim. “The last one to Efastopol will—let’s see—will wear nothing but a cute, frilly, pink dress for a day, when we get back home! All day, from dawn to dusk, to work and home. Like a sweet little princess! Well? Are you still up to it?”

“Ahaha!” Miragrave laughed with unusual brightness at her majesty’s proposal. “How amusing! So be it then! We’ll race all you like!”

“Very good!” her majesty nodded. “It’s decided. I hope you like frills, Master.”

“Oh, I won’t be the one to wear any.”

“I have a day’s advantage, remember?” Yuliana teased. “You’ll regret agreeing to this.”

“Have two, for all I care,” the Marshal graciously waved off her taunts. “Speedy seafaring is a matter of skill, not that of luck, as you’re about to find out.”

“Whatever you say. I’ll send you a card when I’m there.”

“Why, you jester!”

So they laughed and bantered, seemingly without a worry in the world.

However, as soon as Yuliana turned her back, Miragrave discreetly stepped over to a sailor working on the edge of the dock and ordered in a hushed tone,

“You there. See that the heaviest cargo goes to the Thefasos!”

“Ma’am?”

A short distance away from there, her majesty’s faithful retainers were watching the ships while lost in awe.

“...I must say, that is the biggest boat I have ever seen in my life,” Tilfa commented, staring at the stern of the Thefasos.

“That is, without a doubt, the most sizable casket I have beheld,” Hila concurred. “And now that I see it in real life, I realize I am scared to death of it. Even though it's only a boat.”

“As much as I am ashamed to agree with you on a topic as embarrassing as this, that thing is indeed a veritable vessel of perdition. For a boat.”

“They would be called ‘ships’,” Yuliana educated her servants, coming over.

“Pardon me, your majesty, is there a difference?” Hila asked.

“—There certainly is!” Waramoti stepped up behind the trio and cheerfully explained. “See, you can put a boat in a ship, but you can’t put a ship in a boat. As simple as that!”

“Ugh, the creature speaks,” Tilfa said with a look of disgust.

“Oh, look, the animal is uttering sounds again,” Hila repeated, with a close to identical expression.

“I’m doubtless of the same species as you are!” the bard cried.

“Your majesty, why does it seem like this strange, unbecoming life form is following us wherever we go?” Tilfa asked.

“Your majesty, I have also fallen under a delusion similar to my deranged colleague. Is this true or have we both been drugged without our knowledge?” Hila pondered.

“I suddenly have this strange feeling of déja vù…” Waramoti lamented, drooping his shoulders.

“Hm? Are you actually following us?” Yuliana asked him. “Have my maids caught your fancy, perhaps?”

“You know full well why, your majesty! And that's not it!” he cried, as the maids drew yet further away from him, making appalled expressions.

Before he could say anything else, Waramoti felt something cold agaínst his bare neck. Two knights had appeared behind his back and were holding their swords on his jugular.

“Do not raise your voice in her majesty’s presence!” the other one said.

“Do not argue with her majesty!” the other one said.

“Ghh….I’m starting to think coming here wasn’t one of my finest ideas,” the bard bemoaned, holding up his hands.

Yuliana gestured at the guards to release him.

“In all seriousness, I actually don’t see why you wished to come along,” she told the bard. “You could’ve stayed at Bhastifal, to sing and play at your leisure. It’s only a standard state visit like any other we face, and hardly the stuff of legends.”

“I must go wherever the Art takes me,” Waramoti answered, striking a strange pose. “Because I’m a bard. Boring or not, I go where life happens and where history is written—such is the role that Heavens themselves bestowed upon me!”

“You mean to say, your big work still isn’t finished?” Yuliana asked.

“Of course not,” he immediately replied, as if it were something evident. “The world’s still here. We are here. And so, the story of life goes on. This coil will keep on unwinding, until all the ink in the world runs dry, or my blood before it.”

“Titles aside, I am only one woman,” Yuliana told him. “I’m not a magical warrior, or a summoned hero from another world, but only a plain ordinary human being, like all the rest. As you have seen in the past weeks, there is nothing particularly thrilling or glamorous about being an Empress. I’m afraid you’re only wasting your time and pages by following me around.”

“Yet, you say the exact same thing she did,” the bard retorted with a cunning smirk.

“What…?”

Playing a subtle melody with his lute, Waramoti looked at her majesty in the eyes, adding in a most mysterious tone,

“I can’t even begin to tell you how sorely mistaken you are, your majesty, if you believed your part in this fable was already concluded, or nothing less than legendary by itself. Or that you and that hero’s paths would never cross again. It may be hidden from yourself, but all others may see, plainly enough, the red string of fate which binds your two souls. These past weeks have done naught but turned my belief into stark certainty.”

The Empress said nothing, staring at the bard in confusion; and in that moment, the bard seemed no longer like a boy with instrument in her eyes, but was like someone older, whose stare could peer past the pages of history, straight through the folds of time, to universal truths that were forbidden from common mortals.

“Oh well,” Waramoti continued, playing another note, “your destinies may be intertwined—but your hearts are perhaps not. Even so, even if the notes go unfavorably for yourself, do you still wish to see this song played out, all the way to its distant shores? To its ultimate end?”

Yuliana drew a sharp breath. “W-what are you…”

Then, the dream-like mood was interrupted, when a hand landed on the bard’s shoulder.

“Nice timing,” Miragrave told Waramoti, and the gaze in her piercing eyes was quite a bit as friendly as that of a desert viper poised to attack. “You and I have some talking to do, Mr ‘bard’.”

“W-whatever could it be about...?” Waramoti inquired with a rather nervous smile.

“About you,” she answered.

“Me?”

“Yes. I know who you are,” Miragrave told him, her tone bone-chilling. “I don’t need Caalan to tell me that. I would never confuse a man I’ve shared battlefield with for another. And scarce have I beheld one as deeply soaked in blood as you are, and with as little remorse or honor to show for it. Neither are your misadventures with women, boys, and virtually anything that moves, unheard of to me. And if you ever thought I was going to allow a beast of your caliber near her majesty’s ship or crew, it would be the greatest misapprehension of your wretched life.”

“Granted, I may have committed a mistake or two in my adventurous youth,” Waramoti responded, breaking into cold sweat. “Some noble and some undoubtedly less so. But it was all only so many distractions. As you can see, I’m a wholly changed man these days, cultivated through many excruciating trials. I’ve found my true mission. Music is the only love of my life now, and my sole motive the selfless desire to recount the deeds of those who shaped history!”

“You can tell the rest to the warden,” Miragrave interrupted him, snapping her fingers.

“Wait, what was that?”

Click. While Waramoti stood confused, shackles appeared around his wrists. Guards speedily wrapped his arms in chains, and as he looked down, he saw that the same had happened to his legs. Turned into a package of steel links from head to toe, his lute and all, the bard was summarily picked off the ground like a log.

“Wait! Your majesty!” he cried. “Please tell them I’m not a threat! This is a misunderstanding!”

Yuliana answered the man with downright angelic kindness in her gaze.

“You too have come a long way and seen much, Sir Waramoti,” she said, an ethereal smile on her lips. “Please rest well and leave aside the fatigue from your travels.”

“W-what are you talking about!?” he protested. “Your majesty! Please tell them to release me! This isn’t funny! I need to be on that ship when it sails!”

“Worry not, I’ll have you released. As soon as we get back, in two weeks.”

“Come on! I can’t let any second-rate hack take credit for this story! Release me! Please! Wait! Waaaaait! Your majestyyyyy!”

The guards carried the wailing bard off to the fort dungeon.

“The night’s menu did promise roasted boar for the main course,” Hila remarked, as they watched him go.

“I have, in this moment and place, become fully vegetarian!” Tilfa declared.