My mind is troubled of late.

I have sailed north from the lands of Banu into the frozen seas that lie beyond the northmost edge of that continent and found myself stymied. What I saw there in the sky, in the water, in the air has been enough to give me pause. I have lost three crew members, sturdy, dependable souls all, and good friends at that.

It brings to mind the many warnings I received from the people of Banu, and I do wish I had heeded them better. The northern seas are not ones that can be conquered with a single ship, even with a warrior as mighty as I aboard.

I had thought to track the path of the Jing, and indeed, I found some success in the shape of broken ships frozen in vast islands of ice too cold for me to touch. I will say this for the crabs. If they do not sleep at the bottom of the sea, they must have been hardy indeed to survive that journey.

Yet when the assaults of the spirits suffused with that malevolent light in the sky grew too much, I turned back. I followed the coast of the eastern continent this time, seeing no reason to halt my explorations. There, I met with numerous peoples.

The eastern continent is densely forested, even more so than the great Emerald Seas. The men of Khem told me of the Kasin, the people of the black trees, but never in any detail. They called themselves Tuiston when pressed for a name, but they are a scattered, tribal people. Galliar, Allemis, Teutos, Daniar, and a dozen other tribal names reached my ears. Tuiston is not the name of their people, but their land and their god.

I will have to write another letter to my sister. She will greatly enjoy dissecting my findings, I think.

But those people are not what trouble my thoughts. Rather, it is my own reticence and the tales of giants. Heraklios, that striking fellow, warned me of approaching the Emerald Isle. So, too, did the folk of Banu, and now, even these simple tribals have warned me.

I ignored a warning once and lost three men who have been with me all my life. I hesitate, and the foundations of my Way tremble.

I cannot just head home. I need to investigate.

***​

These tales are frustrating. In some, the folk of that isle are pale as ghosts with orange or crimson or golden hair and bodies and faces speckled with spots yet beautiful to behold. In others, they are swarthy, hairy nearly to the point of being furred, with the features of a menagerie of beasts spread amongst them.

The only commonality is their immense frames. I was briefly mistaken as one of the latter sort, and I am no small man. Yet my height appears to be on the smaller end of average if the tales are to be believed.

My only conclusion then is that the Emerald Isle is populated by two tribes of different countenance. The types never appear together. Perhaps they are rivals for dominance.

I have docked back with the Banu in a different city to investigate those who have seen them. Very rarely do these folk leave their isle, despite seeming to have ships of their own. Those who do seem extremely violent, leading to the belief that they are exiled criminals.

Most are quite strong. From the stories, I’d say that most of these exiles are somewhere in the range of the fourth to sixth realm in cultivation, although their methods are strange. Yet if it were only strength, I do not think the folk of Banu would be so concerned.

No, the issue seems to be that each encountered giant of the isle has been driven to seek battle and have no regard for their own lives. A cultivator of such power unleashing themselves without restraint or concern for others or even their own survival is a frightening thing. We with power hold so much of ourselves back, even in a duel with foes.

Surely, not every man or woman that leaves that blasted isle can be a madman though. I will get to the bottom of this.

***​

At last, I found my lead down in the warm southern waters around the isles of the bronze men. It took a great deal of questioning and not a few matches in the wrestling ring, but my trail finally led me to the tale of a goat-horned giant, said to have settled on one of the more northerly isles. He was said to be a tremendous mason of all things with a body as tough as the stone he worked and a gaze which could petrify unruly troublemakers. The structures I saw there were hardly work to match the Palace of the Water Curtain Cave, but they were impressive nonetheless.

I found, however, that the giant himself had passed away two centuries ago after driving off the army of another kingdom, whose tricksome ruler had wounded him harshly with poisons that broke even his legendary resilience. He had left behind kin, children, and grandchildren of mixed stock.

I was able to speak to one, a daughter whose tawny skin and wild auburn hair set her out from the bronze men. Her feet were hooves as some of the more pure Weilu once were. It took some doing and not a few drinks, but I was able to learn something of her grandfather.

His tribe was called “Fo-vor-uh” or something like that. The lass slurred the word and pronounced it differently half the time. The other tribe of the land were the Danaan. They were a rival people as I had suspected, but the details surprised me.

It was said that on the day when the sun went black and the “worms” were cast down from the sky, the three mothers of earth raised an island, a paradise, verdant and pure, for them to be safe from all the corruption of the world. There, she shielded them until the sun defeated his foe, the Terrible Gnawing Worm. Those brought to the island were the ancestors of Danaan and Fovoruh alike.

But quarrels happened, as they do. Two brothers sought kingship, and their striving broke the people in two, but as the destruction mounted, the two brothers went before the mothers, their three gods, and sought their favor, instead of risking the destruction of their paradise. Both brothers were wise, worthy, and strong, and so, the mother goddesses split the land in two.

And this is the odd part. They did not merely divide the island as we might. Instead, the Danaan and their shining kingdoms exist in the day, and the quiet villages of the Fovoruh exist at night. I was incredulous of this, but the girl could hardly tell me more. She could only say that the land of day and the land of night were forever divided by the kingdom of the third goddess, the Land of Shadows, through which no living thing could pass.

How much of this was exaggeration? Even with all my travels, it seems strange.

The girl knew little more of the matter, just half-forgotten tales on her grandfather’s knee. She knew though that the people of the isle were deeply suspicious of outsiders, considering all who lived in the lands beyond tainted by the Worm that Gnaws. Exile from their island of paradise was their harshest punishment, even beyond death. Those exiled would usually go mad with grief and seek the absolution of death, explaining the tales.

Yet, her grandfather had endured. She assured me that he had been a deeply maudlin man, but driven to aid and build in a way that had given him purpose.

Sadly, she could not explain the isle’s cultivation methods. She trained in the ways of the bronze men, for the methods used by her grandfather’s kin were impossible beyond the Emerald Isle itself.

She, too, warned me against going there, that the Dun Scaith, the Land of Shadows, did not just lie between day and night, but “Inside” and “Outside.” She told me of an uncle of hers that had tried to go “home” and returned mad, gibbering about an endless gray shore and the Witch of Shadows, Queen of Dead Men. Others did not return at all.

I will return home after this. I need to clear my head. I am the King of Explorers. I will set foot on this land as well… But my men deserve their homes and choice on whether they take this journey with me.

Entry from the private journals of Zheng Lu, King of Explorers