The Wreckage of the Eternal Horizon
The Eternal Horizon settled into its berth with a final, exhausted groan, its once-proud hull now a tapestry of scorch marks and twisted metal. The Willpower thrusters, pushed far beyond their limits, hissed like dying beasts as they discharged their last energy into the docking clamps. Crew members moved like ghosts across the deck, their faces hollow with exhaustion, their uniforms stiff with salt and sweat.
Magnus Seymour leaned heavily against the railing, his fingers gripping the sun-warmed wood until his knuckles turned white. The shallow cut on his temple had stopped bleeding, but every muscle in his body ached from the battle's aftermath. That voice - the one that had silenced the Beast Kings - still echoed in his mind, teasing at half-remembered memories from his childhood in the Seymour estate.
"Never seen anything like it," muttered a deckhand nearby, his voice trembling. "Twenty years at sea and nothing comes close."
"Beast Kings," another replied, shaking his head. "Thought they were just stories sailors told to scare greenhorns."
Captain Vorn's voice boomed across the deck, cutting through the murmurs. "Listen up! Repairs will take at least a month. Maybe more."
A wave of dismay rippled through the gathered passengers.
Vorn held up a calloused hand. "Before anyone starts complaining - this isn't a delay, it's a miracle. The Eternal Horizon is one of the fastest ships on the seas, but even she has limits. Unless you fancy waiting three months for the next intercontinental vessel, you'll be staying right here in Port Ashar until we're seaworthy again."
Magnus frowned. "Where exactly is here?" he called out. "Another continent?"
Garrick, a wiry engineer with grease permanently staining his fingers, snorted before the captain could answer. "Continent? Hah! Kid, this is just a rock in the ocean. A few hundred thousand kilometers from Eden, sure, but we're nowhere near a proper continent."
Magnus's brows shot up. "Just a rock? This place looks massive."
Garrick grinned, clearly enjoying the chance to educate. "Big to you, tiny to the world. It'd take four years to circle Eden at full thruster speed - and our ship moves at two hundred times the speed of sound. This little island? A week to lap it. Maybe less if the currents are nice."
A stunned silence followed this revelation.
"Gar," the captain said, his voice dangerously calm, "what did I say about leading with your mouth?"
Garrick's grin vanished instantly. "Sorry, sir."
Vorn exhaled through his nose. "As I was saying - gather your belongings. The vice-captain will direct you to temporary housing. Dismissed."
The First Clue – A Stranger in the Shadows
As night fell over Port Ashar, Magnus wandered through the labyrinthine streets, his boots scuffing against the worn cobblestones. The city buzzed with activity despite the late hour - taverns overflowing with sailors, street vendors roasting spiced meats over open flames, the occasional burst of laughter or drunken song cutting through the humid air.
Yet his mind kept returning to that voice.
"Enough."
A shiver ran down his spine despite the warmth. That single word, spoken with such authority, had silenced gods. And it had stirred something in him - a memory just out of reach, like trying to recall a dream upon waking.
He turned down a narrow alley, seeking respite from the crowded thoroughfares. The sounds of revelry faded behind him, replaced by the distant lap of waves against the docks. Then -
Movement.
At the far end of the alley, backlit by a flickering lantern, stood a figure. Tall, cloaked in shadows, utterly still.
Magnus's hand went to his sword.
The figure didn't move. Didn't speak.
Then, between one blink and the next, it was gone.
Magnus approached cautiously, his pulse loud in his ears. The alley was empty save for the dancing lantern light and the scent of salt and old wood. But on the ground where the figure had stood, something glinted.
A pendant.
His breath caught as he lifted it. The metal was tarnished with age, but the symbol engraved on its surface was unmistakable.
The crest of House Seymour.
His family's crest.
The Scale of Things
The next morning, Magnus joined the stream of disembarking passengers, his mind still reeling from both Garrick's casual explanation of the world's scale and the mysterious pendant now tucked safely in his pocket. The Eternal Horizon had seemed like a floating city to him, yet it was merely a speck compared to the true continents.
Then he stepped onto the docks proper - and froze.
Tens of thousands of people poured from the ship's bowels, a living river of humanity spilling into Port Ashar. Merchants clutching precious cargo, scholars hugging books to their chests, families clutching children's hands - all blinking in the sunlight like survivors of some terrible storm. The realization struck Magnus like a physical blow: this wasn't just a passenger ship. It had been carrying an entire microcosm of civilization.
A familiar hand clapped his shoulder. "First time seeing a full disembarkation, eh?" Garrick smirked. "Gets you every time."
Magnus could only nod mutely, his fingers brushing against the hidden pendant.
"Come on, greenhorn," Garrick said, jerking his chin toward the city. "Let's get you settled before the good rooms are taken."
Port Ashar's Chaotic Welcome
The docks of Port Ashar were chaos incarnate.
Dockworkers shouted over the din as they hauled crates of supplies toward the wounded ship. Merchants haggled with passengers desperate for fresh clothes and food. And everywhere, the whispers followed:
"-saw the sky split open-"
"-water turned to fire-"
"-miraculous they survived-"
Magnus kept his head down, but the stares burned into his back. He could feel the weight of the Seymour crest in his pocket, its presence both comforting and unnerving.
Garrick steered him toward a row of sandstone buildings that rose like honey-colored sentinels against the azure sky. "Don't mind the gawkers," he said, rolling his eyes. "People love a good story more than they love the truth."
Magnus touched the hidden pendant. "Some stories are too strange not to be true."
Garrick barked a laugh. "After what we saw? Kid, I'd believe just about anything now."
A Month in Port Ashar
The vice-captain, a severe woman with salt-and-pepper hair, assigned Magnus to a small but clean room in the sailors' quarter. "You'll take meals in the common hall," she said briskly. "Curfew at midnight. Any trouble and you're on the next ship out - whenever that may be."
As the door closed behind her, Magnus finally allowed himself to breathe. One month in Port Ashar. One month to recover, to train, to uncover the meaning behind the Seymour crest left for him.
Outside his window, the sounds of the city rose in a constant hum. Somewhere in that teeming mass of humanity, answers waited. And Magnus intended to find them.