Chapter 41
Dream [3]
As everyone walked inside, the sound of boots merged with the deep rumble of metal and wood beneath their feet. The air changed: less wind, more smell of oil, rope, and fresh paint. The recruits' voices dissolved into a collective buzz filling the interior of a large hall.
Amid this moving crowd, a uniformed man made his way with a firm step. He wasn't hard to distinguish.
His bearing stood out among the others: he wore a short, dark cloak with red edges that fell just to his waist, and a tattoo on his neck shaped like moon phases in three colors—red, white, yellow.
There was something in his walk—measured, deliberate, but with a naturalness that commanded respect—that made others move aside without him asking.
The man with a sword at his waist approached directly the crewman who had earlier been livening up the atmosphere, but now held another sword in his right hand as if it weren't his own.
The crewman noticed him coming and straightened his back immediately, the smile still on his face but his shoulders tense, as if fearing he had spoken out of turn.
"Good work with earlier," the officer said as he reached him, without needing to raise his voice.
He had a voice on the younger side of grave, the kind that carried more authority through its calm than its volume. "I'm surprised how easily you make it look."
The crewman, visibly relieved by the praising tone, let out a small laugh. He scratched the back of his neck with one hand, the nervous gesture contrasting with his open smile.
"Thank you, sir. Before we were hired, I was in charge of public relations. My job was to make visitors feel comfortable," he explained, shrugging modestly, though he couldn't hide a certain pride.
The officer nodded slowly, observing the man's face as if evaluating more than just his words.
"You did well to keep that role," he replied finally, letting out a slight breath, almost a brief laugh through his nose. He lowered his gaze to the floor, as if remembering something, and added, "Though, personally, I preferred how the ship looked before."
The crewman blinked, confused.
"Before, sir?"
"Yes," the officer rested a gloved hand on the hilt of the extra sword and with the tip of the sword traced the exposed wooden floor, noting the smooth feel of the polished wood. "More classic. More… authentic, I'd say. Though I'm not complaining. It was smart to reinforce it."
His gaze lifted toward the horizon, where the port was already fading into a gray glow.
"You never know what we might run into," he continued, "though we'll take the shortest route, and with the speed of these new experimental ships, we should arrive faster than by the intercontinental bridge."
The crewman nodded, though his smile had faded a bit. He looked toward the great hall where the others were still advancing, and for a moment seemed to want to ask a question. But he didn't.
The officer noticed the hesitation and smiled slightly, with an almost imperceptible gesture.
"Relax. I was just speaking generally." He gave him a light pat on the shoulder. "Carry on with your work. And keep that spirit. It's useful."
"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."
As they conversed, the officer and the crewman noticed movement on the deck. Among the soldiers checking their positions and the sailors adjusting ropes and valves, a boy was making his way with a tense expression. He walked quickly, bending down now and then to look under benches and between crates stacked near the railing.
The gleam of his uniform revealed he was one of the recent graduates. Despite trying to maintain composure, his gaze betrayed a worry he couldn't disguise.
The officer watched him for a moment in silence. There was something recognizable in the young man's expression, a mix of nervousness and determination often seen in those leaving behind everything they knew for the first time.
When the boy passed in front of them, the officer raised his voice calmly.
"Are you looking for this?"
In his hand, he held a short sword, with a black hilt and a subdued gleam. The blade reflected the gray light of the sky with simple elegance.
The boy turned immediately. His eyes lit up upon recognizing the weapon, and he stepped forward with some urgency.
"Yes, sir," he replied respectfully, raising his voice a little more than necessary. "It's my uncle's."
The officer nodded briefly, but before returning the sword, he frowned with a slight gesture of doubt. There was something familiar about the boy's face, though he couldn't quite place it.
*-…-*
"… Kaep?" he said finally, testing the name like someone trying out an idea.
The young man looked up, somewhat surprised by the familiarity with which it was said.
"Bairon?…" he asked awkwardly, tilting his head while squinting to confirm what he thought he saw.
The officer—now more relaxed—smiled lopsidedly, that smile of someone who has just run into someone they didn't expect to see there.
"Well… long time no see," he said with a tone mixing surprise and a certain complicity.
Kaep couldn't help but return a half-smile.
"Yeah. Where have you been? I haven't seen you since… well, since you were accompanying my uncle at the academy."
Bairon let out a short nasal laugh and crossed his arms, tilting his head slightly to one side.
"Front-Gate. I finished my training there."
"Really?" Kaep raised his eyebrows. "You always said that place was a nightmare."
"And it was," Bairon replied with a brief chuckle. "But it was worth it. I finally mastered the Roaring Star style."
He raised his thumb proudly, his free hand resting on his waist, while the wind stirred his short cloak.
"Really?" asked Kaep, genuinely impressed. "It took you years. You were still practicing it when you came with my uncle."
"And believe me, it didn't get any easier," Bairon added, tilting his head and raising his left hand to shoulder height, imitating the style's characteristic gesture. "But you're right, not being able to use conventional aura doesn't help much. Still…" He sketched a satisfied smile. "I learned the style doesn't depend on that."
"You and your weird methods," Kaep laughed.
Bairon raised his eyebrows, shrugging.
"Anyway…" he said, finally extending the sword. "Here, your uncle's sword. Just… don't tell him I took it."
Kaep took it carefully, unable to avoid frowning.
"You took it?"
"Ah, yes," Bairon replied in a casual tone. "I was testing the style's speed. You know Laios has impossible reflexes; I wanted to try with the first one I had on hand. Now that I'm back in the Empire, I needed to make sure I wasn't rusty."
Kaep looked up, confused.
"You're back? What do you mean, back? This trip is going to Inter-Gate, and then to Front-Gate."
Bairon closed his eyes for a second and pressed his lips together, as if regretting the direction the conversation had taken. He lowered his voice, almost a murmur carried by the sound of the sea.
"Sometimes we have no choice but to obey, Kaep." He made a brief pause, then looked at him again, with a shadow of weariness in his eyes. "You'll understand in time."
Kaep watched him, unsure if his tone was resignation or warning.
"Oh? Yeah?" he replied with an attempt at irony, though he couldn't completely hide the unease washing over him.
Kaep fell silent, not knowing how to respond at first. His lips parted slightly, as if the words were ready but resisting release. Then he shook his head slowly, not looking away from the sword he held.
Bairon watched him for a moment, perceiving the hesitation in his gaze. There was no judgment in his look.
"So, what's your name?" he asked in a calm voice, though laden with an authority that admitted no evasion.
Kaep blinked, confused by the other's sudden seriousness.
"Huh?" he said, bringing a hand to his chest as if he needed time to process the question. "Ah… you mean the letter my dad gave me."
As he said it, his expression changed slightly, something between discomfort and surprise. He looked up at Bairon, with a spark of suspicion.
"Wait a minute… how do you know he gave it to me? Did you see us?"
Bairon smiled slightly, a faint gesture, not showing his teeth. It was a friendly smile, but loaded with a nuance that didn't quite fit the light tone he was trying to maintain.
"No, no," he replied, shaking his head. "I didn't see you." He made a brief pause, lowering his gaze for a second, as if a memory had caught him by surprise. "It's just that… I've known about it for a long time."
His voice became softer at the end of the phrase, almost drowned out by the noise of the wind and waves hitting the ship's hull.
Kaep watched him with a furrowed brow.
"Huh?" he muttered, confused.
But Bairon didn't add anything more. He simply looked toward a point lost on the horizon, his eyes slightly narrowed and an expression Kaep hadn't seen on him before. It wasn't anger or nostalgia, but a mix of both.
The young man remained silent for a few more seconds. He could have insisted, but something in his interlocutor's gaze told him he shouldn't. He sensed that whatever Bairon was remembering wasn't something happy. So, he simply decided not to ask.
The silence that stretched between them wasn't uncomfortable, but it was dense. The air seemed to hold something unspoken.
Finally, Bairon looked at him again. His smile became light again, almost as if the previous moment hadn't happened.
"So," he said naturally, resuming the conversational tone. "What is it? Will you use it? Or will you just stick with 'Kaep'?"
The wind stirred the flaps of his cloak as he waited for the answer, and in the young man's eyes reflected the hesitation between two identities: the one he had carried until that day… and the one his father had written in the sealed letter.
The young man lowered his gaze. For a second, he seemed to debate whether to answer or not. Finally, he slipped his hand inside his jacket and pulled out a folded letter, the wax still intact, sealing it.
The paper had slightly bent edges from handling, and a dark mark in one corner, as if it had been gripped tightly too many times. He broke the seal carefully, trying not to tear the paper more than necessary, and unfolded the contents.
His eyes moved quickly over the lines, but his breathing changed. He was reading it for the first time, and each word seemed to weigh more than the last.
The murmur of the wind and the sound of waves hitting the hull filled the silence between them.
Finally, the young man swallowed and pronounced, barely in a low voice, almost as if the name felt alien in his own mouth:
"Eilor."
Bairon watched him in silence for another moment. He didn't repeat the name, didn't make any comment. He only nodded slowly, handing him back the sword.
Eilor took it with both hands, inclining his head slightly in thanks.
"Take care of it," the officer said finally, giving him a brief pat on the shoulder. "Just don't tell Laios; he doesn't know I'm back yet."
Bairon just smiled. Then he turned toward the railing, looking at the horizon beginning to darken, where the sky and sea blurred together.
Eilor nodded, the folded envelope still in his hand. The breeze ruffled his hair as he observed the sword for another moment, feeling how this newly revealed name resonated inside him with a strange familiarity, a mix of burden and destiny.
The ship was already beginning to creak under the pressure of the engaged propellers, and the bustle of the deck had reduced to scattered orders and hurried footsteps.
Without another word, Bairon gave him a pat on the shoulder and walked away among the uniformed men, leaving him with the sword in his hand and a thick silence around him.
Kaep looked down at the black hilt, thoughtful, noting the reflection of the sea moving on the blade.
In the distance, a new sound began to impose itself over the murmur of the sea. First it was a low hum, almost subterranean, as if something enormous were waking beneath the deck. Then came the screeches: the friction of metal moving within its own weight, followed by a dull roar that vibrated through the floor under his boots.
The conversations on the deck gradually died down. Some crewmen turned toward the ship's main towers, where thick steel columns extended upward like inverted roots. From the conduits surrounding them, dense, white steam began to escape, rising in slow spirals until dissolving in the salty air.
Each breath of the ship seemed more alive than the last, deeper. It was as if that mass of steel were inhaling for the first time.
Eilor looked up, impressed. The sails billowed, but now they weren't moved by the wind; they were dragged by it, by an impulse independent of the wind.
And gradually, they gained more speed, thanks to the new engines roaring in the ship's bowels.
A vibration ran through the entire hull, marking the pulse of a monumental machine.
The sound then transformed into a contained roar, a metallic echo that pierced the deck and the masts, shaking even the railings.
Before everyone's eyes, the ship began to move slowly, separating from the dock while the water at its sides boiled into white foam.
It was the first high-tech ship of its class, the starting point of a new naval era.
Those present couldn't help but watch in awe. Even the most seasoned veterans fell silent at the spectacle.
Kaep took a deep breath, clenched the envelope between his fingers, and for the first time understood that the sound of metal and steam wasn't just the start of a machine… but the echo of the world changing before his eyes.