Razor seemed to be enjoying the drop in temperature, moving with more energy and purpose, though the storm itself was still unpredictable, and one wrong gust could throw them off entirely.
Chiaki kept her focus, thinking about Temoshí and the way he was lying there under Venos's watchful care. Out here, in the open, they were completely exposed, and there was no telling if someone—or something—might appear out of the storm to make things even worse.
She muttered to herself, her voice calm but firm, almost as if speaking aloud helped her sort her thoughts. "Doesn't matter how brutal this storm gets. Temoshí made that promise to Shanya, and I'm not about to let it slide. I'm going to see it through until he's moving on his own again. Yumiko knows that too, so we just keep pushing forward, no stopping, no hesitation. Whatever comes at us, we handle it."
Venos stood steady on the deck, eyes fixed on the swirling storm in the distance, the wind tugging at his coat and hair. Even so, his focus remained on a single, vital responsibility—keeping their captain safe and unharmed. "A storm like that… it's no joke. But knowing them, they'll manage to get through it just fine."
The storm raged on, but the kingdom of Armagh—set further inland from the second docks—remained largely untouched, shielded by the towering walls that encircled the entire city.
At the very heart of the kingdom stood its pride: a colossal palace perched atop a steep hill, overlooking the clustered town below like a sentinel. Its outer walls gleamed with pale sandstone, carved with intricate markings that caught the shifting light of day, while tall, narrow windows gave the structure a solemn elegance. Several towers spiraled high into the sky, their pointed roofs capped with dark, weatherworn tiles, visible even from the farthest edges of the desert.
The palace's elevation gave it a commanding view of the sprawling city and the arid lands stretching beyond—a stark blend of winding streets, sun-baked stone houses, and bustling market squares that spilled outward from the hill's base. To the north, the desert sands pressed against the city walls, a constant reminder of the harsh land surrounding it, while to the south, the town clung tightly around the palace, as though seeking protection beneath its shadow.
Within the grand hall of the palace, a gathering had formed. The chamber, lined with towering stone pillars and draped in deep crimson banners, echoed with the low murmur of voices. At its center stood the throne—a carved seat of pale stone, imposing yet unadorned. Upon it sat the king, a broad-shouldered man with stern features etched by years of rule. His presence was formidable, his gaze sharp, yet beneath that hardened exterior lay a man known to be fair and kindhearted, one who treated his people not as subjects but as kin.
The people who entered his hall were never forced to kneel, a testament to the nature of his reign—one rooted in respect rather than fear. Villagers, merchants, and soldiers alike stood before him without trembling, knowing the walls of Armagh protected them as firmly as their king's compassion did.
As the storm outside pounded against the distant coasts, a soldier broke from the gathered crowd and strode toward the throne, his voice raised above the restless silence.
"My lord," he said, bowing his head briefly in respect, "a report has come from the watchers at the second docks. They claim to have spotted a small boat fighting its way against the waves. A lone man was aboard… an outsider."
The hall fell into a hush. Outsiders arriving at the second docks—especially in the midst of such a storm—was unheard of. Eyes shifted toward the king, waiting for his word, the air thick with a mixture of unease and curiosity.
The king raised a hand to his chin, his stern gaze narrowing in thought as the hall grew quiet.
"Outsiders, you say? Hm…" His deep voice carried across the chamber with a weight that made every ear attentive. "Tell me, then—have these strangers shown any signs of stirring trouble within our borders? Or perhaps ties to the pirates we dealt with not long ago?"
The man who had spoken shook his head quickly, bowing slightly as his words spilled out.
"No, Your Majesty. They did not appear hostile, nor did they bear any markings or banners linked to the raiders. They seemed… ordinary. A single small boat, nothing more."
The king leaned back against his throne, the carved sandstone walls casting long shadows across his figure. His eyes softened, though his expression retained its usual strength.
"If that is the case, then there is no sense in troubling those who have yet to trouble us." His voice lowered into a steady calm, carrying the tone of a man who ruled with both strength and fairness. After a brief pause, he lifted a hand. "Still, caution is the armor of kings. Dispatch a scouting party to the second docks. I want eyes on this matter before the sun sets. If they are harmless travelers, then let them be. If not…" He let the silence hang for a moment, leaving the unspoken weight of consequence clear.
The man bowed again, relief flickering across his features. "At once, my king."
The order carried through the hall, and the gathered nobles and attendants stirred with murmurs, the news of outsiders quickly rippling among them like a restless breeze.
The man at the king's side, younger in appearance yet commanding in presence, shifted uncomfortably at the king's decision.
His tousled black hair framed golden, hawk-like eyes that seemed to miss nothing in the chamber. Sunlight filtering through the tall windows caught on the layered golden necklace resting against his chest, the deep-blue gemstones glimmering faintly with every subtle movement. Bracelets and earrings completed his regal adornments, marking him as someone born to nobility, though his clothing carried both elegance and practicality—a mixture of flowing fabrics draped across his shoulders and patterned designs cinched at his waist by a jeweled belt.
The charms fastened there swayed softly as he moved, a rhythm in time with his steady breath. There was something almost wanderer-like about him, as though he had seen more of the world than his ornaments alone suggested.
His golden eyes narrowed, displeasure flickering across his face as he finally spoke. "Father, I don't agree with this. To simply overlook their arrival—outsiders with no explanation—is far too careless. Even if they have no ties to the pirates, their presence should not be taken lightly."
The king's gaze drifted toward him, the weight of authority pressing against the younger man's words, though his expression softened. "Solmar," the king said, his voice calm but resolute. "I understand your concern. But not every stranger carries a dagger behind their back. We'll send scouts to uncover what can be uncovered, but until then, I will not stir needless hostility within these walls."
The golden light of the chamber shifted as another voice rang out—playful, melodic, and yet sharp enough to pierce through the thick air of disagreement.
"I'd side with Father on this matter."
From the far end of the hall, Nysera stepped forward, each movement alive with grace as the small ornaments at her belt jingled with her stride. Her long brown hair flowed like a banner of freedom behind her, and her fiery red eyes locked on her brother with an energy that burned just as hot as his disdain. Rose petals scattered from her sleeves as though her entrance were part performance, part declaration.
"The strangers may be suspicious," she continued, her lips curving into a confident smile, "but suspicion alone cannot condemn them. We have no proof they've conspired with pirates, nor that they intend to cause harm. Until we see otherwise, why trouble them needlessly?"
Her words danced the line between charm and authority, each syllable carrying weight that drew the attention of the courtiers nearby. Nysera lifted her chin with a subtle confidence, the golden ornaments around her neck catching the warm glow of the chamber.
Solmar, however, narrowed his golden eyes at her, clearly unimpressed. "So, you would gamble the safety of our people on appearances and sentiment?"
Nysera only smirked, resting her hands lightly at her waist where the jingling coins framed her stance. "I would call it faith in Father's wisdom—and in our scouts. Not every shadow hides a dagger, Solmar. Some shadows only deepen because of fear."
The king leaned back into his seat, clearly pleased, and gestured with a hand. "Well spoken, Nysera. I trust your judgment echoes mine. These outsiders shall not be troubled—for now. But the scouts will still be dispatched, as I said. If there is danger, we will know soon enough."
The king leaned back on his throne, his expression sharpening as though the weight of the hall had pressed itself upon his shoulders. His gaze swept the chamber slowly, silencing whispers before they could fully form.
"Enough," he declared, his voice echoing like steel striking stone. "The matter is decided. We shall proceed as I have decreed."
The words hung heavy in the air, leaving no room for debate. He lifted one hand, fingers flicking outward with regal finality.
"You may all withdraw."
The courtiers, advisors, and guards exchanged wary glances before bowing and retreating from the throne room. The chamber gradually emptied, the sound of footsteps fading until only Solmar, Nysera, and the king remained.
The king's eyes lingered briefly on them both. "I trust you understand what is expected of you." His tone carried both command and unspoken warning.
"Yes, Father," Nysera said with her usual elegance, inclining her head respectfully.
Solmar only nodded, golden eyes steady but unreadable.
"Then go," the king dismissed, his hand cutting the air like a blade.
Outside the throne room, the heavy doors shut behind them, leaving the muffled sounds of the court far behind. Solmar's steps were sharp and restless, the jewels at his belt clinking with every stride. Nysera followed, her pace lighter, though her fiery red eyes carried the same weight of thought.
"You agreed with him too easily," Solmar muttered, finally breaking the silence. "Peace doesn't come from words alone. We have enemies who don't care about treaties, Nysera. They'll only understand strength."
Nysera crossed her arms, her golden ornaments catching the light as she tilted her head. "And you think strength will keep people safe forever? Wars don't end when blades are drawn, Solmar—they only multiply. I'd rather fight for a chance at peace than let the kingdom drown in endless battles."
He stopped, turning to face her fully, his golden eyes narrowing. "Peace is fragile. One false step, one betrayal, and it shatters. Safety means being prepared for that. If we don't stand ready, people will pay for it in blood."
Nysera's confident smile faltered, her voice quieter but firm. "And if all we do is prepare for war, then what are we even protecting? A kingdom that never knows peace? People who grow up only learning to fear?"
For a moment, neither spoke, the tension between them as sharp as any blade. Solmar exhaled slowly, the fight in his stance softening, though not disappearing.
"You're too idealistic," he said at last.
"And you," Nysera replied, her eyes steady on his, "are too afraid of losing control."
To be continued...