The wind carried the scent of salt and pitch as the Fareham cut through the calm waters. Her sails set full, its white canvas stretched against the clear blue sky. The wooden hull creaked softly as the ropes groaned, and the deck swayed with the rhythm of the tide.
Admiral Calis Varand stood at the sterncastle, his hand resting on the worn railing as he watched the fleet ahead. Twenty-four war galleons moved in a broad line, their banners flying proudly in the wind — blue and gold, the colors of the Kingdom of Elarin.
Each ship bore scars of age and voyage—patched sails, tar-darkened hulls, and masts that had seen a hundred storms. Yet they were strong, built for war, forged in a time when the sea itself tested a man's courage.
"Wind holds steady from the east, my lord," said his flag captain, stepping beside him.
"The current favors us until dusk."
Calis nodded slightly. His eyes were on the horizon
"Good. Keep the fleet in line. I want no stragglers."
"Aye, Admiral."
The captain bowed and moved down the steps toward the main deck, shouting orders. Sailors adjusted the rigging, and the rhythmic clatter of pulleys filling the air. The fleet moved in unison, each ship following the lead of the Faraham.
Calis glanced at the map on the table. It showed the northern waters of Avalor Bay, a patrol route they had sailed countless times to guard the island's western flank. Behind those waters lay the heart of the kingdom: the great harbor of Valmere, where the noble houses kept their fleets anchored in peace.
This side of the sea was quiet. It had been for years. Pirates avoided these waters; trade was steady; storms came and went like clockwork.
It's too quiet, he thought.
He lifted his gaze again toward the open horizon, the sunlight glinting off the waves. Something deep within him, instinct, or perhaps the weary intuition of a man who had spent half of his life at sea, he had a feeling that the calm wouldn't last.
The sea never stayed kind for long.
He turned to his first mate.
"Keep the watch sharp. The sea may seem friendly, but she changes faster than a politician's word."
The officer grinned faintly. "As you say, my lord. We'll keep a sharp eye."
Calis allowed himself a small smirk. "Good. I'd rather be wrong than surprised."
He adjusted his cloak as the wind picked up again, carrying the sound of gulls and the steady drum of oars from the lower decks.
For now, the fleet sailed steady but the day had that strange stillness before something breaks.
"Smoke off the western sky!"
The shout came from the forward mast. The watchman's cry cut through the steady movement of the wind and waves.
Admiral Calis turned at once. "What kind of smoke?" he called back.
The lookout shielded his eyes against the sun. "Thin at first, my lord… but rising steady! Like black thread on the wind!"
Calis narrowed his gaze, stepping toward the prow. The line of the horizon shimmered faintly in the heat. He took the spyglass from his belt, it was made with brass and leather, worn smooth from years of use, he raised it to his eye.
For a moment, all he saw was the endless blue. Then a faint but certain streaks of dark smoke hung low above the sea.
Not from fire, he thought. Too steady. Too clean.
"Fetch the signal drum," he said quietly.
The flag captain was quick. Within seconds, the steady boom of the drum rolled across the fleet, each ship answering with a thudding reply. The line slowed, the sails easing as helmsmen turned slightly toward the Admiral's flagship.
"Do you see masts, my lord?" his first mate asked.
Calis lowered the glass slowly. "No masts. Only the smoke."
The first mate frowned. "Then what moves beneath it?"
"That," Calis said, "is what we shall find out."
The lookout called again, voice sharp with awe. "My lord! I can see silhouette where the smoke are coming!"
Murmurs spread among the deck crew. The Admiral raised the glass once more, his heartbeat steady but heavy. Shapes now broke the horizon, dark low silhouettes cutting through the sea without sail or oar.
Ships, but not of any kind he knew.
He spoke, almost to himself, "No sails… yet they move."
The first mate crossed himself. "By the deep gods…"
Calis lowered the glass and turned to his officers. "Signal the fleet. Hold formation. We keep our distance for now."
The flagmen waved their colors high, relaying the command down the line. The great fleet slowed, sails drawn just enough to drift with the tide.
Below, the sailors gathered at the rails, squinting toward the horizon. The air felt heavier now, though the wind had not changed.
"Mark my words," Calis muttered, "those are no merchantmen… nor anything built by mortal hands I know."
The first mate hesitated. "Shall we send word to the port, my lord?"
"Not yet," Calis said, eyes fixed on the black smoke trails. "Let us see what manner of strangers cross our waters before we rouse the lords."
He tightened his grip on the spyglass, the faint glint of metal still flashing in the far light.
The sea had gone too calm again. And that calm felt wrong.
The wind had slowed to a whisper. Only the faint creak of wood and the snap of canvas broke the silence between ships.
Admiral Calis stood at the quarterdeck rail, spyglass still in hand. The strange fleet on the horizon moved with steady purpose, too steady, as if the sea itself carried them.
His first mate waited beside him, silent until spoken to.
"Lord Admiral," he finally said, "if those are warships, they outmatch us in size. We should warn the port."
Calis gave a slow nod, still watching. "Aye. If they mean harm, the harbors must be ready."
He turned and called to his signal captain. "Have the Silver Gale and her escorts break from line. They will make full sail eastward to the port of Velmor. The Lord of the Bay must know what we've sighted."
The captain bowed sharply. "At once, my lord."
Signal flags rose on the aft mast, bright and clear against the sky. Moments later, the Silver Gale and two smaller ships began to turn, sails filling with wind as they broke from the formation.
Calis watched them go, their hulls cutting the waves clean and swift. Then he lowered the glass and looked back toward the west.
The strange ships had grown larger, details clearer now. Metal hulls glinted in the sunlight. No sails, no oars. A faint hum, like distant thunder, rolled across the waves.
"By the tide…" the first mate whispered. "They move like beasts of iron."
Calis spoke low, steady. "Beasts or men, we shall know soon enough."
He turned to his helmsman. "Bring the fleet about. Set course west by south. Half sail. Keep the wind steady on our stern."
The drum sounded again, deep and measured, relaying his command through the line. Sails turned, ships creaked into motion.
"Ready the flags of parley," Calis added. "If they are traders or lost sailors, we show them courtesy. If they are foes…" He paused, his gaze hardening. "Then we greet them with fire and steel."
The first mate nodded grimly. "And if they do not answer at all, my lord?"
Calis looked west once more. The metal ships shimmered faintly in the haze, still drawing closer.
"Then," he said quietly, "we'll learn what kind of silence they keep."
The Silver Gale broke from formation, her sails catching full wind as she turned eastward. Foam curled along her hull, and two smaller escorts followed in her wake.
Captain Eldric Varran stood by the helm, the sea wind tugging at his cloak. He spared one glance west — where the strange, gleaming shapes still lingered on the horizon.
"Do you think they're men, Captain?" his quartermaster asked.
Eldric's voice was low. "Men or monsters, the Lord of Velmor must be told."
The ship pressed on, creaking and groaning against the strengthening wind. Orders rang across the deck; sailors hauled lines and trimmed sail. The Silver Gale surged ahead like a hawk on the hunt.
Back aboard the Fareham, the fleet held its slow advance. The morning light had turned sharp, casting the sea in sheets of silver and blue. Gulls wheeled above, crying into the wind — the only voices that dared break the silence.
Admiral Calis Varand stood by the prow now, the spyglass steady in his grip. The strange ships were closer — clearer — though still far beyond bowshot. He could see the way the sun caught their hulls, gleaming like polished iron. No sail. No mast. No oar.
They moved in a slanted line across the sea.
"What say you, my lord?" his first mate asked.
"They keep their course, yet do not answer our flags."
Calis didn't lower the glass. "They see us. I know they do."
The hum came again, faint but steady — like the beat of some great heart beneath the waves. The sound seemed to move through the timbers of the Fareham itself, as if the sea carried it.
One of the younger officers stepped closer, uneasy. "My lord… perhaps they are waiting for us?"
"Or watching," Calis murmured.
He studied the formation — the largest ship at its center, one ship is on it's front and the others spread behind like wings. No movement on their decks, no figures he could make out. Only gleaming metal and that faint, living sound that came and went with the wind.
The fleet around him shifted uneasily. Sailors muttered prayers under their breath. The helmsmen watched the Admiral for orders.
"Hold course," Calis said at last. "Let them see we do not fear the sea we guard."
The drums sounded once — deep, commanding. Across the line, the galleons steadied their formation, their banners of blue and gold unfurling proudly against the light.
Minutes stretched into silence. The two fleets — one of oak and sail, one of metal — drifted closer, their wakes crossing the same waters.
Then, from the heart of the strange formation, a single low pulse echoed across the sea — deeper than before, sharp and hollow, as though the ocean itself had drawn breath.
The men froze.
Calis turned his gaze to the lead vessel. Its hull gleamed brighter now, catching the sun in a blinding glare. For a heartbeat, it almost seemed to turn… but didn't. It simply held its path, slow and unwavering, as if biding its time.
The pulse came again.
Calis lowered his glass, his jaw set. "They're not lost," he said softly. "They're waiting."
The wind shifted, and the sound carried over the fleet once more — steady, deliberate, impossible to mistake for chance.
Every man aboard felt it then — not fear, but the weight of something vast and unseen, moving just beyond reach.
The sea had gone still again. The drums waited for his next command. And Admiral Calis Varand, veteran of a hundred storms, found no words to give.