Age of the Sea Circle Calendar, Year 1505
In West Blue.
On a small Island named Ironreef
The wind carried the scent of salt and wet stone as waves rolled against jagged rocks, rising and falling in a rhythm older than memory. The sky was painted in soft gold, the sun sinking slowly into the endless blue.
At the edge of the shore, sitting on a stretch of dark stone worn smooth by time, was a boy who watched the sea with a focus that felt almost unnatural for someone his age.
He was no older than twelve. Short dark hair rested neatly against his forehead, and his dull black eyes reflected the horizon without blinking.
"I have a dream," I murmured to myself.
My dream is an ambitious one. I want to explore the entire world. I want to see everything it has to offer, to discover places no one in this village has ever heard of, to experience countless fascinating things along the way.
The ocean is vast. It fascinates me. It terrifies me. It whispers secrets I cannot hear. And maybe that is exactly why I cannot look away from it.
I do not remember much about my parents. I only vaguely remember my mother. She passed away when I was very young, taken by an unknown disease that no one on this island could cure. But I know one thing with certainty.
This dream of mine came from her.
She used to tell me stories about distant islands and grand events happening across the world. Her voice was always gentle, and there was a quiet smile on her face whenever she spoke of the sea. Even now, when I close my eyes, I can almost hear her.
From where I am sitting, I can see the entire village of Ironreef. A scattering of stone and wooden huts with thin trails of smoke rising from chimneys. The dock stretches awkwardly into the restless water, built more out of hope than skill.
And running across the shore, waving his arms like an idiot, is my only friend.
"Rayze!"
That is my name. Rayze Vaelor.
The blond boy shouting is Roland, though I call him Ron. We met at the orphanage where I used to live. Back then we were just two loud boys fighting over scraps and stories. Now he is the only person who understands why I stare at the ocean for hours.
I no longer live at the orphanage. I built a small hut at the far corner of the village with my own hands. It is shabby, uneven, and leaks when it rains. But it is mine.
"Ron!" I called back. "What happened? Why are you running like that?"
He reached me, bent over, hands on his knees, gasping for breath. After a moment he looked up at me as if I had just insulted him.
"What do you mean what happened? Do you seriously not remember that the village feast is tonight?"
My eyes widened slightly before I scratched the back of my head.
"I got distracted," I admitted. "Looking at the ocean again."
Ron sighed, clearly not surprised.
"Of course you did. Just hurry up and come. Everyone is already preparing."
"Alright. You go ahead. I'll be there in a minute."
He gave me one last look before turning and running back toward the village.
As his figure grew smaller, I turned around to face the ocean one last time.
The sunlight shimmered across the waves. For a moment, everything felt peaceful again.
But just before I was about to head back toward the village, something on the horizon caught my eye.
A shape.
At first I thought it was nothing. Just a trick of the fading light. But it did not disappear.
My eyes narrowed.
A ship.
Ships rarely came here. Ironreef was too small, too insignificant. Merchants preferred larger ports. Marines had no reason to visit.
So if it was not a merchant ship…
The wind shifted, and I saw it clearly.
Black sails.
My heart skipped.
Then it began to pound.
There was something on those sails. A symbol. Faint at this distance, but unmistakable.
A skull.
The air suddenly felt heavier.
Pirates.
My fingers tightened against the stone beneath me. The ocean that had felt inviting just moments ago now seemed endless and merciless. It did not care what it carried toward us.
And that ship was not passing by.
It was coming straight for Ironreef.
My mouth went dry. I imagined flames consuming wooden huts. I imagined the orphanage children crying. I imagined Ron trying to be brave and failing.
This was not one of my mother's stories.
This was the other side of the sea.
My legs trembled as I stood, but I forced myself to keep watching. The ship grew larger with each passing second, cutting through the golden water like a blade.
My dream had always been about the ocean.
About freedom.
About adventure.
But now I understood something I had never truly considered.
The sea does not belong only to dreamers.
It belongs to those strong enough to survive it.
And I wasn't sure if Ironreef was strong enough.