-Ban, port of Banal – October 7335-
The sun had not yet risen when Zirinos and Luna arrived at the wharf. The air was cool, the sand in the streets still held the heat from the previous night. The port of Banal, usually so busy, was empty at that hour. Only a few fishermen were preparing their nets, and one or two merchants were discussing prices in low voices.
The ship that would take them back to the mainland was called *Golden Sand*. It was a vessel of dark wood, with brown sails and a wide hull, suitable for transporting goods. But on this voyage it would carry only passengers: Zirinos, Luna, Sanderá, Erlan, and a dozen soldiers lent by Zayan – hard-eyed men with calloused hands who had sworn loyalty to the king and now fulfilled it.
"The ship is ugly," said Luna beside Zirinos.
"It's functional."
"It's also ugly."
"War isn't beautiful."
Luna did not answer. She squeezed his hand.
"Are you nervous?" she asked.
"No." He looked at the horizon. "I'm fed up."
"Of what?"
"Of the beige clothes. Of the empty conversations. Of the glances that measure me."
"In Lunos they measured you too."
"In Lunos I cared. Here, I don't."
"And is that good?"
"It is."
---
The embarkation was quick. Zayan's soldiers took the stern, keeping their distance, silent. Sanderá and Erlan stayed at the bow, watching the sea. Zirinos and Luna sat on the main deck, their backs against a barrel of fresh water.
"The egg," said Luna after a few minutes. "Where is it?"
Zirinos took the cloth bag from his backpack. The egg pulsed, purple and red, an inner light that shone even in the weak morning light.
"It hasn't hatched yet."
"Do you know what it is?"
"No. Nor do I want to know."
"Then why did you buy it?"
"Because I was drunk."
"And now?"
"Now I carry it. Like I carry all my bad decisions."
Luna looked at him. Her light eyes, tired but attentive.
"You are not bad, Zirinos."
"I am."
"You are confused."
"It's the same thing."
He put the egg back in the bag. The light pulsed through the cloth.
---
The ship set sail with the high tide.
The wind blew favourably, filling the brown sails and pushing the vessel south. The coast of Banal slowly receded, the golden towers of the palace shining in the first rays of sun. The desert, behind, disappeared on the horizon.
Zirinos stood at the stern, watching the land disappear.
"Will you miss it?" asked Luna beside him.
"What?"
"The islands. The heat. The sea."
"No."
"Not even the people?"
"The people I care about are on this ship."
Luna did not answer. She just rested her head on his shoulder.
---
Hours later, when the sun was already high and the heat had become uncomfortable, one of the soldiers approached.
"Lord Zirinos," he said with a bow. "The captain asks for you at the bow."
"Why?"
"News. From the north."
Zirinos stood up. Luna followed him.
The captain was a middle-aged man, grey-bearded, with tired eyes that had seen too many storms. He held out a parchment – a palm leaf, written in black ink.
"It arrived an hour ago," he said. "A messenger from Lunos found our ship. He says the Krakeriar has left the Graylor Islands. It is heading south."
"Where to?" asked Zirinos.
"To the coast of Lunos. The fishing villages are being evacuated. Marchioness Linda asks for reinforcements."
"Reinforcements or heroes?"
"Both."
Zirinos put the parchment away.
"Then we will give them."
---
The voyage lasted three days.
The sea was calm, the wind steady. Zayan's soldiers trained on the deck, practising strikes with wooden swords. Sanderá taught Luna to tie knots, and Erlan fished off the stern, never catching anything.
Zirinos spent his time looking at the egg.
The inner light now pulsed faster, like an accelerating heart. The shell, once smooth, had begun to show small cracks – thin, almost imperceptible, but there.
"It's going to hatch," said Luna one night.
"It is."
"And if it's a dragon?"
"It's not."
"How do you know?"
"Because dragons aren't born in eggs bought in the black market. They are born in mountains. In caves. In sacred places."
"This place was sacred?"
"It was a cellar near the port. It smelled of blood and lies."
"Then what is it?"
"I don't know. But I will find out."
---
On the third night, Zirinos dreamed.
He was in the cell in Varzyus, with Arth beside him. The old slave looked at him with sad eyes.
"You are going to die," said Arth.
"Everyone dies."
"You will die young."
"How do you know?"
"Because monsters don't live long. They kill. And are killed. It's the cycle."
"And you? Will you die?"
"I died fifteen years ago. My body just hasn't realised it yet."
The dream dissolved.
Zirinos woke with cold sweat on his forehead. The egg, in his backpack, pulsed in the darkness.
---
On the fourth day, they sighted land.
The coast of Lunos was grey, covered with melted snow and black rocks. The fishing villages were deserted, doors open, nets empty. The smell of smoke and fear hung in the air.
"Marchioness Linda awaits us at the castle," said the captain. "She sent a guide."
The guide was a young boy with light hair and frightened eyes. He rode a thin horse, trembling.
"The Krakeriar," he said as soon as the ship docked. "It killed the fishermen in the bay. It took them out to sea. No one knows why."
"To eat," replied Zirinos. "Monsters eat."
"I've never seen them eat."
"You will."
They disembarked. Zayan's soldiers formed a column. Sanderá and Erlan rode ahead. Luna, beside Zirinos, pulled the reins of her white garron.
Linda Lunos's castle rose on the horizon, dark, severe, its towers covered with ice.
"Let's go," said Zirinos.
They quickened their pace.
The road was open.
The Krakeriar waited.