Year 14 of the SuaChie Calendar, Fifth Month (July 1496).
Northwestern Sea of the Guanza Quyca (Africa).
Desert Oasis City (Dakar, Senegal).
The sea salt stung my eyes, but I refused to blink. The wind, that old friend I had learned to read since my distant days as a terrified fisherman on the banks of the Suaza River, now roared through the sails with intoxicating force.
Barely more than a month had passed since our tumultuous departure from Dawn City, and I could already feel the unmistakable, comforting sway beneath my leather boots as we slowly approached the vibrant port of Desert Oasis City, located in the Guanza Quyca.
I leaned against the polished wooden rail of the Going Marry. This vessel was an entirely different beast from anything I had ever commanded before.
The Going Marry was an imposing Yaguar-class galleon, a ship conceived on the foundation of a Tequendama I, yet featuring structural and design changes. I had seen these vessels in action before; I had escorted them on other missions from the deck of my beloved King of Shooters, a heavy and robust Tequendama I. However, seeing a Yaguar from afar and feeling it vibrate beneath the sternpost were two profoundly different experiences.
Its speed was such—cleaving the waves with an almost predatory ferocity—that for most of the voyage, we desperately had to reduce the use of its numerous sails. Had we not, the wind would have dragged us far ahead, hopelessly leaving behind the other slower, heavier ships that comprised our Grand Expedition.
As the warm breeze struck my face, I let my thoughts wander northward. Since setting sail, we had charted a route that forced us to stop at several Suaza settlements in the North Quyca, including that fledgling and dismal English colony known as Massachusetts Town.
Walking through its muddy streets, I couldn't help but inadvertently compare the terribly slow advancements of that settlement with the overwhelming progress I had witnessed myself in our coastal cities of the Great Quyca and Guanza Quyca.
But the truth was undeniable; I imagined how tragically slow, and even deadly, the development of the English would have been there had Chuta not intervened, sending our finest experts and soldiers to secure the infrastructure and communication with the natives.
After one last, tedious resupply layover in Guanzauba City, we finally had our true starting point in sight. To be honest, I would have gladly spared myself every one of those diplomatic stops.
My spirit yearned to devour the ocean without interruption, but my mind knew we needed every last resource, every last barrel of water and gunpowder, to make this immense crossing as smooth and safe as possible.
Half an hour after sighting the coast, the anchor dropped with a heavy thud.
The port of Desert Oasis City welcomed us with a slap of dry heat and the incessant bustle of a mercantile metropolis. As I descended the gangway, the scent of ground spices and salted fish flooded my senses.
There, awaiting me with an upright posture, stood Soca, the Chancellor of Desert Oasis City. As I approached his entourage, something powerfully caught my attention. By his side, flanking him with evident capability, were his aides—who, to my surprise, were now also composed of dark-skinned men and women native to the region.
It was a profound and functional integration that differed radically from my last visit to the city, proving how the kingdom's vision was materializing in the Guanza Quyca.
"Admiral Sogeking," Soca greeted me, bowing his head slightly, offering a salute laden with genuine respect yet wrapped in formality.
"Chancellor Soca," I replied, returning the bow with equal gravity. "It is a relief to set foot on solid ground under your administration."
Wasting no time on empty courtesies, I reached into my coat and pulled out a thick envelope. I handed it directly to him. The heavy official wax seal of the Central Government, stamped by Chuta's own hand, gleamed in the light of the unforgiving sun.
Soca broke the seal, unfolded the parchment, and his eyes scanned the contents in silence. The dense midday air seemed to stall around us. After a few seconds, Soca paused and looked up at me, nodding slowly.
"We had been notified of the preparations in advance, Admiral. Everything is complete and in order," he said, his voice conveying a reassuring efficiency. "In fact, Captain Tequa is here; he has been waiting for you for a month or so."
Upon hearing that name, a dull, erratic heartbeat struck my chest. Before I could process the information, one of Soca's local aides leaned in and muttered something softly into his ear. The Chancellor looked up again and offered me a faint smile.
"The captain is coming right this way," Soca indicated, pointing over my shoulder.
I turned around slowly. Amidst the crowded streets, where merchants, sailors, and locals mingled in a vibrant tapestry of noise and colors, I spotted his figure. Tequa. My former first mate on the King of Shooters… My comrade… My friend.
A tight, painful knot formed in my throat. Behind my mask of the intrepid admiral, only I knew how much I had missed that unyielding officer. That stoic man who set boundaries for me whenever my impulsiveness threatened to devour us all; the loyal friend who had accompanied me, side by side, on those first terrifying voyages that I still considered the most dangerous of my life. Nearly two long years had passed since our parting, and seeing him there crumbled any hint of hardness within me.
Tequa stopped in front of me. His weathered face showed no expression whatsoever. Following our old military protocol, I raised my arm and extended my right hand for a formal salute.
He looked at my hand. And then, in an unexpected gesture, he refused it.
For a split second, a cold tension ran down my spine.
Had something changed between us?
But the answer struck me physically. Tequa took an abrupt step forward, breaking all hierarchy, and enveloped me in a fierce, almost rib-crushing embrace. His grip trembled slightly; it seemed the separation had taken an equally heavy toll on us both.
"I missed you, Captain," Tequa murmured, his deep voice resonating near my ear, stripped of all its usual rigidity.
I smiled from ear to ear, returning the embrace with equal strength, feeling a key piece of my internal ship fall back into place.
"I am no longer your captain, Tequa," I replied, releasing him gently and looking into his eyes with warmth.
Tequa straightened his posture, adjusting his uniform, but the protocolar coldness had completely vanished from his face.
"True enough," he replied. There was a brimming, sharp confidence in his tone, a knowing spark I recognized perfectly.
We both stood there, planted in the midst of the harbor crowd, smiling at one another beneath the blazing sun.
…
Suaza Strait (Strait of Magellan),
South Quyca. Near West Strait City (Punta Arenas, Chile).
Exactly three months had passed since our sun-bathed reunion. Now, the heat was but a distant, pale memory.
The Grand Expedition was finally arriving at the southern extreme of the immense Great Quyca. We were sailing straight into the jaws of the secret and freezing Suaza Strait, that hidden interoceanic passage we had originally charted as the Strait of the Sun and Moon.
The atmosphere on the deck of every ship under my command had grown oppressive, dense as the salty fog clinging to the wood of the masts. It wasn't that anything had gone wrong with our logistics, but rather the visceral, almost primitive respect instilled by the fierce waters looming ahead.
Even the most hardened sailors—those who had survived at least one of our past expeditions—swallowed hard as they stared at the clouded horizon. We already knew the unpredictable fury of the Dawn Ocean (Atlantic), but we knew full well what awaited us upon crossing into the Dusk Ocean (Pacific).
Both colossi of water featured titanic waves, turbulent winds, and extreme climates capable of shredding wood, but it was common knowledge within the armada that in the treacherous and unknown currents of the Dusk Ocean, we would have to exercise the utmost caution.
The freezing breeze cut my cheeks as I clung to the railing, recalling the pre-mission reports. The guidelines suggested by the scholars of navigation, climate, and logistics at the prestigious Simte Academy had been abundantly clear: the optimal time to preserve the fleet's integrity would be to cross this strait between the eighth and twelfth months (Between November and February).
True to my audacious nature, I only wanted to devour the map and complete the crossing as swiftly as possible. I had set myself the ambitious goal of reaching the strait in merely two months and crossing it well in advance to prove the supremacy of our ships.
However, fate had decreed a different sentence.
A series of brutal, unforeseen storms battered us mercilessly, forcing us to seek emergency refuge in some of the eastern settlements of South Quyca. This caused a painful delay of almost a month.
Now, as the fleet advanced, breaking the surface ice, I sensed that silent aura among my own crew; they murmured that something invisible was delaying us on purpose, perhaps protecting them from my "reckless" decisions.
I sighed, exhaling a cloud of white mist. Deep down, I admitted that I, too, viewed this delay as a clear warning message from the gods of the sea.
"I told you so, stubborn," a familiar voice echoed behind me, accompanied by the crunch of heavy boots on the frosted deck.
It was Tequa, my former first mate on the King of Shooters and my most loyal confidant. He had boarded my ship, taking advantage of the channel's calm, momentarily leaving the Tequendama I with which he was escorting me.
Whenever we gathered on my ship, he never missed a chance to emphasize it. "The ocean gods forced you to drop anchor. Sometimes you have to know how to listen to the wind before trying to beat it in a race."
I offered him a half-smile over my shoulder, silently conceding the point as we shared a swig of firewater.
As we ventured further into the strait's channel, the geography around us began to close in with high cliffs of dark stone.
To starboard, we left behind the silhouettes of East Strait Town; a decoy village astutely built as the "last" Suaza settlement, designed to deceive the Europeans or any other intruding kingdom that dared sail this far south.
Our compass pointed toward the true heart of our southern operation: West Strait City, a fortified port for the exclusive military use of our kingdom.
Seeing those steep and inhospitable shores unleashed a torrent of memories.
I began to reminisce about that terrifying initial expedition where we first discovered this very passage. A geographical find that would alter the map of the world, and which Chuta himself had "predicted" using his unfathomable "divine" knowledge to guide us.
Back then, our immense Tequendama I-class ships, designed to dominate the coast and the open sea, were the most advanced vessels our armada possessed. Yet, through those years of trial and error, they proved far less "reliable" in the face of such extreme climates.
Despite the agonizing creaks of the wood and the frozen sails, we had managed to survive, find the route, and, to our surprise, also find the cultures that survived down here.
My eyes narrowed, trying to pierce the mist toward the vast plains north of the strait. There, in lands that the current inhabitants of the city and our local allied peoples were still investigating, dwelled the "giant" Tehuelches. Specifically, the branch we dealt with was the Aonikenk.
The memory of our first contact still gave me goosebumps.
They were men and women of an overwhelming height and robustness, far surpassing the tallest people of the entire known world. Even our brawniest young recruits—those who grew up under the strict health and nutritional "guidelines" imposed by Chuta throughout the kingdom—barely managed to reach their chins.
To put it into perspective: our Leader Chuta measured approximately 1.70 meters, and some of our tallest youths could touch 1.75. I, for my part, with my modest 1.63 meters, considered myself to be of respectable stature for my generation. But these imposing warriors of the south... they could easily stand at 1.85 meters.
Their physique alone was an intimidating wall of muscle adapted to the extreme cold, and they looked even fiercer wrapped in thick furs, bearing intense red facial paint that accentuated every one of their harsh features and heightened their predatory aura.
At first, we nearly killed one another. We had serious issues because we came from the sea, a frontier they viewed with natural mistrust. Spears very nearly stained the snow red.
However, by applying diplomacy; after giving them carefully chosen gifts, maintaining cordial communication, and above all, demonstrating the sincere respect that had become the indisputable standard of our kingdom, we managed to de-escalate the tension.
We earned their trust through hard work, and with it, we gained the tallest and most powerful individual allies in the world.
But the formidable Aonikenk were not the only living ghosts in this perpetual fog. The list of alliances continued, and the kingdom's tireless exploration had uncovered several more cultures, some hidden in the even more inhospitable, dark, and frozen territory south of the strait.
There, at what truly seemed like the edge of the world, our explorers had found other fascinating peoples.
There were the spiritual Selk'nam, masters of the snowy plains; the scarce but ancestrally wise Haush; the indomitable Kawésqar, true nomads who made the icy waters their home; and finally, the guardians of the end of the world, the austral Yaghans.
All these cultures survived in the coldest and most merciless territory known to the kingdom, a place where the earth itself seemed to refuse to bear fruit, and resources were brutally limited.
The climate and the constant struggle for survival were so extreme that our proud researchers and the first permanent settlers had to swallow their northern pride and quickly learn to adapt.
We had abandoned our light cotton clothes and adopted their ancient techniques: we covered ourselves in heavy, thick guanaco and sea lion pelts, learned to slather thick layers of animal fat over our skin as a thermal shield against the biting wind, and adopted the sacred tradition of maintaining "eternal" fires, embers that burned unceasingly both on land and upon beds of earth and stone in their canoes... It was the only way not to freeze to death.
Of course, we knew of other peoples further north.
The Chonos, agile marine hunters of the western side, and the vast and proud nations that dominated the forests and valleys further up: the Mapuches, Huilliches, and Pehuenches. With all of them, the kingdom maintained normal, cordial trade relations, but destiny and geography had dictated that it be with the former—the most austral and isolated—that we would forge our closest and most fraternal bonds.
That unifying effort was evident in the settlement toward which we sailed.
I knew from the reports that the city now sheltered inhabitants from all these diverse southern cultures. While it was natural for old grudges and territorial conflicts to exist among them, the kingdom had taken charge of calming the waters through tireless diplomacy and the use of skilled translators.
We had attacked the root of their wars: scarcity.
By bringing steady supplies from the warm north, metal tools forged in our workshops, and construction techniques utilizing mortar, adobe, and wood adapted to retain heat, the anguish of daily subsistence had almost disappeared.
The only remaining wall was communication, but our linguists had indirectly torn it down by devotedly studying and recording the language of each tribe.
Even so, this corner of the world was a shock for anyone.
Many of the recruits and scholars who arrived here for the first time were left breathless by the extreme living conditions and the towering height of some of the locals. Even our priests, men of unshakeable faith, marveled at the profound spirituality of these peoples and the evident protection they received from their gods; the clerics, shivering beneath their cloaks, simply could not understand how life could thrive in this white hell.
I myself—a man raised by the currents of the Suaza River and forged in the vast Dawn Ocean—never ceased to be amazed... Especially by the Yaghans.
My mind filled with awe recalling the reports about their women. As part of their daily chores, those women would free-dive, wearing barely any clothes, into the lethal, freezing waters of the channels to gather sea urchins and massive king crabs.
How did the blood not freeze in their veins?
I found it absolutely incredible. More than once, I caught myself thinking that with such superhuman resistance to the sea, those women would make exceptional sailors aboard my fleets, to say nothing of the legendary strength of their men.
My thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a tap on my shoulder.
"We're arriving, Commander," Tequa announced, pointing with a gloved finger toward the mist that was beginning to part.
An hour later, the anchor of the Going Marry and the rest of the fleet shattered the stillness of the bay. The weather offered no respite; the wind howled, dragging fine crystals of ice, but looking toward the coast, a comforting warmth invaded the souls of all my sailors.
There, rising against the gray of the sky, the city's skyline emerged. Seeing rows of houses solidly built from dark wood, and a few main buildings crafted from that resilient Suaza mortar, all with thick plumes of gray smoke escaping their chimneys, was like seeing the gates of our very own home.
The disembarkation was swift. Stepping onto the frost of the docks, I headed toward the welcoming committee. At the forefront stood the Mayor of the city, a stout man wrapped from head to toe in multiple layers of sea lion pelts—an attire that my own sailors and I had religiously adopted a month ago when crossing the most hostile southern latitudes.
Of the Mayor, only a weathered face reddened by the biting ice could be seen, but his eyes shone with exuberance.
"Captain Sogeking!" exclaimed the Mayor, his voice competing with the roar of the wind as he offered me a deep bow. "Welcome to the last bastion of the Suaza Kingdom in the Great Quyca... The storm gods have allowed you to arrive."
"And we appreciate your shelter, Mayor," I replied, returning the greeting with a smile I could barely feel beneath my numb face. "It is a relief to find refuge by your fires."
I slipped my gloved hand inside my heavy fur tunic and pulled out an envelope. Unlike usual missives, this one was not made of paper, but of thick, tanned leather, firmly sealed.
Just another display of Chuta's brilliance, who knew perfectly well that ordinary paper would have dissolved in the relentless humidity and cold of these lands. I handed it to him with both hands.
"Direct orders from the Central Government and from Leader Chuta himself," I stated. "And, if it isn't too much trouble, I ask for lodging and warmth for my crew. We've been battling the waves for weeks."
The mayor nodded, took the leather envelope, and patiently unrolled it, his eyes tracing the carved and inked marks upon its surface. After a long pause, he rolled the document back up and looked straight at me, a wide smile peeking out from amidst the heavy fur hoods.
"We were waiting for you with open arms, Admiral. The embers in our longhouses are already burning for your men. But I confess something to you..." he paused, his gaze reflecting an almost childlike curiosity, "I want, I need to hear from your own mouth how the advancements of our great kingdom fare. The north wind takes too long to bring us stories."
I knew very well what he meant. This fortress city, isolated by fierce oceans and mountains of ice, was months, sometimes up to an entire year, behind on the news, inventions, and policies flourishing in the heart of the kingdom.
I felt a profound respect for this man and for all those who devoted their lives to keeping the flame of our nation alive at the very edge of the world.
I smiled at him warmly, a sincere gesture that broke the ice between us. "Then I ask you to guide me to the town hall immediately, my good friend. There is much to tell about the new lands, and I assure you the conversation will be sweet... I bring with me a shipment of chocolate, a special gift sent by the very hands of Leader Chuta just for you."
The mayor's face lit up with pure joy upon hearing the word "chocolate," an absolute treasure in these freezing lands. He let out a joyous laugh that echoed across the docks and, turning around with an agility surprising for his size, made a sweeping gesture with his arm.
"Follow me, please! The last bastion is yours!" he exclaimed, guiding me with a steady stride through the snow-covered streets of the city.
.
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[A/N: CHAPTER COMPLETED
Thank you all for your support.
I apologize for not posting any chapters, but I'm feeling a bit discouraged. We didn't reach our goal of 1000 powerstones (just kidding).
By the way, this chapter, and perhaps some future ones, as I mentioned before, will have a lot of content about cultures that haven't been covered before.
This one in particular is something I'm happy to publish because it deals with cultures we studied that are from my country, Chile.
I'd really like to write a short novel about the extreme lives these cultures lived, but I don't dare because it would be disrespectful to extinct cultures like these. Besides, it would be three chapters long since being born there was like being born on an ultra-extreme hardcore server. Hahaha]