Chapter 40
Dream [2]
The flow of soldiers had resumed its order. The ranks advanced toward the gangway with near-automatic precision. The murmur of the port mixed with the rhythmic thud of boots and the metallic squeal of straps being tightened. Above it all, the wind blew insistently, carrying the last echoes of the farewells left behind.
The gangway extended on a slight incline that trembled with each footstep of the group. On the sides, the taut ropes creaked in the salty breeze; the water hit the wooden pillars with an irregular rhythm, sending back small droplets that splashed the edges of the uniforms.
His uncle nodded slowly, watching the group's movement with a thoughtful expression.
"First things first, let's see the new name your father gave you..." he said, lowering his voice enough for only Kaep to hear.
The boy opened his mouth to respond, slipping a hand into the inner pocket of his uniform, but he didn't manage to pull out the envelope.
A horn boomed through the air.
The metallic sound rose from the dock and expanded over the still waters, bouncing off the sides of the ship and the port buildings. It was a long, sustained blast that cut through even the noise of the wind. Some soldiers paused briefly, turning their faces toward the source of the sound, but immediately resumed their pace.
"Hm..." His uncle looked up, frowning at the vibration still floating in the air. "Well, no matter. You can tell me while we go up."
Before Kaep could nod, a firm voice interrupted them.
"No, you come with me first. The new recruits board after."
Both turned slowly toward the voice.
The speaker was an older uniformed man, broad-shouldered with a weathered face, his hair tied back at the nape and the same insignia as Kaep's uncle on his chest. His eyes were violet, and his gaze asked for no explanations: it was simply an order.
Kaep straightened his back instantly. The man's tone hadn't been aggressive, but his authority commanded respect.
His uncle turned his head toward him, not losing his calm.
"Understood, Hanz," he replied, using the name with a respect that didn't sound forced, accompanied by a respectful smile.
Then, leaning slightly toward Kaep, he added with a half-sigh, "Ship rules. You see how it is."
The Major—Hanz—had already turned away, advancing along the gangway without looking back. His step was heavy, deliberate, and each footfall seemed to mark the rhythm.
His uncle took a couple of steps after him but stopped just before moving too far away. He turned back to Kaep, raising an eyebrow and signaling with a slight nod of his head.
"I'll find you up top," he said, and the smile that accompanied his words was carefree.
Kaep watched him go. The wind stirred the fabric of the man's coat, which fluttered slightly before disappearing among the ranks already boarding. For a second, the boy felt the temptation to follow him, to break formation and catch up to those figures who always seemed to move one step ahead. But he restrained himself.
The officer guarding the embarkation made a sharp hand gesture, indicating he should wait his turn.
Kaep nodded and stood firm, the envelope still tucked in his pocket, feeling the rub of paper against his chest.
The murmur of the port rose around him again, mixing voices and wind.
…
A whistle cut the air. The sound repeated twice more, and the entire group halted abruptly.
An officer in a gray coat advanced to the central gangway and raised his hand. His voice rose clear, without effort:
"Last call for boarding. Close ranks."
Movement erupted again, ordered but urgent.
The officers leading them began dividing the column into smaller groups. Each was guided by a petty officer pointing them toward different access points on the ship. The orders weren't shouted: they were short, precise, barely above the murmur of the wind. The atmosphere held the silent tension of well-rehearsed rituals.
The soldiers began filing inside the ship, passing under a wide hatch that opened like a jaw. Each step echoed hollowly on the metal floor inside.
Kaep looked up at the vessel.
Up close, it was imposing. The dark hull rose above them like a metallic wall, unadorned, marked only by silver lines following the curve of its side. Fragments of water gleamed on its surface, irregular reflections moving with the river's sway. There were no visible masts or sails, only a series of angular structures emerging from the deck, resembling a fortress more than a ship.
Kaep swallowed and advanced.
The change underfoot was immediate: the metal of the corridor returned the sound of footsteps with a dry echo. The ceiling lights were cold, white, and reflected off the edges of the uniforms like intermittent flashes.
Behind them, a group of technicians closed the gangways one by one. The ropes were released, the moorings withdrawn, and the faint creaking of wood faded until only the rumble of the river hitting the ship's sides remained.
Kaep felt something tighten in his chest. It wasn't fear, but it was close. A mix of vertigo and recognition, as if his body understood before his mind that he had just crossed a threshold.
They passed an open hatch where other uniformed men were arranging numbered cases on steel shelves. A soldier indicated the way with a brief gesture and directed them toward a wider section of the corridor. The walls seemed to move with a slow breath: the murmur of water hitting the hull marked a constant pulse.
Further on, a hatch led them to the upper deck.
Upon crossing it, the daylight enveloped them again. The wind was stronger here, laden with moisture and the smell of salt. The first rays of the sun reflected the water's movement in silver flashes blinking on the faces of those who had already boarded.
The air changed the moment they set foot on the final platform. A smell of damp iron and hot oil replaced the scent of the port. Mechanical sounds—low, persistent—vibrated beneath the planks, like the internal pulse of a sleeping beast.
Kaep swept his gaze along the side and saw several soldiers adjusting straps, checking fasteners, and inventorying items secured to their belts. No one spoke much. Only metallic clicks and measured breaths were heard, synchronized by habit.
The ship wasn't particularly complex, painted almost entirely in black and various shades of gray. The metallic surfaces reflected the irregular gleam of the water, while in certain sections, polished wooden slats broke the monotony of the hull. There was something anachronistic in its design, a mix of forced elegance and military structure.
Kaep walked slowly along the lower deck, observing the rivets, the dark metal joints, the taut cables crisscrossing like veins. A group of recruits was commenting on the same thing a little further ahead. One of them, with his jacket half-open, asked aloud:
"Why the hell does a warship have wooden parts?"
The question floated for a few seconds until a crewman, with light hair and an animated expression, turned with enthusiasm.
"It's the other way around, friend!" he replied, knocking his knuckles on a nearby railing. "The ship is metal, but it was covered with wood for aesthetic reasons. The captain tried to turn it into a luxury vessel for tourism. But it didn't work."
His voice was so loud and charismatic that it soon attracted the attention of several others. Those nearby stopped, and within seconds a small semicircle had formed around him.
Kaep also approached, curious.
The crewman continued with an expert air, delighted by the following gazes:
"A week after its launch, a high command officer requested this ship for you." He tapped his chest proudly. "With the help of a local mage and what little was left in the captain's funds, they reinforced it with emergency metal plates. A last-minute patch job, but it worked."
His gestures were broad, almost theatrical. He moved his arms with an energy that contrasted with the disciplined air of the rest.
"Luckily, after this trip, they'll pay us a fortune," he added, lowering his voice conspiratorially, "and we'll gain certain rights thanks to you. Having the appearance of luxury was, in the end, a good investment. It attracts opportunities."
Someone in the group let out a laugh and commented on what they'd do with "a fortune" upon returning. Others laughed too. The crewman waited just a moment, savoring the attention, before finishing in an almost dreamy tone:
"And who knows… with luck, we could officially become part of some branch of the Imperial army. Maybe even answer directly to a Seat."
The word generated a slight murmur. Some raised their eyebrows, others exchanged knowing glances.
Kaep repeated the term quietly, as if savoring something unknown.
"Aspire to be a Seat?" he murmured.
"Yes… that's dreaming big. Very big," said a voice beside him.
Kaep turned and saw his uncle among the group, arms crossed and expression serene. He hadn't noticed he was there.
He approached, curious, and noticed his uncle leaning against the railing, looking toward the horizon.
His uncle observed his surroundings with a more relaxed gesture. He lightly tapped the railing with his knuckles, testing its solidity.
"Uncle? Are you done with your thing?"
His Uncle turned upon hearing Kaep.
"Yes," he replied with a slight shrug. "It was trivial."
The boy nodded, but his curiosity remained fixed on the topic.
"By the way, that thing about the Seat, is it true?"
His uncle took a moment to respond. He looked out to sea, then looked down at Kaep again.
"Yes. It's not well known, due to the anonymity those guys maintain. But..." He leaned in a little, bringing his voice closer to the young man's ear. "Those subjects are monsters. They're in another league."
Kaep's eyes widened in surprise.
His uncle straightened up again, crossing his arms.
"That's why I don't think anyone here can reach that level."
"Really? Like characters from legends or stories?" Kaep asked, with a mix of excitement and skepticism.
His uncle let out a short laugh that was lost in the noise of the group.
"You can say that because you're just starting. But people of that caliber..." He sighed. "You don't get there just by climbing. There's something more. Something that isn't taught."
Kaep looked at him with some unease.
"You're scaring me."
"Sorry. But it's true."
The silence between them lasted only a couple of seconds before Kaep insisted, lowering his tone:
"Are you speaking from experience?"
His uncle shook his head, smiling slightly.
"Not personally. I'm not that much of a veteran either. At most, I've been at this for three years."
"Uhm... And if it is personal, because of whom?"
The man looked at him with a raised eyebrow.
"You know him."
Kaep blinked.
"Huh? Don't tell me..."
"Yes. Your father." His uncle smiled sideways. "No wonder he's my older brother. He has stories he hasn't even told you yet."
The boy's eyes lit up instantly, as if he'd just discovered a secret crack in something he thought he knew completely.
"Will you tell me?"
"Of course. But not now. With all this noise, it wouldn't be worth it. Let's wait until things settle down."
Kaep frowned with slight disappointment but nodded.
It was then that a deep, powerful horn sounded, so strong it made the metal plates under their feet vibrate.
The sound spread through the air like a wave, bouncing off the port walls and returning in a heavy echo.
Immediately, an officer's voice boomed over the bustle:
"Form up! Two lines! Move!"
The murmurs died down. Those present began organizing quickly, forming two lines in front of the twin metal doors leading into the ship. The rhythmic thud of boots marked the beat of obedience.
The veteran uniformed men passed between the ranks, correcting postures, giving short, precise instructions.
Kaep joined the nearest group, glancing sideways at the doors. They were identical: solid, gray, unadorned, with small hinges that looked new.
As they advanced, he thought about what his uncle had said about his father, about the "Seats," about that invisible line separating the common from those who transcended.
At school, they barely spoke of the continent beyond the sea. Only maps of their city, the imperial territory, what they knew. Everything else was blank, an empty space the teachers mentioned as if it held no importance.
But now, crossing the deck toward those doors, with the metallic noise of the ship enveloping him, Kaep felt that void was about to be filled.
Kaep narrowed his eyes, allowing himself a second of pause.
The port was left behind, spread out like a stain of disordered colors on the shore. Amid the crowd, he could still distinguish moving figures: workers, officers, families saying goodbye to others like him. But the faces were already impossible to recognize.