The next day, the ships were already mended. The harbor no longer looked like a place recovering from chaos, but it still carried the memory of it. Fresh planks on the hull, new ropes coiled like sleeping snakes, sails stitched with uneven hands. The sea wind tested every repair as if it didn't trust the work. It pulled, pushed, whispered through the gaps.
The girls moved through the deck with quiet urgency, folding what little they owned into rough bundles. Clothes. A few tools. Things that had survived longer than comfort ever had.
No one spoke much. Even footsteps felt like interruptions. Maria stood slightly apart for a moment, watching the final knot being tightened on the mast. Then she turned away.
She dressed simply. Nothing ceremonial. Nothing that would suggest authority. Still, something about her presence refused to shrink. The kind of silence around her had weight, like people adjusted their breathing without realizing why.
When she left the ship, no one stopped her.
The Warden's Castle stood the same as it always had, carved into stone and pride. The halls carried the smell of old wood, polished iron, and lingering smoke from last night's torches. Guards shifted at her approach but did not question her. They had already learned her name meant permission.
She walked through the corridor alone. Each step echoed a little longer than it should have.
By the time she reached the council hall, the room had already filled. Councilors lined the long table, some standing, some seated, all with that same expression people wore when they expected bad news but still hoped it would arrive differently.
At the far end sat Drexo. The throne beneath him looked heavier than it had any right to be. One hand rested on the armrest, fingers curled tightly enough that the knuckles had gone pale. He did not rise when she entered.
Only his eyes moved.
Maria stopped a few paces from the table. She did not kneel immediately. Then she did, slowly, deliberately, like a decision she had made long before entering the room.
"Your Grace," she said. Her voice did not tremble, but it carried something restrained beneath it. "I came to inform you of my departure."
A shift ran through the room. A chair scraped too loudly. Someone inhaled sharply and forgot to release it.
Drexo's grip tightened on the armrest. The wood creaked. "Where are you headed?" His voice came low, controlled, but not calm.
Maria lifted her head slightly. Her gaze stayed steady, not avoiding his. "I will head to Dorne," she said. "And from there, I might cross over to Braavos."
The name landed like a dropped blade. A councilor leaned forward. Another whispered something under their breath.
Drexo's eyebrows drew together.
"Braavos?" he repeated, slower this time, like the word itself was unfamiliar in this context. "My campaign is still on, and you are the commander of my army. You should be within my reach. Where I can summon you at all times."
Maria gave a small, almost tired smile. It didn't reach her eyes. "That is why I am here," she said.
She paused just long enough for the silence to stretch. "To resign from the position of commander." The words did not echo. They settled.
Then sank.
One councilor pushed back from the table. "You cannot be serious," he said, sharp now. "We are in the middle of a war. You cannot simply abandon us to our fate."
Another voice followed, lower but tense. "This is not a private matter. Armies do not pause because a commander grows restless."
Maria did not look at them..Her attention stayed on Drexo. He still had not moved. But something in his posture had changed. The tension in his hand was no longer just control. It was resistance.
Havana shifted slightly where she stood among the council. She exhaled through her nose, then spoke. "Let her go."
Heads turned toward her. "If she believes the gods are leading her somewhere," Havana continued, voice steady, "then it is best she leaves."
That caused another wave of reaction, but quieter this time. More uncertain.
Drexo did not look at Havana. He was still watching Maria..
The silence between them grew thicker. Not empty. Pressurized. Maria finally spoke again, softer now, but no less firm. "I believe my path here is over," she said. "I will sail towards where fate takes me."
A faint sound moved through the room. Not agreement. Not protest. Something closer to disbelief trying to form words and failing.
Drexo's jaw tightened. For a moment, he looked like he might speak. Then stopped himself.
His eyes dropped briefly, not in defeat, but in thought. Something heavy moved behind them. When he looked up again, his voice had changed. "I guess your mind is already made up."
Maria did not hesitate. "Yes, Your Grace." That was all. No embellishment. No apology dressed as explanation.
Drexo held her gaze a moment longer. Then, slowly, he nodded. "Then you have my blessing." The words sounded controlled, but they did not sound easy.
Maria lowered her head once more. "Thank you, Your Grace." She rose. The sound of her movement was the loudest thing in the room, then she turned.
For a moment, she paused at the door. Not fully leaving yet. Just suspended between decisions. Then she looked back. Her eyes met Drexo's across the hall. "I wish you good luck in your campaign," she said.
Drexo gave a single nod. His jaw tightened again, like he was holding something back from breaking through.
Maria did not wait for anything else, she left.
Outside, the air felt colder than before. The harbor stretched ahead, restless and gray under the shifting sky. The ship was still there, tied and waiting, but not ready.
Maria walked straight down the dock. Her boots struck wood in a steady rhythm that did not slow.
Behind her, the castle felt distant already, like something placed too far back in memory to touch again.
She stopped near the edge of the pier. A crew member stepped forward cautiously. "Are the boats ready?" she asked.
The man shook his head. "No, Commander. It will be ready in a few hours."
There was a brief pause. Maria nodded once. "Alright then," she said. "We leave at dawn." She turned slightly toward the sea.
The wind caught her hair and pushed it back, as if trying to decide whether to hold her there or let her go.
Behind her, the harbor kept moving. But she did not look back again.