The air in the old port of Anzuara was a thick blend of salt, tar, and the stale reek of hard living. A group of men, all middle-aged and bearing faces marked by winters they would rather forget, strained under the weight of supplies: sacks of grain, dried meat, and heavy water barrels that struck the dock planks with a hollow thud.
As they stowed the cargo, two of them drifted toward the rail, away from the noise of the dockhands. Marcus, the second-in-command, stopped and wiped the sweat from his brow, studying the Captain with a doubt that had been burning in his throat.
"Are you certain about the decision you're making?" he asked in a low voice, nearly swallowed by the cry of the gulls. "It's not a simple voyage. If we stay, perhaps we can still change things — even a little."
Kael kept his eyes on a net he was checking. His hands — rough as old leather — paused for just a moment before he answered.
"I'm tired of building sandcastles at the water's edge," he said without looking up. "You know the sea always takes them. That's not something we can change."
"What if you could change what the sea does?" Marcus replied, stepping closer. "Don't you think that's worth trying?"
Kael let go of the rope and fixed him with a steady look. His eyes were the color of stagnant water — cold and deep.
"That's the thinking of young men who believe they can do the impossible," he said. "And chasing the impossible is for people who end up dead before their time. I've made it this far by not fighting battles I've already lost."
"You talk as if you were so old..." Marcus shot back with a grimace. "Besides, you have something those idealists who die young never had: vision. And contacts. If you decided to, we could stay and fight a little longer."
"No." Kael cut him off, his tone leaving no room for argument. "The decision is made. I even put it to a vote, and everyone agreed."
Marcus let out a bitter laugh.
"You know that if you changed your mind and called another vote, they'd vote for whatever you decided. They're like that. They'd follow you to the end of the world just because it's you."
Kael tightened his jaw. He glanced sideways at the men loading barrels without complaint — backs bent, hands cracked — every one of them faithful to a single word from him. He swallowed before speaking.
"It's too late to change course. Everything's ready. We sail and start over somewhere new."
"You know the route is long and the sea holds things no one's seen," Marcus warned, his gaze drifting toward the grey horizon.
"If we're well prepared," Kael said. "We've even brought on men who know these waters."
"They're worth nothing if you don't listen to them."
"I do listen," said Kael, pointing to the massive structure of wood and metal rising from the Dawn Wind's deck. "If I didn't, we wouldn't have mounted a ballista on the ship."
"But it would be wiser to wait a few months, like they told you, and sail then. These aren't good times for the crossing."
Kael shrugged, with a confidence that edged toward stubbornness.
"I'm not afraid of a few fish. We're strong, and we've dealt with unexpected things before. Besides, if we wait months it'll be too late — and our heads might not be on our shoulders. I've reached my age by knowing when to walk away from fights I can't win."
Marcus sighed, conceding the political argument, but nodded toward the tavern at the dock's end.
"Speaking of which — you'd better make sure those two don't drink themselves loose-tongued around the women of the pleasure quarters. Even when we're long gone from this place, that kind of talk comes back around. For a few coins, anyone will sing."
Kael frowned, looking toward the establishment from which scandalous laughter was spilling.
"What are you still doing here talking to me? Instead of trying to change my mind, go keep them quiet. There's a reason you're the man they respect most after me. That's your job."
With those words, they parted. Kael walked toward the market for the last few purchases. Through the noise of the vendors, he caught fragments of stories floating like smoke from a bonfire.
"Did you hear the rumor? The elder brother tried to kill his younger one some time ago — to keep him out of his way," said a man behind a spice stall. "Some say the younger one is still alive, but after what happened, it's likely he's been dead for years. People are making bets about it."
"Those bets are absurd," replied a customer. "Anyone could put a stranger forward and claim he's the prince, just to make money. There's no way to know if any of it's real."
Kael walked on until he reached an old provisions dealer. The man peered up at him over a pair of foggy spectacles.
"So you're really leaving the kingdom? I still can't believe it."
"I never said I was leaving the kingdom — I don't know what you're talking about," Kael answered, keeping his facade while inspecting the quality of the wine. "I'm just buying food, wine, and water."
The vendor let out a disbelieving snort.
"I know you well. That amount of food isn't for short trips. Long-lasting provisions — that means a long voyage."
"You just keep doing what you always do," Kael murmured, leaning in. "You know nothing about me, and if anyone asks, you lie. We've known each other long enough. Nothing more needs to be said."
The old man nodded slowly. His hands, which had not stopped moving throughout the conversation, went still on the counter. He removed his foggy spectacles and cleaned them with a cloth — though they weren't dirty — just to have something to do while he blinked more than usual.
"All right. But many of us will miss you. Everything will be duller without you here."