Jasmine Same Roth's Log, Supplemental
Ironclad deck recording
26 days after Rothgard's Fall
Harbor lights beckon.
Docks are full.
Dragon wings carry hope.
The fleet rounded the headland and entered the sheltered waters of Blackthorn Harbor as the late afternoon sun painted the cliffs in warm gold. Jasmine stood at the rail of the Ironclad, wind tugging at her cloak, her dragon Verdant perched on the amidships pad behind her. The natural harbor opened before them like a cupped hand, its calm surface reflecting the masts of dozens of merchant vessels already at berth. Stone quays stretched out from the town, crowded with crates, nets, and sailors moving in the purposeful rhythm of trade.
A small guard boat rowed out to meet them, oars dipping in steady strokes. Jasmine raised a hand in greeting as the boat pulled alongside the Ironclad's hull. The lead guard, a tired-looking man in a salt-stained tabard, looked up with a neutral expression that quickly soured when he took in the size of the refugee fleet trailing behind.
"State your business," he called up, voice carrying across the water.
Jasmine leaned forward, her voice clear and carrying. "I am Princess Jasmine Same Roth of Rothgard, leading a fleet of refugees. We seek safe anchorage and resupply before continuing inland to my uncle's territory."
The guard's eyes widened for a brief moment at the title. Then they narrowed again as he noticed the Rothgard crest on her leather breastplate. His tone shifted, laced with weary sarcasm. "Princess, is it? The docks are full, Your Highness. All berths are occupied by merchant vessels and local traffic. You'll have to anchor outside the harbor and wait your turn like everyone else."
Jasmine's grip tightened on the rail. "We have wounded and children aboard. Some ships are low on water. Surely an exception can be made for refugees fleeing the Draco Imperia."
The guard shrugged, already motioning his men to backwater the oars. "Orders are orders. No exceptions today. Anchor outside or move on." He turned away without another word, the boat pulling back toward the quay.
Frustration burned hot in Jasmine's chest. She watched the guard boat disappear among the crowded docks, then spun on her heel. "Prepare Verdant," she ordered the deck crew. "I will speak with Lord Blackthorn myself."
Moments later, she swung into the saddle on her dragon's back. Verdant's powerful wings unfurled, and with a single leap, the great beast launched skyward. The wind rushed past Jasmine as they climbed, the fleet shrinking beneath them. Below, the Ironclad and the other ships began the slow maneuver to drop anchor outside the harbor mouth. She could see the worried faces of her captains watching her ascent, but she kept her gaze fixed on the keep perched on the cliffs above the town.
Verdant's wings beat steadily and strongly, carrying her swiftly inland. The frustration that had tightened in her chest eased slightly with the height and the freedom of flight. She was no longer just a passenger on a crowded ship—she was a princess on dragonback, heading to demand aid for her people.
Lord Blackthorn would listen. He had to.
The harbor lights faded behind her as Verdant climbed higher, the wind carrying the distant roar of the surf and the faint, hopeful beat of her own heart.