Light rain taps a relentless, rhythmic cadence against the dark, pitch-sealed timber hulls as the four galleons—the Julia, the Cealina, the Maria, and the heavy-laden Amelia—plow through broad, gray, rolling ocean waves. Above, the sky hangs like a leaden sheet, low and suffocating, bruised with heavy indigo clouds that press down onto the water. The sea below is a churning expanse of slate-gray troughs and foaming, white-crested ridges. Seabirds—dark-winged petrels and restless shearwaters—skim the turbulent surface of the water, their sharp bodies cutting effortlessly through the salty spray, dipping into the troughs before rising high against the misty gale. High above the towering spruce masts, the broad canvas sails bulge tight against their bolt-ropes, strained to their limits by the gusting trade wind. The massive wooden ships groan in unison, their heavy oak skeletons twisting and flexing as they climb each towering wave, only to drop with a sickening, shuddering thud into the dark valley beyond.
Inside the cramped lower offices of the flagship Julia, the ship rocks violently with every passing crest, turning the interior into pure, unmitigated chaos.
Ryong Min Ki grits his teeth so hard his jaw muscles ache, his face tight with fierce, stubborn concentration. His knuckles turn stark white as he clings desperately to the lip of a heavy oak table with his left hand, his feet wedged against a floor runner to keep from sliding. With his right hand, he tries to guide a dripping goose-quill pen across the thick parchment of Aldo's official company ledger. Every sudden, rolling dip of the hull threatens to send the nib skittering in wild black zigzags across the precise financial columns. Sweat stings his eyes, blending with the cold dampness of the leaking deck overhead, but he refuses to let go of the desk.
Farther down the narrow, dimly lit corridor, Lei Delun moves with painstaking, slow difficulty. The overhead oil lamps swing wildly on their brass gimbals, casting long, frantic shadows across the exposed knees of the timber bulkheads. Lei braces his calloused hands against the wet wooden walls with every single step, his boots sliding against the damp oak planks as the vessel pitches sideways. He pauses after every few yards, letting the heavy tilt pass before taking another cautious step forward, his dark eyes calm despite the storm raging outside the thick hull planks.
Inside the primary officer cabin, the pitching sea spares no one.
Hano sits on a low wooden bench, his face flushed and his clothes damp. He slowly raises a wooden cup to his lips to take a quick, desperate sip of cool freshwater. Just as the rim touches his mouth, a massive swell strikes the starboard bow with the force of a battering ram, tilting the deck at a terrifying angle. Hano's feet slip out from under him. Both Hano and his flying cup shoot sideways into the wooden wall with a heavy thud, splashing cold water across the dark floorboards and leaving him sprawling awkwardly on his side against the timber bulkhead.
"Damn it!" Hano groans, rubbing his bruised shoulder as he sits up, wiping cold water from his chin with his damp sleeve.
Is this ship trying to throw me straight into the ocean? I can't even drink water without risking a concussion.
Over in the dark corner of the cabin, Onaga crouches on his knees, clutching his stomach with both arms. His face is a pale, sickly shade of green, his forehead slick with cold sweat. His shoulders heave violently as he wretches into a sloshing wooden bucket held between his trembling knees. The rhythmic, unnatural rocking of the vessel has completely shattered his equilibrium. Every rise and fall of the hull sends another wave of nausea through his gut, leaving him gasping for air between heavy, ragged breaths.
Then there is Aldo.
To maintain absolute, uncompromising stability while managing his official papers, the young commander has taken extreme measures. Using thick, rough hemp rope, he has literally tied his waist securely to the high back of his heavy oak chair. He has then lashed the four chair legs directly to the base of the center table, which is bolted down into the thick oak floorbeams of the deck below.
Swaying in perfect, mechanical unison with the furniture and the ship itself, Aldo sits completely upright. His face is an unreadable mask of absolute calm, his features smooth and untroubled by the violent motions of the storm. He holds a stack of wet cargo receipts in one hand and a piece of dry chalk in the other, methodically checking off numbers and making precise entries in a small ledger. His eyes move across the lines of text smoothly, as if he were sitting in a quiet, climate-controlled library on Earth rather than in the belly of a wooden warship caught in a squall.
Lourdes Renaud leans against the narrow doorway frame, her broad shoulder pressed against the jamb to keep her balance. She watches the comical misery unfolding inside the cabin with a faint, amused smirk playing across her weathered features, her dark eyes glittering with quiet humor as she takes in Hano's wet shirt and Onaga's desperate struggle over the bucket.
Look at these poor boys... the sea doesn't care about their grand plans, it just wants to turn their stomachs inside out.
She lets out a low, raspy chuckle under her breath, pushing off from the doorframe and navigating her way carefully past the struggling officers. She uses the rhythm of the ship's roll to step smoothly along the main gangway, her boots finding purchase on the slick floorboards where others stumble.
Farther down the dimly lit passageway, where the sound of the rain beating against the outer hull planks is muffled to a soft, continuous hum, she spots Lei Delun. He is sitting quietly in a dry, recessed corner of the lower hold, resting his back against a massive oak support beam to catch his breath. His long legs are stretched out before him, his hands resting easily on his knees as he watches the water droplets trace slow paths down the curved timbers.
As Lourdes approaches through the gloom, Lei looks up. A subtle, polite nod passes between them as he greets her, his calm facial expression softening into a quiet smile.
"You are... Lei?" Lourdes asks, tilting her head slightly as she pauses beside the timber beam, her voice curious. "Lei, right?"
"Lei," he confirms simply, his voice low, steady, and unhurried.
Lourdes lets out a short chuckle, resting her hip against the thick wooden support as the flagship creaks under the strain of another passing wave.
"Are you the only legal slave-soldier in the 204th Company?" Lourdes asks, her eyebrow arching slightly as she looks down at him.
Lei lets out a dry, quiet chuckle, shaking his head gently as a faint smile touches his lips.
"Yes," Lei answers, his dark eyes looking up at her with clear, untroubled honesty. "Only I am over eighteen. The rest, including Captain Aldo, are under sixteen."
Lourdes's teasing smirk slowly fades away. Her expression shifts, replaced by genuine, deep curiosity. She pushes her back off the beam, her eyes narrowing as she studies the older youth sitting before her.
"That's strange," Lourdes says softly, her brow furrowing slightly as she tilts her head. "Why would the Professional Central Army of the Palantine of Heilop have Aldo as captain instead of you?"
Lei shifts his position slightly, leaning his shoulder back against the timber as he looks out into the shadowy hold. He takes a slow, steady breath before answering, his tone thoughtful and unhurried.
"As far as I remember, it's clearly stated in the records that he temporarily led the troops to save the officers from rebellion," Lei explains calmly, his dark eyes reflecting the faint, yellow light of a distant oil lamp. "So they consider him to have potential, and I think so too. Especially after the missions at Samel and Pirus..."
Lourdes stops her teasing completely. Her posture relaxes, and her dark eyes soften with a deep, newfound respect. She looks at Lei, then toward the primary cabin where Aldo sits lashed to his chair, her jaw setting into a quiet line of understanding.
"I see," Lourdes says quietly, her voice dropping an octave as she nods slowly. "I understand now."
Lei shifts over on the raised wooden ledge, clearing a small space beside him on the dry timber. He taps the plank with his hand, looking up at her with an inviting gesture. Lourdes steps over and takes a seat, pulling her knees up slightly as the ship rolls beneath them. They sit side-by-side in the dimly lit corner, listening to the continuous, muffled cadence of the rain beating against the thick oak outer planking above.
Lourdes rests her elbows on her knees, staring down at the deck planks for a long, silent moment. The usual rough, boisterous edge in her demeanor vanishes, replaced by a heavy, somber gravity.
"Can you listen to me?" Lourdes asks softly, her voice unusually serious, barely rising above the deep creaking of the hull. She turns her head to look Lei directly in the eye. "There are some things I can only share with you, things I think I would never share with Aldo or Comtois."
Lei turns his full attention toward her, his posture straightening as he nods gently, his face calm and attentive.
"I am listening," Lei says softly, his dark eyes holding hers without a single trace of judgment or distraction.
Lourdes lets out a slow, breathy sigh, her fingers lacing together tightly over her knees as she stares into the darkness of the lower hold.
"Back in the French slave mines..." Lourdes begins, her voice raspy and thick with old, heavy memories that seem to weigh down her chest. "You didn't survive by being smart, or by calculating supply ratios, or by being strong enough to lift a wooden barrel. You survived by becoming invisible. You survived by watching the overseers' eyes, by knowing when to bend your back so low they forgot you had a face."
She tightens her grip on her fingers until her knuckles turn pale, her jaw setting into a hard, rigid line.
"Aldo... he talks about systems," she continues, her dark eyes flashing with a mixture of fear and profound skepticism. "He talks about state capitalism, about legal frameworks, about building an economy in Heilop that functions like a machine. And Comtois... Comtois thinks strength is all that matters. He thinks if you hit something hard enough, it stops hurting you."
She looks up at Lei, her eyes searching his calm, unreadable features.
"But a machine doesn't care about the people inside it, Lei," Lourdes says, her voice dropping into a fierce, urgent whisper that vibrates in her throat. "I've seen what happens when a system becomes more important than the humans who live under it. The mines were a system too. They had ledgers. They had quotas. They had efficiency charts. And every single week, they hauled thirty dead men out of the dark and dumped them into a lime pit because the quota was met."
Lei stays silent for a long moment, letting her words settle into the damp air between them. Around them, the ship creaks deeply as it climbs another large swell, the oak timbers groaning like living creatures under the immense pressure of the ocean.
"Aldo is not the mine owners, Lourdes," Lei says softly, his voice smooth, clear, and steady. He looks down at his own calloused hands, then back up at her. "Aldo is cold, yes. He looks at life through numbers and equations because that is how he copes with the horror of this world. When you lose everything, when you are taken from your home and thrust into a war you never asked for, logic becomes an anchor. If he stops calculating, he has to feel the full weight of what has happened to us."
Lourdes looks at him, her eyes widening slightly as she listens to his words.
"And what about you, Lei?" Lourdes asks softly, her tone laced with gentle wonder. "How do you keep your mind clear? You're older than them. You see what they are doing. Doesn't it scare you?"
Lei lets out a low, breathy sigh, a faint, gentle smile touching the corners of his lips as he looks up at the wild, swinging lantern overhead.
"It scares me every single day," Lei admits softly, his voice full of quiet, honest vulnerability. "I watch Aldo draft laws for a nation that doesn't exist yet. I watch Adelberd carve wooden gears and talk about absolute state power. I watch Hano dream of iced tea while carrying weapons into battle. They are just children, Lourdes. Smart, brave, dangerous children who have been given the responsibility of men."
He turns his head, looking directly at Lourdes with an unyielding, steady gaze.
"My job is not to lead them," Lei says firmly. "My job is to keep them grounded. When Aldo's calculations become too cold, I remind him of the cost. When Comtois's pride gets too big, I stand in his way. And when you feel like the system is going to crush us again... I will be here to make sure it doesn't."
Lourdes stares into Lei's calm face for a long, heavy moment. The tight tension in her shoulders slowly dissolves, her hands unlacing from her knees as she lets out a long, shuddering breath that she seems to have been holding for years. A genuine, warm smile—devoid of any raspy cynicism—breaks across her weathered features.
"You're a good man, Lei," Lourdes says quietly, reaching out to pat his forearm with her calloused hand. "A very good man."
Lei replies softly, his smile broadening slightly. "Just like you."
Above decks, the rain storm slowly begins to break as the late afternoon approaches. The heavy indigo clouds tear apart, allowing long shafts of bright, golden sunlight to pierce through the gray haze, illuminating the churning, deep-blue waters of the ocean. The wind settles into a steady, powerful trade breeze that fills the broad canvas sheets of the four galleons, driving them forward across the rolling waves with smooth, majestic grace.