The Proclamation

The sea stretched endlessly into the horizon, like dark and glassy obsidian painted with stars, as if the heavens had spilled into the water. The ship sailing between two skies—adrift in a world made of starlight.

The cold wind brushed Aminthea's skin at the railing, her fingers curling around the cool wood, though the chill seemed unnoticed. Her gaze remained fixed on the sky, her lips parted ever so slightly, as if caught mid-thought.

Feeling the temperature drop, Mira stepped closer .

“Lady Aminthea, if I may be so bold, it would perhaps be best if we retire to the quarters. The air is—”

Before she could finish, Aminthea turned—not toward Mira, but to seek out the captain.

"Captain," she said, pointing to the star she'd been observing, "It feels as though the stars have lost their radiance. Isn't that often indicative of deteriorating weather?".

Alerted, the Captain and crew intently surveyed the glassy calm sea, soft breeze, and cloudless night sky with seasoned eyes for any indication of a weather shift.

The captain's brow arched as a low growl of suppressed laughter resonated within him. A faint smile touched his lips as he said, "Indeed, Lady Aminthea, you certainly have a keen eye for what a sailor hopes for."

‘With such pleasant weather, there's no harm….. ’

Turning to the crew, he ordered, “Adjust heading—full ninety west!”

The crew moved with purpose. Beneath their boots, the deck subtly shifted as the ship began its turn, the distant horizon inching to the left.

Mira's quiet presence nudged Aminthea toward rest. Aminthea tilted her head to the night sky, a fleeting glance at the stars before turning back towards the quarters door. Mira followed, her footsteps barely disturbing the quiet.

———Inside the Quarters

Soft light from ceiling lanterns illuminated the smooth wooden walls of the modestly spacious room. Towards the back, a decent bed was neatly arranged with soft bedding, a velvet pillow, and an open book.

A sturdy desk, neatly organized with stacks of papers, quills, and ink, stood beneath shelves filled with books both worn and new. A small, square window, its curtains framing the dark expanse of the night sea.

To the side, closer to the door, was a smaller, simpler bed. Though modest, it was clean and comfortable, with folded blankets and a small chest at its foot. The space carrying a sense of calm order—well-lived, well-kept, and quietly refined.

After Aminthea settled on the bedding, Mira served her hot tea, the gentle steam curling in the lantern light and offering a welcome warmth. Later, having finished, she passed back the cup, her arms instinctively sought the comfort of a velvet pillow, wrapping around it as her fingers dug slightly into its soft fabric.

Standing at a distance, Mira parted her lips slightly as she observed Aminthea, her demeanor respectfully obedient like an exemplary maid, yet a subtle twitch at the corner of her lips suggested otherwise.

“It might be presumptuous of me to say, My Lady, but the way you gaze so longingly at the stars might cause someone to misunderstand you as… well, delicate.”

Aminthea scoffed softly. “Are you implying I’m not?”

“And where, pray tell,” she added, sitting straighter, “does this ‘longing’ come from?”

"Lady Aminthea," Mira said, pressing a hand to her chest, "you do me a grave injury with such words. Indeed," she continued, with air of righteous settling around her, "my tongue is incapable of such blasphemy."

“why I feel like you ignoring the question.” Faced with the Aminthea protest, Mira, well,

simply ignored it and continued speaking.

“While I understand your eagerness to see your fiancé, I must say, this doesn't suit you. ”

Aminthea's grip on the pillow loosened gradually. With an slight huff, she then retorted with a complaint.

"What are you going on about? I'm simply enjoying gazing at the stars"

Mira inclined her head. “Indeed, My Lady Aminthea, I engrave this excus-.... truth upon my heart and shall defend your honor.”

Aminthea let out a weary exhale through her nose. 'I doubt I'll ever be able to get the better of her….'

Seeing her ease up, Mira became quiet again, letting her be with her own thoughts.

As the room went silent, Aminthea picked up the book she had left on the bed earlier and resumed reading.

After a while, noticing the unusual quietness emanating from the deck outside, Aminthea's thoughts began to stir.

‘Not a single sway… no creak, no disturbance. Did we escape the worst of it… or…?’

Lost in thought, she rose from the bed and continued towards the door, unaware of Mira's slightly confused gaze.

‘Did he change course just to humor me? Did I make it seem like I doubted their judgment? ‘

Upon opening the door, the sailors snapped to attention and respectfully greeted her. She slowly began to walk towards the deck, only to lose her footing.

A violent jolt flung Aminthea to the deck, her shoulder slamming hard into the planks, the pain etched on her face a sight that stung everyone's heart, yet no one was in a position to act.

Strong gusts yanked at the ship, its sails screaming a high-pitched whine. Waves relentlessly slammed against the hull, tossing the vessel mercilessly and plunging everyone into chaos.

At the wheel, the Captain’s jaw tightened as he wrestled the helm, his knuckles whitened. He saw the thick black clouds relentlessly swallowing the sky from their original course. A chilling realization dawned on him. Every muscle in his body screamed in protest.

"That veer... without that—...we'd be right in the thick of it. Still," the Captain muttered, shaking his head, his jaw tightening with resolve, "things ain't looking up."

Orders barked, whistles cut through the howling wind.

Everyone grabbing at anything to stay standing, they pushed through the cold, the shaking ship, and the spray of seawater, working fast and fighting hard to keep the vessel intact.

Through the chaos, Mira crawled with hurried movements to the still-lying Aminthea, checking on her condition.

Even Though her face remained composed, Mira's voice was laced with deep concern as she called out, "Lady Aminthea, can you hear me?" while trying to lift her into a sitting position.

All she got in reply was, a loudly audible hissing sound thick with pain.

To make matters worse, the shaking caused two of the lanterns to break loose, and one smashed nearby, sending hot shards of glass everywhere. Mira instinctively leaned over Aminthea, shielding her from the flying fragments and preventing further pain.

Though the guards were a bit late, with some shielding them from the cargo rolling towards them while others prepared shelter inside, they swiftly and carefully escorted the two girls to the safety of the quarters, seizing a brief pause in the wind and wave's relentless attack.

Meanwhile, amidst the creaking groan of the mainmast, the sail crew found precarious footing and moved with urgent precision to haul down the thrashing sails before they ripped apart. The relentless friction left the hands of a few men red and stinging as they yanked on the ropes, resulting in the ship regaining some stability and providing a little alleviation.

But before anyone could let out a breath, a blinding flash painted the world white. And even before that white could even drip, a deafening roar thundered, silencing everything to make a proclamation—

The proclamation of a storm that swallowed the entire creation.

Stars had taken cover. Rain came sharp, cold, restless, hitting them like nails. Salt water sprayed over, stinging their eyes. The deck became a treacherous, slick surface, tilting at perilous angles, making it nearly impossible to distinguish where the dark raging sea ended and the black storm sky began.

Where calm once ruled, chaos now reigned.

Young deckhands ran after barrels that had broken loose, tying them down before they crashed into anyone. All the while, their wet boots kept slipping and they kept picking themselves back up with bruises—a desperate attempt to maintain a sliver of order amidst the chaos.

While struggling against the wind and rain that pushed him hard, Jory slowly climbed up the mast to tighten the ropes that had come undone.

The sea, however, remained indifferent to their efforts.