The Splash Before the Storm

The late afternoon sun shimmered on the surface of the sea, casting golden light across the bustling docks of Atheria Port. Crates clattered, ropes swung, sailors shouted orders, and seagulls wheeled overhead with sharp cries. The port buzzed with its usual rhythm—controlled chaos made livelier still by the city’s festivities.

A small procession made its way along the stone pier: a slim, regal young woman at the front, her steps brisk and composed, followed by her maids and a handful of armed guards. Her gaze moved sharply across each moored ship, her expression set in firm determination.

“Check with the sailors,” she said without pause, her voice calm but commanding. “See if any of these vessels sailed through the storm two days ago.”

The guards nodded and moved off in opposite directions, scattering through the crowd—except one, who still stood frozen. The young woman cast him a single pointed glance, and with that, the guard quickly took his leave.

A maid, a refined woman in her twenties, stepped closer. “My lady,” she said with formal softness, “do you truly believe we’ll find the ship here? Our own sailors claimed it turned back into the heart of the storm after rescuing us.”

The young woman kept walking, eyes scanning hulls and masts. “We must try,” she replied evenly. “They gave directions to this city. It might be their base—or at the very least, a stopover.”

The maid glanced sideways, her lips curling in a faint smirk. “Or perhaps,” she said, still perfectly respectful, “the ship truly was a ghost, as Jory keeps claiming.”

“Whatever the case,” the lady said, her tone sharpening slightly, “it would be a dishonor not to repay a life debt.”

The maid bowed her head. “Yes, my lady.”

Their footsteps echoed faintly on the planks as they turned toward the deeper docks. The lady’s gaze drifted again toward the sea, her brows furrowing slightly.

“My lady, if I may,” Mira began, her voice still and composed as she looked at the young woman’s left arm, “I think it would be better if you rested more. I can speak with the sailors on your behalf.”

Aminthe’s gaze drifted toward the ships and sea. “I’ve had enough rest. I just want some fresh air.”

Mira nodded. “As you say, my lady.”

The young lady asked, more to herself than anyone, “How long do you think the ship’s repairs will take?”

“As per my humble estimation,” Mira replied smoothly, already aware of her lady’s worry, “I think we may need to look for a replacement to make it on time for reception.”

Aminthe sighed softly. “Well, we have a little more time. Let’s see how it’s going at the shipyard.”

Just then, the maid noticed her mistress’s gaze catch on a strange figure weaving unsteadily across the dock ahead—a tall man in rumpled black clothing, gripping a small child’s wrist as they zigzagged between crates and workers. His steps were erratic, as if drunk or feverish. After a few moments, he left the child to the side as though the boy were a burden.

The lady’s brows pinched together. “Irresponsible fellow,” she muttered, irritation flashing in her voice. “Drunk, and in the daylight no less… and dragging a child through the dock as though he were cargo.”

The maid followed her gaze and pursed her lips.“Judging from the tailoring, I believe he may be of noble blood. Or a merchant family.”

“All the more disgraceful,” the lady snapped quietly. “Those with status should show discipline. His sight of him alone has soured my mood.”

As the man drew closer, his features became clearer: red-rimmed eyes, a shadow of an unkempt beard, and clothing that—while finely made—was dirtied and worn. There was something wild in his appearance, a strange blend of neglect and natural grace.

He looked like someone who’d spent the day soaked in drink.

The lady turned slightly away, unwilling to give such a man her attention.

But as he passed directly in front of her, she felt it—a presence—moving toward her from the side. Reflexively, she stepped back.

Her foot slipped, from sudden movement on wet dock.

A sharp jolt of imbalance gripped her, and in that misstep, her heel struck the stranger’s leg. The man, already unstable, staggered and collapsed forward, landing hard on one knee with a loud, cracking thud against the wooden planks.

The crowd stilled.

Every head turned toward the sound—toward the sight of the tall man kneeling awkwardly before the noblewoman, her maids and guards now hastily closing in.

The lady recovered quickly, catching herself with the help of her maid. She turned back toward the Kneeling man, intending to offer a curt apology—until she saw his face.

Those red eyes met hers—cold, exhausted, and yet razor-sharp. His lips moved.

“Sorry,” he said, his voice hoarse, irritated and almost demanding.

She froze. Was that... blame? Anger rose like a tide. you had nearly fallen on me—and now you was acting as if I owed you an apology?

Just as she opened her mouth to retort, the man’s gaze dropped to her feet. Her eyes instinctively followed—and then he moved.

He lunged.

The motion was too fast for his sluggish posture seconds ago. She instinctively sidestepped, her back heel nearly touching the edge of the dock. She shoved forward to avoid him—and in doing so, caught him mid-motion, throwing off his balance.

His body tilted, spun, and plunged into the sea with a loud splash.

Gasps rippled through the crowd.

Her heart pounded, breath caught as she stared at the roiling water. Her anger didn’t ease. If anything, a faint fear laced it now.

What was wrong with this drunk? Was he trying to attack me?

The guards quickly stepped in, forming a protective circle around her.

“My lady! Are you harmed?”

“I’m fine,” she replied tightly. “Let’s move on.”

With her guards around her and her maids trailing, the noblewoman strode off, chin held high. The crowd parted for her—some whispering in curiosity, others with judgment.

“Poor fellow…”

“What a cold woman…”

They whispered among themselves once the group was some distance away, then began to gather at the dock’s edge.

Aminthe, now putting some distance between herself and the chaos, calmed her nerves. She looked at one of the guards.

“Go check on him.”

The guard hesitated for a second, then walked briskly back toward the scene.

He should be grateful if I didn’t teach him a lesson, thought bitterly. How dare he act so carelessly around Lady Aminthe?

The guard reached the spot within minutes, seeing a small crowd already gathered.

Seems like he’s got more help than he deserves, the guard thought.

“Tsk. Lucky bastard,” he muttered under his breath, then returned to his post.

A bard sitting near the port, wearing a melancholy expression, had watched the entire scene with keen interest, slowly his expression brightened.

Back at the group, the guard rejoined them and reported:

“My lady, that man is fine. He’s been pulled from the water.”

The lady gave him a brief nod while feeling slight relief and his face resurfaced in her face causing the angry to swell up.

Mira leaned closer and whispered with gentle amusement, “My lady, punishing your fiancé is one thing, but practicing on strangers might be considered excessive.”

The lady huffed, the corner of her mouth twitching despite herself. “He was asking for it.”

“Of course, My Lady,” Mira replied without missing a beat. “I would never suggest otherwise.”

Back at the water’s edge, a few onlookers still peered cautiously over the side. The splash had long since settled.

But the man had not resurfaced.