Prologue

The mists of the North and South rises the cold winter which withers the rising sun.

The mist by the northern isle

The world is cold and stiff like the dead as if the past is still haunting them before the day break. A remarkable yet horrifying history behind every island locus, morphed into a new destiny as seen in the waters around them. However, they kept their plans a perfect secret, murdering anyone who could have put the pieces together in the darkest shore and reefs, monsters of the trenches can rip limb by limb.

The massive one, the colossal beast of the sea guard in defense of the deep, and the hidden ones; the feel of repugnance towards the sailors of the sea, amongst men who were hungry for blood, and who is generous for giving no mercy.It has long been its nemesis for reasons lost in the deepest trenches underneath, and so the gods know the ends of it.

There are always something lurking underneath the waters, but there is always a bigger boat afloat it that bothers. Bubbles sear heat steaming that smell like death, brittle like ice on every rack ruined breath. Going in the boundaries of every laps, like a splinters of rocks, the tiny and huge are scattered around like a broken world’s complex and subtle pieces.

Aelar, Gordar; lone wrinkled fingers by the morning they sail to fish. Dryland between the ports and islands unnamed.

Gordar: Nice catch, the harpoon made its way beneath it.

Gordar complimented his comrade while he used his thicker yellow lengthy dart to spit by the bow. Most of their techniques, such as the use of fish traps, harpooning, and using bow and arrow could be performed both on foot and from a boat. Those who lives near the bodies of water, an aim of a man is to bring castle a net full of fishes.

Aelar: What a tiring day already, we should’ve just join the army. At least we can hold a sword, the experience of feeling to be an anointed knight of the kingdom...I rather just die on the land with the faces of my family in front of me.

Aelar said to him, with a stiff and worn out. Arms stay clutched within the ropes and blew the flames of every shot to be successful.

Gordar: The fisher workers limit scarce, we should be here all day every day, what if the farm does not have any more servants, washed up...

Aelar: Give golds for the Kings and Queens, give foods to our fellow working men. A wield from our own fighters of country is better than the arrows flying from the rivalry.

Crestfallen like an arrow through the heart, melancholy due by their day to day work with small to no pay. The life behind us was fucked up, but we still need to carry on to make them living, he thought.

Gordar suddenly missed his thoughts and continue to shoot arrows beneath the sea.

The fishes on the boat seemingly bound the weight that it tilts a bit, every tip of their dagger’s terrible swift, like opening a clam of the world and taking what is belong below the blue ravine canyon; a bottomless obstruct, a bottomless pit.

Hold by hold, for every catch and shot of weapon, beyond the trail floats resource, this is what the people needs; decreasing the labor of herdsman as well as farmers, they eat fish instead or else they go the other way around. Diffident they feel towards the nature, as long as they live a better life, diffident to sail across the forbidden as long as they live on a station of good spirits.

There could be desecration and loss underneath it, but most importantly for the people poor is stomach filled without the gaps of starvation.

Aelar: What the hell is that?

In the crescent boat pointing at the huge stone of one of the small islands, his body takes forward to seek through the waves of the mirror-like grace and unexplored ocean inner rumination. Taking away his eyes upon the darkest and strangest figure on the other side of a stone looking through its narrow eyes. The mist is white and violently cold, they wonder what this man is doing alone in a close empty dry land.

Gordar: A man is waving at us, he needed a help or some sort of food, we can give him space of the boat in as much as he does not kill us. We can’t trust anyone in this world.

Both of his twitching eyes are fixed beyond the island with no space to swing a open weave to get a catch. Gripped ready at net.

Aelar: I cannot figure out. It was not a man, perhaps. with a stiff voice and looking with a peer from his eyes, above a hand between the eyebrows.

Gordar: Perhaps what? He was there, that guy is just behind that rock, it is obviously a person so what else you could say perhaps...if it is something else?

He is being upright from the oak seat of their boat. Blunted harpoons, wooden bow and a sword not used for whether or not the man that seemingly peers and its hand shake and swish doesn’t have any good intention to act or talk. It is never calm nor a feeling of excitement; a company may join them, or harm them. No caution of prayer within their ears to settle the boat near the seashore.

Gordar’s scheme are without having the courage of staying at the margin of welfare.

Gordar: Let’s find out.

He proceed to row closer to the islet which a flat hill rest underneath a rugged erected stone. Aelar trying to fight back, the rowing came to steady opposite to stop him, shards of waves like gushing, the gods want them to know, and they demand the dread to know more what is going on behind the medieval realm.

They saw it, they saw it disappear joining the waves of the thin mournful fog above the tides. Having a stare onto the deeply blue and luminous sea is the terror they never seek. Whatever that speck of shadow had touched, it tainted, and its vivid lifeblood gradually grew within the stone. Flowers are famous for having the sweetest fragrance and the sharpest thorns, thorns of yellow sticking out on the side of the land.

Those Sharp dorsal of a skeleton made of cartilage, not bones, sways and slid onto the blue linen proximate within their small boat. Spreads by slender eight that can swaddle a boat, long and slimy as if a drooping white smelly mucus gets in before their sail, which is an enemy of mankind. 

They are gone for thousands of years yet the resemblance, the mark, the figure is still large enough to pierce the sheet of cold dark sea as well as the screaming bubbles nevermore. The agonizing unbearable sting, churning the haze and riptide into a raging chaos.

The two Lifeless boatmen have clenched chains onto the dark abyssal prison, eyes shut forever, a dream from birth have taken a borrow, a corpse with the fishes lay forever, never again living at the table of the Lord of sorrow.

The Kingdom and the colossal they knew about, it was the tales that tell that is supposedly forgotten. It will last throughout the ages, the gills flaps and stings, the swords of the abyss is still at rise pierces whoever pass, the exegesis of every pages of the book they are willing to find; it is still counting. The dreaded ones swims, the phantoms, the dead be in the land of the living. Though ‘it’ might add a hundred times its weight to the either drylands distant, it is doomed to live apart until that day ‘it’ returns that which was taken. At most part of every man’s journey, their trips are never safe.

---

The mist by the southern isle

On Markain island they sail ahead before the sun rises.

Salagor: How many miles, Agaal?

Agaal: Too far to count, Commander. he responded, nervous and chilled like the mist of winter.

Sailors on a boat from the south islanders, came to Heraya city to train their arms and paddles for a swing and swim. One of them is a Grand Orcater from Shakar, Sea Assassins of the North who pierces its heavy weapons on the fragile side of the rival’s side of the ships to take a stealthy trip to the bottom ocean. Foggy Island of Markain, Agaal a nobleman, and Salagor Makaela, can barely see a thing above the sea.

Hearing whispers of the wind blowing chills from the phantasm, cracking of woods wrecking their earlobes as they row. Agaal’s gray tunic is too unseen, Salagor’s broad black chest plate are way too intimidating for his eyes to see. By the armor plated his body, covered him well as an honor with confidence to go on the passageway to danger without any fear within his heart. A message from him, the Garrick must sail with courage and not a drop of a black blood with essence of fear.

Just doing their means of earning a living and waiting for the mist to flatten, freeing them to catch fish in peace. Five of them shivers while working, stinging cold rushing in their nerves underneath the fishermen loose brown fabric, insistent beyond seeking a way to get some necessary resources they will bring home before eight.

Fishes are plenty, seemingly jumping in the boat like grits going off the heat with a bang, it’ll be grateful and somewhat disappointing catch, so many, yet so less. They try to set up a trap in the side of the boat with a carrot spiked in the hook, poking Harpoons in the water and it’s still impossible to catch a one.

The net had less fish already, they are five in the boat and one person may catch ten to fifteen fishes, turns out just to be one to none in the area of Markain where it’s known to be rich with it. Agaal and Salagor together with their comrades tried to throw some spears, shoot some arrows of a whetted bullet point, but with all that nothing floats even a buoyed seaweed.

Then suddenly, doubtless and sensible by the dread, the two honorable stood there still with gest as if they know something before them is coming not far from the spot, Salagor whispered.

Salagor: Can you hear it?

They shiver, what is going on again, the fishermen said. Agaal commands his comrades to prone, hidden below the small boat’s seats.

Salagor: Someone may shed blood. Listen, be careful with your actions and hide below the seat, do as you told.

The longsword is rested by the scabbard of them both, they needed it, ready for slash and crash or maybe respect for those who respect them as well. They can already see the fear beneath the masked fishermen, eyes wobbling as if the cold is not contented, shuttle and pour the fear in the eyes and inhale the smell of death coming towards them.

It wasn’t a match bargained for, four giants came closer and closer and closer until you can see the 'monsters' of the sea again, written in the history as it may be rising again from the depths of forgotten graves.

Gray flags are waving at them like a cape of a devil, black lion face in the middle, four massive ships made out of hollow logs are spiraling at them rushing the mist, you can already see the threat, archers are ready to aim as it extends.

Ship captains and Masters can be heard to which way for the formation. A Medium-sized ship came close, fast but still a big brown log compared to other warships along them made for the maritime combat, came close and maybe too close as if the small boat is going to be rammed by and rubbles. Turns its sides now faces the main deck, a bald man can be seen with a Lion’s tooth dangling on his necklace, his black cloak clothed on him, Archers on the gun port beneath him. Even if they see this intimidating face, they see the collar, glowing gold with a face of a lion notched on it, a resemblance of a royal noble.

Agaal cleared his throat, gazed into his eyes within living in fear and a towering rage.

Rival Commander: Who gave you the rights to sail here pretty man?

The bald man shouted.

Salagor: Who are you? Did your Ruler sent you here and tell us to stop?

Rival Commander: You don’t need to know my lord. These waters that you roam to are part of our home, trespassers, you boys are from Aluthea aren’t you?

Agaal: We’re just desperate to catch fish m’lord, our people are hungry. We are carrying their hunger on our backs all day long, let us free.

Roared the courage, trying his best to convince him.

Rival Commander: And so do we... I respectfully command you to not enter again, this part is ours and so do the Southern part of the Sea. Be gone.

A sudden silence, a wind blows along the cries, both men in the small boat blew nothing but a face with unthankful awakening. Salagor is a brave man from his heart that beats harmony beyond the valor, he has taken his vows that the sword sets its edge to give life and death to the faces of men.

A pace with my fellow soldiers not come on sight, brave blood dashing about before the start of delight.

Taking a shot from his lungs to shoot it out from his mouth. This. is ours. He said in a low, whisper-like tone like a resentful living ghost. The bald man smiled and nods with sarcasm of what he just heard.

Rival Commander: What do you want? A fight? Not a realization from your little tiny mind had hit you huh? , you seem to not understand the situation. You seems to not look around and take a good look at yourselves that you’re all a bunch of thieves of the waters.

The Blaze started to heat up more and more, words by words touched by fierce and hearts never tamed. He tilted his head on the collar of his black cloak.

Fishermen 1: We don’t want to fight all, all we want is freedom, we should share, if that’s the case then we are all starving. I don’t care if you are a lord or not, we set down here as a labor for the living of our families but then you decided to surround us with a battleship, patrol ship or whatever you call it to tell me that this is yours?! Your intentions are f*****g absurd!

One fisherman leaves out of the secret and shouted with anger. The other fisherman turns up as well complaining about the territory that is said to be theirs, he spat an arrow of the mouth without a warning, words sharp like a threat killing the smirk. He got the guts to let it all out, but that’s the truth he’s been living with. The bittersweet short burning message of that fisherman hit hard, blazing as embers and as sharp as the blade on the high man’s dagger.

Aluthea Sea is covered with a lot of islands scattered around, none of them knew that there is something below that beauty of the islands are also the beauty of the corals and richness of the minerals, ores, and different types of stones. They only know the great number of fishes hidden in the abyss for food to eat for the villages needed it. The Sea is well known for the richness of every drop of it than fine vintage wine.

The bald man just smiled, the only way to feel terror at that moment is by looking at the mist of terror and the man’s smile that clearly has a bad aspiration behind every tooth visible. A troop of Archers in Hooded Cloaks and pointed helmets are below the royal man, then as he turns to say.

Rival Commander: READY YOUR BOWS!!!

They did not expect that the one they’re talking to is a commander of Armed Bowmen Batallion. They heard it, a bitter sweet deadly historical events that happened way back the battle. Red waters poured like a ton of barrels filled with the blood of the fallen comrades. Bring in a wail by every shout of loose, loose of arrows like it rains above them, killing hundreds or thousands brave fighters.

Salagor: HALT, HALT! DO NOT SHOOT!

He screamed in fright of getting killed by a hoard of archers from the Gun port including his comrades in the Small boat.

Rival Commander: Do not speak against the High People in front of you, especially in a bad manner. The only time you all been good at fighting is when you killed Rigan of Nezermag, well that’s a pity of you, you even tease it to us.

The bald commander whistled one of the servants, whispered to get some fishes underneath them, deck of supplies. It took so long to get, he took a seat nearby the Figurehead to calm himself down. Marshals standing there for a command, but nothing sought out in the man, from the memories he still see in a moment of glancing back at the waters, it was full of blood. Full of men floating lifeless taking it, dragging them beyond the dark unwanted and unknowing abyss.

Salagor: What should we do?

To Agaal with a stiff voice of anger and fear.

Agaal: Leave. This man might kill us, we had to live so we need to leave. mutters exchange.

Even if they snuck up for the paddle for a row, the spot is congested with some massive ships trying to stop them from fishing.

Rival Commander: Go ahead and row away you shmucks, do you think I’m that blind and deaf to not see and hear you? 

The bald man stood up in his seat, then beside the harpoon swing gun in the balcony looking straight down at the small boat where Salagor and his comrades rest in fright. All that is known to them, a stern and cruel blood-thirsty flock of state.

The Commander turns around for the second time and this time, he commanded one of the knights in the small boat beside them, on a line arranged by him. Steel-plated colored like blood with a steel unmerciful by the edge of it. A cruel steel and a pointy deadly end of all sword and arrows, all men must confess, this is the land of either them or the other.

Rival Commander: Sir Akali! take what they hold of in that boat and chase them before the island of Andanine. Make sure that you don’t get caught. Move!

After all the time they spot the red of their own words, they realized that they’ve scattered around, not only the four massive ships but the additional hungry forces unseen by eyes, covered by the hollow logged massive vessels and flag swaying across the gray ghostly winds of terror.

They’re too many to count like how many miles are they from the safe zone, their homeland, Aluthea, Kingdom Reviathan and the fortress where his vow sealed and his name on it, the Garrick. A small boat approaches them with Three heavily armed quiver Archers clothed with Musketeer boots, dark gray jerkin jackets with a lion’s seal in the right chest, and a chain mail hood, Six rowers behind them, counted as many, swift as a Marlin.

Chief Archer: Row Away!

The honorable man in black is physically tired but spiritually confident to speak up since the ships are now turning their bows in the other way as comfortable as he thinks he doesn’t get heard by the vast they travelled.

Salagor: Do you think I’m scared huh?

Chief Archer: I don’t think I remember scaring you sir. We only asked you to go away from our waters because this is ours since the Battle of the Karik. If you asked us for a fight, we are ready to kill you all in one blow.

Salagor: Who cares about that battle, we won it.

A laughter unfolded before him. Fishermen and Agaal are rowing, Salagor is keeping a gest, sitting at the end of the boat, keeping eye contact with the chief. But then the cold seems to left a mark on him, then he stopped his paroxysm raging gaze, restless eyes are bounded on him, feeling pitiful at the same tick of the clock. Being present of the circle of sworn can be a little to no time, here today and gone tomorrow, the seal of what you promised to bring home will end after they show the result of sweat’s nurture.

He wonders what the gods will take him if this doesn’t go well. 

He wonders what the country will face if the Aluthea Sea is surrounded by greedy alligators. 

He fell asleep.

As the tides turned around, he’s still under his slumber while the other run into a way of suffer. He’s maybe in his dream or daze in the ligneous boat swaying by the half morning light of sea.

He heard the voice of multiple men shouting in his ear as if they’re fighting against something, something they desire. Echoing in his ears the agony of men. It continues and the pain of every tone he hears is as cold as the wind of the sea. Pouring, sound of blood tip over the flesh of man, twisting of organs by the blade, intensifying the sounds of pain.

The shouting halted instantly when Agaal wakes him up.

Agaal: Commander! We are at the Andanine.

Salagor woke up, feeling groggy from his great sleep. Confusion builds upon his face, he can see the tower barrack of Andanine Island, Agaal is rushing, reaching for his passage slip on the dusted drawstring pouch pocket, his bag is pretty heavy to carry, to say the least, but then Salagor is way far to his confusion.

Salagor: Where are the three comrades?

Agaal: What do you mean? There’s only two of us here.

Agaal is also confused by Salagor’s question. Salagor saw a pouch of gold on the floor and too many fishes in the net that can feed nearly one brigade of soldiers. The gold scattered like a pile of huge dust in glimmering radiance.

Salagor: There are so many fishes, the golds... wow.

Agaal: I think you’re tired sir, we’re here before dawn claiming golds with bare hands from the islands and hunting fishes. You’re within limits in your dream sir that you can see people without them here.

Agaal cracks an awkward joke to make him wake up from his dreams back to reality, but the speak of fool can seek through nothing with a man whom doesn’t seem to wake from the edges of laughter.

Arrival at the Barrack Castle of Andanine is just special for them, with no signs of threat or damage dealt on both men. The Castle is made out of grubby stones covered with vines, left side of the ruin is open havoc dealt by an explosion from the past. A blue flag at the battlements with a symbol of a black sea serpent half submerged in the sea, flying. Winged, it can fly, it can spy and spiral with the waves of cold air, drizzle upon the dreadful clouds, putting to death everything living across its path of not being in the possession of the same kingdom blood. Scary, death-dealing that even if they see the appearance of such a mass, they beg for mercy to never see it again.

Ruined castle, it’s built a Hundred and eighty-eight years ago and turned down at one battle held by King Agarino I of Kingdom Reviathan. He never lost one battle until the Beast came out of the fissure. Two black knights halted them in the Andanine Barrack Castle, behind them are many knights as well, cooking some fishes on a campfire beside the ruined edge.

Melkar: Your slip?

Agaal held the slip in the hands of Melkar, one of the guardsmen heavily armored and with rested a Long sword in their scabbard. Chest plate the same as Commander Salagor but them equipped a heavy visor. Written in the slip is the code of the boat, name of the men on board and the sworn:

’7385 Jehav Sacar

Swornsword: Salagor Makaela

Fishermen: Agaal Venalia’

The paper is wet that it’s easy to peel off, it’s always like that especially for the fishermen since the boat is small. Bigger boats also have an enormous amount of papers since they’ve more people, marshals, and peasants on board. Knight looked at the boat, they saw a lot of gold, a lot of fish, they’re astonished that even two men can catch a huge amount of resources like that.

Even stepped at the small boat to put a hand on the nets and at the small pouch of gold that’s seldom to find by many. Too astonished that they don’t even get to inspect their bags for assured certainty. Agaal hand them a bag full of fish he’s generous about but with a peculiar emotion sculpted in his face.

Melkar: This is a lot Agaal, this is fit for the rest of us till midnight. You can pass now and head to Riela port, I’ll talk to you anon. 

Then turned his hilt and strands to the high commander, shines his eyes the chest plate with a small sigil Sword pointed up as a sign of a sworn sword, bowed.

Mace: Thank you for providing security. 

Mace Tugwell said, Guardsman of the Andanine security castle.

Salagor: Don’t mention it, my seal is still on keeping of me.

Guardsman got away, left the small boat, They raised up their swords as a sign of appreciation, bowed, and let them through the cold air, huge waves of the north. As they go, Salagor asked oneself if his dream is in accordance with reality. It seems that his mind is really on point of showing pretended sceneries that he feel so attacked. Feeling the genuine ill of the poison which the arrow within the bow is still pointing at him.

Is this another battle where the rivals goes off?

The lives are being turned by the people around us, not by one, by all. The resting stories awaken, tear a sunder of hundred tales from those memories hidden in the shore, muffles screaming of the legends lost in the abyss. Bloodthirst, Blood shed by men and women either innocent or within bound of valor.

Death of history may revive itself whenever we choose to bring it back to life.

Author's Note

descriptions about the places and grammar