The harbor was a calm chaos. Waves lightly lapped against the hull, while the wind carried the scent of salt, wet wood, and dead algae. Captain Merek walked along the dock, hands clasped behind his back, eyes fixed on the horizon where sky met sea.
His ship, The Bronze Eagle, was ready: sails taut, cargo carefully loaded, the small crew nervous but disciplined. Yet Merek did not feel the usual excitement that accompanied every departure. He felt tension. Fear? No, caution. And he knew that weight would not leave him until the New World.
The sailors’ voices were full of stories. In the port city taverns, people spoke of ships disappearing without a trace, of screams heard beneath the moon, of monsters moving in the water with unnatural calm. Some even said the sky would change when the creatures were near, a shadow that darkened the sun.
Merek was not superstitious. He had seen storms, pirates, disease, famine. But the sea of the New World was different. It was alive. And it was cruel.
Sitting on the edge of the dock, Merek let his thoughts drift. The New World. The routes had been discovered about a hundred years ago, when a group of explorers ventured beyond the known columns of ships and charted maps that, with each subsequent voyage, became more detailed. These routes became the lifeblood of trade and the Republic, but they had always had a price: sunken ships, lost crews, stories of lands and creatures that appeared on no official charts.
“A hundred years have passed, yet the sea remains a mystery,” Merek murmured. “Every expedition brings new secrets, new threats…”
In the coming days, the council would convene to discuss the situation. Merek hoped that the miracle man, Eric, could get things moving, improve the safety of the routes, or find some solution to reduce the risks. Without change, he thought, perhaps it would be wiser to leave everything behind and build a new life in the New World, among untouched lands.
The thought of continuing as things were made him shiver. It was not just a job, not just transporting goods. It was a journey into a changing world, where old maps and knowledge were only starting points. Currents could shift, storms appear without warning, and the creatures of the sea… well, they had never followed human rules.
Merek stood. The crew watched him, confused but trusting. The sun was slowly rising, illuminating the rippling surface of the sea. The wind began to fill the sails.
The ship would soon set sail.
But in his heart, Merek knew he was leaving more than a city behind. He was choosing between the safety of a known world and the wild chaos of the New World.
He was about to give the order to cast off when a boom made him jump. Then another. And another, closer, more violent.
The explosions spread along the dock like an uncontrolled fire. Tall flames rose from the ships, and splinters of wood and crates flew through the air. Black smoke mixed with the dawn, tinting the sky gray and orange.
Screams, confused orders, the metallic clang of broken chains. Merek ran along the deck, shouting to the men to board the lifeboats, to help anyone trapped in the flames or the water.
He leapt onto a small boat nearby, grabbing a sailor about to fall in. The skin burned from the heat, lungs full of smoke, but every moment was vital. Dozens of lives hung in the balance, and there was no time for panic.
The nearby ships exploded one after another. Merek saw the body of a man engulfed in flames fall into the water. The captain gritted his teeth, ignoring the pain that tried to creep into his thoughts. He had to move, save as many lives as possible.
In a few minutes, the harbor had become a hell. The crowd screamed, ran through the flames, sought refuge. Merek gave directions, helped lift the injured, pushed boats toward the open sea, away from the fire.
An explosion threw him to the ground. The wood beneath him cracked, and the nearby ship began to tilt. He rose, burning and coughing, and saw dozens of sailors clinging to ropes, bollards, and floating wreckage.
“Don’t leave them!” he shouted over the chaos. “Don’t let them drown!”
Every decision was critical. Every second lost meant one less life. Merek grabbed a young sailor about to be crushed by falling crates, dragged him to the nearest lifeboat, and threw him in. Then another. And another.
He didn’t allow himself a moment of rest. The harbor was a inferno of flames and broken wood, and dozens of lives were still trapped among the wreckage.
“Everyone!” he shouted, gathering those sober enough to follow. “Form teams! Rescue the survivors, help the injured! Leave no one behind!”
He moved decisively through smoke and heat, personally leading an improvised rescue team. Some men were lightly wounded but kept pace, helping lift the injured and push the lifeboats toward the open sea.
Merek pointed out the most dangerous spots: a pending collapse, a ship about to sink, a man trapped among exploded crates. Every action was calculated, every decision could mean the difference between life and death.
He found a group of sailors huddled on a slanted platform. Water seeped between the rotten planks, and the fire was consuming nearby ropes. Merek and two other men lowered a rope and, one by one, pulled out the survivors, some still dazed by smoke, others seriously injured.
Amid the chaos, Merek saw something that made him shiver: a body floated on the black waters. The upper half was a mass of blackened, burned flesh, bones visible through charred skin, as if the fire had carved every fiber. The lower half had been devoured by fish: scales, chunks of flesh, limbs torn by currents, which the sea swallowed with slow, cruel rhythm.
Then a voice brought him back to the present.
“Captain, here! Two more!”
Merek turned and ran toward the sound, grabbing the men and dragging them to safety. Every time someone reached a lifeboat, he felt temporary relief, but the harbor was still a deadly trap of smoke, heat, and broken wood.
When the last team finally gathered on the main ship, Merek counted the survivors. They were far fewer than hoped. Some men had been trapped, others lost in the waters or flames. But every life saved was a victory.
The captain collapsed onto the temporary dock, face smeared with soot and sweat. The harbor behind him was a heap of smoking ruins. Each destroyed ship told a story of misfortune, slow orders, bad luck.
As the smoke began to thin, Merek knew one thing: this disaster was not accidental. Something or someone had unleashed hell.
He remained seated on the dock, hands still trembling from the day’s weight. The flames had left only smoke and the smell of burned wood, and each destroyed ship was an open wound in the heart of the harbor.
“Questions… they will come,” he thought. “I cannot allow myself to be caught off guard.”
His eyes scanned the wreckage. Some were crying, others still wounded. And he had to gather the pieces of this tragedy, not only to save lives but also to protect himself.
“Who could have orchestrated all this?” he murmured, almost seeking comfort in the familiar voice in his head. “It’s no accident… too many explosions, too coordinated. Someone wanted to hit the harbor.”
The thought stiffened him. Who had the power, resources, and cunning to orchestrate such a disaster? Pirates? Commercial rivals?
Merek looked up at the darkening sky. Every star seemed further away, as if watching the earth and judging its fragility. He had to prepare, gather information, understand who or what lay behind this catastrophe.
He could do nothing but hope the coming hours would bring answers, or at least clues. Every misstep, every hesitation, would be costly.
The harbor, once a symbol of life and trade, had become a labyrinth of ruins and suspicion. And Merek knew he would not sleep that night. Too many questions remained unanswered, and too many hands might be stained with blood.l