The harbor teemed with activity. Liora walked among crates of goods and busy sailors, the sound of ropes and planks banging against the docks filling the air. Her family was there, ready to launch a new ship, a symbol of their commercial power on the routes to the New World. The scent of fresh wood, tar, and salt filled her lungs.
Her father oversaw the final preparations, speaking with the officers while her mother gave orders to the assistants, organizing every detail. Her sister ran between the warehouses, checking that all supplies were in place. Liora felt part of this whirlwind, a cog in the wheel of her family’s fortune and ambition.
She saw the first explosion, then a roar split the air. Her father’s boat lifted like a toy, then bent and shattered into a thousand splinters of wood and fire. She screamed his name, but the wind swallowed it.
The second blast hit near her mother’s ship. Flames engulfed the bow, and Liora froze as she watched her fall, her body twisted between fire and water, with no chance of escape.
The air smelled of coal and molten iron, and the sky was covered with a layer of orange smoke. The harbor trembled with every explosion, seeming like a boundless hell.
Her older brother, running between the boats trying to save himself, was hit by an explosion that threw him into the water. He stayed afloat for a few moments, half his body wrapped in flames, the other half devoured by the fish swimming among the wreckage. Liora could not look away: her brother’s face was twisted in pain, his body divided between the bites of fire and the sea. The image lodged in her mind like a blade, raw and unbearable.
Her younger sister ran among the warehouses, seeking shelter. But an explosion reached her before she could escape. Liora saw only a flash, then a silence that burned more than the fire.
The harbor was chaos. Wood crackled, dock chains snapped, the waters stained red and black. But for Liora, everything had stopped. Her family had vanished in moments, consumed by flames, water, and fish.
She knelt on the dock, hands trembling, eyes full of tears that would not fall. The sound of explosions continued hammering in her ears, and each new detonation reminded her of what she had lost.
There was no anger, no wrath. Only a cold emptiness opening in her stomach. A silence that screamed louder than any blast.
She clenched her fists on the edge of the dock, unable to move. Then, through the smoke and flames, she saw a figure emerge from the chaos: a tall man, his cloak blackened by smoke, moving decisively among the wreckage and rippling waters.
He was a captain, and she recognized him immediately by the way he commanded. His shouts were not panic, but precise orders. He grouped men and women, distributed ropes, torches, and makeshift carts, indicating who should rescue the wounded, who should search the waters, and who should move the debris.
Liora watched, trembling, as the captain created order in the chaos.
For a moment, between terror and despair, Liora felt a thread of hope.
That vision warmed her broken heart and awakened a will she thought lost. She stood, legs shaking, and began moving among the debris, smoke, and fallen bodies, following instinct and the echo of moans.
Liora advanced through the harbor’s ruins, guided by thoughts of her sister running between the warehouses before the explosions engulfed them. The large wooden and stone buildings, once full of goods and the noise of labor, were now charred skeletons, collapsed roofs, and flaming beams.
Moving through the smoking remains, Liora focused on every shadow, every sign of movement among the broken planks and scattered goods. She finally saw a blackened piece of cloth moving under a fallen beam: her sister. Her body was burned and marked by flames, but still alive. Liora knelt, taking her hand and feeling the faint tremor still present.
The sight of the destroyed warehouses, the charred packages, and exploded barrels around them made her realize how close to death they had been and how the captain’s determination had been a beacon amid the chaos. He was her guide, and that same strength gave her the hope necessary to pull her sister from that hell.
Amid the smoke and flames of the destroyed warehouses, Liora moved with her heart in her throat, the stench of burned flesh and sea mixing with her panic. Every step was a risk: unstable beams, rubble, and sparks still dancing among the planks.
Then, among the debris, something caught her attention. A shiny glint, thin but clear, among the blackened ruins. She bent down, breathing hard, and picked it up: a gold ring, engraved with a perfect star, too refined for a warehouse of common goods, too out of place to be just a random remnant of the explosion.
Liora turned it over in her fingers. The metal was still warm to the touch, as if it had absorbed the surrounding fire’s heat. For a moment, a flash of memory passed through her mind: she had seen that ring somewhere before, at some distant event, but the context had escaped her, and she could not remember when or where.