“Fetch the firewood from the supply reserves, Zahra. It’s time for the rites.”

  The bodies of Azrael and Prozen lie on a patterned rug on the open deck of the ship, their previously fear-widened eyes now peacefully shut. Glimpses of sunlight shimmer through the clouds, faintly illuminating their bloodsoaked garments.

  The morning fog drapes over the horizon as the entirety of the Chief’s army stands in a shoulder-to-shoulder formation on their boats, each observing solemnly. Men and women, young and old, the loss is apparent on everyone’s face. A younger soldier on a nearby ship to our left collapses to the floor in tears, as the people around her comfort her, trying to help her up. It seems like everyone knew those two.

  Each boat in his fleet lies still, with the occasional wave crashing against the hulls. They surround his Ironclad like warships prepped for a hunt. We’re one day away from Minitrysa. The Chief is perched on the ledge of the boat with his hands behind his back, gazing into the fog.

  To my right, Charlie’s eyes are pinned to the floor in guilt. The weight of every life lost is on his shoulders—is what he’s likely telling himself.

  I put my hand on his shoulder.

  “It’s not your fault. He was already gone before you even left our ship, Charlie. Prozen died with that girl.”

  Charlie is still silent. Sevilla chimes in.

  “He’s right. Stick your head up a little higher. You did what you could, and you sank an island.”

  Alexandria overhears our conversation over the whispering of every Navaen onboard.

  “If you hadn’t done what you did, how many other lives would have potentially been lost?”

  Charlie finally tilts his head up. His gaze meets the sunlit bodies of Prozen and Azrael.

  “A father and a son,” he says in a tone etched with sorrow.

  The whispers suddenly go silent. The only sound I hear is the clanking of wood, as a group of four Navaen soldiers carry stacks of firewood up from the lower deck. Their heads are glued to the floor. The crowd makes a pathway leading to Raeis and the four elders. They no longer have their cushions.

  Two of the soldiers begin carefully lining the floor of the deck with wood, while the other two pick up Prozen and Azrael. Upon the completion of the firepit, the father and son are carefully placed upon the sticks and planks.

  Raeis finally turns around.

  “Thank you, Zahra. Men.”

  They nod their heads, immersing themselves into the crowd. Suddenly, the temperature drops.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  Raeis’s hands shimmer with spikes of ice as he slams the floor.

  A towering mass of ice in the form of a staircase sprouts from the ground, leading to a platform the height of the ship’s flagpole. He’s created a podium of ice. A stairway to the skies.

  He methodically makes his way to the top of the staircase, step by step.

  Reaching the top, he peers down at us from above.

  “We gather here to mourn the loss of a father, multiple sons, and a daughter. The Drowned Gods are as cruel as Navae is merciful. The Insanity from below takes no prisoners.”

  The Chief wipes a tear from his eye.

  “Prozen, Azrael, Miara, Jaro, Lhenzar, Luca… Reunite with the song. I will see to it personally that your memory is honored within the glory of victory. Navae will illuminate your paths home. I’m sorry.”

  He mutters something under his breath. Alexandria pushes through the crowd.

  The Chief’s gaze meets Alexandria’s. He nods.

  Alexandria suddenly aims her flintlock toward the base of the pyre beneath the bodies of Azrael and Prozen. She shoots a Flamecharm-imbued bullet with an expression of sorrow across her face. The smell of smoke fills the air, and the sounds of crackling sticks can be heard.

  “My kin. People of Navae, our retribution is upon us. As you all know, our journey has been hastened, and it is now tomorrow that we set foot onto the harsh snows of Minitrysa—though there is no snow harsh enough to withstand the might of Navae’s will. We carry that very will into battle tomorrow. Take no prisoners of war. There is no moral ambiguity in your enemy, no rationalization.”

  He exclaims gutturally, using every ounce of vocal grit he can muster. I notice the spearhands of the warriors clench around their weapons amidst the smoke and ash.

  I feel a rush of adrenaline in my emotions, amongst the paranoia and anxiety of the upcoming war. I’m no stranger to its tidings—as Raeis said. Those are tidings I never looked forward to riding again. Here I stand, despite it all. Forward.

  If I don’t go forward, my actions will have no meaning. It’ll all have been for nothing. I clutch my necklace.

  It hums to me, glowing.

  The Elders who stand at the foot of the staircase catch a glimpse of my glowing idol necklace. People in the crowd shoot them puzzling looks as they walk around the lit fire to approach me.

  “Hidden in plain sight. How I did not notice this necklace of yours—is beyond me.”

  Elder Narza says in a perplexed tone, outstretching his wrinkled arm towards my now quiet necklace. Elder Azarro swats Narza’s hand faster than I can blink.

  I’m momentarily stunned. How is someone so old so agile?

  “They truly do call you below, Zadahn Vali.”

  Elder Jazto says with an ominous cadence in his voice.

  “What do you—?” I stammer.

  “Seldom do you ever see such an intimate connection to the Drowned Gods themselves. Celtor was a pre-ordained fate for you. Oh, Zadahn Vali. You don’t have the slightest clue of what’s to come.”

  The Elders turn their head up towards the Chief.

  As the ashes of Prozen and Azrael flake off into the gasping wind, he slowly descends his podium. He unholsters his spear from his back, lifting it to the sky.

  “We sail to victory! We sail to retribution! We sail to freedom, and the glory of Navae! We sail for Prozen, for Azrael, for Talzar, for Miyara, for Orbona, and for all of our lost Brethren—we draw blood from their ranks tenfold!”

  “PREPARE FOR A MINITRYSA LANDFALL AT DAWN.”

  “INVICTA NAVAE!”

  He points his spear to the sun, and somehow, the clouds move. I’m stunned by the beauty of ashes coalescing with the rays of sunlight.

  The Chief slams the bottom of his spear into the staircase, snapping it in half as the ocean swallows the podium whole, ice ramp and all. I cover my ears, yet they ring nonetheless as the BloodFrost Imperator’s entire legion roars like a pack of bloodthirsty jackals.

  “INVICTA NAVAE!”

  The sky is cluttered with raised speartips. It’s hard not to share the adrenaline. Despite the chaos, I find a smile on my face. I’ll right my wrongs and venture to Celtor in the process.

  Let an old man doubt me. I’ll prove him wrong in Celtor.