Chapter One: The Gift of the Sea

Night had fallen over the vast ocean, wrapping the sea in a mantle of stars and darkness. The waters were calm, reflecting the night sky like a mirror of tranquility. Merchant Reynard Zendel, his gaze fixed on the horizon, steered his trade ship toward a nearby island off the desert continent of Erial. The sea breeze blew gently, stirring the sails and filling the air with the salty scent of the ocean.

Reynard, an imposing man with a well-trimmed beard and dark eyes that gleamed with the shrewdness of an experienced trader, was accompanied by his wife, Diara Zendel. Diara, a woman of noble bearing and a melancholic gaze, watched the waves from the deck, her thoughts lost in the pain of a recent loss. They had buried their son only weeks ago, a wound still fresh in their hearts.

“Diara,” Reynard began softly, breaking the silence of the night. “I know nothing can fill the void we feel, but we must believe the gods willed it so. Ray, our son, has been taken to Herbos, our god of the earth, and now he is by his side. This business trip might be our chance to stay distracted.”

Diara nodded slowly, her eyes meeting Reynard’s, filled with shared understanding and sorrow. She knew her husband had decided to bring her along to Haveno de la Suno, where he would meet with other merchants from the three continents, to help her cope with her grief.

“I know, Reynard. I just hope the Isle of Inísel’s Sea brings us the fortune we so desperately need. This negotiation could increase our profits and open the door to new relationships across the three continents.”

The merchant looked at his wife with a mix of hope and determination.

“I trust it will. Thiobad wouldn’t lie to me. He’s cunning and has successfully exported highly sought-after goods from Erial to the Cardinals. If we can secure this deal, our lives could change for the better.”

As Reynard’s words faded into the quiet of the night, an unexpected sound cut through the air. It was a soft cry, almost imperceptible at first, but unmistakably the wail of a baby. Reynard frowned and turned to the sailors on deck.

“Sailors! Did you hear that?” he asked, his voice filled with alarm and curiosity.

The men nodded, their eyes scanning the darkness for the source of the mysterious sound. The ship’s captain, a man weathered by years of navigating the seas, emerged from his cabin at the commotion on deck and approached Reynard.

“My lord, I recommend you retire to your cabin. We could be in danger.”

Reynard gazed forward, trying to pinpoint the source of the baby’s cries. Feeling as if an unseen force was guiding him, he quickly gave an order to the captain.

“Tell the men to investigate where that crying is coming from.”

The captain shook his head at once and attempted to dissuade his superior.

“My lord, please…” But his words were cut short when Reynard fixed him with a resolute stare.

“Obey me, Captain.”

Swallowing hard, knowing he could not defy Reynard’s orders, the captain nodded and turned to his men, his voice firm.

“Sailors! Steer the ship toward the source of the sound and stay alert. It could be a trap.”

The crew moved with swift precision, their actions honed by years of experience at sea. The ship turned slowly, advancing cautiously into the dense fog that blanketed the waters. As they approached, the cries grew louder, echoing in the stillness of the night.

Suddenly, through the shroud of mist, a dark shape emerged. It was another ship, barely visible in the dim light. The sailors braced themselves, their hands instinctively reaching for their weapons, fearing pirates—a constant threat in these waters.

“Damn it, I knew this was a trap. Ready the weapons!” barked the captain, his voice commanding as he positioned himself defensively in front of the merchant and his wife.

But as they drew closer, the ship showed no signs of being a pirate vessel. No black flags were flying, nor the telltale marks of buccaneers. The ship appeared abandoned, its sails limp and no movement visible on deck.

Merchant Reynard Zendel stood in thoughtful silence, listening to the persistent cries that pierced the fog. The sound’s intensity grew as their ship neared the mysterious vessel. Reynard’s eyes, filled with curiosity and caution, met those of his wife, Diara. She nodded slowly, her expression a mix of concern and a deep yearning to uncover what was happening.

“Captain,” Reynard called out, his voice steady.

“The ship appears damaged. I want the men to investigate the vessel; the baby’s cries come from that ship, and the child could be in danger. Search for survivors and any supplies we can salvage.”

The captain nodded slowly, his weathered face betraying a mix of caution and resolve.

“As you command, my lord. Sailors, arm yourselves and stay vigilant. This could be an ambush from the other cities of Erial…”

The sailors, trained to act swiftly and efficiently, moved in unison. As Reynard’s ship drew closer to the unknown vessel, the waves lapped gently against the hulls of both ships, creating a hypnotic rhythm. Ropes were thrown, and grappling hooks secured the vessels together. The fog wrapped around them like a thick shroud, cloaking ancient secrets and unseen dangers.

“Carefully, men!” the captain instructed. “Move forward slowly and stay alert.”

One by one, the sailors leapt from their ship onto the other, their movements precise and deliberate. The abandoned ship’s deck creaked under their weight, but there were no signs of life. The baby’s cries, growing clearer and more anguished, guided them deeper into the vessel.

The atmosphere on the deck was eerie. Chaos reigned everywhere—overturned barrels, scattered ropes, and remnants of what once had been trade goods strewn haphazardly. It was evident the ship had been ransacked, with no trace of survivors.

“What happened here?” murmured one of the sailors, his eyes scanning the desolate scene.

The first mate, leading the group, raised a hand for silence.

“Follow the crying. It’s coming from somewhere inside the ship.” he said firmly.

The sailors cautiously made their way into the ship, navigating dark, narrow passages. The baby’s cries served as a beacon in the fog, the sound echoing off the ship’s wooden walls. As they drew closer, a sense of unease settled over them.

At last, they reached a slightly ajar cabin door. The first mate lifted his oil lamp, its light casting shadows that flickered across the scene. He gestured for his men to ready themselves and carefully pushed the door open. The sight that greeted them left them speechless.

In the center of the cabin, wrapped in a tattered blanket, lay a baby. The child’s hair was silver, gleaming even in the dim light of the lamp, and her vivid green eyes sparkled with tears. The stark contrast between the baby’s innocence and the devastation of the ship was striking.

"First Mate, it's a girl... but she looks different. Her complexion is pale, like that of the Cardinals," said one of the sailors, his voice filled with awe at the baby's appearance. "But her hair, her eyes…"

The First Mate nodded, stepping closer with caution.

"Where could she have come from? She can't be a messenger from the gods, can she?" he murmured, astonished.

Gently, the First Mate picked up the baby, trying to soothe her cries. Her small eyes met his, and an overwhelming silence filled the cabin. The baby stopped crying as if the presence of the sailors offered her a faint sense of comfort.

"Let's return to the ship," ordered the First Mate, holding the baby firmly but tenderly.

"My lords must see this," he added, making his way to the exit with care.

The sailors, still perplexed by their discovery, retreated cautiously, carrying the baby back to their ship.

Once they reached the deck, the mysterious child was still in his arms. The baby’s cries had ceased, as though the proximity of other humans had brought her unexpected solace. As they approached Reynard Zendel and his wife, Diara, the sailors exchanged glances of astonishment and reverence. The baby’s silver hair and pale skin were uncommon in Erial, a land of desert climates where the population’s complexion was much darker.

"My lord," said the First Mate as he stood before Reynard, cradling the baby carefully.

"This is all we found on board. Her hair, her eyes, the strange circumstances in which we found her... We believe she may be a messenger of the sea."

Reynard took the child into his arms, his dark eyes filled with deep intensity. He studied her unique features closely, a mix of wonder and tenderness filling his heart. The baby, unaware of the reverence surrounding her, gazed back at him with her vivid green eyes, brimming with innocence and curiosity.

Beside him, Diara watched the scene, her heart pounding. She nodded slowly, her eyes glistening with a mix of tears and hope. The recent loss of their child had left an unrelenting emptiness in their hearts, and now, this unexpected encounter seemed to carry a deeper meaning.

Reynard looked at his wife, seeking her approval. Diara met his gaze, her expression filled with love and determination.

“Reynard, I believe this child is a gift from the goddess Inísel, a gift from the sea. It can’t be a coincidence that we found her this way,” Diara said with conviction.

Reynard nodded, his thoughts aligning with hers.

“You’re right, Diara. This child has been sent to us by the goddess. We must care for her and protect her as if she were our daughter.”

With a solemn gesture, Reynard and Diara decided to take the girl in.

“What name shall we give her, my dear?” Diara asked, gazing into the baby’s intense green eyes.

“Inísel, in honor of the gift from the goddess of the sea,” Reynard replied reverently.

And so, under the dark mantle of night, they named her in honor of the goddess who had granted them this miracle: Inísel. From that moment, little Inísel became the center of their lives, bringing with her a newfound hope and purpose.

Sixteen years later, across the Omnilum Ocean, in the snowy lands of one of the Cardinals called the North, miners forged ahead, carving paths through the coldest mountains of the continent.

On a steep and intricate trail, the group advanced with determination. The biting wind and thick snow hindered their progress, but the promise of riches more coveted than gold gave them the strength to carry on. These men were tasked with extracting stalite, a unique and valuable mineral in their world.

The miners, bundled in heavy coats and their faces hardened by the cold, chatted as they climbed.

“Have you heard the news? Seems we’ve found a new vein of stalite in a cave in one of the eastern mountains,” one of them remarked, his voice barely audible over the roar of the wind.

Another miner, with a thick beard and frost clinging to his eyebrows, nodded.

“Yeah, I’ve heard the same. Looks like the guild councilors are finally agreeing on something, ever since old Valheim’s father passed. Now his eldest son seems to be making the right calls. If that vein is as rich as they say, we could be talking about an immense fortune. Stalite has always been worth three times its weight in gold.”

The group continued their ascent, their footsteps crunching through the snow. In the distance, the mountains rose majestically, covered in a white mantle that reflected the sunlight with a dazzling brilliance. The conditions were extreme, but these men were accustomed to the hardships of their trade.

“But today, we head to the Deep Abyss Mine,” announced the group leader, a middle-aged man with sharp eyes and an authoritative voice.

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“And remember, the Northern mountains are treacherous. One misstep, and we could fall into a bottomless chasm…”

The miners nodded, well aware of the dangers. Despite the risks, the prospect of uncovering more stalite—the precious material that defined their livelihood and sustained the guild controlling its export to other continents—was a powerful motivator.

The leader paused, casting a stern glance over his men.

“Remember, the mine is perilous, and we’ll have to dig deep to extract any stalite. The cave entrance isn’t far. Stay alert and work together.”

The miners pressed on, ascending the steep mountain path, braving the biting wind and snow that lashed against their faces. After an arduous climb, they finally reached the cave’s entrance. The darkness within seemed to swallow the daylight, and the air emanating from the depths was colder still than the frigid outdoors.

“We’re here. Let’s head in,” the leader said, his voice echoing through the icy silence.

“The sooner we start, the sooner we can leave.”

The men lit their oil lamps and stepped inside, their flickering light casting dancing shadows on the cave walls. The oppressive atmosphere weighed heavily on them, and every footstep reverberated with an eerie echo. The biting cold mingled with the dampness, creating an uncomfortable chill that seeped into their bones.

“This place gives me the creeps… Feels like specters could show up at any moment,” muttered one of the miners, adjusting his coat as he glanced around warily. The legends of the North had firmly rooted themselves in the miners’ minds, and the tales of shadowy, formless creatures lurking in the stalite mines always made them tread carefully.

“I know what you mean, but I’ve been climbing these mines for twenty years and haven’t seen a single specter of the dark. I’m convinced those are just old superstitions made up by the lords of the North to keep us under control,” replied a grizzled miner, hardened by years of work in the mines.

“You’re right… Specters of the dark, formless beings with no body and blue eyes like a winter storm—there’s no way creatures like that exist, right?” asked a young miner, the insecurity in his voice betraying his unease.

"Let’s stop talking and finish this quickly so we can get home. I don’t want to spend more time here than necessary," instructed one of their companions.

The miners dispersed, the sound of their picks and hammers echoing through the cave as they began their work. They struck the rock with force, each impact sending a spray of shards into the air. Their hopes rested on finding the precious material that gleamed like a green diamond: stalite.

“They say the rich folks on the two continents covet stalite, turning it into coins, jewelry, and the hilts of their weapons,” remarked one of the miners as he raised his pick for another strike.

“Though I’ve never heard of anyone making weapons entirely out of stalite...”

“Exactly,” replied another, his voice tinged with the exhaustion of working under such extreme conditions. “We don’t export enough stalite to craft weapons from it. The production is too limited, and the refineries in the fortifications scattered across the Northern continent only extract about one percent of what we miners find in these caves.”

Another miner, whose suspicious gaze hinted at hidden motives, chimed in.

“You know, if we kept a small percentage of the stalite we bring in, we could sell it on the black market and make a fortune...”

The men laughed as if it were a joke, fully aware that such a suggestion carried deadly consequences. The Northern guild’s punishment for smuggling stalite was severe enough to deter even the boldest from considering such a risk.

However, one of them—a middle-aged miner with a thick beard—looked up, his expression serious.

“Jokes aside, I’ve heard rumors about smuggling rings. They say the pay is good if you hold back a portion of what you find for them. They even promise safety for you and your family if the Northern guild catches wind of it...”

A moment of silence followed, broken by worried murmurs.

“Smuggling stalite again? I thought no one would dare after what happened twenty years ago when they brutally executed everyone involved in an illegal mining ring,” said another miner, striking the rock with renewed vigor.

“I’m not risking my family. Stalite is too tightly controlled, and the guild would know if miners started holding back some of the goods. Whatever little we could gain wouldn’t be worth the risk of getting caught...”

The others murmured their agreement as they continued to work. But the atmosphere shifted suddenly when one of the miners, who had ventured deeper into the cave, let out a choked scream. The others turned to see what had happened, their lamps casting light into the dark depths of the cave.

"Hey, come here! This rock… there’s something strange about it!" the miner called, his voice trembling.

The others dropped their tools and hurried to where their companion stood. When they arrived, they saw the miner stepping back, eyes wide as he pointed to a rock he had just broken. From the crack, a strange bluish aura was emanating—a light that seemed to flow like luminous liquid.

"What is that?" one of the miners asked, his voice barely a whisper.

"I… I don’t know," replied the miner who had made the discovery, his face pale with fear.

"I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s as if something evil is seeping out of the rock. It can’t be... it can’t be the specters, right?" he murmured, dread evident in his voice.

The group leader stepped forward, examining the fissure with a mix of caution and curiosity.

"This isn’t stalite. I remember hearing about something like this during our training at the Northern fortifications. This is something else… something malevolent. We shouldn’t touch it without knowing more."

The men, unsettled by the sight of the blue glow, took a few steps back. Their earlier talk of smuggling forgotten, the cave—once just a cold, dark place—now felt laden with secrets and unknown dangers.

"Let’s return to our original area and continue working there," suggested the leader, his voice unsteady as he watched the strange light emanating from the stone grow brighter.

"I don’t like this… We need to report this to our superiors."

But fear gripped the miners when the bluish light began to take the shape of a man. The legends of specters and spirits dwelling within the caves echoed in their minds, stirring a primal terror.

"A specter of the darkness!" one of the miners screamed in panic. Without waiting another second, they began to retreat, their steps quickly turning into a frenzied race toward the exit.

The echo of their hurried footsteps reverberated through the tunnels, and the cold felt even sharper as they neared the light of day. Their breaths were ragged, hearts pounding as they fled from what they believed to be a cursed place. None dared to look back, driven forward by the fear of having awakened something ancient and terrible.

Twenty minutes after the miners had abandoned the mines, a thunderous crash echoed through the Glaciaris Mountain. The collapse was instantaneous, sealing the cave entrance beneath tons of stone.

A week later, in an imposing fortress located in the territory of the Frozen Mountains of the North, an intense discussion was taking place. In the main hall of the fortress, the council of the mining guild had gathered, their voices rising in a tumult of concern and disagreement. The solid stone walls, decorated with tapestries depicting the miners' peaks and the stalite, resonated with the tension of the debate.

At the center of the room stood the most respected leader of the North, a burly man with a stern gaze named Tharok Valheim. Tharok wore a thick fur cloak adorned with insignias of his rank and heritage, and his presence commanded respect. Beside him were his sister, Amelia, a woman with a sharp and resolute look, and his younger brother, Jorund, a young man full of energy and vitality.

"The situation is unstable. The mines have been blocked by tons of stone, and it will take us a long time to clear the entrances," Tharok revealed, his expression serene despite the challenges facing the Northern Guild. "As you can understand, we can't remove tons of solid stone overnight. So, until we find a way to clear the entrances, the export of stalite will be affected." He finished by looking around at the worried faces in the room.

"If we can no longer extract stalite from the mines, how long will our reserves last?" asked a Northern councilor immediately.

"About four months," replied an older man. His snow-white hair and wise eyes marked him as a figure of authority. He was known as Eldric the Wise, and all present highly valued his counsel.

"Only four months!" exclaimed another guild representative.

"And I think the best decision would be to decide which continent will stop receiving stalite first. I propose we continue the stalite export to the two continents of the Cardinals and stop exporting to Erial. We must inform the Cardinals of the situation..." Tharok announced.

Amelia, always the voice of reason, calmly intervened.

"Tharok, four months is nothing. Even if we stop exporting stalite to Erial, it will only delay the agony by one more month. Not exporting stalite will lead to future confrontations with the Cardinals. The hostility between the Eastern and Western continents is well known..." Eldric, with a faint smile, nodded in agreement with Amelia's words.

"Amelia is right. The East and the West already have their disputes, and I'm afraid they’ll use this excuse to go to war." Everyone looked seriously at the older man, their faces showing concern for what his words implied. "But, well. There’s little we can do. If the rulers of the two Cardinals are foolish enough to enter into a conflict, we can only hope that the war doesn't affect us..." The room fell into silence, all deep in thought about their precarious situation.

“There has to be something we can do. Maybe we should use some kind of explosives to try—” Amelia began to suggest, but Tharok abruptly interrupted her.

“No, sister.” The young woman opened her mouth to reply to her brother, but he interrupted her again. “I know you’re talking about the cursed water. And we can’t risk the lives of our miners. Remember, the collapse happened because of the instability of the mountain. Using cursed water to explode the entrances would put our men in danger and worsen the situation.”

“But Tharok, the situation will get worse if we do nothing. We're blind if we can't see that a war between the Cardinals will affect the North. We must do everything we can to reopen the mines. I’m sorry, but…” Amelia sighed, and in a soft voice, she finished, “...But it’s better to lose a few miners than for thousands of our people to die in a confrontation that we could avoid…”

Everyone looked seriously at the young woman. Some faces showed slight agreement with her words, but others, like those of her brothers and Eldric, displayed palpable disagreement and disappointment.

Jorund, with the fervor of youth at sixteen, couldn’t help but exclaim:

“How can you say that! Our people come first, sister. Or did you forget Dad’s teachings?” he began, looking at his older sister with indignant eyes.

“Since you came back from the Western continent, you’ve been acting like the men there. They don’t care about other people’s lives, as long as someone else does the dirty work.” Amelia stood up, angered by her younger brother's statement. At sixteen, after their father’s death, their mother had taken Amelia to the West, to the county of Lothoria, to live in the City of Umbria. At first, due to the innocence of youth, Amelia enjoyed the temperate climate, so different from the cold air of the North. However, the prejudice of the West toward the North made her long to return home.

“You know I couldn’t stand the people of the West, and that’s why I came back home when I had the chance. Don't compare me to those sons of bitches, Jorund. Remember that the Cardinals made my life hell.”

The discussion grew more heated, with voices rising in disagreement and concern.

“We can’t send our men to certain death!” shouted a councilor from the Northern Guild.

“But we also can’t let the stability and security of the guild be affected by the fear of using cursed water. If it’s the only way to restore the stalite productivity quickly and benefit our people, then so be it,” another responded.

“Do the right thing?” Tharok asked, his voice rising in anger. “I insist, we can’t put the lives of our miners at risk!”

“Amelia is right.” The previous councilor confronted the leader. “The lives of a few mean nothing compared to the lives of many...”

Tharok clenched his hand into a fist and slammed it onto the table with intensity. “We’re talking about lives, human lives, not fucking objects!”

The councilor, undeterred, stood up from his seat and roared, “And what do you suggest, leader? This wouldn’t be happening if Joren were here! Your father knew how to act! He always said that sometimes you have to sacrifice a few for the good of many! When everyone chose you to be our new leader, I said you wouldn’t be up to it!”

Amelia and Jorund watched as the man’s words fell heavily on their older brother. Tharok’s hands trembled while his face hardened. He, who had always fought, had always strived to live up to his late father, Joren Valheim, a strong and brave man who had led the Northern Guild for many years, now the weight of his legacy fell on him. Tharok had been chosen as leader after his father’s death and had accepted the responsibility with righteousness and firmness, but his siblings knew how difficult it was for him to replace his father. The expectations, coupled with the pain of his loss, crashed down on the young leader, and though he tried to hide it, Amelia and Jorund knew that anguish flooded his heart.

“Silence. Enough!” said Eldric, his voice resonating with calm authority, immediately silencing the entire room.

“We must consider the situation. Amelia, your proposal is very interesting. I’m glad to see you remember much of the teachings I gave you when you were young. Using cursed water could be a viable option, but unfortunately, it is a very unstable substance. It’s a special liquid that is usually transported over short distances and in prepared barrels. Furthermore, another major reason to reject this idea is its complex manufacturing process; the materials that make it up must be mixed with precision.” The keen eyes of the man stared intensely at Tharok. “But Amelia is right about one thing, Tharok. The export of Estalite is what sustains the North. We depend on the other continents to survive.”

The people present nodded, listening intently. Eldric continued, his gaze sweeping over the room. “I propose we reopen the mines and inform the Cardinals of the mishap. From what Tharok and I saw when we went with North’s Lightning to Glaciaris, it’s risky to get too close to the cave entrances…”

Tharok nodded firmly, his face recovering from the earlier discussion with the Northern Guild councilor. “We must find other safer methods for our miners. Eldric, what do you propose?”

The wise man nodded his head and responded, “We’ll use slower but safer tools, and we’ll craft utensils suited for the task, such as drills and more durable picks.”

Amelia looked at her older brother. She, who had been away from the icy Northern continent and had come to understand the nature of the other Cardinals, was concerned about the repercussions that would follow temporarily halting the export of Estalite.

“The Cardinals won’t take kindly to our decision, but I also understand that we can’t risk the lives of our men. I regret proposing something so inhumane…” said the young woman, her tone revealing her sorrow.

Jorund sighed and reassured his sister, “If the Cardinals don’t like our decision, then let them deal with it, sister. We can’t become like them; we can’t let their insensitivity towards others corrupt us and change the way of the North. We are different, we look out for everyone, like Dad taught us.” The young Valheim placed a comforting hand on Amelia’s shoulder. “I’m sorry for what I said. I know you’re different,” he whispered so that only his sister could hear his words.

Amelia nodded with a smile on her lips and looked at her older brother with doubt, who firmly nodded in agreement with Jorund’s words.

“We’ll do everything we can to reopen the mines, sister. I trust you to handle the diplomatic dealings with the rest of the Cardinals. You’re skilled in politics, and you’ve been living with them for years. I know you’ll try to reach a peaceful agreement while the rest of us in the guild work to resolve this issue.”

The others present nodded, some still showing reluctance, but understanding that sometimes more drastic actions brought an unexpected and unwanted fate in their quest for a solution to their troubles.

“All right,” said one of the councilors with a sigh. “Eldric and I will contact one of our craftsmen to begin making those special tools.” He indicated, causing a nod from Tharok and the wise man.

“We’ll work hard to reopen the mines,” declared the young leader, his voice firm. “Until then, all we can do is hope that the Cardinals understand the situation.”

The meeting, after hours of debate, concluded with a sense of resolution. As the guild's advisors left the hall, the cold air of the fortress reminded them of the dangers and challenges they faced. But with leaders like Tharok, Amelia, Jorund, and the wise counsel of Eldric, they were determined to face any threat that arose, protecting the lands of the North.