The world is smaller. Where once a son could inherit the sword of his father, and join the soldiers in their encampments, marching between nations, battling brigands and adventuring, discovering new places and peoples. Once a daughter could inherit the knowledge of her mother, and join the academics in their universities, advising across the realms, experimenting, learning knew things about the nature of this infinite world and discovering how it works. A child could look over the mountains, across the oceans, and see then the promise of excitement, of exploration, of discovery.

But not anymore.

Of course, that was all an over-romanticized view on the past, Isaac thought, dipping his quill into ink. The son would inherit a rusty, worthless sword, and be sent to worthless posts in their own home town, or a fortress on their border. The daughter would be taught what the state wished, an askew account of events and beliefs, doomed to repeat these lies to her own daughters. This, of course, assuming they lived that long to begin with. More likely, the son would be killed by some arrow, unremarkable and unknown. The daughter, if they were even of a station to receive such an education, more likely would be married off to increase the worth of her parents household, and then so probably die in childbirth. That was how things had worked in the real world after all.

But it was expected of him to interpret things this way. Looking pack at his parchment, he continued.

But not anymore. The map has been completed. The world is known. Empires rise, controlling now not just their own country and vassals, but whole continents are under their thrall. And the wars seem never to end. When one war waged over ten years ends, there is another one the following week, now lasting eleven years. The mysticism and spirituality of the past has bowed out to the mundanity of science. No more gods, spirits, and heroic feats of strength, nay, now heresy has taken the minds of the masses, their faith in the traditional tales of their homes shattered, and now only the rich and powerful can gain access to the knowledge now accepted as truth. They may decide what the truth is, and how the world works themselves, and we must accept it.

There is now no adventure in the world. We all are now stuck in the cycle of our station, fit only to do our given lot of the day, to rest only at night, knowing now the smallness of our lives, the lack of anything greater.

Until now.

To all I declare, there is a blank spot at the end of the map, a place undiscovered, not violated by the new order of the world. A land where the last secrets hide. , I now declare that I, Isaac Amelle Estatum, shall conquer these uncharted waters, the last bastion of the past, and the end of the free world. A place that shall forever be ...

Isaac put down the quill and leaned back on his chair, letting the ink on his parchment dry, fine to finish it later. Last bastion of the past? He chuckled at the thought. The truth was far more mundane. There was blank spot on the map, it was true, but his bosses simply ordered him to map it. No more, no less. Most likely an archipelago sat there. Why he had to have a personal log of the trip, and with such a self congratulating tone, he did not know.

“Isaac!” a call came from outside his quarters. “Come out here, please.” The only man in his crew who would call him by his name was the bosun, Arturo, his longtime comrade in arms. That being the case, one of the crewmen must be acting up. Hardly an uncommon occurrence, given the length of this voyage. Days, weeks, months out at sea, the blazing sun overhead torching the skin, the splashes from the sea burning and blinding the eyes. Bread rock hard, meat poorly cooked, beer more watered than not. Families and lovers left ashore, so many leagues away. It was no surprise that some of the crew would be getting anxious.

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Throwing on his black and gold tricorne hat and officers coat, Isaac strode to the door and walked outside, the wind helping to throw open the door. It was midday now, the sky clear as can be, sun shining brightly without a cloud to block it. It was a windy day, cooling Isaac off from the sun’s heat, almost making him cold. The only thing that he missed was the sweet, salty spray of the sea.

More bothersome than the missing spray, however, was the blood red ocean stretched before him.

“Is this what you brought me out for, bosun?” Isaac marched briskly to the rail, as had the rest of the crew, to stare out over the bizarrely colored water. Deep red in color, and seemingly as thick as blood, it batted against the hull, as roughly as the deep blue from before. As far as the eye could see, this red sea stretched.

“Yes, captain.” The bosun answered “It just … appeared like this.

“And not one of you noticed it coming?” Isaac eyed the crew, who all avoided his gaze. “Have any of you seen anything like this?” Silence. With a sigh, he looked back to the strange sea. Isaac has seen strangely colored waters before, but never anything like he looked at now. It gave him a feeling of dread.

“Bosun, bring me a sample of this … water. And be extra careful. The rest of you, get back to work! The more time you spend working, the more time it will take to find land.” The crewmen scurried away and back to their positions, whispering amongst themselves. Isaac shook his head as he walked back to his quarters. Sailors, even with the “mundanity of science” taking the common mind, were a superstitious lot. Best to get their mind back to the thought of returning to shore.

Returning to his desk, Isaac took out a new sheet of parchment. Quickly, he began to write.

Day 64 of the voyage. We have come across a strange happening at sea. The water has turned like blood, and none working above seemed to have noticed it until it spread well past the horizon. Testing was deemed needed.

A knock came at the door. Arturo walked in, hands now gloved, holding a jar filled with the strange liquid. “Here Isaac. It doesn’t seem to be ill to the glass, at least.”

“Thank you, Arturo. What did you make of it?” Isaac replied.

“I don’t know. I’ve seen the sea turn red before, blood spilled from battles atop deck. In the water, and with the smoke and cannon fire above, it seemed like I had fallen to hell. But even then, I knew it was just water. This seems to be something else entirely. It gave me an uneasy feeling when I was near it. Like it … called to me.”

“Yes, well, I’ll take my time to examine it. Doubtless the length of this voyage is merely playing with our minds, making us anxious. I’m certain it’s nothing to worry about. You may resume your duties. And Arturo, do not call me by name while on duty.”

“Yes sir.” Arturo left, leaving Isaac with the jar. Unscrewing the cap, he tilted the liquid around. It seemed thicker outside, but in a small jar, it seemed much more similar to water, if still somewhat thicker. Taking a sniff, he smelled nothing. Carefully, Isaac let a few drops touch his desk, his parchment, and his hat. No reaction. Slowly, he lowered a finger into the jar, letting the liquid touch the very tip before quickly retreating it. Though he felt nothing wrong, the skin on his finger was now red, as though done with paint. It seemed dry already as well, and Isaac couldn’t rub it off. He brought the jar to his lips, and brought his tongue out to taste it, but immediately recoiled. Bitter.

Putting the jar aside and screwing the cap back on, Isaac returned to his parchment, taking a swig from his canteen before continuing his notes, ignoring the frantic movement and shouting coming from above. His crewmen were as noisy as ever.

The liquid is unlike the ocean water expected to be sailed in. It is thick and bitter, and has painted the skin when touched, drying near instantaneously. It has painted my skin as well.

Another knock came at the door. “Captain!” The bosun called, pounding at the door without a moment to spare.

Isaac rubbed his head. He hated when his notes were interrupted. “Bosun, I’m busy. I have the utmost confidence you can take care of the issue.”

“Land, captain! Land!”

Already? Isaac thought. It was pretty good timing to be sure. “I shall be out in a moment, bosun.” Perhaps something on this island can explain this strange liquid.

“Captain!” The door was kicked in, and Arturo fell in on his knees.

“Bosun, what the hell are you doing?” In all the long years Isaac had known Arturo, he was never prone to such panic.

“We can’t control the ship! We’re heading straight to the rocks, we’re going to collide! Brace yourself!”