“The storm came out of nowhere sir.” The chief meteorologist squirmed in his chair.

Captain Faelivrin Stormwatcher stands stoic with his long white hair pulled back in a long tail down his back. His shoulders are broad for an elf. His clean-shaven chin is broad. He looks up through ballistic glass as the mammoth clouds overtake the stars. Already rain pelts down. Lightning flashes in a blinding array.

“Wind speed?” Faelivrin inquires, his gaze fixed on the chief meteorologist.

Anxiety etched on his face; the meteorologist glanced back down at his screen. It is already up to seventy knots, sir, and increasing rapidly. Sir, we are looking at over a hundred knots within the hour.”

Faelivrin’s features remain unchanged as he surveys the scene from the glass dome above the towers. Waves build like mountains on the dark sea. Already he can feel the rumbles of the first waves crashing against the walls of Terre Goth. The floor shudders under his feet. Soon the citizens will begin to panic. The sound of wind and rain beating on the dome is deafening. He has to raise his voice to speak. “Lower the drogue stones.”

The great ship lurches to one side causing devices to clatter to the floor. He can see the stress etching wrinkles on the crew's faces. Faelivrin widens his stance but does not lose his balance, his elven senses are quick at hand.

The captain straightens his spine and commands his crew with confidence and competence. His face displays his years of experience as he barks out commands in quick succession over the roar. Branches of lighting began to stretch tighter to the towers of Terre Goth. The great barge began to sway. Faelivrin began to imagine the car wrecks and hoped the helicopters had the foresight to land.

He chews his lip foreseeing the outrage of the media over every calamity of the night. He is invisible to the people below until something goes wrong. He is expected to be a god over men. He should have harnessed the storm and rode it into submission. He ponders the idea that negligence on his part could be blamed for the impending disaster, allowing the narrative to play in his head.

However, he knows he needs to focus to make his best moves in the situation. He is far too old to be concerned with how Gothians perceive him. He would sleep on a clear conscious knowing he had given his all at the helm.

A swell rises to threaten his determination. High as the horizon the black wave appears in the flashes. Faelivrin braces himself as he commands the rudders under the barge and the motors to fire up or die down. His crew becomes an extension of his fingers. Each member leans forward over their pads, pressing buttons precisely at the moment they are commanded. Their eyes are fixed their nerves are linked to his mind. Together they steer the vessel through the most vicious storm ever recorded on Terre Goth.

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Collectively all relax at a calm in the storm. Faelivrin straightens and shoves down his discomfort in a blink. He forces himself not to look down through the dome glass at the city below. He does not want to survey the damage done. Not yet.

He forces himself to look up instead. Already he can see the new storm wall rolling in against the stars. He considers altering course toward the south to attempt to skirt the edges of the storm, but he wonders if the high wind will only cause greater damage. He is considering the options as his eyes fix on an irregular movement in the stars to the west.

A member of his crew calls out to him for instruction, but Fealvirin’s mind is caught in a web. It can’t be. He watches the flicker of black against the stars. Lightning flashes against the form thrusting through the sky. He shakes his head refusing to allow his imagination to drag his mind along.

Another flash of bright white light and the stoic collected captain loses his tight reins on his composure. A gasp escapes his throat. Already he startles his crew so conformed to his steadfast nature. All eyes are now glued in the direction the captain watches.

Another flash sparkles across black scales and broad leathery wings. Captain Faelivrin stumbles backward and then turns to the door leading down the steps to the tower. His brow is covered in sweat. He swallows. The ship lurches again. He spins and grabs the railing then tosses himself down the stairs at a desperate sprint.

XO Galadriel charges after him.

“Captain Stormchaser has left the bridge.” The officer on deck calls out. “The XO has left the deck.” He calls out shortly after. Galadriel can hear him taking command of the ship as she takes the stairs two at a time.

She chases the captain down the hall and turns in time to catch the door slamming behind him. She steps into his Quarters. He is hunched and heaving over the bar at the far end of the room. “Captain,” She leads nervously. “Is there something I need to know?”

He pours dark liquor into a glass and drinks it down then slaps the glass down on the mahogany counter. He unclasps the buttons nearest his neck and looks at himself in the mirror. He is old for an elf and can see the smile lines near his eyes. He looks shaken to Galadriel and this revelation unsettles her in a way she has never known. He clears his throat and pulls at his undershirt drawing it away from his throat.

Galadriel steps forward tentatively on his plush red carpet. She places a hand on his shoulder and swears she can feel his heart beating through his suit. “Tell me.”

He pours out another glass and pauses looking himself in the mirror a moment before swallowing it down. “Do you believe in prophecy?”

She steps back a step with a snort. He makes eye contact with her in the mirror. His eyes are desperate. “I don’t think so.” She answers cautiously.

He laughs and his eyes are ringed in redness, “neither did I until tonight.”