Medea watched the lighthouse's beacon in the horizon. She extended her left hand and clenched her fist as if she was holding the continent she was about to disembark on. All of this would belong her she promised herself. The sea's silent waves soothed her, a mistral caressing her crimson toga. In gloom's soundless darkness, she could distinguish the sirens' faint calls meant to enchant the living world. Stalking ships during storms, they drowned and skinned their victims, donning the skins over their hideous reptilian form. She recalls dissecting one of these fiends, stripping it of its tanned human skin, exposing its ashen rough scales. No amount of stolen human beauty could compensate for their elongated luminescent eyes and their moray eel's jaws. Upon lifting their razor claws, she could see dead human skin lurking beneath the repulsive nails. The predators would approach her, flashing their amber irises, before being repelled by her equally menacing leer, their mermaid tails splashing the pitch black sea.
A bright azure comet was tearing the starless sky above her head, its light reflecting in her emerald eyes. Her ship prowled the obscure sea towards its destination, trailing the cosmic entity. Sailors rejoiced at this message from the unreachable heavens. A golden phoenix with its wings deployed, the emblem of the Medean Empire, was emblazoned on the massive quinquereme's sail. A pair of painted gharial eyes decorated each side of the bow in honor of Ghabek, the deity of rivers. On the deck, marines issued orders to the oarsmen to slow their pace. Two rows of colossal oars propelled the wooden structure. Five men manned each oar. Slaves and thieves were assigned to this volatile position; service in the imperial army being the fastest and most perilous way out of their imprisonment. A boarding bridge was retracted in the middle of the ship, the siege engineers eagerly yearning for a naval battle. "Be careful what you wish for. The Cachalots are not easy prey at sea," she muttered. Their enemy has bested the Empire before at sea decades ago. She noticed the mages scurrying towards the furnace flickering next to her, awaiting her orders.
Ordogan joined her, his hands clutching his stomach. Tumbling, he barfed over the handrail, hammered by seasickness. In the steps of their blood brother, his Molochian retainers moved to the deck to relieve themselves. The Molochian nomads never ventured at sea, preferring the vast steppe ocean. Water is the sole battlefield their renowned horse archers couldn't dominate. However, Ordogan had convinced them to join her on this voyage, a feat she commended him for. She and the mages exchanged a laugh seeing Ordogan purge his stomach. She said mockingly: "Ordogan, the Lion of the East, does not tremble before the mighty Elysian Empire but is helpless before the waves." The half Molochian general cursed the boat, unable to stand up, before breathing a sigh of relief upon seeing the lighthouse.
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She looked at her silver medallion, a war trophy depicting a headless gorgon. Dried blood stained the pendant's underside, a testament to its tragic retrieval. It was looted from the treasury of a rival empire. Her brother, Emperor Ralens II, handed it to her as she boarded the vessel. "You'll bring back my friend won't you," he inquired as they locked shoulders. She missed his blind eyes and his loving embrace. He was waving the wrong way as the galley departed the imperial capital's dockyards, the palace guards correcting his stance at the last minute. He was cheerful as he strained himself to raise his broken legs from his wheelchair. A rival empire once ridiculed him as "Ralens the Weak" and lived to regret their slight. He was the Empire's harbinger of hope among the world of violence they had inherited.
None of her predecessors have made it this far she thought. Nearly 60 years ago, treachery thwarted an imperial attempt at reclaiming these lands from the Cachalots. The imperial senate remembered this mortifying disaster. They had wept at the total loss of the armada, the ensuing explosion of piracy in the Northern Sea and the demise of Emperor Melshar. They would have vetoed this plan if it weren't for the Cachalots' cruel imprisonment of her dear friend. The senators were astonished at Ralens II's volcanic outrage over the Cachalots' actions. He implored the captors to release his friend but to no avail. They replied to his letters with malice and spurns, goading the young ruler. "Let us see you crawl to our holy lands with your legless skeleton," the Cachalots wrote unashamed. They believed the infirm emperor was bound to his crippled body. The sickly boy wouldn't lift a finger against their realm, protected by their corsair navy. Hence, in his stead, she left for the Cachalots' Barbarian Kingdom. She swore to the senate that she would not fail for hers and her brother's sake.
"Keep cool and you will command everyone," she reminded herself as the landing began. She gestured at the mages. Chemicals were thrown onto the furnace, dyeing the flame in a jade color. Next, the marines beat drums, shattering the night's quietude. Commands were issued in the dark firmament. The 92 dromons and 500 transport ships followed suit, all mimicking the lead ship and converged on the port of Braxas, the viridescent armada waking the city from its slumber.