The streets of the city were a whirlwind of life, an organized chaos where the market sounds mixed with the shouts of merchants and the laughter of travelers. Mero, aware of the importance of the mission ahead, followed his master Antonin with heightened vigilance. Every street corner, every face he passed, could hide a threat, an opportunity, or a false lead. The narrow alleys, lined with shops bearing colorful signs, formed a labyrinth where stalls overflowed with exotic goods. Garments embroidered with gold, brightly colored spices, high-quality weapons, and rare pearls were spread out before them. Unknown fruits, fabrics with fascinating patterns, and statues carved from strange woods... all created a kaleidoscope of colors, scents, and sounds. But beyond this bustle, something in the air seemed heavy with tension.
Master Antonin moved quickly, his eyes scanning the surroundings with an almost obsessive attention. His gestures were precise, measured, as though he were walking on a tightrope above a precipice. Mero followed, his gaze constantly shifting, analyzing every movement, every presence. The heat was oppressive, and the air vibrated under the weight of the sun, heavy with promises and invisible threats. The smells of the sea and spices mingled, invading his nostrils with every step. The colors of the stalls, from the vibrant fabrics to the improbably colored tropical fruits, overwhelmed him with dizziness. But he couldn't shake the heavy feeling that something was off.
They passed by shops with doors flapping in the wind, the merchants' calls blending with the laughter of travelers. A man with dark skin, almost glistening with sweat, was trying to sell oriental silks, his eyes gleaming with a mischief Mero couldn't define. Further on, a group of corsairs, their skin tattooed with strange symbols, were engaged in animated conversation around a barrel. Their voices rumbled like distant thunder. But despite the lively atmosphere, a persistent unease lingered. Mero felt a pressure on his chest, a strange sensation he couldn't pinpoint.
Then, finally, they stopped in front of a massive building. A sense of gravity overtook Mero. The building was imposing, a structure of massive stones, with walls adorned with ancient carvings. It seemed to have been carved from the mountain itself, both majestic and impenetrable. The doors were guarded by colossuses—men so tall they seemed almost unreal. The Grosbill. Giants from the center of the Loriwirian continent, whose origins remained a mystery. Their size wasn't merely imposing; it seemed to be a manifestation of their power. Most of them were nearly 2.5 meters tall, with muscular builds that almost looked caricatural, resembling living statues. Mero couldn't help but shiver as he watched them. They stood there, motionless, like frozen sentinels, each carrying colossal weapons that seemed as natural as their arms.
"These are Grosbill," Antonin explained in an almost solemn tone. "A tribe from the central Loriwirian continent, still largely unknown. Their territory has not been explored yet. But their presence here... it means this place is of vital importance. These men are as rare outside their domain as they are valuable."
Mero didn't have time to respond, his eyes fixed on the giants, his thoughts swirling. In the back of his mind, a warning sounded: these men aren't here by accident. They were here to protect, but who or what were they protecting exactly?
The line in front of the building was long. People pressed forward, eager to enter. Merchants from all corners, corsairs with striking tattoos, scholars dressed in long black robes—everyone stood there, in a wait that seemed endless. The constant murmur of conversations, the steps of soldiers moving silently, the heavy atmosphere of the place—all contributed to a palpable sense of gravity.
Mero scanned the assembly, analyzing each individual, every movement. And that's when he saw something that made his heart beat faster. In a corner of the grand door, a man was leaning against a stone pillar. His gaze was hidden beneath a hood, but it wasn't that which caught Mero's attention. It was the tattoo on his left wrist. A serpent. A serpent coiled around his arm, slithering like a sinister creature. Mandarine's message returned to his mind, raw and terrifying. This man could be an enemy. But what to do? He was just a spectator in this place, a mere visitor.
"This man... he's here for a reason," Mero murmured to Antonin, although he knew his master had probably already noticed.
Antonin briefly turned his head, his face impassive. He said nothing. One couldn't show weakness. Focus was needed. In a barely audible whisper, he added:
"Don't worry. The Grosbill are here to protect us. They won't allow anyone to cause trouble at the entrance of this building. We're safe here."
Mero hesitated for a moment, then resigned himself to concentrate on the task at hand. He couldn't afford to give in to fear, not now.
Little by little, the line moved forward. People fidgeted, some whispering about the deals they were about to make, others discussing the prices of the latest traded goods. The bursts of voices, the sound of footsteps echoed against the stone walls. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, they passed through the door of the building.
Inside, Mero suddenly felt engulfed by a different atmosphere, a coldness almost abstract, as though the place was devoid of any human warmth. High vaulted ceilings, columns of polished white marble supporting gigantic arches. The space was both open and imposing, its walls adorned with elegant carvings and frescoes depicting the history of trade and the great powers of the continent. Employees in impeccable uniforms moved between marble counters, while heavily armed guards watched over everything.
But it wasn't just the appearance of the place that impressed Mero. It was the pressure, the significance of the transactions taking place here. Every gesture, every word seemed to carry considerable weight. The hotel clerk's gaze, cold and professional, left no room for emotion, as if this place were designed to be a domain of cold calculation.
Antonin confidently approached a counter reserved for large-scale transactions. There, an employee with austere features greeted them with an almost unsettling efficiency. His smile was as empty as the room they were in.
"How may I assist you, honorable client?"
"We've come to deposit a precious item under imperial protection," Antonin replied gravely.
They were led into a private room, far from the bustling counters. A room entirely made of marble, silent and almost unreal. The employee brought a secure chest, his face impassive as he waited for the transaction to take place. Antonin opened a small velvet pouch, and before Mero's eyes, a strange light escaped, reflections and glints mixing in the air. The precious stones, the treasure that Mandarine had left behind. Rubies, sapphires, emeralds… an incalculable fortune, a wealth Mero had never imagined. It would change everything, he knew. He now understood the significance of this deposit, the importance of securing this wealth.
The employee observed the stones, his hands steady without a tremble. He examined them one by one under a magnifying glass, then, in a neutral tone, he stated:
— A little over 2 million piastres, at the current rate.
The sum was colossal. But it only added to the weight of the moment. Master Antonin exchanged a look with Mero, a look heavy with meaning. This was not just about wealth. It was about power, security, and the future that was unfolding.
— We wish to make a secure deposit under the name of Mero, son of the House of Sel, said Antonin. A name that would formalize this alliance, this contract of wealth.
The words lingered in the heavy air of the room, and for Mero, everything seemed to slow down. This name, this title, now inscribed in the books of the Imperial Bank, would mark the beginning of a new era. But what future awaited him?
As they left the bank, the sense of danger had only intensified. Mero remained silent, absorbed in his thoughts, following his master through the crowd. The noise of the market, the vibrant colors of the stalls, all seemed suddenly very distant. He wondered if everything happening here was merely a step in a game he was just beginning to understand. But one thing was certain: what he held in his hands could change the game.
The man with the snake tattoo had disappeared.
Mero stopped for a moment, his eyes fixed on the cartography shop, before quietly remarking that this place might be useful for his studies. The humid air of the port mixed with the salty scent of the sea, and a light breeze blew, making the sails of the boats moor beside the quay rustle. Master Antonin slowly lifted his eyes from his map and nodded, his expression suddenly more serious, as if he were weighing the importance of the situation.
"Indeed, Mero," he said gravely, "such maps could enrich your knowledge of the seas, currents, and trade routes. They will not only be useful for understanding navigation but also for grasping the geopolitics of the regions we explore." His words sounded like a promise, a form of hidden benevolence behind a mask of rigor. Mero said nothing, absorbed in the prospect of exploring new lands and preparing for the discoveries of the unknown. The spirit of the explorer within him was slowly awakening, driven by the call of adventure.
They then advanced toward the merchant's shop. An old wooden building, worn by the years, but still solid, stood before them. The carved wooden door was ajar, letting out the smells of ink and old papers. As soon as they crossed the threshold, an old merchant, his skin as rough as leather, greeted them warmly, a smile tugging at the corner of his weathered face.
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
"My maps are the most accurate in the kingdom," he said, pointing to the carefully rolled scrolls and parchment stacked on wooden shelves. "If you're looking for information on currents, winds, or even secret passages, you'll find it all here."
Mero approached the shelves, his eyes shining with anticipation. The maps were beautiful, some of them exquisitely detailed. There was something for every taste: maritime maps of the southern seas, geometric drawings of distant archipelagos, routes traced with almost military precision. But his gaze fixed on something particular, a scroll that stuck out from the rest. It was an old map, its surface worn, the corners crumpled by time, but it seemed to hold knowledge that Mero had never encountered before. The other maps seemed modern, but this one was different, almost timeless.
He leaned over the map with intense concentration. It was an ancient map, probably older than anything he had seen before. It appeared to describe forgotten territories, lost islands, shores no one had ever dared approach. Mero didn't dare touch the scroll for fear of damaging it, but he felt the power of the knowledge contained in its lines, the same energy that radiated from the ancient maps he had studied in the imperial libraries.
Master Antonin noticed his young protégé's interest and slowly approached his side. The old merchant, who had not yet noticed their fascination, made a casual comment.
"That’s an old map, probably drawn by a fantasist," he said with a mocking smile. "It’s of no value, you know."
Master Antonin’s demeanor changed instantly. The look he gave the old merchant was cold and calculating. He seized the scroll and examined it with newfound attention, as if he recognized the true value of what the other had dismissed.
"Since it has no value," he said with an almost amused coldness, "I’ll take it to free up the space it occupies." The merchant shrugged, clearly taken aback by Master Antonin’s authority, and simply responded with a resigned murmur.
"Of course. If you wish, I’ll gladly leave it to you."
Mero, stunned, watched his master take possession of the map with relentless efficiency. The merchant no longer dared protest, as if an invisible force had rendered him speechless. Master Antonin unrolled the map and scrutinized it from every angle. Every movement of his fingers betrayed rare expertise. Mero slowly approached, fascinated by the precision of the lines and the richness of the details. This was not just a map; it was a fragment of history, a memory of the world, perhaps lost for centuries.
"This map," Master Antonin said finally in Selian, slowly folding the parchment to preserve its integrity, "is probably the work of an ancient explorer, a man who dared to navigate far beyond the limits of what we now consider possible. It contains secrets that could very well change our understanding of the world."
Master Antonin’s words resonated in Mero’s mind like a revelation. He now understood that this was not just a material acquisition, but the beginning of a greater adventure. A thrill of excitement ran down his spine, but he forced himself to stay calm. This was only the beginning. The journey ahead would be difficult, fraught with obstacles, and Mero knew they were on the threshold of something far grander than they could imagine.
They left the shop without saying another word to the merchant, leaving behind an old man who simply watched them leave, bewildered. The wind was blowing stronger now, and Mero felt a shiver in the air, a sense of anticipation urging him to continue.
Master Antonin and he walked in silence to the ship, each lost in their thoughts. Once aboard, they retreated to their usual spot on the deck, out of the curious eyes of the crew. There, they unrolled the map in the master’s cabin to keep it from being seen by prying eyes.
Master Antonin leaned over the map, his finger grazing the lines with a precision that betrayed deep knowledge of the sea. The contours of the islands were drawn with incredible finesse, and the waters, with their mysterious currents, seemed almost alive under his eyes.
"Look here," he said, pointing to a group of lost islands to the southeast, "these islands do not appear on any modern map. And this underwater abyss near them… It’s marked as being of abyssal depth, but if we follow the annotations, it seems these places are linked to strange phenomena. Winds that reverse direction, currents that vanish into abyssal holes. It’s as if the sea itself is trying to conceal these places."
Mero examined the map with newfound intensity. The islands seemed abandoned by any known world, cut off from civilization. Their contours seemed almost unreal, as though they belonged to another time. The nature of the map, its richness, its age, suggested it hadn’t been drawn by ordinary sailors but by an explorer who had crossed unknown frontiers.
"This area..." Master Antonin murmured, his finger grazing another spot with total concentration. "It matches an ancient sailor's legend from the north. They spoke of places where the sea seemed to defend itself against man, where giant sea creatures prevented any intrusion. There are details here that..."
He suddenly stopped, his gaze fixed intently on one particular passage. He raised his head, scanning the map from another angle, as if something had just eluded him.
"Mero," he said finally, his voice graver, "this map contains information that could lead us to a major discovery. If what we see here is true, there are unknown maritime territories where few ships dare to venture. Places where inexplicable storms and mythical creatures await the unwary."
A shiver ran down Mero’s body. He felt his heart race, torn between the excitement of the unknown and the fear of the dangers that awaited them. "And how will we know if these legends are true, master?" he asked, his voice a bit hoarse.
Master Antonin gave him an enigmatic smile, a smile that seemed deeper than just a wordplay. "We’ll have to go, but not just yet. You must finish your education first," he replied calmly.
Mero watched his master, his eyes shining with palpable excitement, as the latter carefully rolled up the map. It was rare to see Master Antonin in such a state, and this only added to the mystery surrounding the discovery of this artifact. The light dancing on the parchment seemed to reflect something far greater than anything they had imagined so far. There was a thrill of adventure, an irresistible call, but also a warning. The kind of call that one could not ignore, even if reason dictated otherwise.
"Go to your cabin, Mero," he said, his voice calm but authoritative, "your duties await. We still have work to do, and this map will lead us nowhere if we're not prepared."
Mero, though intoxicated by the whirlwind of emotions shaking his mind, bowed respectfully, following his master's orders. But as he turned, a part of him remained attached to that moment. He couldn't stop thinking about the unexplored horizons it promised, the lost lands and buried mysteries beyond the oceans. The excitement of the adventure wrapped itself around his thoughts like the rolls of the map, insidious and unchangeable.
His cabin suddenly seemed too small to contain his thoughts. As he passed through the wooden door of his room, he felt the ship's air against his skin, the salty breeze slipping through the partially open window. The waves struck the ship's hull with a tranquil regularity, almost hypnotic. Their sound was familiar, soothing, but that evening, they seemed distant, muffled by an inner whirlpool that continued to grow within him.
He sat at his desk, but his hands, usually so decisive, seemed to lose their way. He opened his books, scattering some Imperial manuals on the table. But the words danced before his eyes, blurring as his mind wandered. The map... it was already haunting him. He could almost see it, unfurled on the desk, like a case of forgotten secrets. His thoughts got lost in the unknown sea currents, in those islands with uncertain outlines and those abyssal chasms that seemed to defy all logic. What did these territories truly hold? Why had they been forgotten by everyone, and more importantly, why had they been marked on this map? Was it a warning or an invitation?
The waves, still, pounded the ship’s hull. The sea, so familiar yet so foreign, whispered promises of buried mysteries, of undiscovered treasures. His fingers brushed the surface of the paper, not knowing that they were already sketching imaginary maps in his mind. Each wave became a metaphor for what awaited him. Everything hidden behind the horizon, beyond those islands that had never seen the light of day. Was this his future destiny, that of an explorer who, unwittingly, would discover lands forgotten by time? And what would become of him, of his own fate, if one day he came to understand the secrets this map held?
He shook his head, as if to dismiss these grandiose thoughts. He had to focus on his duties, after all. It was part of his education, his learning, his preparation for what could very well be his future. He opened his manual again on marine currents and tried to dive into the complexity of oceanic phenomena, but the words eluded him, dissolving into the mists of his distracted mind. He could no longer grasp the meaning of what he was reading. The scientific terms seemed to mix, to distort, as if the sea itself wanted to swallow them.
Once again, his eyes drifted toward the door of his cabin, almost reflexively. He expected Master Antonin to enter at any moment, to call him, to tell him that the time had come. That the expedition had been decided, that the ship was preparing to set off in search of the unknown. A part of him, still too young, was waiting for that signal, that confirmation that his life would finally take a turn, that the long-dreamed adventure would materialize. But he knew, deep in his mind, that it was not yet the time.
He sighed, a long sigh that seemed to expel all the agitation within him. If he were to be honest with himself, he would have liked to be called instead. But it was not yet his turn. The map, though it occupied all his thoughts, would have to wait. His priority remained to be a good student, to master what was expected of him. This expedition was not yet for him, and everything else was but fantasy. Reality imposed its own laws.
He took his pen, dipped it in ink, and began to scribble a few calculations on the currents. The words slowly returned. The sea was vast, too vast, but it obeyed principles, rules that, once understood, allowed one to master it. Perhaps one day it would be his turn to apply that mastery, to step into the great dance of waves and winds, where the unknown stood, impenetrable and irresistible.
Hours passed without him even realizing it. Twilight had settled over the sea, the light fading as the sun set. A strange tranquility reigned over the ship, and Mero's mind began to calm little by little. He was no longer obsessed with the map, nor with the call of adventure. The waves, the wind, and the sea, so close yet so far at the same time, had soothed him. He still had time. The moment would come. The horizon was not yet within reach, but he knew it was drawing near.
He finally stood up, walked to the window, and looked out at the distance. The sky was tinged with shades of orange and pink, while the sea, calm and majestic, seemed to stretch infinitely before him. The wind blew through his hair, bringing with it the salty scent of the ocean. And somewhere out there, beneath the waves, lay the truth this map seemed to promise. Perhaps he would never be the one to discover it, but deep down, he knew his name would be etched in the history of this expedition. Maybe not now, but someday. And when that day came, it would be his turn to face the unknown, to open the doors to adventure, and to uncover what the sea, both merciless and beautiful, had most mysteriously to offer.
He turned around and closed his eyes for a moment. He had no doubt left. He would go. One day.