The wind suddenly died down, plunging the ship into an oppressive, almost unreal silence. The ocean, once tumultuous, had frozen like an immense sheet of still oil, shimmering under a sky heavy with gray clouds. Each glimmer of light on the water seemed a bitter irony, a silent provocation against the ship’s forced immobility. The captain tightened his grip on the railing, his jaw clenched, scanning the horizon as if to pierce the origin of this strange truce.

Mero, standing by his side, felt a latent frustration. This calm, far from offering a welcome respite, weighed on the spirits like an impending threat. The absence of wind rendered the sails useless, leaving the ship at the mercy of the slow drift of invisible currents.

Master Antonin, the old navigator with salt-and-pepper beard, broke the silence. "This is where true sailors reveal themselves," he said in a deep but calm voice. "When the sea goes silent, it hasn't finished speaking. You just have to know how to listen."

The captain calmly ordered the crew to check the rigging and tighten the sails in preparation for the slightest breeze. The sailors, accustomed to these maritime whims, sprang into action with an almost ritualistic method. Every gesture seemed precise, dictated by long experience with the fickle moods of the Garabol Strait.

Mero, attentive, observed the subtle clues the sea offered: a faint ripple on the water's surface, birds flying low as if desperately seeking shelter. The memory of Master Antonin’s lessons echoed in his mind — understanding the ocean's silence was as crucial as taming its fury.

The silence stretched, almost suffocating. The ship barely drifted, trapped in this calm and indifferent expanse. The sailors murmured among themselves, some glancing toward the sky heavy with low clouds. Mero then understood the true lesson of the strait: it wasn't just the rage of the waves that tested sailors, but also these empty moments where inaction became torture.

Tension grew as the hours dragged on without the slightest change. Then, suddenly, a shiver swept through the air. A light gust broke the silence, making the limp sails snap. The captain lifted his head, his sharp gaze fixed on the south.

"Wind, finally!" a sailor murmured with relief.

But Master Antonin frowned. "Not just any wind," he muttered to Mero. "It's a southern wind. And it never comes alone."

As if to confirm his words, the wind intensified rapidly, swelling the sails with unexpected violence. Silence gave way to a deafening roar. The clouds gathered above the ship, darkening the sky to a threatening hue.

"Storm approaching!" the captain shouted.

The sailors rushed across the deck, adjusting the sails and reinforcing the rigging under the captain’s precise orders. The ship, docile until now, began to sway under the assault of growing waves.

The first waves crashed against the hull, sending icy sprays across the deck. The wind howled, turning every taut rope into a shrill vocal cord. Mero felt his heart race, but he refused to give in to panic.

Master Antonin placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "Watch, Mero. Every movement of the ship must follow the storm's dance. If you fight it, it'll crush you."

The young man nodded, his eyes fixed on the sails flapping furiously. The captain barked orders, his voice barely audible over the din.

"Reduce the sails! Prepare to furl them!"

The sailors obeyed with almost supernatural precision, climbing the rigging despite the violent pitch. One of them briefly lost his footing but caught hold of a taut rope just in time.

The sea rose in a colossal swell, lifting the ship toward the sky before plunging it into a vertiginous trough. Mero's stomach churned as the hull struck the water with a deafening crash. Every crew member fought to stay upright, clinging to any available handhold.

The wind swirled around them, capricious and brutal. The rain, fine at first, turned into stinging projectiles lashing their faces. Mero squinted, trying to discern the now-invisible horizon.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

"Hold on, boy!" Master Antonin shouted.

A colossal wave loomed ahead, towering like a fortress. The ship plunged into it, almost entirely swallowed by a mass of foaming water. Mero held his breath, his fingers whitening from gripping the railing so tightly.

The hull groaned under the strain but held firm. The captain, unshaken, kept a steady grip on the helm, his eyes fixed on an invisible point in the turmoil.

Lightning tore through the sky in a pale, menacing light, revealing in flashes the furious immensity of the ocean. Each thunderclap seemed to shatter the ship, vibrating through the bones of those on board. The wind howled like an enraged spirit, whipping through the sails with excessive force as monstrous waves pounded the hull, making it groan under repeated assaults.

Mero, hands gripping a slippery railing, struggled to keep his balance. The icy water lashed his face, blurring his already impaired vision. Near him, Master Antonin stood firmly, his piercing gaze fixed on the raging horizon.

"A storm of great magnitude!" Antonin shouted to be heard above the deafening din. "Stay focused, Mero! Every decision matters here!"

The captain, unfazed by the chaos, gave orders in a strong and authoritative voice. "Adjust the sails! Strengthen the rigging! Maintain the course, no matter what!"

The seasoned sailors, unified and determined, moved with relentless effort. They climbed the masts with death-defying agility, their calloused hands gripping the storm-beaten ropes. One almost lost his footing when a titanic wave crashed against the bow, but a comrade caught him just in time.

"Hold on, Jonas!" shouted a sailor as he expertly tied a knot.

The sea had become a merciless arena where men and nature clashed without respite. Each wave seemed determined to engulf the ship, but the captain held firm, battling the elements with impressive mastery.

Mero's heart raced, each second transforming into a test of survival. He recalled Master Antonin's lessons, but no theory could truly prepare a man to face such fury. The ocean was not a mere adversary; it was a living, colossal, and indomitable entity.

Lightning struck the sea all around, streaking the darkness with an almost supernatural white light. The night seemed endless, each minute stretched by the constant effort to keep the ship afloat. The wood creaked under the pressure, ropes snapped like whips, and icy water seeped everywhere, relentless and merciless.

"Captain!" a sailor shouted from the mainmast. "A breach on starboard!"

The captain nodded without panic. "Repair team! Jonas, Lucas, it's your turn!"

The men rushed with fierce determination, armed with planks and pitch. Mero watched with admiration. These sailors seemed made of steel, immune to fear. Yet he himself felt panic simmering beneath the surface.

Master Antonin placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "Watch and learn, Mero. The sea forges men as fire forges metal."

The hours stretched on, indifferent to the exhaustion of their bodies. But gradually, the storm's violence seemed to wane. The wind still howled, but its fury became less chaotic. The lightning receded, leaving behind a dense darkness, pierced only by the flickering glow of lanterns on board.

Then, suddenly, something completely unexpected happened.

A white flake swirled in the air, carried by the weakened wind. Then another. And another. Snow.

"Is it snowing?" a sailor murmured, incredulous. "By all the gods, it's snowing!"

Mero's eyes widened in surprise. It was the first time he had ever seen snow. Having grown up in tropical regions, he had never had the chance to witness this phenomenon. He stood frozen for a moment, watching the flakes dance around him, mesmerized.

The men, tired but awestruck, raised their eyes to the sky. The flakes descended gently, like a strange blessing after the storm's violence. The contrast was striking: the still-agitated ocean was now dotted with these small white crystals floating gracefully.

Mero held out his hand, catching a flake on his palm. The biting cold reminded him it wasn't an illusion. It was real snow, here, in the middle of the sea.

Master Antonin, his brow furrowed, observed the unexpected phenomenon. "This isn't normal," he said gravely. "The sea has its mysteries, but snow at this latitude... that's unusual."

The captain still stood at the helm, his gaze wary. "Be ready for anything. The sea never gives gifts without a hidden agenda."

Despite the strangeness of the situation, the crew seemed relieved. The snow, though cold, brought a kind of serenity. The sailors, tense from the battle against the storm, finally breathed a little easier.

"A fine way for the sea to ask for forgiveness," Jonas joked, shaking the snow from his shoulders.

Mero couldn't help but smile. This scene had something almost magical, even though the reality of navigation remained harsh and unpredictable. The flakes continued to fall, covering the deck with a fine white layer.

"Mero," called Master Antonin, "take this moment to observe. Every detail counts. The sea, even calmed, remains a capricious mistress."

Mero nodded, his gaze lost in this strange spectacle. He was fascinated by this first encounter with snow. It was cold, yes, but also beautiful, almost surreal. He wondered whether this phenomenon truly marked the end of the storm or was merely a brief respite before a new trial.

But for now, the snow fell gently, transforming the ship into an almost enchanting landscape. The flakes danced in the flickering lantern light, and the air, though icy, seemed charged with a silent promise.

The sea had shown its teeth, but it also knew how to surprise with its unpredictable beauty. And Mero, standing on that snowy deck, understood that every storm, every moment spent on the ocean, brought him closer to what he aspired to become:

a true sailor, capable of reading and respecting the capricious moods of the mighty waters.