Mero, feeling the ground shift beneath his feet, was gripped by a growing sense of unease. He instinctively straightened up, his gaze scanning the horizon where dark clouds seemed ready to swallow the sea. Antonin, his tutor, stood beside him, his face marked by a slight frown betraying his own discomfort.
"It looks like a storm is brewing," murmured Antonin calmly, though the faint crease of his brow revealed his unease. "Mero, I advise you to head to the protected quarters. The sea can be treacherous."
The tutor turned to the ship's captain, who was hurrying across the deck, issuing orders to his crew to prepare the ship for the storm. "Better safe than sorry," he added, his voice a little firmer. "If you would, follow me."
Mero nodded but hesitated, observing the scene around him. The crew was already bustling, hoisting sails and checking the rigging. The sailors were not frightened, but the danger was palpable. They all knew this storm could be fierce.
"Yes, Master," Mero replied, but his gaze once again turned to the churning sea. This was his first real storm at sea, and although he felt somewhat reassured by Antonin's presence, a small voice in the back of his mind wondered if the ship was sturdy enough to withstand the ocean's fury.
As he prepared to follow his tutor, he sensed a familiar presence nearby. His nurse, though bound by etiquette not to express her emotions directly, stood close. She said nothing, but her eyes gleamed with a protective light—a silent promise to watch over him, no matter what.
"Mero," she said softly but loud enough to be heard over the growing tumult, "I will accompany you. You are not alone."
"I know," Mero replied calmly, seeking to reassure her as much as himself. "Thank you."
They headed toward the protected cabin, but before reaching it, Mero cast one last glance at the deck. The waves were rising, battering the ship, and the sky grew increasingly ominous. Sailors clustered around the helm, their expertise evident in their handling of the storm. Mero, however, moved away, weaving through the ship's narrow passages. The cabin's warmth engulfed him as soon as he entered, providing immediate relief, though the wind still howled outside. The creaking of wood strained by the storm mingled with the crashing waves.
"I'll prepare some remedies for seasickness," said the nurse, a note of calm in her voice as she organized her space. Still, Mero felt his own apprehension growing. He wasn't sure what was happening outside, but one thing was certain: this storm would not be easy to face.
The storm raged with relentless violence, shaking the ship from all sides. Objects that hadn't been securely fastened slid back and forth, tossed by the boat's abrupt movements. The crashing waves against the hull echoed ominously, amplifying the tension on board. His nurse, usually so stoic, was visibly affected by seasickness. Her pale face and closed eyes betrayed her growing discomfort.
Mero's heart raced as he saw his nurse, Leila, pale and clinging to the wooden table to stay upright. The ship's violent jolts and the noise of waves crashing against the hull heightened the tension.
What to do? Mero had studied basic care, but he'd never faced a situation like this. He looked around, desperately searching for someone to help.
"Leila..." he called softly, but his voice was drowned out by the storm. He hurried to her side, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Stay calm. I'll get help."
He barely had time to finish his sentence before another jolt rocked the ship, making Mero stumble. He straightened up immediately, feeling panic rise in his throat. No, he had to stay calm—for her. He forced himself to take a deep breath before turning toward the door.
"I'll be back soon," he said, trying to sound reassuring, though he himself felt far from reassured.
In the ship's dark corridors, everything swayed. Mero had to hold onto the walls to avoid being thrown to the floor. Every step was a struggle, and the air grew heavier with each tremor. He had to find someone, anyone who could help.
When he reached the deck, he spotted a familiar figure—a tall, robust sailor struggling to maintain his balance while watching the raging waves.
"Sir!" Mero shouted, nearly slipping on the soaked wood as he approached.
The sailor turned, his eyes wide from the storm's fury. "Mero! What are you doing here? You should be inside!"
"My nurse... she's sick. Seasick," Mero explained hastily. "I... I don't know what to do. Can you help?"
The sailor shrugged, but his expression grew serious as he grasped the situation. "Right now, there's not much we can do except keep her safe from the jolts. Seasickness is usually a matter of time. But I can give you some herbs to soothe the stomach."
He bent down to grab a small pouch tied to his belt, containing several dried roots and plants, then handed a handful of herbs to Mero. "Steep this in hot water and have her drink it. It'll help a bit."
"Thank you," Mero replied, his voice trembling with gratitude and relief.
The sailor nodded. "Don't forget to stay sheltered. The storm might get worse."
Mero turned on his heels, clutching the herbs tightly to his chest. He hurried back inside the ship, making his way to Leila's cabin.
When he arrived, he found her hunched forward, hands on her stomach, looking even more ill. Her eyes lifted, and she tried to smile, but it only made her paler.
"Leila," Mero began as calmly as possible, hastily preparing the infusion, "I found some herbs for you. They should help."
He did his best to reassure her, though he couldn't ignore the growing anxiety gnawing at him.
He searched for a container, added hot water, and when he handed the infusion to Leila, he noticed his hands trembling, his gaze increasingly worried.
"Drink this slowly. It'll help."
She nodded weakly and took a small sip. The taste was bitter, but she didn't complain, drinking slowly nonetheless.
Mero sat beside her, silent, his eyes fixed on the liquid as it gradually lightened while Leila seemed to relax slightly. He waited, quiet, each jolt of the ship prolonging the weight of the moment.
Then Mero lay down on his bed, closing his eyes to try to relax. The storm's noise was deafening, but strangely, he felt a certain comfort in the tumult. The ship rocked and swayed, but the sensation of being tossed from side to side brought him a peculiar solace, as if the sea's very motion lulled him to sleep.
The sound of waves crashing against the hull, the distant cries of howling winds, and the snapping of sails all created a sort of chaotic melody. Every jolt of the ship felt like a nudge from fate, oddly rocking him into a restless yet comforting sleep.
Half-closed eyes, Mero let himself be carried away by the fury of the sea, forgetting the world around him for a moment. He had no thoughts—only the swell of the waves and a strange sense of peace amidst the turmoil. Outside, the ship battled the storm, but inside the cabin, all was calm—or almost.
The whistling of the wind grew louder, but as the minutes passed, the ship’s violent shaking seemed to subside slightly. The water, though still agitated, no longer struck the hull with the same ferocity. The storm continued to roar in the distance, but Mero felt enveloped in a cocoon of safety, as if the chaos of the outside world held no sway over him.
He quickly realized he had nothing to do but wait. Wait for the storm to pass, wait for Leila to rest, and wait to see what the next day would bring. But in this waiting, there was a certain tranquility—a moment of respite.
Mero's sleep was light and fragmented, but eventually, exhaustion overcame him, and he drifted off, rocked by the ship’s movements and the storm’s howl tearing through the air. His dreams were hazy, a mix of faces and places, much like the sea swallowing up every thought.
Morning came slowly, as if the outside world had become a blurry silhouette. Daylight gently filtered into the cabin through small windows, bringing a sense of calm after the night’s violence.
The ship still rocked, but less violently than before. Mero opened his eyes, and after a few moments of hesitation, he rose slowly, feeling a slight headache from the previous night’s storm.
The ship's noises were gentler now; the sails were calmer, and the air more stable. He glanced at Leila, who lay asleep in the bed beside him, her breathing steady but marked by the night’s fatigue.
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Everything seemed quieter. The storm had ceased its fury.
Mero carefully got up and made his way to the cabin door. As he opened it, he was immediately greeted by the fresh morning air, less heavy with moisture and salt than the day before. He spotted the horizon through the ship's edges. The waves still rolled but seemed less threatening.
He turned inward, hoping to spot his tutor or someone from the crew to learn where they stood.
Mero slowly climbed the stairs leading to the deck, his steps cautious due to the ship's slight instability. The crisp morning air whipped his face, a welcome contrast to the cabin's stifling heat. The sea stretched before him, calm yet imposing, its hollow, powerful waves rolling endlessly.
For a moment, he let himself be captivated by the landscape’s beauty. The horizon seemed to stretch infinitely, a sea of azure bordered by a sky almost too bright to be real. But then, his attention was drawn to the bustling sailors around him.
The sailors, whether seasoned seamen or young deckhands, moved with an almost mechanical efficiency. Each knew exactly what to do; every movement was measured, every order executed without hesitation. Even the young boys in training carried out commands swiftly, earning Mero's respect. No sluggishness, no disorder—discipline ruled here with an authority that imposed silence.
Mero felt both fascinated and intimidated by this discipline. These men, whom he barely knew, embodied an order he had never seen before. It seemed natural to them, but to him, it was a mountain to climb. One day, he would have to be like them: diligent, focused, unquestioningly obedient to rules and authority. This discipline was part of the world he would have to face, and he knew he had no choice. To survive in the Empire, to endure the Imperial School of Mor, he would have to submit to it.
He observed a deckhand who, after coiling ropes on the side of the deck, turned and waited patiently for the next instructions. The adolescent didn't even seem out of breath, his gaze fixed calmly ahead, as steady and unyielding as the ocean itself.
Mero took a deep breath, his gaze lost on the horizon. He promised himself that he would master this discipline, learn it, and live it as second nature. If the Empire demanded it, he would succeed. He had no choice.
Descending from the deck, Mero headed toward the kitchens. The fresh, invigorating air he had just experienced was replaced by a stifling heat as he ventured deeper into the ship's bowels. The corridors were narrow, the wooden walls occasionally creaking under the sea's pressure, and the dim light of oil lamps cast flickering shadows on passersby.
The kitchens, located at the ship's center, were already bustling. Pots were boiling, and spicy, salty aromas filled the air. Cooks bustled around large wooden tables, chopping, mixing, and keeping an eye on various simmering dishes. The commotion, though hurried, seemed controlled and organized—another form of discipline Mero was beginning to get used to.
He spotted a dish in preparation, a kind of stew that emitted an appetizing smell. A tall cook with calloused hands smiled as Mero approached.
"Looking for something to eat, Your Highness?" he asked while continuing to stir the contents of a large cast-iron pot.
The cook’s tone was respectful but without excess, as if Mero was just another person on the ship. The boy felt both a bit embarrassed and somewhat relieved not to be treated like a royal child here, far from court life.
"I... I’d like some bread and meat, if possible. And water, please."
The cook nodded and turned to another crew member, a young man slicing bread. Mero sat on a stool near a wooden table, observing the comings and goings of the cooks. He had never seen such a bustling atmosphere. It reminded him a bit of the hustle and bustle of his own palace, but here everything was more straightforward and brutal—no frills, no ceremonies.
A moment later, his plate was brought to him. A generous portion of meat, accompanied by vegetables and fresh bread. The water, in a large pitcher, steamed slightly from the kitchen’s heat.
He took a first bite, savoring the simplicity and warmth of the food. He wasn’t used to such frugal meals, but he quickly realized that on this journey, every moment, every decision, was a preparation for the future.
He forced himself to eat slowly, aware that this meal would be one of the rare pleasures of the day before plunging back into the lessons that awaited him.
Mero, with a piece of bread still in hand, slowly turned his head toward the cook, who was busy preparing another dish. He hesitated for a moment, then, letting out a sigh, asked the question that had been nagging at him for some time.
"Where are you from, Master Cook?" he inquired, curiosity evident in his voice.
The cook, occupied with turning a piece of meat over the fire, cast a briefly surprised glance at Mero, but his expression quickly softened. He took a moment before responding, as if weighing the question, then set down his utensil and approached Mero’s table.
"I’m from the Republic of Dorelle, Your Highness," he answered with a modest smile. "It’s a small coastal republic east of the Empire. We live by the sea, mostly from fishing but also from trade with other kingdoms. You may not have heard of it—it’s far from here. But the people from my region have always been sailors. Life at sea is second nature to us."
Wiping his hands on a towel, he sat across from Mero, his gaze sympathetic, as though he understood the young prince's curiosity.
"And you, Your Highness? You come from the Isles of the Kingdom of Sel, don’t you? Life must be very different here on the ocean, far from your homeland," he said, a glimmer of understanding in his eyes.
He straightened, grabbing a piece of bread to dip into a simmering pot on the table. The scene was almost mundane, yet Mero realized that this cook, this man, embodied a different culture, another world — one united by the vastness of the sea.
"Yes, everything is different here," Mero admitted, "but my people are seafarers too. Our legends say that we are children of the sea gods who came from the north, and that's why our skin is pale, unlike the neighboring kingdoms."
The cook listened intently, a slight smile on his lips, appreciating Mero's way of sharing a bit of his heritage. He nodded slowly, acknowledging the prince's words.
"That’s fascinating," he responded. "Legends have a way of connecting people to their roots, even when distances are great and cultures blend. In my kingdom, we also have tales of the oceans—marine creatures that guide us and storms that test those who seek to prove their worth. People of the sea..." He paused, a spark in his eyes. "...they're never quite like those of the land. There's something different about them, like an inner strength."
Mero felt that despite their cultural differences, a bridge was being built between him and this member of the ship’s crew, a fellow seafarer in his own right. He wondered if the cook was right—perhaps people of the sea all shared a secret bond, a tacit understanding born from the vastness that surrounded them.
"We have always believed that the sea is our mother," Mero said, his eyes briefly lost in the mist rising on the horizon. "Our ancestors crossed oceans and braved storms. Maybe that's why we have this lighter skin—the sea chose us as her children."
The cook smiled again, thoughtful. The atmosphere in the kitchen was calmer now, the sounds of the sea more distant, as though the conversation had suspended time.
"I see. The sea, yes... She is both gentle and cruel. But sailors, whether from Garthon or Sel, know that it’s all about accepting what she gives and takes. I wish you strength on your journey, Your Highness. You'll need it."
Mero slowly stood up, appreciating the cook’s simple yet meaningful words. He was just a young boy embarking on an unknown destiny, but the cook's words resonated in his mind like a promise. Perhaps one day he would understand all that these seafarers had to offer him.
Before turning to leave the kitchen, he cast a final glance at the cook and said, "Thank you, Master Cook, for your words. Perhaps we seafarers from opposite shores have more in common than I thought."
The cook nodded, a sly smile on his lips. "We all have more in common, Your Highness, even if we don’t always realize it."
And with that, Mero left the kitchen, his mind already focused on the next part of his journey and the mysteries the sea had in store for him.
The sun shone brighter, the day's warmth slowly settling over the deck. Mero left the kitchen, his thoughts still lingering on the conversation with the cook, but he knew that time waited for no one. He made his way to the designated area for lessons, where his tutor, Master Antonin, was waiting.
The morning was reserved for languages, and today marked the beginning of learning the language of the Empire—a language commonly spoken at the imperial court and by high-ranking officials of the region. It was a complex, almost melodic language, vastly different from his own.
Mero entered the room, where maps and books were spread out on a large wooden table. Master Antonin stood ready to begin.
"Your Highness," Antonin said, straightening up with a slight bow. "Ready for your first lesson in the imperial language?"
Mero nodded, hesitating for a moment before replying.
"Yes, Master. I’m ready. But... it seems difficult to learn a language so different from mine. How should we start?"
The tutor smiled slightly but maintained a serious demeanor.
"It all starts with the basics. Today, we’ll work on sounds, grammar, and simple phrases. This language has a different structure, but in time, you'll see it become as natural as your own. Don’t worry, we’ll go at your pace. It’s not a race, but a gradual learning process."
Mero took a deep breath, deciding to focus. He needed to understand this language if he wanted to navigate the Empire and adapt to his new life and its challenges. Antonin took a thick book and opened it to a page marked with notes.
"We'll start with essential words and practice pronunciation. Listen carefully and repeat after me."
He began dictating slowly, pronouncing each word carefully for Mero to hear clearly. The language was gentle to the ear, but the sounds were completely foreign to the young prince. After a few repetitions, Mero began to grasp them, though it remained challenging.
An hour passed, and the first foundations were laid. The table was covered with papers and words. Mero felt tired, his mind beginning to buckle under the strain, but he knew he had to persist. After all, his future was at stake.
The language lesson continued for another hour. The words and sounds swirled in Mero's mind, but gradually, he began to grasp the basic structures. He noticed that the imperial language, though different from his own, had a certain logic and elegance in its construction.
When the language lesson ended, Master Antonin closed the book and looked at him attentively.
"Well done, Your Highness. You've made good progress today. This is an important step, but remember that daily practice will help anchor these basics. I recommend repeating these words every day until the language becomes second nature to you."
Mero nodded, exhausted by the intensity of the exercise but satisfied with his progress. It was a good start, after all.
As the morning ended and lunchtime approached, Mero headed to the deck for some fresh air and a brief break before the afternoon history lessons. The salty ocean air and the scent of fresh water and salt brought welcome comfort after the intense concentration of the morning.
He took a deep breath, observing the sea and the waves breaking against the ship's hull. The rhythm of the journey, the sound of the waves and the wind, reminded him of his connection to the sea. It was a moment of calm before the day resumed with lessons in history, politics, and etiquette.
The break passed quickly. Despite his fatigue, Mero felt ready to face the challenges of the rest of the day. The sight of the sailors, always focused on their tasks, continued to impress him. That discipline, he knew, was something he would have to adopt to prepare for his arrival in the Empire.
When it was time to return to the classroom, Mero joined Master Antonin for the history lesson. The tutor had already prepared maps and scrolls, ready to begin studying the events that had shaped the Empire and its regions.
"Master Antonin, would you be able to conduct the lessons in the imperial language so that I can improve while learning the other subjects? I know my level isn’t good enough to understand everything yet, but I want to try."