Philosophers of old have long speculated the existence of continents beyond Asmeon. They believed that a southern landmass was necessary to balance the immense Frosted Lands of the North and maintain the world’s equilibrium. As this theory gained popularity, it heralded the great Age of Discovery, during which hundreds of explorers ventured into every unknown corner of the continent. It was at this time that many countries first established contact and that rudimentary charts evolved into the detailed maps we know today.

Yet, no grand land was ever found.

Except for the North, explorers encountered fast-flowing currents and relentless storms in every direction. The type of waters which even the sturdiest of vessels and finest sails could not withstand.

The boundary was colloquially called the Barrier of Storms, within which one segment earned itself a name of its own. The part which flows near the coasts of Sihaya and Vazul’kar, referred to as the Drake Current. Not only is it dominated by ferocious storms, but also by a great number of Sea Drakes. The most massive and territorially aggressive of all dragonkin.

Due to these formidable challenges, attempts at crossing the barrier have ceased in the last century. With the notable exception of the nautical forces of Nausica, where the highest distinction for a captain can only be earned after sailing the Barrier of Storms for no less than three days. Having done so, they will achieve the rare and highly esteemed ranking of the sixth star.

~ The History and People of Magic by Sir Rainaldus Gale

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Although the sun had set hours ago, Lidea could still feel her skin glowing and she didn’t doubt that her complexion was looking quite berry-like. Looking over at her companions, only Cedric seemed to be suffering the same fate. His darker skin showed the faintest hint of red as he was once more sleeping on the healer’s shoulder. At least both Crystal and Warchief had been spared.

From Crystal, it was to be expected. Of the four of them, she had easily the darkest complexion. In contrast, Warchief surprised her. His tawny skin was lighter than Cedric’s, especially after the amount of time they had spent underground. But, she was almost able to observe him growing darker by the hour. His skin soaked up as much of the sun as possible.

The ease by which he tanned, was the only giveaway for his southern ethnicity. His other features simply too ambiguous to be pointed down to one culture or another.

As he sat there, pouring over the map with his compass still in hand, she wondered if he had never questioned his heritage. He seemed to be at peace with not knowing, but perhaps he had been forced to accept that he never would. Depending on the amount of generations his family had been enslaved, a lot of information had probably been lost.

An existence like his was almost unimaginable to Lidea, who had grown up with the stories of her progenitors. She had been tutored through texts written by them while sitting in a room where their portraits proudly lined the wall. To her, knowing her family history was as natural as breathing air.

“When we arrive, remind me to make you something for your skin.”

Her thoughts were interrupted by Crystal's words of concern. When she met the healer’s eyes, she realized that Crystal had moved to ride between her and Warchief, making her aware that she had been staring at him for an uncomfortable long time.

Flustered, she glanced at Warchief once more, but he didn’t seem to have noticed. Still too engrossed in the map he was holding.

“That would be great. But you should rest first. I won’t die from a little bit of sunburn.”

The healer pouted but didn’t protest. Her easy defeat was a clear indication of her exhaustion.

“I don’t get it. Did Firon make a mistake? We were supposed to be there already.”

Warchief grumbled uncharacteristically. They were all at the end of their tether, as they continued trudging northward. The river they had crossed once, had looped around and returned, and according to Firon’s notes that meant they had arrived. Yet, they were still following the river hours later, anxiously waiting for their destination to appear.

“Finally!”

At Crystal’s exclamation, Lidea followed her gaze and she could vaguely see a group of tents set up in a circular pattern hugging the gently flowing stream on one side.

Although established in a rush, the camp looked more orderly than she had expected, causing her to smile proudly.

She knew choosing Firon to lead was the right decision, despite his insistence that Taylor was more suited for the job. The people needed someone they would trust and follow without hesitation. Taylor, being too young and timid, would have been questioned, while Firon’s tall, broad physique and no-nonsense attitude made him the ideal candidate.

Besides, she had sent Roland with him to help smooth over any issues that might develop from his brashness.

As they approached, a whistle pierced the silence, signaling that the sentries had spotted them.

“Firon did a good job.”

Warchief remarked approvingly as he looked over the camp.

“Did you doubt he would?”

Lidea asked, noting how he was all smiles now that a bed was within their near future.

“How could I? You appointed him and I know better than to question your decisions.”

His exaggerated flattery made Lidea roll her eyes as they were greeted by the guards.

“My Lady!”

“Warchief!”

They spoke simultaneously, then exchanged a worried glance. Neither sure of who should have been greeted first.

Their panic made Warchief chuckle.

“At ease, you two. We do not care for such formalities. Instead, you would make me happy by pointing us to a tent we can use.”

Feeling a cold breeze against her skin, Lidea silently agreed. It was going to pour that night, so she preferred not to sleep outside if she could avoid it.

One of the guards nodded before informing them.

“We have empty ones set up in case someone arrives. I will lead you there.”

Lidea wanted nothing more than to follow and rest for the night, but she had a duty to inform Firon. If she went to sleep now, the news of her early return was bound to go around the camp and there would be questions.

“If possible, could you bring me to Firon? Some matters need to be discussed.”

She could almost hear the two beside her sigh but didn’t pay attention to them.

“Of course, my Lady. Sir Roland and he often have meetings that run late.”

That would be ideal, it would help if both of them were informed at once.

“Thank you, Berain.”

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

She turned to Warchief and Crystal and therefore almost missed the guard’s shocked expression at his name being called.

“You can go ahead and rest. I’m just going to tell him what happened.”

Even before she finished her words, Warchief sighed deeply before he shook his head.

“No, you are right. Although I really wish we could do this later. Are you coming, Crystal?”

The healer looked as if she was about to murder the both of them, but then nodded her head.

“You two! Help me grab Cedric of this horse and bring him to where you treat your wounded. Tell the nurses that his life is in no danger but that he needs rest.”

The two guards were quick to follow her short-tempered commands and in no time, they were on their way to the center of the encampment.

As they passed several tents, she observed how some had tried to decorate their dreary brown housing with flowers or braids of dried grass. It was fascinating how even in the worst of times, people would try to improve their lives in the smallest of ways.

They arrived at a bigger, yellow tent just as rain started to fall. Candlelight from within cast a warm glow on the fabric walls and she could hear voices inside.

“If we could require wood, it would be great to build a settlement closer to the ocean.”

She heard Roland suggest. It was unsurprising that they were thinking of a more permanent type of settlement. The Lynoën people were not used to living in tents and she expected them to grow weary of it soon. Perhaps they already had.

“Agreed. We should at least distance ourselves from the border. But that doesn’t take away that we have no wood. This whole damn place seems to have nothing but grass.”

“Why don’t you buy it from Udrän merchants?”

It took Lidea a moment to realize that Warchief had walked inside and she quickly thanked Berain once again, before following him and Crystal.

The two men were sitting at an improvised table consisting of some strategically stacked rocks. A map of Asmeon laid upon it, on which their current location was marked. They both looked at them in momentary surprise, before Firon stood up to hug them with a wide grin on his face.

“You have come early! Welcome to our camp, how was your trip?”

Lidea felt awkward about accepting the hug but the giant didn’t give her any choice in the matter as he crushed her in his arms.

“You know what it is like, long hours, little sleep, sores on my legs from those ill-sitting saddles.”

She couldn’t understand how Warchief could joke like this. Already she could see Roland's sobering expression. He at least suspected that their early arrival was nothing to celebrate.

“At least you got to ride here! My legs were dying after marching all this way. So is the evacuation finished?”

A silence fell between them and Lidea sighed as Warchief didn’t seem as talkative anymore.

“We were attacked Firon.”

Roland squeezed his eyes tight and she could see Firon’s expression sour.

“How many did we lose?”

“I’m not sure. Cedric was the only one left on our way out, he said that all the other survivors were sent away with Taylor. But of those that stood with us to defend, almost all died.”

Firon paled as he turned away from them. His sadness was almost tangible and filled her with shame. She should have protected them better, but no amount of guild would bring them back.

“We have to prepare for when survivors start to arrive. I’m not sure how successful Taylor will be, but we need to be ready to help.”

Her response made him turn back to them, his eyes spitting fire.

“Is that how little they meant to you? That you casually continue planning, as if our friends didn’t just die!”

Lidea understood that he spoke in grief, but his words stung just as much.

“No. She is being a commander. If you lose yourself in the dead, then you lose sight of the living.”

Warchief’s calm response was lost on Firon, who walked to him and started yelling in his face.

“How could you let this happen! Weren’t you always saying that there would be a way!? That you would make us strong!?”

The man towered over Warchief, but still, he didn’t waver. Accepting his anger without refuting until was done yelling.

“I’m sorry, Firon. If I had known more about the Ligerian army, then I would have never suggested that we could stay and defend.”

“None of us knew, Warchief. I agreed that our best chance was to delay the enemy.”

Lidea couldn’t let the man take the blame for a decision they had made together.

Warchief’s apology calmed the giant, as he slumped onto one of the chairs. His head cradled within his hands.

Roland didn’t share the younger’s anger, instead, he looked between the three of them.

“I have never heard of the Ligerian army. Were they that strong?”

“Immensely so. Warchief was the only one who could match them.”

“Barely so, if I might add.”

The innkeeper nodded his head as if deep in thought, before pointing his gaze at Crystal.

“And you? What did you think of them half-demon?”

“That trying to fight them will only cause all of you to die early.”

The healer didn’t hesitate to answer, though she had been silent through the rest of the conversation.

“I will take your word for it. Do we expect any unwanted visitors to have followed you?”

Lidea shook her head before answering.

“I don’t think they realized that we made it out, but they will soon. Have you made contact with the tribes?”

Roland tried looking at Firon but the giant was still staring ahead in stubborn silence, his anger making him no use to their conversation.

“We tried and though they didn’t chase us off, they seem reluctant to hear us out.”

It had been too optimistic to assume that the Udrän people would help them. It wasn’t as if they had anything to gain from doing so.

“Crystal? Would you be able to lead me to a particular tribe?”

The healer frowned but nodded slowly.

“Perhaps, but why do you ask?”

“Because one of them owes my father a favor. Once one tribe starts trading with us, others will follow. Besides, I need to warn them somehow.”

“Warn them?”

Roland looked confused and she could guess what he was thinking. Udrän had nothing to fear from Lynoës. She had thought the same until she crossed swords with the Ligerians.

“That army they used to attack us was not normal, Roland. With that kind of strength, none will be safe from them.”

She knew that the Pleberien church had their eyes set on the rich south, but they couldn’t exclude that they would attack Udrän.

The older soldier stared doubtfully at her but he didn’t dispute her claim.

“Then can I ask, what your plan is? If Lynoës has really gained such a strong ally, then what is to happen with us?”

Leave it to Roland to get to the heart of the issue. Now that they were safe, it was time to make decisions.

Before the attack, she had thought to strengthen her troops and try to receive aid from Udrän or even Worrackx. Though neither was likely to send an army to Lynoës, it wouldn’t have surprised her if they could supply them with weapons and armory. However, everything changed since that attack.

No matter how much support they received, they couldn’t defend themselves against that.

Her eyes flitted from Warchief’s orange ones to Crystal’s blue orbs. Both of them looked more curious than concerned.

“Crudely said, we will all be slaughtered if we try to go against Lynoës now. We need allies, strong ones.”

Her gaze shifted back to Firon and Roland, who both stared at her with apprehension.

“I hate to say it, but Warchief was right. If we want to save Lynoës, then we can’t fight alone and no one will join us as long as they are not under threat. Our only hope is to gain the support of something mythical, something like the Dragon Riders.”

“You have to be kidding! So what, we just sit around until he comes back?! If he ever does!?”

Firon jumped back out of the chair and Warchief tensed, but to Lidea’s relief, he refrained from commenting. The last thing she needed, was for him to fuel Firon’s fire.

“No. I will go with them.”

It was almost funny to see them all stare at her in utter silence.

“You can’t be serious… So you are just leaving us? What kind of leaders are you? We trusted you!”

Firon spat his words in fury, and even Roland looked angered. She didn’t blame them, for she had felt just as betrayed by Warchief and Crystal. How ironic that she now stood on the other side.

She let herself fall to her knees, causing worried glances from all of them.

“I beg you to forgive me. I failed my father’s army, and now I failed all of you. I sacrificed everything to try and help Lynoës, yet it wasn’t enough. The brutal truth is that I’m not strong enough to lead you to victory, and I refuse to lose another soul in a fight we can’t win. So either I have to become stronger, or I need to find someone with the strength to do what I couldn’t. But I promise you one thing. I will return, no matter what.”

She looked them straight in the eye, even as Crystal tried to pull her back on her feet. Finally, it was Roland who threw her an olive branch.

“I can’t say that I agree with your plan. But I know better than to think that you would desert us.”

She felt the corners of her mouth twitch, it was enough for now.

Firon’s mouth was pressed tight. She didn’t think he would forgive her anytime soon, but at least his fury had boiled down to a simmer.

“So, when will you leave?”

He asked hesitantly as if scared of what she would answer.

“Tomorrow. The earlier we leave, the sooner we can come back.”

Lidea looked at her two companions to see if they were alright with that. The healer was still glaring at Firon, but Warchief smiled encouragingly.

“How long will it take?”

Roland asked carefully as they looked over the map and Crystal pointed one of her daggers at the Godly Range in Vazul’kar.

“Until there, around two months. After that, I have no idea. I have never attempted to cross those mountains.”

“We will also need time to convince them and return.”

Lidea mused before Warchief added.

“Let’s hope they can give us a ride for that.”

She tried to imagine flying on a dragon’s back but couldn’t. It was just too much to even consider. She didn’t want to bet on such a thing.

“Let’s assume they won’t. Half a year at the least? I will try to contact you before we go into the mountains.”

“Alright. So what do we do in the meantime?”

Lidea smiled, happy that Firon was starting to go along with their plan.

“You and Roland make a good team. I leave you to determine that. Hence, I advise that you carve a life out for yourselves here. You can continue to train, but I don’t want you to put your lives on hold for potentially years.”

She could see the worries in Firon’s face, as did Roland. The older man slapped his meaty hand against the other’s shoulder.

“You got it. We will keep the ship rolling here.”

Lidea smiled gratefully, knowing that Firon could use the support, before meeting the eyes of everyone present.

“Then we leave tomorrow.”