A golden beam burst forth on the horizon, unleashing waves of golden ripples that danced across the water’s surface.
The light was so intense that Asher and the men around him squinted, their eyes narrowing to slits as they shielded their faces from the radiance. The beam’s brilliance seemed to grow, illuminating the sea with an otherworldly glow.
After what felt like an eternity, the golden beam descended, and a massive wave began to form, its crest curling over like a liquid giant. The men around Asher gasped in unison, their eyes wide with terror as they dashed toward the forest, desperate to escape the impending deluge.
However, Asher’s gaze remained fixed on the wave, his eyes flicking with a mixture of curiosity and calculation.
He knew the wave’s fury would not be contained by the forest’s fragile trees. With a swift motion, he summoned the ice, and it spread out across the wave’s face, freezing the water in place.
The wave hung suspended, a towering wall of crystal, as the men fled to safety. But the ice’s hold was tenuous, and soon the wave’s momentum began to take its toll.
Cracks began to form, spreading like fine lines across the frozen surface. The ice groaned under the pressure, and eventually, it shattered, collapsing with a deafening crash.
The water slammed into the shore, bursting apart upon contact with Asher’s unseen barrier. He merely frowned, his expression unchanging, as the deluge receded, flowing back into the bay.
With a subtle motion, he exhaled a hot gust of air, and took a step into the water.
A thick layer of ice formed beneath his feet, buoyant and solid, allowing him to walk on the water’s surface.
Asher’s eyes gleamed with curiosity as he gazed out at the bay, his mind racing with expectations.
‘Time to see this marvel,’ he murmured, his voice barely audible over the sound of the waves.
At full speed, he traversed the bay, arriving quite a good distance away from it when he spotted a massive vessel.
The city-ship, built upon the frame of what once might have been a massive dreadnought, its hull reinforced with runed steel and frost-resistant wood, rising high above the waterline like a fortress wall.
The outer hull curves upward to form a protective bastion, enclosing hundreds of interconnected buildings that resemble pagoda-style houses and fortified towers, stacked in layers like a rising tide of rooftops dusted in snow.
These structures are clearly designed to endure the cold, with steep, sloped roofs to shed snow and built-in chimneys releasing the warm glow of hearthfires.
From prow to stern, the city is divided into distinct districts. Near the bow, where the buildings are smaller and more tightly packed, lie the residential quarters—endless rows of tenement-style dwellings, each heated by communal braziers and sharing tightly clustered courtyards beneath canvas awnings and lantern-lit balconies.
The midship region rises in grandeur, hosting the artisan quarters, forges, taverns, apothecaries, and guildhalls. The tallest spires and layered keeps here are likely home to the nobility, shipmasters, and arcane wardens who maintain the vessel’s enchantments.
Toward the stern looms the grandest structure of all—the Stern Citadel, a layered palace of command towers, council chambers, and military barracks. Its uppermost tier functions as a lookout post, while the lower levels contain armories, stores of enchanted icebreaker harpoons, and propulsion cores pulsing with soft magical light—perhaps powered by an arcane engine or bound elemental.
Gigantic ballistae line the hull’s rim, and reinforced gates protect the ship’s harbors—small docking areas along the flanks where skiffs and ice-cutters drift in and out.
Asher’s mouth hung agape, his plans for a grand speech foiled by the bustling activity on the city ship.
It seemed the slaves had already been transported and informed of their new home, leaving him feeling like an outsider.
A sense of discontent washed over him as he approached the city ship, only to find a man standing on the edge of the finger piers, surrounded by a dozen soldiers clad in black leather armor.
The man’s bald head gleamed in the light, a long scar tracing the side of his right eye, yet his calm brown eyes seemed to hold a noble quality.
Asher’s gaze lingered on the man, his instincts telling him that despite his refined demeanor, this individual was once a slave. A flicker of annoyance crossed his face as he thought of Josef being considered for lordship over the Ark.
[You can’t make an outsider the lord of a people who have spent their lives in slavery. They’re bound to see him differently.] The voice in his mind echoed his concerns.
Asher’s frown deepened as he closed in on the wharf, his gaze sweeping across the eyes of those he was about to meet.
Before he could form an opinion, the soldiers and Finn Waters dropped to one knee, their voices carrying across the cold breeze. “We welcome His Lordship!”
The reverence in their tone was palpable, and Asher’s heart swelled with a sense of acceptance.
“I am Finn Waters, My Lord,” the bald man introduced himself, his voice steady as he bowed slightly. Asher’s eyes locked onto Finn’s, searching for any hint of insincerity, but all he saw was respect and loyalty.To be assured, Asher checked their panels and found their loyalty to be above 90.
“Hmm.” He squinted, his eyes narrowing slightly as he processed the information. “You’re lord of this city?” he asked Finn, his tone neutral.
Finn’s response was humble, his words carefully chosen. “Only if it pleases you, My Lord.”
Asher raised an eyebrow, a hint of satisfaction flickering across his face before he masked it.
“What about security?” he asked, his interest piqued.
“We have about 5,000 spearmen infantry and 2,000 knights,” Finn replied, his voice steady. Asher nodded, seemingly pleased with the numbers.
“Very well, show me around,” he said, his tone firm.
____
Meanwhile, several hundred kilometers away, a group of five Crimson priestesses sat in the outer chambers of the Grand Priestess, their faces etched with concern.
Their expressions changed, however, when a white-haired woman in mage garb and heeled boots briskly walked past them. The guards didn’t block her entry into the room.
As Aquila entered the large room, her eyes locked onto the pale woman lying on the bed, covered in thick woolen bed sheets.
Sitting at the edge of the bed was Mia, her aid, whose palms shimmered with a pale golden light as she tried to subdue the pain Sapphira was going through. Mia spun her head, her expression grave as she faced Aquila.
“It’s been an entire month since she fell ill,” Mia said, her voice low and urgent.
“We can’t hide it from the duke much longer.” Aquila’s icy gaze softened as she looked at Sapphira, her bright face now dim with exhaustion.
Sapphira’s eyes, once full of life, now seemed sunken, her skin pale.
“Did you discover the cause of this strange illness?” Sapphira asked, her tone low but firm.
Aquila’s response was measured, her words carefully chosen. “I did, but the result isn’t what you would expect.”
A sense of foreboding struck Sapphira, her heart pounding with greater momentum.
“What is it?” Sapphira asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Aquila’s words dropped like a stone into still water. “You’re pregnant.”
The room fell silent, the air seeming to vibrate with tension as the weight of Aquila’s words sank in.