The winds howled against the deck, sharp and bitter as the salt spray that lashed across the wooden planks. The vast, endless sea stretched before them, dark and unyielding, rolling beneath the overcast sky like a beast breathing in its sleep.
Duke Duke Thaddeus stood at the bow of the ship, his cloak billowing in the restless wind. His eyes, sharp and relentless, bore into the horizon, but there was nothing.
No wreckage.
No remains.
No trace of the vortex that had swallowed his daughter whole.
Nothing.
A full week.
It had been nearly a full week since she was taken.
A week since he had given the order.
Since he had summoned scholars, mages, navigators—anyone who had ever dared to study the abyss. Since he had demanded answers. Since he had dragged his fleet out into these accursed waters in search of a sign, a clue, anything.
But the sea gave nothing back.
The expedition had searched tirelessly. Sailors, mercenaries, knights—they had scoured the waters, dived into the depths, tested every known method of scrying and divination.
And yet, no matter how far they went—there was nothing.
It was as if the ocean had simply erased her.
Duke Duke Thaddeus’ fingers curled into a fist, his nails biting into his palm as his jaw tightened. A deep, slow breath rattled in his chest, but it did nothing to temper the storm within him.
This wasn’t natural.
It wasn’t just that they couldn’t find a body. It was that the sea itself had gone silent.
The waters here had been wrong ever since the battle. The currents were still strange, unnatural. The winds were colder, the pressure in the air different, thick with something unseen.
But there was no sign of a vortex.
No trail.
No clues.
Not even the Kraken had reappeared.
The beast that had obliterated his fleet, that had reduced proud warriors to trembling wrecks—it was gone.
Not lurking. Not hunting.
Simply gone.
It was infuriating.
Duke Thaddeus exhaled sharply through his nose, his shoulders rigid, his breath slow and deliberate—a thin, fragile barrier between control and something else.
Something darker.
The ocean had already taken from him once.
It had stolen his wife.
Now, it had stolen his daughter.
And yet, even as fury boiled beneath his skin, a more insidious emotion was creeping in.
Doubt.
Duke Thaddeus did not entertain doubt.
Doubt was for weaker men, for those who hesitated, who allowed their convictions to waver.
Yet—what if she truly was gone?
The thought twisted deep inside him, colder than the wind, heavier than the weight pressing against his chest.
Aeliana was sickly. Fragile. A girl who had spent more of her life within the confines of her chambers than in the world outside.
How long could she have survived out here?
Even if by some miracle she had survived the vortex—where would she be now?
The sea left no survivors.
It had been a week.
A week.
Wouldn’t she have resurfaced by now? Wouldn’t someone have found her?
Wouldn’t there be some kind of sign?
His grip on the ship’s railing tightened. His knuckles turned white beneath his gloves.
No.
He would not—could not—accept that.
Even if there were no traces, no wreckage, no evidence—she was still his daughter.
And he would not let her go.
Not yet.
A gust of wind tore through the deck, and a voice broke through the storm of his thoughts.
“Your Grace.”
Duke Thaddeus did not turn.
Edran stood a few feet behind him, his armor dulled with salt and wear, his face grim.
“We’ve searched the entire perimeter again,” he continued, his voice steady, though there was something careful in his tone. “The scouts found no new disturbances. No anomalies in the currents. Nothing in the waters below.”
Nothing.
The same nothing he had been hearing for days now.
The same nothing that clawed at the edges of his mind, whispering, urging, telling him that this was pointless.
That she was gone.
Duke Thaddeus’ fingers twitched against the wood.
Edran hesitated, then spoke carefully. “Your Grace… perhaps we should consider—”
A sharp crack split the air.
The railing beneath Duke Thaddeus’ hand fractured.
The sudden sound….
The crack in the railing echoed through the deck, sharp and absolute.
The crew froze.
The knights stiffened.
Even the howling winds seemed to quiet, as if sensing the storm that was far greater than anything the sea could summon.
Duke Thaddeus did not move.
His mana seeped into the air, thick and oppressive, pressing against every soul aboard the ship like the weight of a tidal wave held in suspension. The very wood beneath his feet creaked under the force of it.
No one dared to move.
No one dared to breathe too loudly.
Except for one.
The steady sound of boots against the deck cut through the suffocating silence.
Through the haze of his fury, Duke Thaddeus recognized the footsteps immediately.
Reinhardt Valsteyn.
His Knight Commander.
The man who had led his forces for over a decade. The one who stood beside him in war, who had held the line when others fell. The one whose presence, unyielding and immovable, had been a pillar of strength in times of strife.
Reinhardt came to a stop a few paces away from the Duke, his broad frame casting a shadow against the salt-worn wood. He was clad in his full armor, dulled by the sea air, the deep crimson cloak of his station heavy on his shoulders.
Behind him, Edran followed, lingering just at his back—watchful, hesitant.
Reinhardt alone stepped forward.
And when he spoke, his voice was steady.
“Your Grace.”
Duke Thaddeus did not respond.
Reinhardt didn’t waver.
“We’ve searched again.” His tone was firm, methodical—deliberate in its calm. “The fleet has covered every route, every depth we can reach. The scouts have checked the currents, the tides, the depths where the vortex formed.”
A pause.
And then—
“We have found nothing.”
The words felt heavier than the waves crashing against the ship’s hull.
Duke Thaddeus inhaled slowly, his breath deep, slow, measured—forced into control.
Another nothing.
Just like every other report.
Just like every other time they had failed.
The railing beneath his fingers splintered further, the wood cracking under the sheer force of his grip.
His head tilted slightly, just enough to glance at Reinhardt from the corner of his eye. His gaze was like steel, like the blade of a sword drawn at the throat of an enemy.
Reinhardt did not flinch.
His own expression remained unreadable, but his eyes—his eyes saw through him.
And that alone was enough to make something inside the Duke coil with irritation.
The air around them grew heavier.
No one spoke.
No one moved.
Because no one could.
Except him.
Reinhardt took one more step forward, his armored boots scraping against the deck.
“We will keep searching,” he said, his tone unwavering. “As long as you give the order, we will not stop.”
The words were firm. Unshaken.
But then—
“…But how long will you do this, Your Grace?”
The deck creaked beneath Duke Thaddeus’ stance.
The wind howled.
And Reinhardt held his ground.
Duke Thaddeus slowly turned his head, fully facing him now, his eyes cold as the abyss that had swallowed Aeliana.
There was no hesitation in the Knight Commander’s gaze.
No fear.
No submission.
And that…
That infuriated him.
A flash of anger rippled through him, his mana surging for a brief, lethal second. The very air seemed to warp around him, distorting beneath the sheer force of his presence. Your next journey awaits at My Virtual Library Empire
The knights stationed along the deck tensed. A few of the sailors stepped back.
Even Edran looked uneasy, his hand twitching toward the hilt of his blade.
But Reinhardt didn’t move.
Didn’t even blink.
Because he had stood before this wrath before.
And he knew that someone had to.
Duke Thaddeus’ voice, when he finally spoke, was deathly quiet.
“Watch your tongue, Reinhardt.”
The weight behind his words was lethal.
But Reinhardt’s face remained as still as stone.
“I will not,” the Knight Commander said, his voice just as firm.
Duke Thaddeus’ fingers twitched.
A breath of raw fury shuddered through him, his muscles taut with restraint.
Reinhardt’s jaw clenched—but still, he did not move.
“You have led us for years, Your Grace,” he said. “I have followed your orders without hesitation. I have fought beside you. I have seen the weight you carry.”
His fists curled at his sides.
“But I will not stand here and watch you drown in it.”
A ripple of tension coiled through the air.
Duke Thaddeus’ expression darkened.
“Are you questioning me, Reinhardt?”
The words were not a threat.
They were a warning.
And still, Reinhardt did not back down.
“I am reminding you, Your Grace.” His voice was steady. “That you are still needed.”
The silence that followed was razor-sharp.
Duke Thaddeus’ gaze bore into him, his body seething with unspent fury, his wrath unchecked.
And yet—beneath the surface, beneath the raging fire inside him—
There was something else.
A crack.
A flicker of something deeper, something more painful than rage.
Loss.
But just then something happened.
RUMBLE!
The sky rumbled.
