The sea stretched endlessly behind them, a vast, undulating plain of deep blue that merged with the horizon in a shimmering haze.
Ahead, the familiar silhouette of Aracina's coastline grew more distinct with each rhythmic surge of the waves against the hulls. Six ships cut through the water, their sails taut with the steady offshore wind, timbers groaning in protest as they rode the swells.
At the prow of the lead vessel, Lord Asag stood motionless, his hands resting lightly on the sun-warmed railing.
It was strange, he mused, how fate twisted a man's path. When Alpheo had seized the throne, Asag had assumed his days in Aracina were finished, that his future lay elsewhere. Yet here he returned, not as the mercenary he'd once been, nor even as the victorious commander he might have imagined, but as something far more complex - the city's appointed guardian.
