CHRONICLES OF THE EXPLORER

  Uninhabitable islands, unreachable horizons, lost lands and hidden treasures — the inhabitants of this world are driven by curiosity, by the desire for the unknown. What lies beyond the horizon? We call these people: Explorers.

  Diary of Ernest C. Alber – Year 206 AT

  Over a raging ocean, a ship sways in its unsettling rhythm, the thunder of the storm echoing on the horizon like celestial trumpets. It is May 25th, in the year 804 After the Tempest.

  The ship bore white sails embroidered with a six-pointed sun, sewn in high-quality linen, resisting a wind that seemed relentless. The sailors struggled against the force of the ocean, which lifted the vessel with every wave. On deck, the pace was frantic — desperation and anxiety overtook every crew member. There were no songs, no laments, only the attempt to maintain focus amid the storm.

  “We’re almost there!” shouted the first mate of the brown-colored ship bearing the name Queen Antonietta, a mere tribute to the family to which the captain and leader of this expedition belonged.

  “We’re lost!” someone cried out. “Drake, we need to turn back!”

  “The captain gave the orders.” Drake clenched his teeth and furrowed his brow, his gaze fixed on the rain and on a silhouette that seemed leagues away — the destination they all sought: Base Seventy-Seven of the Country of the Order.

  Drake Henrietta is a thin young man with long, brittle blond hair, a large nose, and sharp, penetrating eyes. He knows the sea well; he understands the strength of the currents that circle the world and the intricate maritime flows that devastate certain provinces. Drake stepped firmly onto the deck and raised his spyglass toward their destination.

  “Focus, men! We’re almost there… Loose the sails!” His shout thundered, forcing the skeptics into motion. Obeying the command, all sails were unfurled. The vessel surged forward, cutting through the waters at formidable speed.

  And to Drake’s ears, a song echoed — not sung by the crew, but by the sea itself, by the creatures dwelling within it. The song of the water nymphs, long and harmonious, contrasting with the terror of the storm.

  Is this right? James, are we doing the right thing?

  Raindrops streamed down Drake’s face like tears. The navigator sighed and turned right, descending the stairs to gain a clearer view of the deck, where men and barrels rolled from side to side as though in naval battle.

  We can’t even overcome this simple rain… how will we defeat the Tempest?

  His thoughts consumed him as he approached the captain’s cabin. The cabin door bore brown textures with golden ornaments, marked with the six-pointed sun — the emblem of the Country of the Order. Without knocking or asking permission, Drake entered.

  Inside was an immense room with countless paintings along the walls — portraits of ancient sages, all well preserved and framed in silver ornaments. Three chandeliers hung from the ceiling, illuminating the chamber. At the far end, seated upon a chair worthy of a king, upholstered in red, was the ship’s captain: James Batilt.

  James is a tall man with dark skin and red hair, one of the most experienced captains of the Country of the Order, serving directly under the Knight of the Ships. A captain’s duty was to carry out the Knight’s orders, serve in his fleet, or work alongside the Observers. Yet James fit into none of these roles. Instead, he had embarked upon a particularly dangerous journey — one that meant everything to him.

  Throughout his three decades of life, James had excelled in many areas. During his years at Westbridge Academy, immersed in books, he studied the mass of energy surrounding the world — the impenetrable Tempest. He had always been curious about what might exist beyond it. From guild myths to the facts dictated by Bastille, James believed in ancient things: a world beyond this one, filled with ruins, history, and immeasurable riches.

  Drake approached cautiously, watching his captain. When he stopped before him, he saw the papers scattered across the table — yellowed maps with compasses fixed on Seventy-Seven, and another compass still sealed, bound by black metal chains.

  “Sir,” Drake said carefully. “In a few minutes we’ll reach the base.”

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

  “Excellent.” The cold, nervous voice carried a hint of sadism. James never lifted his eyes from his studies — those information sheets, torn book pages.

  “Sir, the rain is nearly overpowering us, and after that—”

  “After? There is only one ‘after,’ Drake. We have a mission, and we will carry it out.”

  “May I ask who gave us this mission?” Drake clenched his right fist. For months he had questioned this — leaving the Knight of the Ships’ fleet at such a critical time, with buccaneers growing increasingly out of control.

  “That does not concern you yet. Whatever passes through your small mind, we have this mission.” James finally stood, resting his hands on the table, staring at his first mate. “We will go to the end of this, crossing the Tempest and finding—”

  James hesitated, closed his eyes, sighed, and walked toward a painting beside his desk. It depicted a man with a white beard and steady eyes, dressed in ancient sailor’s garments. He held a book and a sphere; behind him, an axe rested upon a rock.

  James touched the painting.

  “Do you believe in cities of gold? Ancient legends, fertile lands? Drake… do you know him?”

  Drake instinctively shook his head.

  “It’s a story lost in the oldest books of our academic city: ‘the man who defied the Order.’ It seems that in the early days of the world, around the second century, this man existed. A professor. He mastered the study of how the Colors of Energy functioned. He traveled across every corner of the known world, built halls of knowledge, cured diseases… and found something that changed his life.

  “He journeyed into the unknown world, and when he returned, only a platform remained — and the executioner waiting for him. He lost his head with a smile on his face, while the truth of the world was pursued by those who believed in his ideals. And thus began the era we live in.”

  James clasped his hands behind his back.

  “Curious what a man is capable of to feed his addiction to adventure. I need to know. I need to see it to understand.”

  “We are breaking our vows, our laws, our duty,” Drake said. “This is a crime.”

  “Crime? Vows? Laws? Bastille dictates the world as it pleases. I am free. Emblems and signatures will no longer matter.”

  “Will we become like Orion?”

  James laughed exaggeratedly.

  “That city and its people are buccaneers without bounties. They hunt treasures and venture into islets of the known world. We, Drake — we are above them.”

  “Why were we born in Bastille?”

  “Because we can change Bastille… and the world.”

  The bells echoed, signaling their arrival at the base.

  “Come. And Drake… remain silent.”

  At the far eastern edge of Base Seventy-Seven of the Order of the Known World, the Queen Antonietta was already docked at the small port of the islet.

  Separated from the other vessels and secured, the rain was calmer there. Six ships were moored along that side, bound with thick ropes reinforced with black filings — ropes resistant to nearly everything, built to withstand massive waves, winds, and storms common across the known world.

  The port was crowded with workers — mostly fishermen and marine biologists. Each base had a unique duty: to understand the secrets of this world — the torturous Tempest that breeds curiosity and longing in the hearts of men, drawing them toward adventure and secrets. These bases studied the composition of such natural phenomena. Marine life in the region was abundant — rare species, vibrant and fierce toward anyone who approached the Tempest.

  Gray streets paved symmetrically with chipped stones were lined with damp brick houses. One could smell salt and fresh water — even the sweet scent of fruit trees, something uncommon in Bastille due to its overwhelming constructions, steam vehicles, and vast cities deemed legendary in history books.

  Children laughed freely in the streets, playing with discs, balls, and dolls. They wore simple, brightly colored clothes, each bearing Bastille’s emblem on their chests — small recruits, the future of the Order.

  James Batilt walked while eating a ripe apple, its interior nearly darkened, its skin wilted and dirty. Even so, he savored it as though it were the rarest fruit in the world.

  “Sir,” Drake said quietly. “Do you truly intend to do this?”

  “We already are.” James tossed the apple’s remains into the street, where seagulls descended upon it. “We’ll take supplies from this base and proceed.”

  Drake snorted but remained silent.

  They reached the commander’s tower — a rigid woman of harsh temperament, except when the Knight of the Ships was present.

  At the entrance, guards blocked their way.

  “Good morning. We’ve come directly from Port Arthur. We need to speak with your commander,” James declared.

  “And the reason?” a guard asked.

  “This will be discussed only with her.” James produced a yellowed document adorned with silver edges, bearing a magnificent signature and Bastille’s sun symbols.

  After tense silence, they were allowed to ascend the spiraling staircase.

  Inside, the commander, Grace Roxy, sat behind an oak desk scattered with letters from other bases. Beside her stood a portrait of herself with the Knight of the Ships.

  “You have traveled far, Mr. James Batilt,” she said, narrowing her eyes.

  “I am on a mission and require supplies for several years.”

  “You think this is a marketplace?” she replied sharply.

  James threw the letter onto her desk.

  She read aloud:

  “‘Blank authorization for all bases to assist the renowned Captain James Batilt in his endeavor. Signed, Orleans Batilt, Knight of the Forests.’”

  Drake paled.

  Orleans? Why?

  James smiled coldly.

  “I am pursuing a dream, dear Grace — things the Seven know nothing about and that the madmen of Orion would give anything to obtain. I have something no one else has. The lost route.”

  Grace raised her hand as armed men entered.

  “Take what you want,” she said at last. “But leave my island. Or the Seven will display your head as a gift from Base Seventy-Seven.”

  James bowed with mocking courtesy.