A Deserted Bay Beneath a Blood-Red Sky
The bay stretched, barren and silent, beneath the blood-red sky of dusk. He stood still, boots rooted in ash-colored sand, eyes lifted toward the slow rivers of stars drifting across the vault of night. The wind, from unseen worlds, carried the salt of forgotten ports and the breath of dead seas.
Around him: a naked shore, a sleeping sea, and the endless beyond.
He was waiting.
In his chest thrummed a delicate tension—the taut expectancy of a sail thirsting for the wind. Arms crossed, he listened to the silence between the stars.
Memories of a True Captain
He had once been a captain—a true captain. Not one who ruled from a throne, but one who stepped first onto the deck when storms roared. In the beginning, every voyage had been an odyssey. Every new land, a world to greet with reverence. Every oath, a solemn promise to protect those who had only the heavens above.
He had loved his uniform, not for the authority it conferred, but for what it symbolized: respect, duty, and the burning spirit within.
His crew had shared that same fire. They sailed not to conquer, but to honor. In those days, he believed in something vast and luminous.
But he had not seen the fractures forming, nor heard the hollow voices rising among the ranks—not at first.
Disillusionment and the End of an Era
Time turned the tide.
Faces hardened. Glances grew colder. Missions became ledgers to balance, territories to seize, trophies to parade.
He watched the fire die in men's hearts. Those who climbed the ranks had ambition for a captain and their own reflection for a compass. Horizons gave way to profit. Loyalty bowed to silent submission.
Still, he remained stubbornly faithful to his ancient oath—a relic adrift among corridors of gold and marble.
Slowly, he understood: the world he once served no longer had a place for him. The uniform he had once cherished had become a cage, built to bury slow-burning souls and forgotten dreams.
A Whisper Beneath the Fifth Moon
On a night without stars, he let go.
He whispered an invitation—fragile, almost a prayer—to those who might still remember. He summoned them, far from thrones and titles, to the forgotten bay, beneath the fifth moon.
The night deepened, heavy with silence. He stood motionless, battered by alien winds, his thoughts adrift—and with them, the gnawing doubt that perhaps nothing would remain.
A New Journey Begins
Then, between two gusts of wind, a light.
Faint at first, wavering like a dream long abandoned. Then others, timid and proud, kindling across the darkened waves.
Shapes emerged from the mist.
Upon the sleeping sea, a ship approached, its bright sail swelling with hope.
His heart surged with sudden, sharp adrenaline. A wild, ancient thrill raced through his veins.
They had followed.
He smiled—a rare smile, a true smile.
Everything was beginning anew.
Free, at last.
