“The sea remembers what the survivors forget.”


    — Lessons of the Left.


    <hr>


    The rain pelted the deck in relentless sheets, whipping across the mast and rigging like the lash of a thousand invisible hands would beat at a peasant who spoke out of turn. The sea roiled beneath the Masked Fleet — named for the faces of past Emperors painted on the bow — with a fury fit to challenge the very heavens.


    The storm rose swiftly and caught the armada off guard. It arrived with timing so poor it had to have been orchestrated by an enemy plot. There was no worse moment for this weather than when they approached the reef shielding the Ashuran shores.


    A heavy stillness suffused the inside of the cabin. The air kowtowed to the demands of its rightful rulers, standing as a stark contrast to the chaos outside. Tiān Fǔ’s Voice of the Court placed delicate porcelain cups on a lacquered tray before her before stepping aside.


    No thoughts of what came before.


    Calm.


    Remain calm.


    In contrast to the howling storm.


    The ship danced to the ocean’s cruel rhythm, and yet her cabin remained a haven of peace. Her gaze lingered on the rich jade of the tea as it swirled in the pot. Tiān Fǔ’s pale fingers moved gracefully towards the tray. She picked up the prayer sheet beside the pot, consigned it to a candle’s flames, then lifted her cup.


    Zhì Yǐn sat opposite her. His hands remained steady as he mirrored her and sipped from his own cup. The warmth from the brew seeped into both of them and cut through the chill of the tempest beyond. His long, dark robes barely stirred as the tempest raged. A tranquillity that was reflected in his sea green eyes.


    Not even the turbulence encroached upon his resolve.


    Even the shadows of his eyes held no hints of what troubles haunted them.


    “Have the waters ever been so restless, do you think?” Tiān Fǔ asked.


    Zhì Yǐn’s eyes lingered on the candle as the waves crashed against the flat-bottomed hull.


    He deliberated for a moment on his reply.


    “The silence of the world is its most profound truth; it speaks louder than chaos, if we are wise enough to hear.” he murmured. “Perhaps it is simply reminding us that nothing is ever truly ours to control.”


    A grimace flickered across Tiān Fǔ’s face before vanishing beneath the waves. Her gaze lowering to the surface of her tea.


    “Indeed,” she whispered. “Control is a fragile thing.”


    The words hung in the air. Both spoke around the subject without acknowledging it directly. Both did their best to ignore it. The very mention of their burden might shatter the illusion of safety they maintained. The ship, their fleet, the refugees, their quest. Was this all that remained of their people? Was this to be Yan Tei’s final legacy? Even now, as they fled far from home, there was a fathomless depth to the silence between them that neither dared to break.


    Tiān Fǔ, I charge you with defying the heavens themselves. I failed, but you must not. You are all that remains of our dynasty. See to our vengeance. See that our people are born anew.


    The final words whispered by her dying father returned to her.


    Her fingers tightened around her cup.


    He’d tasked her with defying those who claimed the very heavens as their own.


    An impossible quest.


    A challenge few had dared.


    None had succeeded.


    And yet… their hidden cargo whispered of hope. Her father had struck down one of the Gnomish sky ships before his death. And Zhì Yǐn had spirited away what they could claim from the wreckage. Not only that, he’d hidden it from the eyes of the Gnomes.


    The Shrouded Custodian presented them with an opportunity they’d never had before. An opportunity to unravel the secrets of the Gnomes and perhaps exact vengeance for the many atrocities they’d committed. One day, she would see her people returned home. One day, she’d see the Gnomes held to account for every wrong they’d done.


    Zhì Yǐn’s gaze lingered on his cup.


    He waited for her to sip at her tea.


    Tiān Fǔ lifted her cup.


    He mirrored the gesture.


    The steam’s warmth did little to banish the ghost which had been summoned forth into the room.


    “The land ahead,” he said, with the smallest shift in tone, “is not without its defenders. The storm may pass, but they will not.”


    Tiān Fǔ’s brows drew together in annoyance for a heartbeat before smoothing into calculated neutrality. She adjusted the cups on the tray while she considered her response.


    “Guardians,” she mused. “These people have not faced our fires since the time of Triumphant.”


    A sudden knock on the door interrupted the quiet exchange.


    Tiān Fǔ stiffened, then gestured with one finger. First towards her Voice, then towards the door. It would not do for one beneath her station to hear her spoken words. She’d never hear the end of it on the sixteenth terrace of the Hundred Lotus Court in… a knife cut through her heart. Nothing more than a crater remained where the Court had once stood in Sing Du. No more spring dances, no moonlit trysts on coastal ships.


    Duty to my family and my people are all that is left.


    As the eighth child, Tiān Fǔ had never expected for this kind of responsibility to one day rest upon her shoulders. She’d nonetheless learned the lessons her tutors had imparted upon her, only to then drift through the world as listlessly as a leaf caught in a gale. She’d traded barbs and secrets like all her other siblings, but there’d never been any real steel to any of it when she’d had nothing to gain. Now she found herself thrust into a role that she’d never been meant to fill.


    Lán Yīng slid forwards and peered through the window atop the entrance.


    “It is Zhàn Zhì, honourable princess,” she signed.


    “He may enter,” she answered Lán Yīng in turn.


    Lán Yīng unbolted the door.


    A tall, wiry man entered with hurried steps a moment later. His cloak was drenched from head to toe. Constant vigilance hinted beneath his tired grey eyes. Eyes that remained averted from her as he glanced briefly at the interior before giving a deep bow.


    Tiān Fǔ gestured towards Lán Yīng.


    “Rise,” the woman ordered.


    “We’ve been sighted, honourable princess,” Zhàn Zhì rattled out. “A signal fire burns, and their ships are already on the move.”


    Tiān Fǔ’s fingers tightened around her cup until her knuckles turned white. Her lips pressed into a thin line. Even this much of a lapse in her mask would’ve earned her ridicule from her sisters back home. Composure had been a mountain to maintain ever since the…


    Pools of molten rock, ash, clouds of noxious gas. Groves drowning in a sea of green fire. Another anguished scream. The taste of burning meat thick in the air. The corpse of her sister. Half her face eaten by acid, the other half a mess of welts. Dead. Dead. Dead. Everywhere she looked. They were all dead.


    She bit her tongue and signed her handmaiden.


    May the Guardians not judge me unworthy for my lapse in thoughts.


    Not that any of their warrior priests could call upon the Guardians.


    Their presence had vanished ever since their fleet had crossed the open waters.


    “How many?” Lán Yīng interpreted her next words.


    “Five, honourable princess,” Zhàn Zhì replied, eyes not meeting her own. “More are gathering.”


    Her fingers relaxed.The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    Not many. The shattered remnants of the Masked Fleet numbered just over a hundred warships. Sailing the open waters with this many ships always posed risks. It always attracted predators. This journey had been worse than any which had come before. It was as if every enemy that Yan Tei had ever made had hounded them during their flight. Even once they’d escaped to the ocean… many of their smaller vessels had faltered under the assault of sea leviathans. Many had sunk beneath the waves. Few of the ships had survived with their warding schemes entirely intact.


    Fortunately, their fleets were not without teeth of their own. More than just harpoons and crossbows. They’d brought over two hundred Spirit Bearers and their scrolls with them during their flight. They were well-prepared for a fight. Only… it was never wise to unleash spirits on open waters on damaged ship.


    Tiān Fǔ dismissed thoughts of diplomacy. The natives were little more than savages, and even now posed little threat to their diminished fleet. It also mattered little when the numbers were skewed so far in their favour.


    “Then we strike,” Lán Yīng spoke in her stead.


    A flicker of something hinted in Zhàn Zhì’s eyes before vanishing without a trace.


    The storm’s fury seemed to swell in the distance. Tiān Fǔ rose, her robes billowing as she turned toward the open door. She stared past Whispers of the Moon’s triple sails.


    She looked far.


    Farther.


    Even farther still.


    There, in the distance. Tiān Fǔ glimpsed the distant silhouettes of five ships emerging from the mist. Their sails had been torn free by the gale, and yet they journeyed onwards. Closer. Their movements were surely driven solely by the spite of Ashuran sorcery alone.


    She turned back to Zhàn Zhì without a word. He was already stepping toward the door.


    A white light soared into the air above the ship.


    Peace, they wanted to negotiate.


    Tiān Fǔ hesitated as the words of her now dead tutors cautioned her.


    Was it wise to spurn peace?


    It would take the full manpower of at least a continent to bring vengeance to those who had claimed the heavens. A people that would not serve her by choice. Both her head and her heart were in accord. The people of Calernia had been the ones to usher in this Age of Chaos. Let them be the ones to carry the cost of their own folly.


    Her teacher’s caution had not saved the Court.


    Why would their wisdom fare any better here?


    “Prepare the fleet,” Lán Yīng issued her command.


    Tiān Fǔ’s gaze lingered on the distant ships for a moment longer. The natives. Her lips curled in distaste. The ones to blame for this disaster. Her brothers and sisters would’ve suggested diplomacy. Tiān Fǔ had once been just as soft.


    That innocence had died with them under the fire of the heavens. Now, she held no such reservations. Diplomacy had failed them against the Gnomes. And now, parley gave way to the inevitability of war. Every moment that passed was another where their theft might be caught. There was no telling for how long Zhì Yǐn could Hold the sky ship before its location was discovered.


    The last of her prayers had been burned.


    There was no shore to return to.


    No place to call home.


    The first clash ended abruptly.


    “Let them come,” she whispered to herself softly. “The rain will pass. But we will remain.”


    Bolts hurtled towards the sailors aboard the Ashuran ships. A gust of unnatural wind saw the galleons cut starboard, narrowly evading the projectiles of over a hundred ships. Tiān Fǔ furrowed her brow. The sailors moved with uncanny precision, forcing her to reconsider their abilities. She plucked a weed from her garden of thoughts and cast it aside. Numbers would see them through. Another truce marker launched into the air. Loud, insistent. Tiān Fǔ signed a second denial when Zhàn Zhì asked for her orders.


    Negotiations always weakened any conflict that followed.


    Sailors ducked behind railings as the second volley hurtled between ships. The ocean rumbled as a band of Ashuran sorcerers twisted the current violently. Two of Tiān Fǔ’s ships almost crashed into each other, only for the Spirit Sage to reach out and disperse the native sorceries. Then, the enemy fleet sailed into range of more direct attacks. Fires erupted on the deck of the first ship as clay globes marked with detonation runes and filled with oil were lobbed across the water.


    It wasn’t long before the first of the enemy ships took a breach in the hull.


    The wind howled as enemy sorcerers painted the skies with their magics once more. Enormous waves crashed against the Masked Fleet, rocking ships from side to side.


    Crash!


    Calamity struck.


    Light streaked across the open ocean and struck against the already vulnerable warding array shielding the one of the Spirit Binder’s vessels. Vital segments of the protections unravelled in the wrong way. Protective enchantments thrummed. Another monstrous wave raced towards the vessel and tipped it into the water.


    The chiming of a warning bell cut through the howling of the wind.


    Tiān Fǔ stiffened.


    One of the bindings faltered.


    A cut streaked down Tiān Fǔ’s face as rain pelted her. She pulled back fast into the relative safety of her cabin and watched as chaos unfolded.


    Water was water, and yet it sliced through skin like the edge of an obsidian blade. The sound of wood grating against cutting water echoed throughout the battlefield as a Spirit of Order laid its influence upon the surface of the waves. Soldiers on the distant ship stiffened as blood in their bodies shredded them under the hostile effect. The ocean bubbled violently as the current pulled new water into the Spirit’s domain.


    “The river moves, the heavens turn; so too must you!” the Spirit Sage chanted, palm outstretched. “Return to this scroll, your chapter complete. Bind.”


    The ocean lurched once again.


    The effect dissipated.


    Another cry echoed through the squall as a ship struck against the reef.


    The cries of splintering wood and roaring waves merged into a chaotic symphony as the battlefield unfolded. Tiān Fǔ steadied herself against the cabin’s lacquered frame. Her heart thundered as the Spirit Sage’s chants echoed again. Had another of the Spirits been loosed?


    No.


    The waves calmed as he wrested authority over the seas from the enemy wizards.


    Good, Tiān Fǔ thought.


    The beat of her heart slowed as the final Ashuran warship started to take water. It was done. The conflict had ended in their favour. Her breath caught. Another sound emerged from the mist. A low, rhythmic drumming, carried by the wind. Tiān Fǔ’s eyes narrowed as she searched for the source.


    They appeared.


    At least another two dozen more enemy ships emerged from the storm’s veil. They sliced a path through the waves like spirits of vengeance summoned by the ocean itself. Their sails shimmered in the tempest, glowing faintly as runes etched into the fabric caught flashes of lightning. Tiān Fǔ’s lips pressed into a thin line.


    “More of them,” Zhàn Zhì reported, bursting into the cabin, rainwater streaming from his armour. “They’re summoning down hail from the sky.”


    A sharp crack split the air as lightning leapt from the clouds, striking the mast of one of Tiān Fǔ’s ships. The protective wards flared, but held. The glow of their magic didn’t even dull under the relentless assault. Another group of Ashuran sorcerers raised their hands and chanted together, twisting the winds to their will. The rain thickened, becoming a torrential downpour that blinded the sailors and masked the enemy’s movements.


    “Reinforce the defences,” Tiān Fǔ ordered through her Voice. “And ensure the Spirit Sage is not interrupted while he works.”


    The Yuan Ti ships sailed with mechanical precision under the captain’s command. Defensive spells flared to life as talismans were activated along the decks. A dome of shimmering energy blazed into being around the nearest Masked Ship, deflecting the next wave summoned forth by the enemy sorcerers. The sailors shouted in unison as they loaded their repeating crossbows with enchanted bolts.


    On the enemy side, the Ashurans worked as one, their actions more fluid than rehearsed. The storm roared in time with the drumbeats. The crests of waves rose higher with the magics woven into them. The sea itself had been turned into a weapon.


    Another Spirit Binder vessel found itself under siege.


    “Hold formation!” the muffled voice of the fleet admiral roared.


    Then came the fire.


    The Ashuran fleet had weapons of their own.


    Clay orbs arced through the air and struck against the rain-soaked deck of a Masked ship. Flames ignited and licked across the surface. Another found its mark near the rear of a Spirit Binder’s vessel. Tiān Fǔ’s lips pressed in a line. Another threat to the scroll storage. A detachment of sailors rushed forward and smothered the flames before they could reach the ship’s most precious cargo.


    Tiān Fǔ’s mind raced as she assessed the battlefield. Should they stay? Should they leave? Her thoughts returned to the many horrors she’d witnessed. They returned to the oath that she’d given.


    “Your Highness,” Zhàn Zhì urged, his expression grim. “The fleet cannot hold in these conditions. Not with the storm against us. Not with the damage to our wards and the nearby reef.”


    Her sharp eyes flicked between him and the battlefield. Another ship was struck by a bolt of condensed lightning as its wards collapsed. The vessel erupted in a cascade of splinters and screams before capsizing beneath a wave.


    She clenched her jaw. Every instinct screamed against retreat. She’d run when the skies had first darkened. She’d run when her brothers and sisters had remained to fight. Would she really flee again? Tiān Fǔ knew that victory was within her reach. That even know the Ashurans could be made to bow. But was victory worth the cost?


    No.


    Not when the Masked Fleet was all that remained of her home.


    They could… they could sail to the north and west. The lands of Levant were home to savages not known for any talents with navel sorcery. This trouble would’ve never arisen were their fleet in good repair. Had their situation been less dire, then the Spirit Binder’s full arsenal could’ve been deployed against the enemy fleet. Spirits unleashed at sea on ships with damaged warding schemes marked an early journey to the flower gardens.


    Once they reached dry land, their Spirits could be called upon once more.


    A distraught princess sobbed behind the regal mask that she dared not cast aside.


    Survival of their people came first and foremost.


    Vengeance came second.


    All else could wait until those troubles had been laid to rest.


    “The fleet withdraws,” Tiān Fǔ signed swiftly to her Voice.


    Zhàn Zhì bowed and turned on his heel, barking orders to the fleet. Lantern signals flashed in the storm’s gloom, the coded lights cutting through the chaos. Slowly, the damaged remnants of their fleet began to disengage. Defensive spells flared brighter as they absorbed parting blows.


    Tiān Fǔ lingered at the cabin door and observed as the remnants of her people withdrew. The Ashuran navy did not pursue, content to hold their position as the storm continued to rage. She memorized the rhythm of their drums, the choreography of their sorcery.


    A day would come when she would hold the sky to account.


    For now, she would ensure her people survived to swing the gavel.