Morning arrived not with silence, but with anticipation.
The hidden cove of Virencia had never felt so alive. What was once a quiet refuge carved into stone now echoed with overlapping voices, footsteps, and the restless creak of ropes pulled taut for the final time. Lanterns still burned faintly along the cavern walls, their light slowly surrendering to the widening glow pouring in from the sea-facing opening. Outside, the horizon shimmered beneath the rising sun, calm and deceptively welcoming.
The day had come.
Along the deck of VNS Hope, sailors moved with practised urgency. Orders were spoken, repeated, and confirmed. Sails were checked again despite already being inspected countless times. Knots were tightened not because they were loose, but because today demanded certainty. Every motion carried weight—the understanding that once the ship departed, it would not simply return by evening tide.
It would sail until land was found.
Or until the sea decided otherwise.
