By the afternoon, smoke appeared on the horizon. It was faint at first, then it got thicker accompanied by faint cries carried by the wind.
Xior was the first to stand and narrow his gaze towards something in the distance. "There's a ship," he said.
Sure enough, a larger vessel loomed ahead. It was a battered galleon, its sails were torn and the deck scarred by fire.
Chaos reigned aboard the ship as figures clashed steel against steel, and above the din rose a single desperate cry cut through the air.
"Get your hands off me!"
On the deck, surrounded by a dozen men, stood a girl in white robes. Her long hair was silver, her garments were embroidered with gold threads.
She struggled against the men as her hands glowed with a faint light.
"There's a girl, I think." Beatrice whispered to Xior.
