man stood on one of the port's ships, counting the goods being loaded onto the ships. Overnight, his fate changed from being a fleet commander and master of his people to a man heading into the unknown, followed by rumors about a new land.
The enemy forces were sent with fleets to it, then they disappeared. Some believed they had arrived, others believed they had perished. All because of a map—no one knew if it was written by man or demon—and a dream, whether it was mere imagination or a vision. The men of the emirate agreed on the necessity of sending someone to investigate the matter.
As the sun set, yellow banners were raised on the masts, and the sailors' shouts rose. The anchors were lifted and the ships sailed toward the new land, setting off on a journey whose duration only God knew.
In the depths of the dark seas, a fleet worn down by storms. Ships barely manned enough to steer them, and men stricken by famine after two months of sailing with no progress in finding the new lands. Their morale faded as if they were on a journey to death.
On the largest ship, a man stood at the oar, reciting verses. He looked ill, yet his eyes told a story his mouth did not: faith and determination. His crew's gazes at him were as though they saw in him fertile lands and rivers.
The storm intensified, and lightning struck. The man noticed several ships changing course, but he did not pursue them—his resolve only grew. He halted the ships, gathered the crew leaders, and told them the story of Saul (Talut), king of the Children of Israel, whom his people abandoned at the first trial. He stood among them and said:"Whoever is overcome by hunger may turn back, but do not forget that God is with the patient."
The fleet's determination grew, and their morale lifted. On the ninety-ninth day, the seas raged, and the men's dreams faded away. All they wanted was to return to their land. But when they looked at that man, their feelings vanished in a fleeting moment. The man looked up at the sky and said:"When the trial is most severe, relief is near… help us, our Lord."
A night passed, and the sun rose over what appeared to be land. They had arrived. The ships anchored, they gathered, and prayed to God in thanks. They established their first camp in the new land. Who would have thought that this group would one day change the history of that land?
They began traveling and encountered the first inhabitants of that land: poor tribes who could not find their daily sustenance, dressed in animal skins and living off them. They settled with them, learned and taught them their language. The tribes welcomed the migrants and their new religion, finding in it the justice and belonging they had long missed. The tribes merged with them, and the crew discovered that the land they had arrived in was nothing but small islands between two great continents.
That land was part of a great empire called Nauern, placed under the authority of a duke belonging to one of the ruling families. The tribes suffered from racism, oppression, and slavery. The commander and his crew could not bear the duke's tyranny over the people. He gathered his men and some of the tribesmen, and set out across the land, uniting the tribes and spreading the new religion.
They founded their first city and named it "Canarerin". The empire began calling them "rebels", and the duke gathered the lords under his banner and army, beginning attacks on the tribes.
The commander launched a daring night raid on one of the lords of the duchy. He infiltrated the enemy camp with his men and some tribesmen. They spread chaos, burned the tents, and upon reaching the lord's tent, they were surprised by a creature never seen before: Draughtborn—a massive human-like being, clad in black armor, wielding a gigantic sword, and fighting with incredible ferocity.
The commander mounted his horse, charged at it, and drove a spear through its armor, but it did not die—its ferocity increased. He leapt from his horse, drove another spear into its head, and it exploded in a stormy instant. The giant fell, and with it, the soldiers' morale soared.
They entered the lord's tent, killed him, and captured the remaining soldiers. From interrogations, they learned the lord's city was near. They infiltrated it at night, wearing the soldiers' armor, and the guards thought they were their own. They opened the gates, and the rebels stormed in.
They attacked the lord's palace and were met by five Draughtborn knights, with a knight in white armor behind them. But the rebels had learned from their previous encounters—they rained arrows upon them, piercing their armor. Four fell, the fifth was stabbed with spears, and the white giant surrendered. He was shackled, and the city fell into their hands.
They discovered that Draughtborn were humans subjected to harsh alchemical experiments, producing superhuman warriors. Despite the victory, the tribes' suffering did not end, as the duke began massacring villages and sending women and children as spoils to his capital, Gasteda.
When the commander learned of this, he decided to march to the heart of the duchy. He returned to his fleet, gathered the tribes, and sailed along the Viro River toward the capital—a fortified city overlooking the sea from three sides, protected on the sea side only by rocky heights.
In the shadows of the night, they surrounded it by land and sea. Their ships fired cannons, destroying the naval defenses, while the tribes attacked the main gate. The commander drove his ship onto the shore—it crashed but did not break. The soldiers leapt out and entered the city.
They set up cannons and attacked the duke's battalions. They seized the port and opened the gates from within. The forces gathered at the duke's palace, from which emerged a luxurious carriage drawn by white horses, followed by platinum carriages guarded by ten Draughtborn.
An elderly, thin man in white armor dismounted, revealing only his face. In a booming voice, he said:"You have won the battle, but you have not won the war. Leave at once."
A tribesman advanced toward him with his sword, and the guards made way for him. In a flash, the man burst into flames, the duke's hand raised. In that instant, the commander knew this was no ordinary human, but one of the Arkanis.
The duke left, the tribes united under one ruler, and the land was named the Sultanate of Elaf—because the one who united it was not a king by inheritance, but a sultan chosen by the people through their faith and strength.
…
With the battle over, a new chapter began. An old sheikh sat in the mosque courtyard, telling the story to a group of children, and ended it saying:"Go to your homes, your mothers are waiting for you for lunch, and don't forget to return in the afternoon."
The children left, and one of them, with black hair and pale skin, said to his friend:"What do you think of the old man Tir's story? It seems he didn't tell us everything, Azamir."
Azamir replied with a smile:"It's not a story—it's our history, Nuh. My grandfather was captain of the ship Nar; he saw all of this with his own eyes."
The two friends hurried to their homes, and Azamir headed to his family's palace, where lunch awaited him.