The Day Before Departure – Old Town Market
The Old Town Market was still bustling even though the sun was almost setting. The aroma of spices, the smoke of meat, and the voices of traders mingled in a familiar cacophony. Altair, Feran, Quartzis, and Lazric walked through the market alleys, each busy looking for their last travel supplies.
"We need to find rope, extra cloaks, and a magic compass," Altair said.
"Don't forget tea and sleeping potions!" Quartzis chimed in enthusiastically.
Feran, with his usual flat expression, looked at the market crowd and said softly,
"Let's split up. It's faster that way. We'll meet back at the south gate in an hour."
The others nodded in agreement. They then spread out.
An hour later, Altair arrived at the south gate earlier than the others, followed by Quartzis and Lazric a few minutes later. They greeted each other, carrying their shopping bags.
"What did you buy?" Quartzis asked.
"Rope, a small axe, and… uh, magic soap," Altair replied.
"I bought two practical magic books, one tool to light a fire without a spell, and… this." Lazric held up a wooden chicken head charm. "Cute, right?"
Suddenly, rapid footsteps were heard.
From a distance, Feran appeared—walking quickly while observing his surroundings. Behind him, two market youths carefully pushed a large wooden crate.
To Feran's right, an old woman rolled up a cloth from her stall, smiling contentedly. To his left, another young man appeared to be cleaning leaves from a newly filled crate.
Feran nodded firmly.
"Make sure it's tightly closed. Don't let it get dirty. And put it at the very bottom of the ship's hold. Far from sunlight."
"Yes, Master Feran," one of them replied.
Altair frowned. "That… what is that?"
Quartzis held back a laugh, patting Altair's shoulder.
"That's tapai, bro. Fermented food made from cassava or glutinous rice. It tastes sweet, a little sour, and slightly… warming."
"Back in the old kingdom, tapai was a noble's food. It was even served at feasts. Until one day, a high-ranking noble—I forget who—deemed it 'too common.' Since then, tapai became a lower-class food… even for prisoners."
Altair stared at Feran, who was now giving very detailed instructions to the market youth. Like a war general arranging his troops, only what was being transported… was tapai.
"Why did Feran buy so much tapai?" he muttered.
Lazric grinned too. "Don't tell me he…"
Altair suddenly remembered something. His face slowly hardened.
"Oh right… I remember."
He turned to them, his tone serious.
"Remember that dinner before Feran and I went to Daevan's place? Feran suddenly said he wanted to go to the toilet. But I also went out, well I also wanted to go to the toilet… and he didn't go into the toilet, I was suspicious and followed him. He walked behind the inn… and ate something."
Quartzis and Lazric held back their laughter.
"And if I think about it again," Altair continued, "I often saw him buy something… small, wrapped in leaves, and it smelled a bit sweet. Even when he was still at his house."
"Tapai," Quartzis said, chuckling. "Our Iron Prince… a lover of commoner food."
Altair just shook his head slowly, half in disbelief. Meanwhile, Feran approached as if nothing had happened. He stood with his typical cold expression.
"What are you talking about?"
"Nothing," the three of them answered in unison, with suspicious smiles.
Feran narrowed his eyes, then turned, stepping ahead.
"Make sure the ship is balanced. Don't make noise at night. And don't open the crate at the back," he said calmly.
Quartzis turned to Altair.
"That means: don't touch the tapai."
And on their last night in that city, a new secret was kept—not about weapons, or magic, or noble blood—but about tapai, and an older brother named Feran who apparently had a weakness… wrapped in banana leaves.
The next day, they would leave this city. But that night, they returned with light steps and laughter different from before.
Perhaps, for the first time… they truly felt like family.
Morning of Departure – Old Town Port
A thin fog still covered the harbor as Altair and Feran arrived first. The morning sunlight reflected calmly on the water's surface, creating a golden shimmer that looked almost sacred… even though the salty smell and rotten fish still dominated the air.
Their ship was already docked—a cargo ship with magical wind-strengthening modifications. Its size was large enough for a small crew, cargo, and a long journey without stopping. On its hull, a faded old seal was still faintly visible: "The Sable Tide."
"The ship looks old," Altair muttered.
"Older than the harbor guard's face," Feran replied flatly.
A few moments later, Quartzis and Lazric arrived, carrying two additional sacks.
"Got bonus hard bread from the old tapai seller," Quartzis said. "If you throw it, it can be a weapon."
"Or a cushion for the tapai crate, if Feran is worried about it shaking," Lazric added with a mischievous smile.
Feran turned sharply. Quartzis immediately raised his hands. "Alright, alright. I won't touch it. Promise."
The port crew began loading crates onto the ship. Among them, one crate was neatly carved with "dry ingredients – do not open."
Feran stood nearby, supervising the loading process as if it were a sacred object.
"Are you going to put tapai into world history?" Altair whispered.
"Maybe," Feran replied calmly. "A history that tastes good."
Before boarding the ship, their steps stopped. Ilanor and Daevan stood at the edge of the pier, waiting in silence.
Ilanor approached, carrying a small scroll.
"A sea map and wind currents. Hand-made. It can help you when the weather is bad." She looked at Altair, then Feran. "And remember, don't just carry anger on this adventure. Sometimes… what we seek isn't revenge. But a way home."
Altair bowed respectfully. "Thank you for everything you've given."
Daevan stepped more slowly, hesitantly, then offered a small pouch to Lazric.
"Seasickness potions… and a little of my favorite tea," he said softly. "I… apologize for causing so much trouble."
Feran was a little surprised. "Wait, thanks for the potion, but tea??? Seriously?"
They chuckled softly, but the air around them felt heavy—not because of magic, but because of a farewell that was never truly easy.
Feran looked at them for a moment, then simply said:
"Guard this city. We will return… if all this hasn't burned the world."
Ilanor nodded slowly.
"Your journey may be long. But don't forget… the way home will always wait. Either with a hug, or… with a new story."
They boarded the ship, greeting the middle-aged captain who seemed half-drunk but loyal. The morning wind began to fill the sails. Ropes were pulled. Anchors were raised.
And as the sails fully unfurled, the city slowly receded—disappearing behind the fog and morning light.
A Few Minutes After the Ship Departed – On Deck
The morning wind carried a salty scent and clinging dampness. The sails were fully unfurled, and the ship began to move away from Old Town Port. On deck, the captain—a middle-aged man with a gray beard and sharp eyes—smoked a small cigar, checking the compass and wind direction.
His name was Captain Dargo, a former war sailor, now a hired skipper. But when Altair mentioned their destination…
He stopped chewing his cigar.
"You said… Elementan territory?" he asked, his voice low but firm.
"The one… beyond the black mist? Where the ocean below drags souls?"
Altair nodded. "We have to go there."
Captain Dargo sighed deeply, then laughed—but there was clear nervousness in his eyes.
"Listen, kids… there are many places in this world I can accept. Oceans full of pirates, islands full of poison… even dragon ruins. But that one? Many captains would rather retire than go through there."
Quartzis grinned, relaxed.
"Oh really, but from what I heard… they say Captain Dargo is a legend of the seas. No wave can make him turn back."
Lazric chimed in with a teasing tone.
"Yeah. People say, 'If there's one person who can cross the Elementan Sea without suddenly dying, it's only Dargo.'"
The captain snorted. "What nonsense, you think I'll be influenced..."
Feran stepped forward slowly, looking directly into the captain's eyes.
"If you're scared… we can find another captain. But I don't know if the next ship is strong enough, or as fast as yours."
"And who knows if they can bring us back alive," Quartzis added quickly, his eyes narrowing. "The Elementan Sea… they say it doesn't like cowards."
Captain Dargo fell silent. His face tensed—between insulted and provoked.
"You're playing dirty, aren't you…" he muttered.
"We're just being honest," Altair said softly, but sharply. "We need someone brave. Not someone who stops halfway."
Captain Dargo looked at them one by one. Then, finally… he raised a hand, flicking his cigar into the air.
"Alright, you stubborn kids… We sail to the Elementan Sea."
"But don't blame me if the sea swallows us all."
"As long as it's not faster than scheduled,"
Lazric said with a grin.
And as that was uttered… a mist slowly began to hang low on the eastern horizon. Calm. Silent.
But as if holding something that was waiting…
At Sea – A Few Hours Later
The sound of unfurling sails and the lapping of waves became a monotonous rhythm on their journey. Altair sat leaning against the side of the deck, gazing at the seemingly calm blue sky. Quartzis was busy jotting something down in his small book, while Lazric paced back and forth checking the sail rigging—more out of boredom than necessity.
Feran stood at the edge of the front deck, staring far out at the horizon, one hand touching the hilt of his weapon… and the other hand slipping something under his cloak. A small slice of tapai.
"Are you sure it won't go bad before we get there?" Altair asked, teasingly.
"Tapai doesn't spoil. It… evolves," Feran replied in a flat but confident voice, as if talking about an ancestral heritage.
Everyone chuckled lightly, the atmosphere calm.
But that calm began to break as Lazric sharpened his gaze at the shimmering water.
"Uh… the water's murky, isn't it?"
Altair stood up, squinting at the open sea. Waves swayed, but not because of the wind. As if something from within was pushing it.
"There's something under the ship…"
Quartzis stood up quickly. "Where's my mana detector…"
Suddenly, a CRACK! sound came from under the ship. The entire deck shook. Several buckets and ropes rolled onto the floor.
From behind the main mast, a crew member shouted:
"SOMETHING IS TOUCHING THE HULL FROM BELOW!"
Altair and Feran immediately ran to the side of the deck, preparing their magic. From the previously calm sea surface, large bubbles began to appear. Then… a rumbling sound, like the breath of a giant creature.
"That's not a shark," Feran muttered, his eyes glowing sharply.
And from under the ship, a dark shape grew larger. First the tip of a tentacle appeared, then two… then five. Each as thick as a tree, vibrating with ancient magical power.
"Kraken," Lazric hissed. "An ancient bastard from the bottom of the sea…"
The first tentacle slammed into the left mast, snapping it instantly. The entire ship tilted. Water began to rise.
Lazric clung to the ship's railing. "THIS IS WHAT YOU CALLED A SAFER ROUTE THAN CLIMBING?!"
"I FORGOT THIS WAS SOUTHERN WATERS!" Quartzis yelled in panic, opening a scroll of defensive magic.
Feran moved immediately. He leaped from the front deck to a remaining mast, then jumped towards the swinging tentacle—and with one slash of his dagger, cut off its tip.
Dark blood spurted.
"Altair!" he yelled. "Cover the right side with your golden shield!"
Altair nodded and stomped his foot on the deck. A curved golden dome appeared on the right side of the ship, holding back two tentacles trying to penetrate the hull.
The ship shook again. The Kraken let out a growl from within the sea, and its massive head began to emerge—ancient purple eyes glowing with primal hatred.