For the next three weeks, nothing remarkable happened aboard the Violet. The southeast wind continued to strengthen, driving the ship forward at an impressive pace—over 500 miles per day. For a vessel of her tonnage, this was as much as could be asked.
Captain Simbad felt the changing weather in his bones. Something was brewing. He had long since learned that no ship, no matter how prepared, could defy the true dangers of the sea. His instincts—sharpened by years of sailing—warned of approaching rain and powerful winds.
He ordered the sails furled and stood watch, eyes scanning the horizon. Within an hour, the crew had secured the rigging.
The next morning, the wind seemed to ease. But Simbad didn't trust such reprieves. And he was right. By noon, the wind had returned with force, whipping the sea into a frenzy.
Long waves rolled beneath the Violet. They surged one after another—taller than any that should have formed in winds of this strength. Somewhere to the east, a mighty storm was raging, and it would soon catch them.
The sky itself seemed to press down with silent menace.
But despite the foreboding signs, one thing worked in the Violet's favor: the wind remained at their backs. However fierce it became—even a hurricane—it would only hasten their arrival at the shores of Nightingale.
The storm wasn't the real danger. No, the true peril would come when it was time to approach the unknown coastline. Simbad worried over it constantly. What if they reached an empty shore with no pilots or fishermen to guide them? What if bad weather forced them to seek refuge where no safe harbor could be found?
For now, these were only distant concerns—but they weighed heavily on his mind.
Each day the ship rocked harder. Fortunately, no one aboard suffered from seasickness. Even the children held up well.
Simbad stood at the bow, watching the sky and sea. His eyes often drifted to the Violet's masts, which groaned under the strain despite all precautions.
"And how goes it, my 'sworn brother'?" Katarina's playful voice broke through the howling wind. She showed no sign of concern.
"Ah, it's you, Katarina. I see nothing—absolutely nothing. The wind keeps strengthening. We may soon be in the thick of a storm. Tell me, does a Nebulord feel no fear at the thought of being cast overboard into the heart of a hurricane?"
"If we were still in the open ocean, I'd certainly be anxious," she replied calmly. "But we're nearly at Nightingale. The storm won't stop me or the children now. If it came to it, I could fly us away on Snowflake—the same Snowflake that terrifies your parrot—and escape without worry.
"I'm only here to keep an eye on my wayward brother."
Since their fateful conversation, the two had grown closer. True friends now, they understood and respected each other. Simbad had learned how to interact with Katarina without fear. As long as he didn't leer at her or provoke her, he was safe.
Though once, emboldened by drink, Simbad had tested his luck. He approached the beautiful woman, hoping to share a drink—and maybe, just maybe, revive her old joke about letting him court her.
What a mistake.
He still shuddered at the memory of being hung upside down from the mast while Katarina dunked him into the sea, using him as bait for marine predators. Right in front of the entire crew.
Though he'd known she wouldn't seriously harm him, the shame was unforgettable. He was certain his men would retell the humiliating tale in every port for years to come. Even now, they occasionally snickered behind his back—or praised his 'bravery' to his face with sadistic smiles.
The brewing storm worried him less than that ever-present embarrassment.
"Any advice on keeping my ship intact?" he asked, not really expecting much.
"If things go badly, I'll use wind magic to keep the masts standing and water magic to stabilize the ship," Katarina promised. "But let me be clear: even as a Nebulord, I'm not omnipotent. Nature's power is nature's power. Only gods can command the tides. I can only assist in critical moments."
"That's more than enough! Sister, with that, I won't have to risk hitting any reefs."
"Just remember—I can only help in emergencies. If I use my power too often, I'll burn out quickly, and your trump card will be wasted."
"I understand. Don't worry. I'm confident I can ride out this storm alone if need be. But it will be much easier with you at my side."
"Good. If you say so."
That evening, the hurricane struck—the most violent form of storm.
Winds roared in from the northwest at two hundred miles an hour. This was no mere tempest. This was a force that could smash anchored ships ashore, rip roofs from homes, and flatten sturdy structures.
The children were forbidden from coming on deck without an adult. Alone, they risked being snatched up and flung into the sea.
The hurricane could tear heavy magical weapons from the masts. One could only imagine what it might do to the Violet, tossed helplessly among the waves.
Yet in that very helplessness lay the ship's best hope. Violet did not resist the wind. She yielded to it, and as long as her structure held, she might survive even the storm's fiercest fury.
And so far, she did.
Holding tightly to Cassia's hands, the children watched Simbad issue order after order. His voice cut through the wind. The sailors obeyed without question. Their lives depended on it.
Only Simbad and Cassia knew of Katarina's magical safety net. The rest of the crew—faces puffy from drink—couldn't fully conceal their worry.
The sails had been taken down, but the wind pressed against the hull itself. Waves threatened the ship with treacherous blows from behind.
Mountains of water surged forward faster than the brigantine could outrun them. If the stern didn't rise quickly enough, the waves could swamp and sink them.
This was the greatest danger for ships fleeing a storm.
Simbad never left the wheel. He shortened the crew's sleep shifts and vowed not to rest himself until the ship left the storm's grip.
After two days of relentless battering, the sharp-eyed helmsman shouted from the crow's nest:
"Land! Ahead—Nightingale!"
Simbad handed off the wheel and raced to the bow.
"Where?" he shouted over the wind.
"There!" Eagle Eye pointed to a faint speck ahead.
The shore lay ten miles to windward. A gap in the clouds widened, and Simbad saw they were heading straight for a towering mountain peak.
Land. Finally.
But instead of relief, dread gripped him.
Landfall under hurricane winds, with a ship racing forward at breakneck speed, meant a high chance of wrecking—along with all the horrors that entailed.
"Katarina," Simbad muttered, "this time, I'll have to rely on you."
Returning to the helm, he grabbed the wheel with both hands. He gave swift instructions and ordered everyone to secure themselves.
Simbad rode a towering wave, turning the Violet sharply so she sailed parallel to the shore. Katarina's role was to keep the ship's speed up, using water and wind magic to counter the storm's rage.
The Violet skimmed the waves like an expert surfer. Pulling off such a maneuver with an entire ship required perfect synchronization between the helmsman and the mage battling the elements.
Catching favorable waves, the ship sped along the coast, desperate to avoid the sheer cliffs and find even the smallest safe harbor.
After an hour, Katarina was exhausted. Simbad knew she needed to recover her mana.
"Rest for ten minutes. You need to replenish your strength.
"Men!" he roared. "Will you let a 'frail woman' beat you at saving this ship?"
"Frail?" the sailors grumbled. "That's rich coming from the man who once hung upside down all day after provoking that same frail woman..."
But aloud, they cried, "Aye, Captain!" with pride.
They threw themselves into the work, struggling to steer the ship away from the cliffs despite the wind and waves.
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