Within the walls of the Imperial Palace, as the council gathered in its usual solemnity, one seat remained conspicuously vacant. The men exchanged glances, unease settling like a chill over the hall. That empty chair belonged to none other than Commander Leesa Marlene, known not only for her unwavering punctuality, but for always leading these councils with calm authority.
A knock echoed at the chamber doors—sharp, hesitant.
All turned as a young maid entered. Her head bowed low, her hands trembling as they clutched the hem of her apron. Weinne. She walked slowly, the click of her shoes like whispers on stone, and stopped before the assembled council.
"I bring word on behalf of Lady Marlene," she said softly, eyes fixed on the floor.
Sir Anton, ever composed, spoke with the gentleness born of command. "What word, and where is Lady Marlene?"
Weinne's voice faltered only a little. "She left for the port last night."
Anton raised an eyebrow. "That is the message?"
Weinne's gaze lifted, and for the first time, she met his eyes. "Yes, my Lord. That is all."
There was a pause. Anton's mind worked swiftly, but aloud, he only said, "And why relay this now? Why not inform me the moment she departed?"
"My lady gave me precise instructions," said Weinne, her voice firmer now. "I was to tell you one day after she left. No sooner."
"I see," murmured Anton, understanding more than her words conveyed. "You've done your duty. You may go."
Weinne bowed and exited, leaving silence in her wake.
No sooner had the door closed than Commander Elzar stood. "We must leave now."
Anton looked at him. "To the port, I assume?"
Elzar nodded. "You know what she meant by this. She did not wish to be stopped. But she knew she would need us after she had made her move."
Anton's expression was unreadable for a moment. Of them all, Elzar was the one who knew Leesa's mind best. "You're right," he said at last. "But we need not all go. Sir Ronan, Sir Hendricus—remain here. Commander Elzar and I shall go to the port."
And with that, they departed swiftly, with urgency in their step.
They arrived at the west port under the cloak of nightfall the following day. The sea air was thick with brine and fog, and the docks bustled with half-awake workers and the glow of lanterns swinging in the wind. As they approached, the port head, a man wearied by the surprise of the high-ranking visitors, hurried toward them. His face creased with anxiety.
"Commander—Sir—what brings you here again?" he asked breathlessly.
"Was Commander Marlene here?" Anton asked, wasting no time.
"Yes, Sir. She arrived yesterday, just before dusk."
"And now?" pressed Elzar.
The port head hesitated, then gestured solemnly out toward the sea, where only mist and moonlight danced over the waves.
"She's gone... beyond the sea surface."
"What in the Emperor's name does that mean?" Anton demanded.
"She requested a boat the moment she heard of the last ship's departure," explained the head. "It seems she set off in pursuit. Alone."
Anton's breath hitched. He closed his eyes, grimacing. "No..."
"But why the last ship?" Elzar asked, more to himself than anyone else.
But Anton had already turned, rifling through his satchel. His fingers moved with speed born of purpose. He drew parchment and ink, scribbled swiftly, and sealed the paper with a small insignia—a temporary seal of royal authority, reserved only for emergencies or the absence of the throne's voice. He handed it to the head.
"This is an official command. Prepare a vessel—fast, light, and seaworthy. We will leave as soon as it's ready."
The man bowed low and sprinted to rouse the harbour. It took two harrowing hours before a vessel was found—a sleek cutter, seaworthy and swift, a merchant's chase-ship meant for emergencies on open waters. The labourers, though weary, worked tirelessly, lanterns flickering against the salty breeze. Anton and Elzar boarded just as the tide began to shift. The ship set out beneath the silver gaze of the stars, cutting through the black sea in pursuit of the lone warrior who had dared to race the tides themselves.
It had been more than a full day since Leesa had cast herself to sea, and still she rowed. The oars burned her hands, her back ached from the relentless rhythm, but her spirit did not yield. Night and day bled into one long, gruelling stretch of grey horizon and salt-heavy air. She had neither slept nor eaten more than what little she had brought, but her mind was too focused to allow weariness any power.
By the time the sun reached its zenith on the second day, Leesa finally caught sight of it—a silhouette on the water, large and stately, bearing the emblem of the Dukedom: a proud eagle, wings unfurled, gilded in gold.
Her heart surged. As she neared, something strange struck her. The ship moved slowly, as it ought, laden with its heavy cargo, but there was no watchman at the rails, no movement along the deck. The usual bustle of maritime life—the bark of orders, the shuffle of boots, the snap of sails—was absent. Not even the creak of wood under steady feet reached her ears. An uneasy silence hung about the vessel like a veil.
Leesa secured her boat to the hull and ascended the rope ladder with quiet precision. Her boots met the deck with a light thud, but no answer came. She moved swiftly, her hands ever near the dagger on her hip, her eyes sharp. She was alone. The ship, though intact, was eerily deserted. She opened hold after hold, searching between crates of luxury goods and sacks of grain. Everything was in place—no sign of looting or panic—but not a soul to be found.
It was only when she descended into the belly of the ship, into the cargo deck far below, that she noticed something odd: a faint golden glow flickering from beneath the final hatch. Voices—muffled, cautious—reached her ears. She drew her blade, breath shallow, heart pounding in her chest. Quiet as a shadow, she crept closer to the well-lit door nestled at the far end of the passage. The voices became clearer—men speaking in low tones, unaware that Leesa Marlene, Commander of the Imperial Army, now stood on the other side.