The gigantic Elven fleet, under the crimson glow of the dawn it was named after, cast anchor in the sheltered cove of Dawn Isle. The island's volcanic sands and pristine tropical foliage whispered to the thousands of Elves, who had been at sea for months, that this was both a respite and the threshold of a new beginning. Yet, this break would not be spent in peace and tranquility. The ambitions and secret rivalries suppressed beneath the grandeur of the great Houses in Qualar now sought opportunity to sprout anew in the salty ocean air.
The House leaders and commanders of the fleet convened in a large command tent established at the island's center. Maps were spread upon the tables, ready for the discussion of future plans. Yet, three great shadows loomed over everything; three unanswered questions that would determine the fate of the entire expedition: Who would be the absolute leader of this colossal force? Where would the first sword-stroke be delivered? And most critically, how would the wealth of the conquered lands be shared?
As anticipated, the allies of Valtherion Dravakar spoke first. Several minor Houses proposed that the leadership of this great campaign be given to Valtherion, the mighty head of the Dravakar House, who commanded the most warriors and resources. This was both a logical suggestion and a cunning move to earn the friendship and patronage of the great House. However, most leaders in the tent vehemently opposed the idea of surrendering all power into the hands of a single House before the campaign had even commenced. For the independence-loving nobles, this was an unacceptable beginning.
Valtherion Dravakar, taking the floor, skillfully bypassed the leadership issue and focused directly on strategy. With his deep and self-assured voice, he pointed to a spot on the map.
"Our first target must be Solendora," he stated.
"This desert continent, which stretches along the warm waters of the Calarion Sea, stands at the center of the trade routes that will be the lifeblood of our future colonies. We must land on its northern shores, the Sunlit Coasts, conquer the entire coastline starting from the west, and proceed eastward, 'cleansing' it by divine will. Victories are won not only with the sword, but with gold and provisions."
This was a calculated and logical plan, delivered by an experienced statesman.
Yet, this logic was nothing short of cowardice for Elandor Veythakar, the young and ambitious leader of the Veythakar House. He leapt to his feet and struck the map spread upon the table with the back of his hand.
"We did not come here to be merchants, but to conquer!" he roared. His eyes blazed.
"Creeping along the coasts is a waste of time! The Veythakar warriors take orders from no one, and I shall personally lead them! We must thrust our strength directly into the heart of the continent, breaking the enemy's resistance at its core! Victory belongs to the bold!"
This fiery outburst was countered by Thalindel Myrindel, the representative of the Myrindel House. He spoke in a calm but determined tone.
"Ambition writes the finest words on gravestones, Elandor, but it does not bring triumph. Blindly assaulting the heart of an unknown continent is suicide. Yet, Valtherion's plan condemns us to a desert war that will last for years."
He pointed to the North of the map.
"We must first land on the great forested isle to the north, establishing a defensible, secure harbor. Once our fortress is built, we proceed south and east with measured steps. Hasty strides lead only to ruin."
As the argument ignited, Aenrith Tavriel, the heir and leader of the warriors of the Tavriel House, presented a fourth option. Though his voice was not as thunderous as the others, there was a poetic resolve in its cadence.
"Our target should be Montelira," he said.
"That mountainous continent northeast of the Calarion Sea... the very lands where the War for the Sky began, where the dragons first defied us. Waving an Elven banner where the dragons fell would be a meaningful message to all Ferosia, showing who the new masters are. This would be not merely a conquest, but a symbol."
In the midst of this strategic war among the great Houses, several smaller Houses put forth an entirely different notion. They wished to avoid being overshadowed by the great ones. Their representative asked, "Why should we try to secure a share in the hunting grounds of the great Houses?
"Let us sail south without entering the Calarion Sea at all. Let us go to those unnamed lands stretching south of the Solendora mountains, where the maps have not yet been drawn. There, we shall forge our own destiny."
Hours of heated debate, raised voices, and alliances formed and broken in an instant yielded no result. Every leader believed their own plan was the truest path, holding the glory and wealth of their own House above all others. In the end, the bitter truth crashed onto the table: this great force, united under a single banner, could not pursue a single goal.
The dream of unity had died on Dawn Isle. Therefore, the grand Elven fleet divided. There was no longer one fleet; there were five distinct powers that had set out with a common destiny but would now sail toward different horizons. Following the bitter but inevitable decision reached on Dawn Isle, the unity of the great Elven armada came to an end. At sunrise, the calm waters around the island were churned by the waves created by sails turning in different directions. That colossal organism, which had set forth with a single soul, was now splitting into five separate parts, each possessing its own will, ambition, and fate. The banner of every fleet filled with a different wind, each setting off to etch its own mark on the future of Ferosia.
The Dagger of Veythakar
Elandor Veythakar's ambition filled his sails before all others. His fleet of twenty ships, though small compared to the rest, resembled a sharp dagger designed to pierce its target with the utmost speed. Refusing to sail around the continent, Elandor, with his four thousand elite warriors, bravely charted a course toward the northern tip of the colossal Luminescence Bay in southern Ethralis—the point closest to the continent's very heart. This was a gamble that would result either in brilliant victory or absolute ruin.
The Armada of Dravakar
The largest and most imposing force, the ninety-five-ship invincible armada commanded by Valtherion Dravakar, did not rush. Weighing anchor with a slow, determined, and overwhelming might, they turned their course westward. Their goal was the legendary Sunlit Coasts of the Solendora continent, promising vast trade potential. Valtherion sought to establish an empire rather than merely conquer, and his fleet advanced like a heavy hammer, intent on instilling the unyielding authority of the Dravakar House wherever it passed.
The Legacy of Tavriel
The seventy-ship fleet led by Aenrith Tavriel turned northeast with a distinct, more poetic purpose. Their target was the mountainous continent of Montelira, where the ashes of the War for the Sky were still warm, and the dragons had made their final stand. Their landing on the eastern shores would be not just a military maneuver, but a potent message sent to both the past and the future. The Tavriel warriors were sailing to write their own history upon the lands where history had been forged.
The Chessboard of Myrindel
The forty-ship fleet, under the wise and cautious leadership of Thalindel Myrindel, consciously steered away from the chaos on the main continents. They sailed toward an island named Serelune, strategically located northeast of the Ethralis continent. This island would serve as a perfect forward outpost for observing the wars on the mainland, gathering strength, and intervening at the precise moment. The Myrindel House planned for permanent dominion, not a hasty victory.
And finally, the twenty-five-ship fleet formed by the alliance of minor Houses, who refused to remain in the shadow of the great ones. Unlike the others, they took a step toward the unknown, not to known targets. Their route was south; toward those unnamed lands where the maps ended and the legends began... This was perhaps the most perilous journey, but it was also the only one that carried the hope of establishing a new kingdom that no one else had claimed.
Five separate routes, five separate destinies, and the history of Ferosia—to be rewritten in blood and fire—separated on the horizon of Dawn Isle that day.