Ever since that massive elven fleet of 250 ships, the "Dawn of Destiny," had departed from the ports of Qualar with a grand ceremony, every elf left behind had been waiting with bated breath, anxiously, for good news from the east, from beyond the ocean.
The air was thick with tangible expectation. Nothing else was spoken of in the taverns and squares. They were waiting to hear the brave and heroic stories of the warriors who had left, to raise their glasses in their honor, to sing epic songs describing how easily they had fulfilled the will of the "gods." The bars were full of merchants discussing the wealth and prosperity that the ships returning with the first spoils of that conquest would bring. Poets had prepared rhymes for victories not yet won.
But the magnificent, good news they awaited never came.
The first news arrived not from Ethralis, where the conquest had begun, but from Dawn Isle, the last stop of the journey, via a supply ship that returned with a delay of weeks. When the report brought by the captain, who disembarked from the ship that docked at the shore, reached the Elven Council, an icy silence fell in the hall. The news was not a proclamation of victory. The fleet, that united, unshakable force, had shattered on the island due to their own ambitions and disagreements, before even seeing enemy soil. The report coldly stated that the fleet had broken into five separate parts and each had scattered in different directions.
While the shock and disappointment created by that first report had not yet dissipated from the Council hall, about a week later, the real news began to arrive from beyond the ocean. Fast, single-masted courier ships, bearing the admirals' seals, docked at the port one after another.
The first news came from Elandor Veythakar, who, with his ambition, had been the first to leave the fleet. This was not a proclamation of victory, but a cold damage report and an urgent request for help. The report confirmed that Elandor had captured a port city in Ethralis; but the price of this victory, when read in the Council, took the breath away of those in the hall. He had lost more than half of his warriors in the streets of that "small" port city, on the first day of the conquest. The report detailed the heavy losses and urgently requested more warriors. The expected epic of heroism had turned into a massacre and a cry for help.
Before the news of this disaster could even be digested, the second news arrived. This time it was from Thalindel Myrindel, who had gone to Serelune Isle. His letter was no different; he too was asking for help. He said that the moment they landed on Serelune Isle, they had fallen into a sudden and savage ambush on the shore, had met an organized attack by the local tribes, and had suffered heavy losses. He too urgently requested more warriors.
The Council hall was suddenly plunged into chaos by these two reports. House representatives had jumped to their feet, shouting at the representatives of the Veythakar and Myrindel houses, demanding an accounting for this fiasco. As the argument flared, the weary messenger who brought Thalindel's message, after presenting the official report, handed a sealed personal letter to the head of the Myrindel house, namely Thalindel Myrindel's grandfather, Caelen Myrindel. Caelen was a centuries-old, wise elf who had seen the Divine Punishment War; unlike the rest of the hall, he was calm. He took the personal letter from his grandson, broke the seal, and began to read it amidst the chaotic noise. His expression did not change, but when he finished the letter, he slowly folded it and took it in his hand. Without asking permission from anyone, just bowing his head slightly, he calmly left the council and returned to his room. As he left the noise of the hall behind him, he had only one purpose: to write his painful answer to his grandson Thalindel, about the true nature of war.
Although a few people noticed Caelen's silent exit, the air in the Council hall was now ice-cold with panic. Two great fleet commanders were officially admitting, in the very first week of the conquest, that their plans had completely collapsed and they were about to bleed to death.
The only report that dissipated this gloomy atmosphere was the third news, which came from Aenrith Tavriel. His report, contrary to the others, was proud and reassuring. He stated in a triumphant tone that he had captured a port city on the eastern coast of the Montelira continent, in those holy lands where the "gods" had fought. And most importantly: without losing a single warrior. This news stood out so brightly next to the other two disasters that Aenrith's name suddenly began to be whispered as the number one hero in the hall.
The fourth and final news came from the farthest south, from the "headless fleet" that had gone to those nameless lands, namely the union of the minor houses. The courier ship they sent brought not a war report, unlike the others, but a settlement report. They reported that they had reached the continent, that a part of the fleet had separated on the way, but that the remainder had settled in a suitable bay. The report conveyed that the continent was completely safe and calm, just as the scout ships had indicated, and said they had named these new, peaceful lands "Serenia" (Serene Lands).
The Council was crushed under the weight of these contradictory reports. Shouts and accusations flew through the air; the representatives of the Veythakar and Myrindel houses, casting shame aside, demanded urgent support so that this "honorable" mission would not fail, accusing the other houses of cowardice. Aenrith Tavriel's supporters, amidst these two fiascos, proudly puffed out their chests, presenting the "flawless" victory their representative had won without shedding blood as a boon.
It was right in the midst of this chaos that a house leader paused. A simple question arose, silencing the noise in the hall for a moment. Until now, they had only discussed the news that had arrived. What about the news that hadn't?
Where was the largest fleet, commanded by Valtherion Dravakar?
The main force of the conquest, that massive armada of 95 ships, Valtherion's wise and methodical leadership... why was it so silent? Elandor's disaster was a loss. Thalindel's ambush was a tragedy. But Valtherion's silence was an unknown, and this was more frightening than all of them.
The other messengers, no matter how bad the news they brought, had crossed the ocean and reached the port somehow. Valtherion's messenger had not yet arrived. No sail belonging to him was visible on the horizon. There was not even the slightest scrap of news from the largest fleet. This silence deepened the panic and suspicion that had settled on the Council's heart.
The Council debated for hours under these disastrous reports and Valtherion's unsettling silence. The hall churned with the voices of those demanding an accounting for Elandor's bloody fiasco and those saying that refusing to send aid to Thalindel's ambush would draw the "gods'" wrath. Aenrith's flawless victory was seen by some as a ray of hope, and by others as a suspicious exaggeration.
But at the end of the day, the accusations had to be set aside and a decision had to be made. After examining the incoming reports with cold logic, the council made its final, fragmented decision. This was not a conquest plan, but a triage, a damage control order:
The fresh, newly built ships waiting in Qualar's shipyards would be distributed to these bleeding wounds.
The largest immediate support, a fleet of 21 ships, would be sent to Thalindel Myrindel. He had not made a strategic error, but had fallen directly into a savage ambush. His situation was the most critical.
The second support, 13 ships, was allocated to Elandor Veythakar. He had won a victory, but the cost was a fiasco. These ships were to stop his bleeding and to pay the price for his "foolish" courage.
8 ships would also be sent to Aenrith Tavriel, whose situation was already perfect. This was not a rescue operation, but an investment. That flawless victory in the "holy lands" had been heard throughout Qualar, and adventurers and second sons would most want to go under his banner.
The remaining 15 ships would be sent south, to the continent of Serenia. However, these ships did not carry warriors. The Council had clung to a single word in that report: "calm." Since it was a place whose name meant "Serene Lands," sending warriors there as support would be illogical and a waste of resources. These ships would send resources, tools, seeds, and workers to support the new settlement. This decision was based on that lethally erroneous report that had reached Qualar.
Furthermore, these new fleets had another mission: They would bring back the original ships from the places they went. They could not continuously build new ships; this was not a reinforcement, but a changing of the guard.
Finally, a decision was made regarding that biggest unknown in the hall: Valtherion's silence. They could not send him a large fleet; they didn't even know what he needed. Perhaps he had been ambushed. Perhaps he had been successful and was just silent. Perhaps... he was gone. Therefore, a small, fast group of 3 ships, carrying supplies and elite warriors, was sent to Solendora to "search" for Valtherion and to find out what had happened to them. This was not a relief fleet, but a reconnaissance force sent into the darkness.
After the last reinforcement ships also departed from the port and slowly disappeared over the horizon, the port of Qualar once again fell into an anxious silence. That first glorious send-off was now replaced by a tense wait. While the house leaders in the Council hall had returned to calculating their own houses' losses and gains, Caelen Myrindel stood alone by the shore.
His eyes were on that 21-ship fleet heading to his grandson, Thalindel. Those ships carried not only fresh soldiers, but also that painful letter Caelen had written, that cold truth that would destroy all illusions about the glory of war.
Caelen Myrindel, watching the departure of the last ship as it shrank to a dot on the horizon and disappeared, allowed the cold wind blowing from the ocean to brush his face. With a whispered voice and a single, silent tear falling from his ancient eye, he said this:
"I am sorry, Thalindel... I am sorry for destroying your dreams."