VALHENA Tower was a watch and defense station situated atop black cliffs along Horozon's eastern border. Its stone walls were shrouded in ocean mist, its roof moss covered, and the wind never ceased. Standing at the highest point of the sheer coastline, it saw intruders from afar yet never raised its voice. Having gone unchallenged for years, guarding this tower had become a punishment but this morning, everything was going to change.
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Five naval soldiers stood on the observation platform: Palir, Guroa, Sennre, Eliar, and Shuan. All eyes were fixed on the horizon. Dawn had barely begun to cover the sky, yet it was impossible to miss the black rift moving across the water.
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“If anyone still dares to call that a storm, speak now,” Palir said, lowering his binoculars with a frown. “Even if that’s a ship, it has become something else entirely.”
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“It has no sails,” Eliar said. “Yet it moves.”
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“There’s no wind,” said Guroa. “Yet it creates waves.”
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Sennre twirled a rope in his fingers like prayer beads. "I think I recognize this ship."
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“It’s the cursed ship we've seen in the books The Hollow Mist,” said Shuan in awe and fear.
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Palir took a deep breath. “If anyone thinks their eyes are deceiving them, speak now.”
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No one said a word. None dared lie, not when what they saw felt like the wrath of gods visualized.
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When Hollow Mist reached Horozon's boundary waters, no flag was raised. No horn sounded, no banners waved only a relentless, silent approach caressing the calm sea.
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The ship did not sail as others did. The water did not part for it; rather, it withdrew from beneath. On deck, amid its sinister advance, stood six figures upright despite the windless air. Each had come from different pasts, different massacres, different disbeliefs. But now they were united under one fate, beneath the same shadow of darkness.
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Pegwalsge stood at the prow, hand pressed against the wood, head raised to the windless air. His eyes were closed, yet what he saw was beyond sight.
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“The earth... is beginning to rage,” he murmured to himself. “They hear me,” he said, seemingly pleased.
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Eizma stood behind him, slowly pressing her nails into her arm, counting the scratches on her skin. “Yet they remain silent,” she remarked. “Maybe fear has paralyzed them.”
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“Or perhaps one among them still believes the gods will protect them,” said Vorun, unwinding a chain from his shoulder. At the chain’s end hung an ancient sacred bell, smelling of death with every swing.
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Savael crouched, his ear pressed against the deck, face alight with excitement. “I hear their screams,” he said. “They haven’t started yet. But they will.”
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Karra said nothing. She held a dead bird whose neck she had broken. When it had died was unknown, yet her fingers gently stroked its feathers.
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Narth raised his eyeless face toward the sky, lips moving silently. His words were unheard, but Pegwalsge heard them clearly.
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“Confrontation,” said Pegwalsge. “This isn't merely a border it's a gravestone. We stand where Horozon forgot its truths and began its sins.”
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At that moment, a signal flare tore across the distant sky. Valhena Tower had broken its silence.
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Pegwalsge opened his eyes. His pupils reflected nothing no light, no hope only the bloodthirsty eyes of a demon burning in hell.
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“They’ve seen us,” he said.
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The crew bowed their heads, honored at the thought of shedding blood alongside Pegwalsge after so long.
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Pegwalsge turned, looking into each of their eyes. “They will resist, but we’ll paint this border with their blood. Men with lesser souls than ours. Yet no soul forgets the sinful. We have come not to remind, but to punish.”
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As Empty Mist approached the shore, the sea seemed to darken. The sky grew heavy. Guards atop stone towers forgot to swallow.
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The three naval fleets guarding the strait were the first to respond to Hollow Mist’s silent approach. They still believed war was something loud. Ships took their positions, catapults readied, magic seals activated. But neither commanders nor soldiers could stand fearless before the spreading Xhu. Hollow Mist’s crew fought not with words, but by mere existence.
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Savael stood at the deck’s edge, eyes fixed not on ships but sensations. As he opened his palms, Xhu energy spread around him like twisting, darkening mist. Within that mist, Horozon’s sailors first tasted true despair. One soldier screamed at the top of his lungs and threw himself overboard. Another started praying but his tongue twisted and split apart. Savael chuckled the soldiers' agony delighted him. “They’re rotting from within,” he said.
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Eizma raised her hand skyward, crimson glow on her fingernails not magic, but her own blood. Each drop summoned a victim. The faces of the dead appeared, hanging from the enemy ships’ masts. Sailors saw their own dead; some knelt in seconds, others ended their lives amid unbearable pain.
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Vorun moved swiftly among the ships, walking not on water but where water fled from him. The sea trembled as he swung his chain. “Your gods have not abandoned you,” he said. “You turned your backs on them.” He spoke as though he and his crew were the gods, swinging the chain forward. A ship’s mast split, the emitted Xhu wave devouring the ship’s center.
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Karra did nothing but look. Yet her gaze melted a commander’s eyes. He screamed briefly, then grew silent. His eyes hollow, his soul extracted the Xhu from his dissolving essence wailed.
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And Narth... did not speak. He raised his hand. As the sky darkened, the sea surged upward, then crashed down around Hollow Mist. Dark tentacles woven of Xhu and commanded by blind eyes rose from the water, grasping, squeezing, and shattering ships. The wood did not merely break it decayed. The ships sank, leaving no trace.
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It took less than ten minutes.
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Three fleets... were no more.
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Hollow Mist continued onward as if nothing had happened.
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