Chapter 2: The Whisper of the First Shore

The crew's joyful roar gradually faded, replaced by a focused silence. The ship moved slowly, with extreme caution, into a wide, horseshoe-shaped bay. The water here was surprisingly clear, a shade of turquoise Flora had never seen in the harsh northern seas of the Union of Nine. Through its depths, one could see the sandy bottom, overgrown in places with strange algae resembling purple and emerald lace. Schools of small, brightly colored fish darted away from the ship's shadow, their scales flashing in the sunlight.

The shore drew closer. High, almost sheer cliffs of dark gray stone framed the bay on two sides like mighty sentinels. Their peaks were lost in a light haze of clouds. Lush, vibrant green vegetation clung to the cliff faces—unfamiliar trees with broad leaves, vines as thick as ship's ropes, and bright, large flowers that looked like exotic birds. Between the cliffs stretched a wide beach of dazzling white sand, so fine it seemed like powdered sugar. Beyond the beach began the jungle—a dense, impenetrable wall of green that promised both coolness and hidden dangers.

"Seven fathoms, Captain!" reported a sailor with the sounding line. "Bottom's clear and sandy."

"Drop anchor!" Flora commanded. Her voice, though not loud, was clear and authoritative.

A grinding of chain echoed, and the heavy cast-iron anchor plunged into the water with a splash. The Sea Rover swung gently on the wind and came to a stop, bobbing on the lazy waves.

Silence, broken only by the cries of unfamiliar birds from the jungle and the soft whisper of the surf, enveloped the ship. It was a tense, expectant silence. All eyes were fixed on the shore. Were there any signs of life? The smoke of campfires? Boats? And most importantly—gold?

"Nothing suspicious yet," said Brenn, lowering his spyglass. "Not a wisp of smoke, not a sign of movement. Looks like the island is uninhabited. Or its inhabitants are very good at hiding. Or maybe there's just no treasure here, Captain."

"We'll find out soon enough," Flora replied, ignoring the last barb. "Ready the first longboat. Me, you, Brenn, Son, Masefeg, and two more crossbowmen. Armed to the teeth. The rest of you—stay on the ship, on full alert. If anything goes wrong, raise the anchor immediately and get out to sea. The signal is three rings of the ship's bell."

"Aye, Captain!" Son roared, his eyes already scanning the jungle for the glint of precious metals.

A few minutes later, the longboat, heavily laden with men and weapons, pushed off from the Sea Rover. Flora sat in the stern, her hand on the hilt of Whisper. Besides her sword, she had a long dagger and a pair of throwing knives hidden in her boots. Brenn and Son were armed with swords and shields. Masefeg, true to his blacksmith nature, carried a massive war hammer. The two sailors, chosen for their marksmanship, held crossbows at the ready.

They rowed slowly, trying not to make a sound. The closer they got to the shore, the stronger the sweet, spicy aroma from the jungle became. It was pleasant, but at the same time, somehow unsettling and alien. Flora carefully scanned the edge of the forest. No paths, no traces of human activity. Only pristine, wild nature.

The longboat nudged softly into the sand. Flora was the first to jump ashore. The sand was warm and soft. She took a few steps, looking around. Silence. Only the rustle of palm leaves overhead and the distant, melancholy cry of some bird.

"Clear," she said. "Spread out. Check the nearest thickets. Don't go far. Look for tracks, sources of fresh water. Son, Masefeg—you stay with the boat, provide cover."

She herself, along with Brenn and the two crossbowmen, moved toward the jungle. The going was tough. Dry leaves and fallen branches crunched underfoot. Thick undergrowth snagged at their clothes. The air was humid and stuffy, like a steam room. Insects the size of a finger buzzed by her ear. Flora swatted at them absently. Her gaze was fixed on the ground, on every bush, every shadow. She was looking for the slightest sign that someone had been here before them. A broken branch. Crushed grass. A footprint.

Suddenly, one of the crossbowmen, a young man named Jorgen, cried out and stumbled back.

"Captain, look!"

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Flora and Brenn ran to him. On the ground, among the roots of a huge tree with silvery bark, lay something strange. It was a skull. But not human. It had an elongated shape, with long, sharp fangs and empty eye sockets that still seemed to stare at them with a silent threat. The skull was about the size of a small wolf's.

"What kind of beast is that?" Jorgen whispered, his face pale.

Brenn leaned down, carefully prodding the skull with the tip of his sword. "I don't know. Never seen anything like it. Not in any bestiary in the Union of Nine."

Flora crouched, examining the find closely. The bone was old, yellowed, but the fangs still looked dangerously sharp.

"A predator," she stated. "And a fairly large one. That means we're not alone here. At least, we weren't."

She raised her gaze to the dense thickets. What else might be hiding in this primeval jungle?

They continued their search, trying to stick together. They found a small stream with clear, cool water. This was good news. The supplies on the Sea Rover could be replenished. Flora filled a leather flask, took a sip. The taste was a bit strange, with a metallic tang, but it was drinkable.

Not far from the stream, Brenn noticed something else. Carved into the trunk of one of the trees were some kind of symbols. Deep, rough cuts forming a complex pattern. They were old, overgrown with bark, but clearly made by the hand of an intelligent being.

"These aren't just claw marks," Brenn said, running a finger along one of the cuts. "This looks like… some kind of writing. Or markings."

Flora came closer. The symbols were unfamiliar. They resembled neither the runes of dwarves, nor the script of elves, nor any of the dialects of the Union. But as she looked closer, her heart skipped a beat. One of the symbols, almost worn away, was vaguely familiar. She had seen something like it in the oldest books from her father's library.

"Memory does not fade…" flashed through her mind. Could it be?

At that moment, a sound came from the depths of the jungle. A long, low sound, like a roar or a howl. A chill ran down her spine. The birds in the forest fell silent at once. Even the persistent insects seemed to hush.

"What was that?" Jorgen gripped his crossbow so tightly his knuckles turned white.

"I don't know," Flora replied, her hand falling to the hilt of Whisper. "But I don't like it. Back to the boat. Quickly."

They hurried back, trying to move as quietly, yet as quickly as possible. The jungle, which had just seemed wild and unexplored, now felt hostile, full of hidden threats. Every rustle, every snap of a twig made them flinch.

When they emerged onto the beach, Son and Masefeg were already on alert, staring toward the forest.

"Did you hear it?" Son asked, his face serious.

"We heard it," Flora nodded. "Something big. And it doesn't seem pleased with our presence. Get in the boat. We're getting out of here before dark."

They quickly loaded the flasks of water and samples of unknown plants Flora had managed to gather. Pushing off with their oars, they steered the longboat toward the Sea Rover. Flora didn't take her eyes off the jungle's edge. She kept feeling that from there, from behind the dense wall of green, someone was watching them. Unseen, silent, but very attentive.

When the longboat was halfway to the ship, the same sound came from the forest again. This time it was closer, louder. And there was a clear threat in it.

And then they saw them.

Several figures emerged from the thickets onto the beach. They moved quickly, crouched low to the ground, almost blending in with the shadows. It was hard to see them against the dark green backdrop, but Flora managed to notice they were tall, slender, and something glinted in their hands. Spears? Or…

"Crossbows, ready!" Flora shouted. "Son, Masefeg, Brenn—prepare yourselves!"

The figures on the shore stopped at the water's edge. Now they could be seen more clearly. They were people. Or creatures very similar to people. Their skin was dark, almost black like ebony. Long, matted hair fell to their shoulders. They were nearly naked, save for loincloths of some kind of hide and crude ornaments of bone and shell. In their hands, they indeed held spears—long, with sharp stone tips. And they were looking at the longboat with open hostility.

There were about a dozen of them. But who knew how many more were hiding in the jungle?

"Do not fire without my command!" Flora ordered. She didn't want to start a fight if it could be avoided. But she wasn't going to be caught off guard either.

The islanders on the shore shouted something. Their language was guttural, harsh, unlike any language of the Union. One of them, apparently the chief—he was taller than the others and wore a headdress of bright feathers—took a step forward and shook his spear toward the longboat. It was a clear challenge.

"Looks like the treasures you promised are well-guarded, Captain," Son grumbled, getting a better grip on his sword. "Maybe we should show them we didn't come empty-handed?"

"Looks like we should get out of here first," Brenn countered. "And then count how many gold bears each of their heads is worth."

"We're not leaving until we know what this place is. And who these… people are," Flora cut him off. She stood up in the longboat, trying to look as calm and confident as possible.

"Row to the ship!" she commanded her men. "But slowly. And keep them in sight."

She didn't know what awaited them next. A friendly reception? Or a deadly fight? But one thing she knew for sure: this journey was just beginning. And it promised to be even more dangerous and unpredictable than she could have imagined.

The whisper of the First Shore had turned into a distinct roar. And Flora Disleyvein had to decide how to answer it.