The vacation stretched out before Prince Mero like an ocean with infinite horizons, its peaceful waves concealing a promise of escape that only the boldest hearts could seize. At fourteen, heir to the throne of Sel, an archipelago where the waves of the Green Ocean danced under an azure sky, he stood far from the shores that had cradled his childhood. The Imperial School of Mor, nestled between the lofty peaks of the Tempelune range and the verdant plains that stretched like an emerald carpet to the horizon, now welcomed him. Classes had ended, the treaties of alliances and maps of trade routes carefully archived, leaving behind a silence broken only by the murmur of the wind in the pines. This calm, far from oppressing the spirit, seemed to invite princely contemplation, yet for Mero, it resonated as a challenge worthy of his royal blood.
Standing in the great hall, dressed in a finely embroidered linen jacket adorned with marine motifs and trousers decorated with a discreet silver braid, he let his gaze wander over the tapestries adorning the polished stone walls. These fabrics, worn by centuries but still rich with their gold and scarlet threads, depicted vessels from Sel cleaving tumultuous seas, their sails billowing with impetuous winds, and coronations where sovereigns bowed under crowns set with marine pearls, glimmers of the Green Ocean captured in stone. Through the tall, arched windows, a playful wind bent the branches of the pines, their needles whistling a melody that evoked for Mero the waves caressing the shores of his native archipelago. Remaining cloistered within these majestic walls, surrounded by the snow-capped peaks of Tempelune and the rolling fields under the sun, seemed unworthy of a prince of Sel. His heart, forged by the sea spray, yearned for the call of adventure, even if it had to be confined to the accessible lands of the Empire of Mor.
His steps, measured but imbued with a contained impatience, echoed on the smooth marble as he paced the corridors, his mind bubbling with plans. He missed the sea terribly, that infinite expanse whose waves seemed to beat in rhythm with his princely blood. He had once considered Moanb, a bustling port where the scents of dried fish and salt mingled in a cacophony unbefitting his rank. But upon reflection, Moanb appeared disappointing—its muddy docks, crowded alleys of shouting merchants, and dull waters held none of the splendor he sought. No, he wanted a place where the Green Ocean displayed its majesty under a brilliant sky, a location accessible by the imperial rail network, for Leila, his faithful housekeeper, was bedridden, weakened by a demanding pregnancy. Leaving this loyal woman, who had followed him from Sel with almost maternal devotion, to undertake such a journey was out of the question.
Resolved not to let inaction tarnish these days of respite, he made his way to the secretary's office, a woman of severe bearing whose impeccable bun and glasses perched on an aquiline nose betrayed imperial rigor. The morning sun, filtering through the stained glass, cast golden rays on the dark wood paneling, and the air carried a faint scent of wax and ancient parchment. "Madame," Mero began with polite courtesy, the fruit of a rigorous education, "I wish to contemplate the sea. Moanb seemed quite unsuitable during my last visit—a town unworthy of the aspirations of a prince of Sel. Do you know of a closer destination, accessible by rail, where the grandeur of the Green Ocean could honor my quest for escape?"
The secretary unfolded a map of the Empire, its yellowed edges quivering under her delicate fingers as she traced invisible lines on the paper. "Moanb, five days by train, is indeed a noisy and unrefined place, Your Highness," she replied in a measured tone, her eyes scrutinizing Mero over her glasses. "I would advise against it. However, to the east of Mor, in the land of Pons, on the coast of Pons, there is a most charming seaside resort. A direct train will take you there in a day. There, the Green Ocean is adorned with crystalline clarity, its deep blue waters sparkling under the sun, bordered by fine sandy beaches where the waves dance with sovereign grace. It would be a haven worthy of your rank before resuming your studies." She paused, a discreet smile softening her severe features. "However, you will need a visa. Provide me with your names, and I will take care of the necessary formalities."
Mero bowed his head in approval, a courteous smile lighting up his young face marked by nascent maturity. This escape would not be undertaken alone, and a spark of enthusiasm ignited within him at the thought. Prince Sven, sixteen years old, heir to the kingdom of Fer—a tropical island nestled in the heart of the Thethian Ocean, where lush jungles flourished under an azure sky and sweet fruits bent the branches—also remained at the school, a prisoner of the same insurmountable distances. Dorian, their usual companion, had returned to his lands to enjoy the sweetness of his kingdom, but Sven, with his sharp mind and taste for daring discoveries, would be an ideal ally for this venture. Without losing a moment, Mero set out to find him, traversing the corridors with determination.
Mero entered the common room with a dignified stride, though his eyes betrayed a youthful impatience. Sven was there, seated in a purple velvet armchair whose back bore the worn imperial coat of arms. A red apple spun between his fingers, and his smooth, brown tropical skin seemed to capture the soft light of the chandeliers suspended from the ceiling. His deep brown eyes, as profound as the shadows of Fer's lush forests, followed the fruit's trajectory with studied nonchalance. "Prince Sven," Mero began, his voice blending authority with the familiarity born of their friendship, "do you truly intend to spend this month of respite within these walls, or might you be tempted by an enterprise more befitting our station?"
Sven caught the apple mid-flight and shrugged with princely elegance, his slightly curly black hair falling over his forehead. "Returning to Fer is a chimera, Mero. The Thethian Ocean is vast, and its tropical waves are weeks away. And you, prince of Sel, do your shores call to you?" His voice carried a warm, almost musical note, inherited from the songs of his native island.
"They call to me desperately," Mero replied, taking a seat in a nearby armchair, the fabric creaking under his weight. "These walls, however imposing, weary my spirit. The sea calls me, Sven, and Moanb, with its vulgar stench, could never satisfy a royal soul. But the secretary spoke of a seaside resort on the coast of Pons, east of Mor. A day's train ride would take us there. Does that appeal to you?"
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Sven's eyes lit up with enthusiasm, his dark pupils gleaming like two gems under the fierce sun of Fer. "A day? That is a most seductive proposition, worthy of our rank! We could savor the delights of the Green Ocean while others languish in their cold palaces." He bit into his apple, the sound resonating like a joyful challenge, and added with a touch of courteous irony, "Prepare yourself, however, to see me shine under the sun, like a lord of the tropical seas."
Mero let out a discreet laugh, placing a friendly hand on his companion's shoulder. "Shine? You're more likely to turn red as an overripe fruit under the heat! Come, let us hasten to the secretary's office to finalize our plans." They rose as one, their movements synchronized by youthful complicity, and made their way to their destination with elegant determination. The secretary, true to her rigor, provided them with two visas adorned with the imperial seal and tickets for the following day, not without a veiled warning: "Be at dawn, Princes, and comport yourselves with the dignity befitting your lineages."
The next day, their light bags—containing a spare tunic carefully folded, linen trousers, and a leather-bound notebook for their thoughts—slung over their shoulders, Mero and Sven boarded the train with a dignity befitting their rank, though their eyes betrayed a contained excitement. The golden plains of the Empire stretched out before them, a carpet of tall grasses undulating under a warm breeze that wafted through the open windows, carrying with it the scents of ripe hay and wildflowers with petals as delicate as sunbeams. On the horizon, the hills of Pons rose, their gentle slopes covered with neatly aligned vineyards, their tender green leaves shimmering in the morning light. Farther still, beyond the fields, the first marine glimmers sparkled, promising a coast where the sea and land seemed to unite in an endless embrace.
Sven produced a deck of cards adorned with heraldic motifs, the coat of arms of Fer—a palm tree crowned with stars—engraved in gold on the borders. "What do you say to a game of Sea Fox, Mero? A strategic diversion for two princes seeking escape," he proposed, his warm voice resonating in the compartment. Mero arched an eyebrow, a courteous smile on his lips. "Prepare for an honorable defeat, Sven." The journey passed in a succession of games played with princely seriousness, punctuated by stifled laughter and courteous challenges that betrayed their youth beneath their refined manners.
When they reached their destination on the coast of Pons, the Green Ocean revealed itself in all its majesty, its deep blue waters sparkling under an azure sky where seagulls soared with melodious cries. The waves, edged with white foam, caressed a fine sandy beach that stretched like a pale gold ribbon between the sea and a row of low hills dotted with maritime pines, their knotted trunks reaching for the sky. To the east, the cliffs of Pons rose, their ochre walls streaked with salt and wind, plunging into the ocean with austere grace. Mero breathed in the salty air deeply, his senses awakening to the memory of Sel's shores. "Here is a sight worthy of a prince of Sel," he murmured, almost to himself. Sven gestured expansively toward the beach, his dark eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. "Come, Mero, let us honor this shore with our sovereign presence."
The small coastal town vibrated with elegant energy, its cobblestone alleys lined with shaded terraces where white canvas awnings fluttered gently in the breeze. Shops displayed artistically carved shells, their nacre capturing the sun's reflections, while fishermen, their faces weathered by years under the marine sky, hawked their catches in a lilting Pons tongue. Leaving their boots on the warm sand, they ventured into the shallow waves, Sven attempting a skip that ended in an awkward splash, water spraying around him like an unruly fountain. Mero, with the ease inherited from his seafaring ancestors, made a pebble dance across the shimmering surface, its five skips drawing perfect circles on the water. "A feat worthy of a prince of the waves," Sven teased with a mocking bow, his smile revealing gleaming teeth against his brown skin.
Seated on the still-warm sand, their feet caressed by the waves murmuring a soft refrain, Mero turned to his friend. "This escape was essential, Sven. But where shall we venture next?" Sven gazed at the horizon, where the setting sun painted streaks of gold and purple on the waves. "Perhaps the archipelago of Gray-Sand. Its beaches and mountains are said to be breathtaking, and its thriving trade routes could interest your ambitions for Sel's spices."
Mero smiled indulgently. "Gray-Sand is eighteen months away, Sven, north of the Bloody Mountains, far beyond the limits of this month of respite." Sven blushed slightly, running a hand through his black curls. "Indeed, I lacked measure in my enthusiasm. Propose a closer destination." Mero nodded, his eyes sparkling. "We shall find a place worthy of our quest."
Back at the school for the night, still imbued with the salty scent of the coast of Pons, they sought out the secretary at the first light of the following dawn, their clothes still bearing traces of sand and salt. She unfolded her map with a sigh tinged with amusement, her fingers brushing the lines drawn in black ink. "An exotic place, accessible in a short time?" Mero tapped the table with an impatient yet dignified gesture. "A place with soul and grandeur, Madame!" Sven nodded in agreement, his smile revealing a contained curiosity.
She pointed to a city on the map, her finger stopping on an island in the heart of the Green Ocean. "Three days by train, followed by a day by boat, will take you to a semi-tropical island, crowned by an active volcano whose slopes rise above a lush jungle and beaches fit for daring princes." Her eyes sparkled behind her glasses, as if challenging them to refuse this noble enterprise. Mero and Sven's gazes lit up with a shared gleam. "That is perfect," Mero declared, his voice resonating with princely enthusiasm. "We shall depart tomorrow, accompanied by two guards—prudence befits our rank." Sven smiled, his dark complexion capturing the morning light. "Lest some tropical reptile mistake us for a choice morsel!"
The next day, their carefully packed bags—containing linen tunics embroidered with the coats of arms of Sel and Fer, fitted trousers, and a few parchments for their observations—and their guards in tow, they boarded a new train. The plains of the Empire stretched out before them, their golden waves of grass undulating to the hills of Pons, where vineyards climbed in orderly rows toward sun-bathed crests. To the east, the ochre cliffs plunged into the Green Ocean, their salt-streaked flanks gleaming like raw jewels under the waning light. Excitement pulsed in their veins, a promise of wonder rumbling like a volcano ready to awaken. Mero, gazing out the window, felt the wild call of that semi-tropical island, an echo of the Green Ocean resonating in his soul. These vacations, now marked by the unexpected, rose to the heights of two young heirs seeking noble exploits.
