Mero leaned eagerly over the map that the secretary unfurled on the desk, its delicate lines revealing a city and an island to explore in the heart of the Green Ocean. The woman's slender, precise fingers pointed to a specific location, and Mero's eyes lit up with anticipation. "An active volcano, you say?" he exclaimed, his voice blending courteous restraint with contained excitement. "That promises to be impressive and, indeed, a bit risky. But isn't that what makes such journeys unforgettable? If this island is truly semi-tropical, it is likely to harbor landscapes of rare magnificence."
Beside him, Sven, Prince of Fer, observed the map with equal interest, his dark features and eyes reflecting a gleam of adventure. The train journey to this city would be an ideal opportunity for the two princes to converse and meditate on the upcoming expedition. Once they reached their destination, the boat trip would offer additional exhilaration, with the endless sea and shifting landscapes stretching out before them like a living canvas.
"I'm in, Mero," declared Sven, a broad smile illuminating his face. "However, we must prepare carefully. This won't be a simple escapade; we must be ready for any eventuality."
Mero shared this princely enthusiasm for the adventure ahead. In a day, their preparations were complete. The suitcases were carefully arranged, and the train tickets, duly acquired, rested in their hands. The sea, the mountains, and the volcanic island seemed within reach, almost tangible in their promise of discovery.
Mero then gave an order to his temporary majordomo, a man of austere bearing but impeccable efficiency. "Prepare my things," he commanded with measured authority. "Leila must rest; her pregnancy is delicate, and I will not have her disturbed in her condition." The faithful housekeeper, exhausted by the rigors of her state, would not participate in this journey. Thus, Mero, Sven, and two imperial guards would form the escort for this noble quest.
The journey promised to be exhilarating, but Mero knew that Leila's well-being remained a priority. Once the preparations were complete, it would be wise to ensure that everything was in order before setting off, so that Leila could rest in the best possible conditions. However, the departure was approaching, and the excitement of discovering a new place mixed with a slight apprehension, offering Mero and Sven the opportunity to explore a different world before their return to school. On the horizon, the island's mountains stood majestically, hinting at the wonders to come.
They boarded the train, naturally in the royal suite, as their princely status demanded nothing less. The imperial railway company, mindful of their dignity, would never have allowed any other arrangement. The train journey passed without incident, the golden plains giving way to green hills under a brilliant azure sky, until the port finally appeared, announcing a new stage of their odyssey.
At the port, the salty air and the invigorating scent of the water filled Mero's nostrils, rekindling his excitement for a maritime voyage. The boat awaiting them stood imposing and robust, its white sails ready to defy the waves. The crew bustled with diligence, saluting their arrival with a reverence filled with respect. The landscape that unfolded before their eyes was of breathtaking beauty: a calm sea stretched out to the horizon, its deep blue waters reflecting the sky, while the mountains of the semi-tropical island, crowned by an active volcano, rose with almost unreal majesty. This place, exotic and still largely unexplored, exhaled an atmosphere of singularity, blending mystery and grandeur.
Sven, by Mero's side, shared this sense of adventure. His curiosity about this mysterious island drove him to question the crew with a lively courtesy, settling on the deck with a natural ease. The two guards, vigilant but discreet, took their places around them, their gazes scanning the horizon, ready to intervene if necessary, though no immediate danger loomed. The maritime journey promised to be pleasant, but the idea of discovering a place so little known to the Empire ignited Mero's impatience. He contemplated the horizon, wondering what wonders awaited them. A new adventure was taking shape before them.
They took their places on the boat, and Mero felt a surge of contained exhilaration. It had been ten months since he had last set foot on a ship's deck, while Sven had not tasted the sea for two years. An excitement animated their hearts as they rediscovered this familiar universe. A shiver ran through the crew and passengers, an energy palpable that united these two young heirs in a maritime communion. For Mero and Sven, both sovereigns in their thoughts turned towards the waves, this crossing rekindled an ancient freedom, a deep bond with the sea that flowed in their blood.
The sensation of the wind, sharp and salty, caressed their faces, while the sound of the waves, regular and soothing, resonated like an old, forgotten song. There was an undeniable magic in reconnecting with this element after such a long absence, a harmony that transcended their princely status to touch the very essence of their being. The crew, seasoned by years of navigation, took their places with admirable precision. The sails unfurled under the captain's orders, and the boat glided gently over the water, its movements fluid, evoking the grace of a swan on a azure lake. On the horizon, the island's mountains stood out, the volcano at their summit appearing to slumber under a crown of clouds, its imposing shadow dominating the blue expanse.
Sven, like a child rediscovering a lost toy, observed every detail with evident wonderment. He turned to Mero, a broad smile illuminating his face. "Do you remember the sea like this?" he asked, his dark eyes shining with nostalgia.
Mero inclined his head, a discreet smile playing on his lips. "It remains engraved in my soul," he replied, his voice tinged with youthful gravity. The two guards, though more reserved, could not hide a glimmer of enthusiasm in their stern gazes. Even in their noble positions, they all shared this innate taste for adventure, a thirst for discovery that transcended titles and duties.
As the crew went about their tasks with efficiency, adjusting the rigging and monitoring the sails, Mero and Sven paced the deck, their steps echoing on the wood worn by the elements. This place belonged to them, a second home where every movement, every roll of the waves under the hull, evoked a familiar melody. The salty air, mingled with the scent of varnished wood and damp ropes, reminded them that they were in their element, a domain where they reigned by instinct more than by decree.
Mero walked slowly, his boots thudding confidently on the deck, the creaking of the wood under his weight echoing like a reassuring reminder of past and future adventures. Sven, by his side, shared this complicity with the sea, his eyes following the sails billowing in the wind. "You see, all of this..." he said, gesturing to a sailor adjusting the mainsail with expert precision, "it's like an old friend. We know it by heart, and yet, it never ceases to surprise us, to remind us of our essence."
The marine breeze caressed their faces, and the Green Ocean stretched out before them, its deep blue blending into the azure sky on the horizon. The boat picked up speed, its white sails fluttering in the wind, and a profound serenity enveloped Mero. The terrestrial world seemed to fade away, giving way to this infinite horizon that called to their princely spirits. Sven, whose nature did not incline him to prolonged contemplation, turned to him with a mischievous smile. "So, do you bet that I'll spot a storm before you do?"
A light laugh escaped Mero, a bright note in the maritime aria that surrounded them. "It's true that we have a keen eye for deciphering the sea's signs—those subtle details that only sailors discern—a furtive wave on the water, a variation in the wind." But for now, the horizon remained peaceful, the waters of an ideal clarity offering a smooth crossing.
That evening, as the sun declined, the sea took on hues of gold and red, its reflections dancing like liquid flames under the twilight sky. The silhouette of the island drew closer, a promise of discoveries looming in the gathering dusk. Mero and Sven, while exchanging memories and plans, let themselves be lulled by this return to the sea, this vast and infinite world that remained their true domain. The crew, meanwhile, continued their maneuvers with unfailing habit, the ship gliding smoothly, faithful to the captain's reputation. But for the two princes, this crossing transcended a simple navigation; it marked the beginning of a new adventure and a return to the maritime roots embedded in their souls.
They arrived in the morning, the sun brightening the horizon, warming the cool air that hovered over the Green Ocean. The landscape around the island revealed itself in all its splendor, a beauty that took their breath away. The crystalline sea bordered sandy beaches, while steep cliffs rose like stern sentinels. The island, shaped like a butterfly, unfurled its wings in a striking contrast: the northeastern wing, semi-arid, stretched out in ochre and dry lands, while the southwestern wing, tropical, bloomed in lush vegetation, dominated by the volcano whose imposing silhouette seemed to watch over this island domain, emitting an aura of silent power.
They dropped anchor near the port of Aiguille, the main town nestled at the intersection of the island's two wings. The buildings rose with singular elegance, blending colonial architecture with local traditions—white facades with red-tiled roofs, adorned with sculpted motifs evoking the waves and winds. The local market overflowed with exotic scents and vibrant colors: tropical fruits in brilliant hues, spices in fragrant mounds, and the chanting of vendors filling the air with lively melody. The port bustled with the rhythm of boats and fishermen, their nets glinting in the morning sun, while the volcanic mountains stood majestically in the background, awe-inspiring and imposing. This place, where nature intertwined with the peaceful bustle of the town, exhaled a sense of freedom that Mero savored with delight, far from the imperial constraints that usually governed his existence.
Mero and Sven disembarked from the ship, their princely tunics catching the morning light as they breathed in the salty, sweet air. The journey had been long, but this island surpassed their noblest expectations. An unexpected adventure lay before them, and they advanced into the streets of Aiguille with confidence. The population watched them, intrigued by these two richly dressed adolescents, escorted by two imperial guards in armor adorned with the Empire's seal. Their attire—tunics of linen embroidered with gold and silver, fitted trousers with discreet galons—contrasted with the warm simplicity of the town, and the murmurs of astonishment from the inhabitants did not go unnoticed.
They walked through the cobblestone alleys, passing houses with facades bursting with color—ochre, turquoise, coral—and stalls overflowing with juicy fruits, silver-scaled fish, and delicate crafts. The scent of spices—cumin, cinnamon, wild pepper—filled the air, mingling with the cries of vendors hawking their wares in a lilting tongue. This fusion of cultures, where local traditions met imperial influences, fascinated Mero and Sven, who gradually opened themselves to the curious but respectful gazes of the inhabitants.
Around a bend, they encountered a local guide, a robust man with a warm smile, dressed in a simple yet functional canvas coat. He bowed slightly before them, his eyes sparkling with understanding. "Allow me to lead you to the wonders of this island, Your Highnesses," he offered in a deep, assured voice. "I can offer you a glimpse of its most remote places, where ordinary visitors rarely venture."
"Lead us," Mero commanded with princely authority, his heart beating with impatience at the idea of plunging into the unknown. Sven nodded in agreement, and they accepted the offer with contained eagerness. The guide explained that they would explore not only the island's natural beauty but also its most secret recesses, where the fauna and flora defied imagination, and where the legend of the active volcano took on an almost tangible amplitude.
They left the town behind, leaving the bustle of Aiguille for the winding trails of the south wing. The guide led them over steep paths, where the tropical jungle unfurled its lush foliage, its trees with knotted trunks rising like verdant sentinels. They stopped in a small village hidden in the heart of this wild nature, its houses of wood and stone with thatched roofs blending harmoniously with the landscape. A peaceful atmosphere reigned, far different from the city's bustle, and the inhabitants watched them with discreet curiosity, offering them a warm welcome marked by smiles and simple gestures.
The guide led them to a modest inn, where the warmth of the fire and the scent of food filled the air. "We will spend the night here," he announced, his voice resonating with natural authority. "But I advise you to change your clothes, Your Highnesses. These princely garments are not suited for the march that awaits us tomorrow. The trails will be rugged, and the heat demanding."
Mero glanced at Sven, who nodded in agreement. They retired to their respective rooms, exchanging their imperial tunics for light canvas clothing designed for exertion, and sturdy boots that hugged the uneven ground. Straw hats protected their faces from the island's relentless sun, while their princely wardrobes, carefully folded, rested in their bags. Once changed, they descended to the common room, where a simple yet generous table awaited them, laden with tropical fruits in vibrant colors, freshly grilled fish still steaming, and freshly baked bread.
The guide, already seated, invited them to take their places with a courteous gesture. They dined together, discussing the adventure ahead, the particularities of the island, the potential dangers of the volcano, and the unique ecosystem that thrived in its shadow. Night fell softly, the stars glittering above the thatched roofs like shards of crystal in the darkness. A particular serenity enveloped Mero, even as the excitement of what awaited them the next day grew within him like a vivid flame. He allowed himself a moment to dream of the hidden recesses of this distant land, while the guide urged them to rest for the dawn that would come all too soon. "The journey will be arduous," he warned, "but the discoveries will be worth the effort."
After dinner, Mero, Sven, the guide, and the guards lingered in the inn's common room, their faces bathed in the flickering light of the fire dancing in the sole hearth. The atmosphere was imbued with a simple warmth, almost rustic, contrasting with the splendors to which the two princes were accustomed. They conversed with ease, their voices blending curiosity and anticipation as the guide shared stories of the island. He spoke of daring explorers, some of whom had attempted to unravel the mysteries of the volcano or venture into the depths of the tropical jungle, and others, less fortunate, who had disappeared on the capricious trails, swept away by the whims of this wild land. The guards, attentive yet silent, seemed more preoccupied with their protective role than captivated by these fascinating stories, their gazes scrutinizing the shadows beyond the windows as if anticipating an invisible danger.
As time passed, the conversation faded, the words giving way to the crackling of the flames and the distant murmurs of the sea, whose soft refrain mingled with the rustling of the jungle surrounding them. Silence settled in the inn, a deep calm broken only by these natural echoes. They retired for the night, each seeking their modest yet comfortable quarters, their minds still vibrant with curiosity and anticipation for the discoveries to come.
Mero settled quickly into his bed, a simple pallet covered with a carefully woven woolen blanket. The rooms, though lacking in imperial luxury, offered a welcoming refuge after a day of exertion. He tossed and turned under the coarse sheets, his mind still buzzing with the wonders they had contemplated that day—the bustling port of Aiguille, the cobblestone streets teeming with life, and the vast expanse of the Green Ocean shimmering under the sun. A sense of adventure gripped him, a mix of exhilaration and strangeness. He was far from everything he knew, from his native archipelago of Sel and the splendors of the imperial school, immersed in an unknown world that filled him with wonder like a child discovering virgin territory. Sven, in the adjacent room, seemed to have already succumbed to sleep, his regular breathing audible through the thin wooden partition. The guards, posted on the other side of the inn, kept watch with their usual discretion, their silhouettes dimly lit by the dying firelight.
Mero closed his eyes after a few minutes of reflection, his heart beating slightly faster at the thought of the secrets the island would reveal to them tomorrow. The evening had been pleasant, a prelude imbued with serenity, but the dawn would bring the true beginning of their adventure. They lay down, their thoughts turned towards the unknown that awaited them, while the guards divided the night watch, their soft footsteps barely resonating in the quiet night, alive yet peaceful. The island itself seemed to watch over them, guarding its secrets jealously in the darkness. The sound of distant waves mingled with the murmurs of the forest, creating an atmosphere both strange and enchanting that accompanied Mero into a restorative sleep.
The next morning dawned in a warm, humid haze, the air thick with the dense, fragrant scent of the tropical jungle. After a simple yet nourishing breakfast—juicy fruits in vibrant hues, still-warm bread, and an infusion of local herbs—they set off early, ready to embrace the wonders of the island. The guide, a calm and assured figure, took the lead, his steady pace betraying an intimate knowledge of the steep trails. The two imperial guards followed, their weapons discreetly at their sides, their eyes scanning the surroundings with vigilance, ready to respond to any eventuality. Mero and Sven brought up the rear, occasionally exchanging a few courteous words but mostly absorbing the wild beauty that surrounded them.
The trail they followed was narrow yet passable, winding through a forest where the roots of giant trees intertwined like natural ropes, while ferns and climbing plants with bright green leaves bordered their path. The air was heavy, saturated with the scent of damp plants and fertile earth, each step drawing Mero deeper into a dimension far removed from the imperial civilization he knew so well. The guide, with a captivating yet simple erudition, explained that their destination was a sacred waterfall for the local inhabitants, a place of purification and rituals where some came to pray for luck or prosperity. At every turn of the jungle, strange sounds floated in the air—the harsh cries of invisible animals, the melodious songs of birds with brilliant plumage—adding a mystical note to their journey.
The path soon became steeper, the stones underfoot slick with moisture, making each step delicate, while the roots of the trees formed obstacles they navigated with caution. The guide, agile as a tropical feline, led them without the slightest hesitation, his princely assurance inspiring confidence. Mero advanced with studied grace, his gaze scrutinizing the details of this new world, while Sven, though enthusiastic, slowed slightly, concentrating on his steps to avoid an unprincely fall. The guards, vigilant, analyzed every suspicious noise in the dense vegetation, their silhouettes imposing against the lush wilderness.
The rumble of water became audible, faint at first, then increasingly powerful, heralding their imminent arrival. After a final ascent, the trail opened onto a vast space, and before them stood a gigantic waterfall, its crystalline waters cascading into a deep pool with a force that was both peaceful and impressive. A fine mist rose from the point of impact, lightly spraying their faces and refreshing the heavy jungle air. The beauty of the place surpassed anything Mero had imagined, a vision worthy of the legends he had cherished as a child.
The guide indicated for them to take a pause, allowing them to admire the view and savor the welcome coolness of the place. The air here was lighter, carrying a pure and humid scent, and the dense vegetation framing the waterfall seemed to calm, as if enveloped in a mystical aura. They sat near the shore on moss-covered rocks, their gazes captivated by the spectacle of the waters crashing against the polished stones, absorbing in silence the tranquil grandeur that surrounded them. This moment offered a welcome respite in their adventure, but Mero knew that behind this serene beauty lay many more discoveries to come. After a time of rest, they resumed their march, animated by a renewed determination to explore further the treasures this island held in store for them.
They continued their progress at a measured pace until they reached a shelter, a rustic refuge nestled in the heart of the jungle where they would spend the night. The cabin, constructed of roughly hewn tree trunks and covered with moss, seemed to blend with the surrounding nature, its thatched roof offering solid protection despite a few gaps through which a cool breeze filtered. The guide announced that they would sleep in the cabin's single room, a modest space where a dirt floor and rustic benches surrounded a large table of raw wood. At the far end, a crude stone hearth dominated the wall, and it was there that he began to prepare a simple yet comforting meal.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
The scent of firewood filled the room, mingling with the aroma of fresh herbs that the guide chopped with calm precision. He lit a fire with pieces of wood gathered along the way, and the flickering flames cast dancing shadows on the cabin walls, creating a warm atmosphere despite the rusticity of the place. "Dinner will be modest," he explained with natural courtesy, "rice, local vegetables, and a bit of dried fish, shared without ceremony." He seemed satisfied to offer them this meal with the island's limited resources, and the atmosphere was imbued with simplicity.
Mero, Sven, and their companions sat around the fire, sharing a comforting silence, far from the concerns of the imperial court. The crackling of the flames and the simple taste of the meal reminded Mero how sweet life could be in its essential nakedness. The guards, though vigilant, allowed themselves a slight relaxation in this welcome warmth, exchanging a few soft-spoken words while keeping an eye on the door and windows, as if anticipating a danger lurking in the shadows of the jungle. This shelter, though lacking the luxury they were accustomed to, offered an unexpected security, the firelight compensating for the growing chill of the night.
The guide, while preparing the meal, shared local stories, evoking the ancient inhabitants of the island who lived in these remote lands, far from the splendors of the great cities. He spoke of strange creatures and legends that haunted the jungle, of invisible forces of nature that defied any attempt at domination. These tales captivated Mero, whose mind wandered to the rare moments of hunting with his father and brothers in the forests of Sel—expeditions devoid of guards, where they tracked small animals with children's bows, savoring a simple and precious freedom. These memories, tinged with nostalgia, rekindled in him a sense of sweet and bitter loss.
As time passed, the conversation faded, the words giving way to the crackling of the flames and the distant murmurs of the sea, whose soft refrain mingled with the rustling of the surrounding jungle. Silence settled in the cabin, a deep calm broken only by these natural echoes. They retired for the night, each seeking their modest yet comfortable quarters, their minds still vibrant with curiosity and anticipation for the discoveries to come.
Mero quickly settled into his bed, a simple pallet covered with a carefully woven woolen blanket. The rooms, though lacking in imperial luxury, offered a welcoming refuge after a day of exertion. He tossed and turned under the coarse sheets, his mind still buzzing with the wonders they had contemplated that day—the bustling port of Aiguille, the cobblestone streets teeming with life, and the vast expanse of the Green Ocean shimmering under the sun. A sense of adventure gripped him, a mix of exhilaration and strangeness. He was far from everything he knew, from his native archipelago of Sel and the splendors of the imperial school, immersed in an unknown world that filled him with wonder like a child discovering virgin territory. Sven, in the adjacent room, seemed to have already succumbed to sleep, his regular breathing audible through the thin wooden partition. The guards, posted on the other side of the inn, kept watch with their usual discretion, their silhouettes dimly lit by the dying firelight.
Mero closed his eyes after a few minutes of reflection, his heart beating slightly faster at the thought of the secrets the island would reveal to them tomorrow. The evening had been pleasant, a prelude imbued with serenity, but the dawn would bring the true beginning of their adventure. They lay down, their thoughts turned towards the unknown that awaited them, while the guards divided the night watch, their soft footsteps barely resonating in the quiet night, alive yet peaceful. The island itself seemed to watch over them, guarding its secrets jealously in the darkness. The sound of distant waves mingled with the murmurs of the forest, creating an atmosphere both strange and enchanting that accompanied Mero into a restorative sleep.
As the morning light filtered through the dense jungle canopy, the air grew thicker, laden with the scent of damp earth and lush vegetation. The guide led them deeper into the heart of the island, the terrain becoming increasingly rugged and steep. The dense foliage gave way to a mystical landscape shrouded in a thick mist, transforming the scene into an ethereal tableau where contours blurred and distances dissolved. The guide, a robust and assured figure, paused to assess the ghostly gray veil that enveloped them. "There is always mist after ten in the morning," he explained in a calm yet firm voice, his tone betraying his familiarity with the caprices of this wild land. "It is a natural phenomenon here, but it demands caution. Venturing too far into this haze can make orientation extremely perilous."
The path became more treacherous as they ascended, the narrow and winding trails snaking between sharp volcanic rocks with jagged edges. The climb grew steeper with each step, demanding greater effort, their boots occasionally slipping on the damp ground. The guide, with a captivating yet simple erudition, pointed out the plants they encountered, explaining their properties with a precision that captivated the princely attention of his young companions. "Here is a leaf of curasol, medicinal, capable of curing fevers," he said, plucking a plant with bright green veins, before indicating another with venomous red petals. "And this one, the mordelune, is to be avoided—its sap inflicts burning blisters." He even had them listen to the peculiar songs of birds, whose melodious calls resonated strangely in the humid air, amplified by the gathering mist.
The vegetation evolved as they gained altitude, the majestic trees with knotted trunks draped in lianas giving way to dense shrubs, then to small, fleshy plants with strange forms, their hues shifting from deep green to paler, almost silvery shades. The air grew cooler and heavier, carrying a subtle scent of sulfur, a sign of the approaching volcano. A mystical and wild atmosphere enveloped the group, as if they were approaching a natural sanctuary where the raw power of the island manifested in every breath of wind.
Sven, Prince of Fer, was fascinated by the guide's teachings, asking questions with a curiosity that betrayed his taste for the wonders of nature. "And what are the virtues of this plant?" he inquired, pointing to a bush with metallic green leaves. The guide smiled slightly, responding with patience while Mero, Prince of Sel, preferred to lose himself in the vista that gradually unfolded around them. With each step, the panorama widened, revealing deep valleys where the jungle stretched like a green sea, dotted with ochre ridges and silvery streams glinting under the fleeting morning rays. They now found themselves at a higher elevation, and despite the thickening mist, the grandeur of the spectacle took their breath away.
Suddenly, the vegetation ceased, giving way to a dense moss covering and an unusual lichen, its silvery and green hues blending into the mist like natural camouflage. The impression that the very earth disappeared beneath this layer of haze seized Mero, and the landscape became almost unreal, a living tableau where the boundaries between the tangible and the imaginary blurred. They advanced with caution, the stones becoming slippery under their boots, the paths more uncertain with each step. The guide, ever in control, paused and turned to them, his gaze scrutinizing their faces with discreet solicitude. "We will go a little further," he announced. "The summit is within reach, but we must redouble our caution in this mist. Getting lost here would be easy."
They nodded in agreement, though the strangeness of the atmosphere inspired a slight mistrust. The guards, more vigilant than ever, scrutinized the surroundings, their hands brushing the hilts of their swords, though even they seemed disconcerted by the expanse of mist that enveloped them. They continued their ascent, their steps heavy yet measured, resonating on the mossy ground. Mero wondered if what they sought at the volcano's summit—a glory or revelation worthy of their rank—justified the perils of this journey. Yet, the exhilaration of adventure, this thirst for discovery that pulsed in his veins, overcame the uncertainty. Perhaps, within this dense mist, they would find a grandeur that transcended their very existence, a truth that could redefine their vision of this strange and wild world.
As they progressed, a deep, almost imperceptible rumble became audible—the volcano breathing. With each pulsation, the earth beneath their feet trembled slightly, as if animated by a deep life emanating from the island's heart. This sensation, both strange and mystical, enveloped Mero and his companions, the mist amplifying the echo of this telluric breath that seemed to resonate in their very bones. The haze around them thickened, enfolding them in a dense silence broken only by the persistent rumble of the volcano.
The guide, accustomed to these manifestations, advanced with a princely calm, his steady pace contrasting with the growing tension of the others. With each rumble, he glanced back, ensuring that Mero, Sven, and the guards followed without faltering. The latter, hands near their swords, stood ready, their eyes scanning the mist with heightened vigilance. The atmosphere, though fascinating, was heavy with portents, and everything here seemed to murmur a call to respect in the face of the living power that dominated them.
"The volcano is active," the guide declared, lowering his voice slightly as if paying homage to this force residing in the island's heart. "Sometimes, it rumbles only slightly before erupting, but today, it seems to be containing its fury. Nevertheless, caution remains essential." Sven, whose curiosity remained undiminished, questioned the guide with contained avidity. "When might it fully awaken?"
The guide, thoughtful, responded with measured gravity: "That depends on the whims of the earth. It trembles, it rumbles, but no certainty guides its movements. It is a matter of patience and vigilance." Mero listened in silence, his mind oscillating between the exhilaration of adventure and a diffuse unease in the face of the latent threat of the volcano. This deep rumble, intensifying with each moment, evoked for him a conscious entity, almost aware of their presence, a guardian of secrets buried beneath the black rock.
Despite the veil of mist that obscured the horizon, a strange light filtered through the vaporous clouds, as if the sun struggled to pierce this gray shroud. This faint glow conferred an almost magical air to the place, where shadows mingled with the silvery reflections of the lichen. Each step brought Mero and his companions closer to the heart of this raw energy, a source of both life and destruction that dominated the island. The ground, now unstable under their feet, abandoned moss for sharp black volcanic rocks, their jagged edges defying their boots. The cool wind from the heights carried with it a faint yet penetrating scent of sulfur, and the air grew heavy, saturated with a density that seemed to weigh on their shoulders.
Suddenly, a stronger rumble shook the earth, jarring their balance. The guide halted abruptly, his senses on high alert, listening intently to the island's murmurs. "This should not be alarming," he declared in a calm tone, though a shiver of apprehension ran through Mero. There was an energy in this place that he could not explain, a challenge issued by the mountain itself, as if it were testing their audacity. He glanced at Sven, whose dark eyes betrayed a similar impression. They were far from the ordered bustle of the capital, far from the rules and securities of the imperial cities. Here, in this mist, on this unstable ground, everything seemed possible—even an encounter with the unknown that transcended their nobility.
The guide, after a moment of observation, asked them to stay in place. "I will inspect the crater," he announced with authority, before disappearing into the mist, his silhouette quickly fading into the gray veil. Mero, Sven, and the guards waited in silence, their gazes scrutinizing the indistinct shadows that surrounded them, the volcano's rumble punctuating each second with growing tension. The wind blew stronger, carrying volleys of volcanic dust that stung their eyes and irritated their nostrils.
When the guide returned, his face was marked by an uncharacteristic tension. His eyes, usually calm and assured, betrayed his concern. "The path leading to the crater is no longer passable," he declared in a grave voice, his breath slightly labored from his swift return. "The ground has shifted. Recent tremors have caused part of the trail to collapse. Continuing higher would be too perilous; the earth is unstable." He paused, his gaze resting briefly on the invisible volcano, whose rumblings seemed to respond to his words. "I advise against tempting fate. We must turn back."
Mero and Sven exchanged a glance, a mix of disappointment and respect passing through their minds. The idea of not reaching the volcano's summit chagrined them, but the guide's warning, reinforced by the growing presence of this natural force, made them understand that the adventure could prove more dangerous than they had anticipated. The volcano, like a jealous sovereign, seemed to forbid them this ultimate triumph. With a restraint befitting their rank, they nodded in agreement, and the group turned back, their progress now marked by heightened caution.
The terrain became even rockier on the descent, the sharp stones making each step uncertain, their boots occasionally slipping on treacherous surfaces. The mist enveloped them once more, concealing the horizon in an opaque veil, while the sound of the volcano, though distant, remained a constant presence, a silent threat that seemed to watch over their movements. The guide, though frustrated by his inability to lead them to the summit, conducted them with calm determination, his steady steps sure despite the capricious ground.
"There are other wonders to explore on this island," he said, guiding them towards a small hidden valley not far off, where silvery streams wound between smooth rocks. "We will return another day, when the volcano is calmer." They regained more stable ground, the dense vegetation gradually giving way to smaller, more resilient plants, their hues shifting from deep green to paler shades. The melodious songs of birds, which had accompanied them since dawn, reminded them that, even in these challenging conditions, the nature of the island remained of a brutal and authentic beauty.
As they made their way, they ceased speaking, each lost in their thoughts. The volcano, with its silent yet palpable power, imbued the air with an energy that Mero could not fully grasp. The sound of its rumblings followed them, an echoing presence that never left them, even as they distanced themselves from its threatening flanks. They returned to the village where they had spent the previous night, but this time, a strange silence settled between them. The great adventure they had hoped to live at the volcano's summit had abruptly ended, leaving them with a sense of humility. They had been confronted with a power far superior to their audacity, and there was a profound nobility in recognizing their limits in the face of what surpassed them.
The guide greeted them with a smile as they returned to the shelter, a glimmer of mutual understanding in his gaze. "Tomorrow," he said, meticulously cleaning his knife, "we will seek another path. The island has much more to offer than this summit." Mero and Sven offered him a silent gratitude, aware that this was not the end of their quest, but a detour imposed by nature. If the volcano jealously guarded its secret, other treasures perhaps awaited them in the folds of this wild land.
During the night, the volcano erupted in a sudden outburst, transforming the darkness into a spectacle both fascinating and terrifying. A reddish-orange glow illuminated the sky, casting dancing shadows on the wooden walls of the shelter, while rivers of incandescent lava slowly descended the mountain's flanks, tracing fiery paths in the gloom. The sound of the volcano was deafening, a deep rumble that shook the ground beneath their pallets, awakening Mero and his companions.
Mero sat up, hypnotized by this demonstration of raw power. This vision evoked for him the legends of Sel, those of Mount Pitou, which, according to the tales, had erupted with such force that it had split the sky, causing the sea to recede so low that the floor of the Green Ocean was revealed, before a wall of water submerged the islands in indescribable chaos. Sven, by his side, shared this fascination, his dark eyes reflecting the fiery glows that pierced the night. The guide observed them from his corner, a serene smile on his face, as if witnessing a familiar ritual. "It is a living volcano," he said simply, his calm voice contrasting with the outer tumult. "It breathes, it rumbles, but it never fully awakens."
This assurance reassured Mero, even though the eruption seemed contained within the crater, as the guide explained. The island's inhabitants, accustomed to this capricious giant, had learned to coexist with its moods. They remained for a long moment contemplating this spectacle, the silence between them broken only by the hissing of the lava and their exclamations of admiration, tempered by a respect for a force that surpassed them. Finally, the guide suggested they return to their pallets. "Tomorrow, we will descend," he said. "But tonight will remain etched in your royal memories."
The next day, the volcano continued to vent, its plumes of smoke and ash veiling the sky in a grayish filter that dimmed the sunlight. The guide urged them to descend swiftly to the beach of the south wing as a safety measure. The air was filled with an acrid sulfurous scent, pungent and irritating, and the ground trembled slightly under their feet, reminding them of the contained fury of the mountain. After several hours of descent through the tropical vegetation, where the dense foliage intertwined overhead like a protective canopy, they finally reached the coast. The marine breeze brought them a refreshing gust, washing away the sulfurous smell and the sweat of their hurried march.
Before them, the Green Ocean stretched out to the horizon, its deep blue contrasting with the reddish glow of the volcano in the distance. Local fishermen observed them with curiosity, and the guide exchanged a few words in their lilting tongue. They indicated a rustic wooden cabin where the group could rest. Mero sat on the sand, his breath still short, and contemplated the horizon. This sea, after so many months of absence, soothed his heart. Sven approached the water, plunging his hands into the wavelets, savoring their coolness with satisfaction. "It was incredible," he murmured. "I have seen storms at sea, but this... this is another form of power."
Mero nodded in silent agreement, the rumble of the volcano still echoing in his ears, but the ocean before him offered a respite. The guide explained that, as long as the activity remained contained, the inhabitants were not alarmed. They had learned to live under the shadow of this slumbering giant. The night passed there, listening to the waves and observing the distant flaming mountain, an experience that deeply marked Mero.
The next day, they requested the guide to lead them to the northeastern wing of the island. They set off at dawn, following a rocky trail that led them through a semi-arid landscape. The tropical vegetation gradually gave way to thorny shrubs with twisted forms, cacti with sharp spines, and dry grasses bent by a warm, salty breeze. The ground became sandy, dotted with dark volcanic rocks whose black reflections captured the morning light. The air, drier and hotter, carried an intense heat that weighed on their shoulders like a cloak of fire, despite the early hour.
"It is a completely different realm," whispered Sven, observing the landscape with curiosity, his dark eyes scrutinizing the details of this arid land.
The guide explained that this region received little rain, fresh water being a rare commodity that the inhabitants conserved with admirable parsimony, cultivating plants resistant to drought. After several hours of marching, they reached the northeastern coast. Before them stretched pristine beaches, bordered by a sea of crystalline blue that sparkled under the scorching sun. Unlike the southern shores where the jungle approached the sand, here the beaches opened wide and free, offering an unobstructed view of the Green Ocean and, in the distance, the silhouette of the volcano with its plumes of smoke dancing in the azure sky.
They stopped in the rare shade of an acacia tree, its gnarled branches offering a welcome respite. Sven knelt near the water, touching the sand with admiration. "It is so fine... like a precious powder," he said, his voice filled with wonder.
The guide smiled, a glimmer of pride in his eyes. "It is called silver sand," he explained. "Under the moon, it sparkles like a treasure."
Mero turned towards the horizon, breathing deeply the refreshing marine air that filled his lungs with a welcome coolness. This place, rugged and wild, differed from his lush archipelago realm of Sel, but its austere beauty fascinated him. "Let us explore further," he proposed, and the guide led them to a small fishing village nestled between the dunes and ochre cliffs, its stone houses with whitewashed walls rising like modest sentinels against the vast ocean.
They spent the day discovering the villagers' customs, tasting dishes of dried fish seasoned with bitter herbs and fruits of the desert with a tart yet invigorating taste. The fishermen recounted tales of ancient volcanic eruptions, describing nights when the sky was ablaze, and evoked marine creatures hidden in the invisible depths of the Green Ocean, their stories imbued with a mysticism that captivated Mero and Sven's imagination.
As the sun began to set, they climbed a small hill overlooking the beach. Before them, the volcano continued to vent its plume of smoke, a shadow on the horizon, while the waves gently lapped the endless expanses of silver sand. "This is a place I will never forget," murmured Sven, his voice filled with a gravity uncommon for him.
Mero nodded in silent agreement, his gaze lost in the vast blue expanse.
Before leaving the beach, Mero filled a small glass bottle with this peculiar silver sand, whose faint glow under the morning sun evoked a treasure. He promised himself to bring it back to Sel as a tangible souvenir of this fascinating island. The return journey to Aiguille stretched over a day, easier than the outward trip, the trail descending gently through the semi-arid landscapes before plunging back into the tropical vegetation. They stopped in a few remote villages, exchanging courteous greetings with the inhabitants and tasting their local specialties—cakes made of dry grains, infusions of pungent herbs.
In the late afternoon, they reached Aiguille. Compared to the isolated hamlets they had traversed, the town seemed to vibrate with an almost noisy energy, its market bustling with the scents of spices and fresh fish. They found the inn where they had left some belongings and settled in for the night. After a light meal—grilled fish, tropical fruits, and fruit juices—they discussed their journey.
"This island is truly unique," said Sven, stretching out with a mix of admiration and fatigue in his tone. "But I must confess, a bed worthy of the name has been sorely missed."
Mero smiled, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. "It is true that princely comfort has its charm," he replied, "but part of me already misses the freedom of the steep trails and deserted beaches."
The next day, they prepared to take the boat back to the continent, but before leaving Aiguille, they paid homage to the guide who had led them with such wisdom through the wonders and dangers of the island. They rewarded him handsomely, offering a sum far beyond his expectations, a gesture that left him initially hesitant before he accepted with a grateful smile. "You will always be welcome here, should your steps lead you back one day," he said, bowing with simple yet sincere courtesy.
With the remaining time, Mero and Sven wandered the market alleys, their gazes drawn to the exotic treasures of the stalls: jewelry made of black coral with deep reflections, fabrics in vibrant hues embroidered with marine motifs, sculptures in sandalwood exuding a sweet fragrance, and vials of scented oils with rare essences. Mero chose his gifts with care—an embroidered fabric for Leila, a pendant of volcanic stone for Mandarine, rare spices for the kitchens of the Sel palace, and a finely crafted obsidian blade, a souvenir of the ever-active volcano. Sven, with a princely skill in the art of negotiation, acquired vials of precious essences and a bracelet of leather adorned with engraved pearls, his choices reflecting his taste for discreet yet refined treasures.
Their purchases complete, they made their way back to the port, where the ship awaited them, ready to set sail. One last time, they contemplated the island rising in the distance, its volcano dominating the horizon like a sovereign in its crown of smoke. The journey was coming to an end, but for Mero and Sven, the adventure was merely another chapter in their memories, with many more to come.
