Gordon couldn’t remember his parents, nor did he know if he’d ever had anyone like that in his life. His only memory was the struggle to survive on the streets of the imperial capital. And despite the years spent in the gutter, he now ruled an empire of his own.
He adjusted the tight knot of his tie, which pressed against his sturdy neck. The freshly tailored fabric of his black suit creaked in protest, as if rebelling against his broad shoulders—broader than the garment seemed designed to bear. His massive wings emerged through two carefully tailored slits in the back of the suit, allowing them to spread freely without hindrance, whether he was walking or seated.
Trying to push away memories he preferred to keep buried, Gordon paused for a moment, his gaze wandering across the newsroom. The large orbs suspended high above the hall continued to fascinate him.
Spheres of blue-green and crimson light glowed vibrantly, almost as if they were breathing in sync with the energy that kept them alight. They weren’t mere objects; they were the visible, tangible essence of the power of the echos — the mysterious force that permeated the world.
He vividly remembered the cold nights in King’s Port when the darkness was pierced only by the flickering light of old street lamps. Now, the newsroom was illuminated by a steady glow, the same light that powered the presses and brought the Herald of the Seas to life. All thanks to those orbs and the artificers — masters of a craft Gordon had never fully understood.
The artificers possessed the ability to capture the echos and crystallize them within the spheres. The process was a closely guarded secret, but the results were undeniable. The orbs had transformed the world, and Gordon held an almost reverent admiration for them and for those who created them.
With the technology of the orbs, even those without the gift to channel the Light of Hope or the Mist of Anguish could harness the energy generated by the magical storms that swept across the skies. It had become rare to find a household without orbs, so ubiquitous had they become.
Gordon cast a satisfied glance around the newsroom of the Herald of the Seas. The presses, built to his specifications and powered by the orbs, were running at full capacity. The rhythmic clatter of the machines, the hurried voices, and the sharp scent of fresh ink created a symphony that seemed to fill his very soul.
His face exuded the usual self-confidence. The firm jawline, straight nose, and well-defined lips created a striking appearance he knew was impossible to ignore. His impeccably trimmed beard and sculpted mustache reinforced the image of absolute control. But his eyes... Ah, those eyes. Too small, too round, they were a constant annoyance, almost a cruel joke of nature, as if she’d decided to mock his otherwise flawless visage.
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That morning, he radiated certainty. Known for his cold demeanor and disregard for the opinions of subordinates, he couldn’t help but feel a surge of excitement when faced with the power of the headlines. It was a thrill that even someone as manipulative as he was couldn’t entirely suppress.
The newsroom of the Herald of the Seas was pure chaos, but to Gordon, it was nothing more than disguised order. That pandemonium was his domain, the place where he thrived. He never wasted time justifying decisions or speculating about the future. His focus remained squarely on the "how" and the "what" of the present moment.
Standing in the center of the grand wooden hall, he was surrounded by a mountain of papers scattered across the table: photographs, reports, hastily scrawled notes. To others, it might have looked like chaos, but to Gordon, it was a well-oiled system.
The old ship that housed the newsroom — now the largest and most respected newspaper in the empire—swayed gently, anchored near the capital. Soon to set sail, he had already ordered the anchor raised, for before long, messenger gulls would spread the editions of the Herald of the Seas across the world.
Below deck, the sound of the mobile presses echoed like a constant melody. Steam hissed softly from the gears, while ink and paper awaited their transformation into history-making words. The gentle rocking of the ship, the rustle of pages, and the scratch of quills on parchment composed the soundtrack of his empire.
“Breaking news!” someone shouted from the back of the hall.
“Is it true? Did Captain Kidd… actually die?” an incredulous voice cut through the din.
“If it’s true, this’ll be one of the most explosive headlines in years!” someone else chimed in, savoring the prospect.
The shouts pulled Gordon from his thoughts. His sharp blue eyes swept over the bustling scene. It was this organized chaos that made his blood race.
“Stop everything!” His voice cut through the din. “We’re in the middle of the biggest news storm of the millennium. The world is changing, and we’ll be the first to tell it! I want headlines that shake the soul!” He raised his voice, filling the hall. “I want readers to feel the ground tremble when they open this paper. Today, we make history!”
The journalists exchanged quick glances before scattering like a swarm. Hurrying footsteps and stumbling echoes filled the room. Chairs creaked, photographs changed hands in a chaotic scramble, and papers fluttered to the floor as voices rose in an almost deafening cacophony. Each one was desperate to stand out in the tumult.
The day’s agenda was a treasure trove in itself: the death of the immortal emperor who had reigned for over two centuries; the assassination of a legendary Navy captain; the rise of a bold new pirate captain; the death of one of the most feared pirates in history; the capture of the King of the Pirate Isles; and perhaps most astonishing of all, the revelation of four out of the five contenders for the title of Empress of the Sea.
Any one of these stories would have been enough to dominate headlines for weeks, but together, they were an avalanche of events.
