The Tides Of Aoen

Chapter 1: Theron

1

Theron leaned back against the ornate railing of the Fleurdelis, eyes fixed on the endless stretch of the Aeon Sea before him. The ship sailed smoothly, cutting through the twilight waters like a blade through silk, the sound of the waves mingling with the distant cry of seabirds overhead. To the untrained eye, he might have looked regal- effortlessly in control, as befit a prince of his status.

He hated every moment of it.

The salt air stung his skin, the wind tugging at his finely embroidered coat, and the faint smell of tar and brine made his stomach churn. He was not made for this life. Sea spray speckled his perfectly polished boots, and he looked down at them with an expression that might have been disgust. These waters, this ship- none of it suited him. The ocean was wild and untamable, and Theron Valos did not enjoy what he couldn't control.

He turned from the bow and scanned the deck, ignoring the crew's quick, deferential glances. The men were tense around him, as they should be. After all, they knew their captain. He hadn't inherited his position through naval expertise or some grand heroic feat- he'd bought it with royal blood and privilege. Not that anyone dared say it to his face.

Theron sneered to himself. Pirates, thieves, killers- all of them scum, and here they were, crawling over the deck like vermin, doing his bidding. They believed in the title he carried: Prince of Valos. They feared it more than they respected him, which was fine. Fear worked.

He felt a flare of irritation as he adjusted his cuffs, the rich crimson fabric stitched with gold.
His father would laugh if he could see him now, playing pirate in his silk and velvet, pretending to care about this ridiculous expedition. The King of Valos was many things- a conqueror, a master strategist, a man obsessed with power- but he was no fool. He had sent Theron on this doomed voyage not for victory but for punishment.

The truth gnawed at Theron's pride like rot. He had been exiled, plain and simple. Hidden beneath the polite words of duty and honor, the king had made it clear; "Return when you have proven yourself worthy of the throne." Which, in his father's terms, meant stay gone forever. He wasn't supposed to survive this. The gods knew, he barely wanted to.

Still, as much as he despised the Aeon Sea, he hated the idea of crawling back empty-handed more. He would find this Omphalos Stone- the legendary relic that had all of Valos buzzing with rumors of power. He would find it and drag it back to the palace, throwing it at his father's feet, just to wipe the smirk off the old man's face.

"Captain."

Theron's jaw clenched at the title, still unfamiliar. He turned to see one of his lieutenants approaching, a man whose name he couldn't be bothered to remember. He was broad-shouldered, grizzled, with a scar cutting across his forehead- someone who had spent his life at sea, no doubt. The sort of man Theron detested most.

"The men are ready," the lieutenant grunted, casting an uneasy glance at Theron. "We'll reach Zephyra by dawn. If the winds hold."

Theron nodded, letting his eyes drift back to the horizon. Zephyra. The floating marvel where the gods themselves were said to watch over every wave, blessing some ships and dooming others. Few dared challenge the city's divine protections, and fewer still left unchanged by its mysteries. It was the perfect place for a pompous prince to seek answers beyond his worth.

Well, perhaps that was a tad dramatic —it was simply a trading port to him.

"Good," Theron said, his voice smooth but edged with the kind of aristocratic disdain that came naturally to him. "Make sure they stay alert. I have no intention of losing my head to some half-baked mutiny before we even reach Zephyra."