The Heart of the Sea

Prologue

The sea never forgets.

It is an endless expanse, a timeless tapestry woven from dreams, indifferent to the fleeting nature of humanity, to the delicate treasures and stories that slip beneath its undulating waves. An ancient presence, as old as the stars that twinkle above, as primal as the earth itself, it cradles the whispers of all who have traversed its depths. The ocean remembers everything and nothing, its memory etched in the very fabric of its tides. It is not cruel; it simply is, a vast entity that holds dominion over what has been lost. When the moment arrives—when the sea decides to reclaim its own—no force on earth can stand against its will.

The ship Fidelis was a creature of legend, hewn from the heartwood of ancient forests, its hull a glimmering echo of the moonlit sky. Its sails were pure and white, billowing like the breath of celestial beings, harnessing the winds of fate with grace and majesty. For years, it glided through the endless expanse, a swift specter on the horizon, cradling treasures drawn from distant realms—gems that sparkled like dew at dawn, silks that rippled like the gentle caress of a summer breeze. Yet on that fateful voyage, it carried more than mere gold and silver; it bore a secret that transcended the grasp of man.

And so, the sea waited.

No one perceived the tempest lurking on the horizon. It materialized from the shadows, a whispering darkness that swallowed the sun, curling tendrils of ominous clouds cascading across the sky. The once bright expanse transformed into a swirling chaos, the heavens twisting into a living nightmare. The wind howled—a primal, anguished wail—as the ocean stirred, its voice a deep rumble, a haunting song that crescendoed with every heartbeat. The air thickened with brine and foreboding, a harbinger of the storm that loomed.

The Fidelis resisted, a noble warrior in the face of ruin.

For hours, its timbers groaned in mournful protest, quaking under the weight of the squall's fury. Waves rose like ethereal giants, crashing against the hull with a ferocity that sought to rend it asunder. A boy, no more than six, clung to the mast, his small hands gripping the wood as if it were his last lifeline, his breath a rapid cadence of fear and hope. The world spun around him, a whirl of salt, rain, and the acrid tang of dread. The vessel that had once been a sanctuary, a vessel of solace, was transformed into a wild beast, thrashing against the feral forces of nature. He had never fathomed that the sea could wield such wrath, such insatiable hunger.

Then, with a shattering crack that echoed through the air, the mast splintered like fragile glass.

In that moment, the ship's body was torn apart, a tapestry unraveled by cruel hands, its wood disintegrating under the weight of the storm. The boy was thrown from the deck, his body hurtling into the void, the world collapsing into chaos. The air fled his lungs in a desperate gasp, the icy water enveloping him in its chilling embrace. The ocean consumed him, dragging him into its abyss, its currents wrapping around him like a spectral shroud. He fought against the depths, kicking and thrashing, reaching for a light that flickered just beyond his grasp, but there was no air, no light—only the unfathomable darkness of the sea, its currents pulling him deeper still, into the realm of forgotten dreams.

And then—silence.

A hush so profound it seemed to suspend time itself. When the boy broke the surface, gasping for breath, the storm had vanished, leaving only the lingering echoes of its fury, the sky now bruised and brooding. The ocean lay calm, a glassy expanse reflecting the remnants of the storm as if it had never been. Floating amidst the wreckage, a dreamlike stillness enveloped the water. He was no longer a boy lost in chaos; he was a whisper adrift on the surface of a forgotten realm.

But the Fidelis was gone.

A vessel of dreams and stories, a marvel born from the hands of men, had surrendered to the depths, leaving no trace. Not a plank, not a fragment of its shattered mast, not even the faintest whisper of its passing. 

The sea had claimed it all.

All it had carried.

All it had been.

The boy's eyes grew heavy, his limbs numb from the biting chill. The remnants he clung to slipped away, drifting further into the depths of a world he once knew, the vast ocean swallowing everything in its infinite embrace. His name echoed softly in his mind, a delicate refrain carried on the winds of the sea, but there was no one left to heed it—no crew, no captain, no friend—only the relentless sea.

The ship had succumbed, and with it, all the souls aboard. The treasure that would have made kings tremble was now lost, a secret forever entombed in the heart of the deep. The sea had taken them, and in its unfathomable depths, no trace remained. Only the memory of a ship, a boy, and a treasure the world would never know.

The sea never forgets. But it never gives back, either.