A ship has just arrived in the famous port city of Nukaro, the capital of Aegeus, and in its hull, is the last hope for all the realms of Valen.
The only problem?
He doesn't know it yet.
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The wail of a horn fills my ears as I brush through the market crowd of Cimut Harbour, Nukaro. The staunch scent of fish smarts my nose, stinging the sewn shut wound on my face as metal barrels of sea life are hoisted on racks and rolled to cargo holds. Hundreds upon thousands of vendors line the street paralleling the harbour and the ocean. They shout voices mixing with the ruckus of shopping customers and running ship engines.
I had spent four days hidden within the safety of Melbourne's House before summoning the courage to step outside again. Leaving the confounds of the only sanctuary I knew, it had taken me an hour to walk the labyrinth streets, and another twenty to hail a bright green taxi, paying with the few coins Arlo had given me. A few minutes of hectic driving, and I was finally at the gates of Nukaro's famous Cimut Harbour. Standing at the top of the road that led into the market, I stared in awe at the drastic change. It seemed the life and colour of Nukaro bled out the farther into the city one went. Maybe Herb wasn't lying, I think as I trudge down the smooth transition from pavement to sea stone cobble. Maybe he just never went far enough.
"Get your scallops!" Cries a short child, holding an electronic sign with images depicting a delicious array of fish and scallions.
Walking further into the thick Cimut market, my eyes, watery from the rank smell. Large walkways built into the sides of the harbour buildings, casting long shadows over the vendors. After a few more minutes of wandering, my gaze at last lands on the harbour master's multi-layered building. It was less squatty than I had expected, leading to question whether this was truly it, but its massive neon sign hanging over its hexagon-shaped doorway was unmistakable. This was the harbour office.
Hesitating outside, I shift nervously in my shoes and remove the cap that had been hiding the streak of white in my hair before stepping through massive sliding doors.
The starch smell of the ocean is immediately sucked from my nose, replaced with the scent of hot metal and old oil. Letting my eyes adjust to the drastic change in light, I notice the floor to ceiling bookshelves, the clanking of machinery, benches designated for waiting customers, and the large desk placed rather seriously at the end of the room. Small advertisements flash bright, colourful locations onto their glass surfaces, an automatic voice over swooning over possible holidays and promises of endless fun and excitement.
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A deep clearing of the throat stops me short of touching a floating bottle masted ship and I look up just as a large barrel-chested old man comes lumbering to the desk. His massive sausage fingers grasp around a stylo pen, and his bushy eyebrows raise so that his eyes could lock onto me. "Can I help you, sir." His voice resonates through my bones, his Nukarian accent giving his words a mash to their pronunciation.
Shoving my hand back into my pocket, I step away from the display case of more floating ships and make my way to the desk. "I'm looking for a ship-" "Isn't everybody in Cimut," the harbour master draws, his eyes rolling with his words.
