The sea rippled gently with deep blue waves. A colossal warship moved across the waters, heavy and unwavering. On the deck, hundreds of soldiers and workers were in motion—some barking orders, others silently carrying out their duties.
At the very front of the ship, a lone figure stood tall. His muscular frame was accentuated by the sharp lines of his pristine military uniform. Cold eyes were fixed on the horizon.
Ravien Duskbane.
The most ruthless admiral of the Republic.
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(POV: Ravien Duskbane)
I never expected to make it here.
I wasn't born into nobility. I wasn't handed a place in naval academies on a silver platter. No doors were opened for me, and no one knew my name. I climbed from nothing.
I was orphaned as a child. I know what hunger feels like. I know despair. I did whatever it took to survive—stole, begged, fought. But the streets show no mercy. No matter how fast you run, no matter how well you hide, one day they devour you. So I ran. I didn't know where I was going. I only wanted to get away. And out there, far beyond the slums, I found the sea.
When I first stepped onto a ship's deck, even the swaying wooden floor beneath my feet felt foreign. I wasn't looking for glory or victory. Back then, my only hope was to survive one more day without starving.
But the sea didn't just teach me how to live—it taught me how to fight, how to win, and, most importantly, how to control.
In the beginning, I was treated like a stray dog, forced to run errands, wearing tattered clothes, enduring days without food. But I never faltered. I learned how the wind shifted, how the sails pulled, how the water spoke. I rowed, hauled ropes, pushed my body to its limits. And in time, people started calling me by name. With respect.
And now, I am here. Eyes fixed on the horizon, hands gripping the wheel. I no longer live just to survive—I live to win. And no one will take this place from me.
My thoughts clashed like waves inside my mind.
Just then, a soldier called out.
"Admiral, a letter has arrived for you."
I turned and walked toward him with slow, measured steps. A strange feeling crept over me. I didn't need to read the letter to know what it was about.
"Give it to me," I said, extending my hand.
The soldier immediately pulled the letter from his satchel and handed it over. The paper was crisp, the handwriting elegant—formal yet rushed.
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THE GRAND REPUBLIC HIGH COUNCIL
Date: November 21, 1907
To: Admiral Ravien Duskbane
Subject: The End of the War
Admiral Duskbane,
The war between our Republic and the Helmar Confederation has officially ended with the signing of the Velmont Treaty. Enemy forces have surrendered, and all battles have ceased.
All combat operations under your command are hereby terminated. You are ordered to return your fleet to the main base immediately and present a full war report to the Council.
On behalf of the Republic, we extend our gratitude for your service.
Supreme Commander Alistair Wrenford
Chairman of the Republic Defense Council
---
"What do you mean, the war is over?" I whispered.
A strange weight pressed against my chest, as if something inside me was being crushed.
"Just like that?" My voice dropped to a sharp whisper. "All my efforts… erased with the stroke of a pen? The blood spilled, the lives taken, every victory I won on the battlefield… all dismissed by men sitting at a table, shaking hands?"
My fingers clenched around the paper. My entire life had been given to war.
If there is no war… then what am I?
The soldier in front of me averted his eyes, his shoulders tensing as if he had done something wrong.
I took a deep breath. I needed to stay calm. The war was over. Orders were orders. I was no longer needed.
Lifting my gaze, I looked at the soldier. "Spread the word," I said, steadying my voice. "Tonight, we celebrate. Peace has been achieved. We are going home."
The soldier's face lit up. He saluted and rushed off. Soon, cheers erupted from the deck. Soldiers laughed, clapped each other on the back, their faces bright with joy. Some would return to their families, others to their lovers. For them, the war was truly over.
Night fell.
The sea was calm, but the deck was alive. Soldiers drank, laughed, and sang. Some shared battle stories, others toasted to their future. But in the shadows, a small group whispered.
At first, the conversation was light—where they would dock, what they would drink first. But soon, the tone shifted.
"The Admiral hasn't even joined the celebration, has he?" a young soldier murmured. "I don't think that man feels anything beyond war."
"He wouldn't," an older soldier grunted. "He doesn't believe the war is truly over."
The young soldier swallowed nervously. "But… don't you think he's strange? He acts like a strict commander, but sometimes… his eyes…" He hesitated. "They don't look human."
The older soldier fell silent before sighing. "Maybe they aren't."
Another man took a sip of his drink and spoke in a hushed tone. "I saw him during an interrogation once," he said, voice grim. "I swear, my blood ran cold. At that moment… I wasn't sure if he was human at all."
The young soldier's brows furrowed. "What did he do?"
The old man narrowed his eyes. "He tied the prisoner to the mast. Skinned him, inch by inch, for hours."
The young soldier shuddered. "Did the prisoner talk?"
The old man shook his head. "No. But the Admiral didn't care. When it was over, he simply wiped his hands with a cloth and said, 'Weakness is a waste of time.'"
Silence. Only the sound of the waves remained.
Then, another soldier whispered, "Remember last year? One of our own made a mistake—a simple misunderstanding—but the Admiral called him to his cabin."
The young soldier frowned. "Yeah… that man was never seen again. What happened to him?"
The old soldier lowered his gaze. "No one knows. But I remember hearing strange noises coming from that cabin all night. And by morning… the Admiral walked out as if nothing had happened."
Another hush fell over them. One man shivered.
Then, the sound of heavy boots echoed across the deck.
They froze.
No one looked up. No one dared. But they all knew who it was.
Admiral Ravien Duskbane.
The air grew colder.
The Admiral stopped in the middle of the deck, his gaze sweeping over the men. His presence alone suffocated them.
Then, without a word, he walked away, vanishing into the darkness.
And only after he was gone did they realize… they had been holding their breath.
(POV: Ravien Duskbane)
When I reached my cabin, exhaustion settled into my bones.
The war was over.
The celebrations continued outside, but for me, everything had already ended.
I sat on my bed, hands resting on my knees, staring at the ceiling. My room was as plain as ever. No decorations, no unnecessary luxuries. Because outside of the battlefield, nothing ever mattered to me.
The whispers of my men echoed in my ears. Their fears. Their doubts. The same, predictable thoughts. Like children.
If you don't understand war, why did you step onto this ship? If you fear blood, why did you pick up a sword?
But I didn't dwell on it.
Because none of it mattered anymore.
The war is over. Everyone is happy. They will return home.
But me?
Alone, aboard a warship in the middle of the sea…
I closed my eyes.
That night, Ravien Duskbane never woke up.