The night was calm, with only the rhythmic crashing of waves against Jola Island’s incomplete port disturbing the eerie silence. Above, the sky stretched wide and endless, adorned with thousands of twinkling stars, their reflections shimmering on the ocean’s surface. A humid breeze carried the scent of salt and damp wood as five imposing ships emerged from the darkness, their silhouettes growing larger as they steadily approached the island.

  High on the half-finished walls of the port, Hughes peered through his spyglass, his grip tightening as the unmistakable forms of enemy vessels came into view. He swallowed hard, the weight of responsibility pressing heavily upon him.

  "Get them set! We don’t have much time!" he barked, his voice sharp and commanding.

  The knights and workers stationed along the wall moved with renewed urgency, adjusting the mechanisms they had been setting up. The air was thick with tension, the sound of hurried footsteps and clanking metal filling the night. Hughes lowered his spyglass, shifting his gaze behind him toward the small wooden platform erected nearby.

  Standing upon it, illuminated by the flickering torchlight, was Ravenna. Her deep dark eyes were sharp and unwavering as she gazed toward the ocean, her posture regal yet tense. The long coat draped over her dress fluttered slightly in the cool night breeze. She could see the approaching ships, their dark forms slicing through the waves like predators closing in on their prey.

  "This better work," Ravenna muttered under her breath, gripping the dagger in her hand for safety tightly.

  Eastern Beach, Jola Island

  The sand along the eastern shore shifted and swirled with the wind, carried over the dunes that stretched toward the dense palm groves beyond. The moonlight bathed the area in a pale glow, casting long shadows over the trenches and defensive structures hastily built by John’s squad.

  Knights labored tirelessly, reinforcing the makeshift defenses with sharpened stakes, while others loaded the ballistas, their springs creaking under tension as they were aimed toward the sea.

  John adjusted his spyglass and focused on the horizon. A sharp breath escaped him as he spotted four enemy ships, their sails catching the moonlight as they crept closer.

  "They’re spreading out their fleet," he muttered, lowering the spyglass. "Just as expected, they're strategically dividing their forces to strike the city from all sides."

  He turned to his men, his voice steady yet firm. "Stay sharp. They’ll try to force their way through the nearest path to the castle. We can’t let them breach the city."

  Aboard the Eastern Fleet

  Onboard the lead ship, Lana, with fiery auburn hair, leaned against the rail, watching as Jola Island came into view. The moonlight cast a silver glow over the dark waters, revealing the looming coastline in the distance.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  She turned to her gathered crew, their faces lit with anticipation.

  "Listen up! Once we land, we move quickly. We storm the city like pirates—direct and ruthless. The fastest route to the lord’s castle is our main objective," she commanded, her tone leaving no room for hesitation.

  Her crew erupted in a chorus of agreement, a unified "Aye!" filling the air.

  But as she took another glance at the coastline, something felt off. Her instincts, honed through years of warfare, tingled with unease.

  "Wait." She lifted a hand, halting her men as a frown creased her brow.

  She turned to her first mate. "We need to split into two groups. Half of you will push toward the city as planned. The rest will take small boats and sail south to reinforce Captain Connor’s forces."

  There was a moment of hesitation among the crew, but they trusted their captain’s intuition. Without further protest, they moved to carry out her orders.

  Lana’s piercing green eyes remained locked on the shoreline.

  Western Beach, Jola Island

  The western coastline of Jola was vastly different from the east. The massive rock formation, layered with jagged ridges and narrow canyons, separated the beach from the city. It was a natural fortress—one that would either serve as a barrier against invaders or a death trap for those defending it.

  On top of the rock formations, Dame Aisha, the veteran knight of Ravenna’s most trusted guards, stood unmoving, her hands resting on the pommel of her sword. The moonlight illuminated her golden-blonde ponytail and reflected off her polished breastplate. Her sharp blue eyes scanned the horizon, narrowing as she caught sight of four ships approaching in the distance.

  She exhaled, slow and steady.

  "We will make sure they neither escape nor reach the city," she declared, her voice resolute.

  Behind her, her knights worked tirelessly to set up ballistas along the cliffs, adjusting their aim and preparing for the incoming assault. The tension was palpable, but Aisha remained steadfast, her expression unreadable.

  Aboard the Southern Fleet

  Captain Connor, stood at the helm of his ship, his spyglass set on Jola City’s harbor. What he saw unsettled him.

  The port, which he had expected to be at least semi-functional, was in a state of near ruin. Half-finished docks, abandoned scaffolding, and scattered wooden beams littered the shoreline. The city beyond was dark, with only a few torches flickering along the walls.

  Connor frowned deeply, lowering the spyglass.

  "Something’s not right," he muttered to himself.

  They had anticipated poverty, but this? This looked like a ghost town.

  Aboard the Western Fleet

  Leading the four ships toward the western shore was Keith, who had always preferred daylight battles over the uncertainty of nighttime engagements. Yet here he was, sailing into darkness, heading straight for Jola’s treacherous rock formations.

  He stood at the map table, tracing the contours of Jola’s terrain with his finger, his brows furrowed in concern.

  "I still don’t like this," he murmured, glancing at the approaching landmass. "Attacking at night, moving blindly into unknown territory… It feels like a mistake."

  His second-in-command hesitated before speaking. " This will be a swift raid, Captain. We hit hard, drop off the slaves, grab the princess, and retreat before dawn."

  Keith exhaled heavily. "And if the terrain proves more dangerous than we thought?" He shook his head. "I hate relying on uncertainty. Especially when my men have to navigate through those damn rock formations."

  The first mate offered no response, only nodding grimly.

  As Jola Island loomed closer, Keith tightened his grip on the ship’s railing. Something about this felt wrong.

  And he feared they would realize it too late.