Crash—crash-crash—sea water split and thundered, a torrent lunging for the city’s edge like a charging herd. Foam clawed at the walls, but its claws dulled against stone. The rain faltered like a tired curtain; the sun shouldered through black clouds, pouring warm life over the soaked earth. Medith watched the fury that couldn’t shake the ramparts, and then darkness closed like deep water; she finally fainted.
...
October 22. Medith drifted back like a leaf rising through clear water. Sais dozed at her bedside, still in the Dusk Legion uniform, the cloth plain as earth; less sultry glow, more seasoned steel. Iling, Phiby, and Milia lay slumped by the bed like kittens after a storm, their breaths soft as rain.
Medith pushed up, the sheet whispering like wind; the women startled like rabbits from grass, then joy surged like sunlight and they wrapped her in a crush of arms. In a heartbeat she was pinned, a reed in a rush of river.
“Medith—ah, ah!” Milia cried her name like a bell, and surprise rippled through Medith like a pebble in a pond.
“Ao-na—okay—ao-na, kafa-gao—let me go,” she blurted, the words stumbling like stones underfoot. They froze for a beat, then laughter loosened like warm rain, and they finally let her go.
“Honestly...” Medith flicked their foreheads, light as tapping bamboo, fondness warm as tea. “How long did I sleep?”
“Mm...? Medith... Medith!” Sais’s eyes gleamed like stars; she pounced and hugged Medith’s waist like a child clutching a willow trunk. “Oh—oh... what’s happening?”
“Sister Medith, you were out for three whole days,” Phiby said, tears shining like dew. “We called and called like birds at dawn; you never ate, never stirred, and we worried ourselves thin.”
At Phiby’s words, hunger hollowed Medith’s belly like an empty drum; relief flowed first, then practicality like a clear stream. “I’m fine, aren’t I? Let’s eat something, and tell me what these days were like.”
...
“So that’s how it was... and still dozens lost to the flood,” Medith murmured, sorrow dim as cloud. These faces were strangers, but lives are lives; you don’t spit at human wrongs, and you don’t rage at heaven’s rain—when disaster kills, anger has nowhere to land.
“Good thing Lord Powell and Lady Haidra held the city steady,” Phiby said, hope steady as a lamp. “The water’s mostly drained; order is returning like grass after frost.”
“Our great hero is awake!” Haidra was laughing with Powell and Kailon; then she saw Medith and her joy sparked like a torch. “If not for you, the aftermath would be unthinkable,” Powell said, fear’s shadow still clinging like mist.
Kailon’s smile carried apology like a bowed pine. “We invited you as guests, and it turned into calling the rescue; I’m ashamed.”
Haidra’s expression softened like melting snow; Medith stepped to the table and bit an apple, crisp as morning. “No need to apologize,” she said, voice calm as a quiet sea. “Anyone would have thrown in their strength, and we’re allies besides.”
Haidra’s gratitude swelled like a full tide; she bowed deep as bending bamboo. “On behalf of everyone in Sia City, thank you—truly.”
The women traded smiles like passing lanterns; Medith set the apple down and let purpose settle like a blade in its sheath. “Let’s skip the speeches. The sky’s clear; when do we sail for the Royal Capital? We have a goal.”
Kailon had preparations lined like ships at harbor. “Commander Medith, rest easy. The vessels are ready; we can depart anytime.”
“Good. After lunch, we leave,” Medith said, caution cool as mountain shade. “Better to set out early before the weather turns. By the way—does it change that fast here?” The memory of that night pricked like a thorn; one sentence, and the heavens flipped like a page—too neat for chance.
“How could it?” Powell shook his head, denial firm as stone. “That kind of wicked weather is rare in a century. The last recorded tsunami was over five hundred years ago; it swallowed a city like a whale, and tens of thousands died—a vast disaster.”
Cold sweat beaded from Sais like rain from eaves. “This ‘tsunami’—how can it hit that hard?”
Medith’s hand halted mid-bite, the apple sweet as a frozen sun; the memory rose like a black wall across the sea. That wave was mountain and avalanche; if it had slammed into us, in a single breath, fifty thousand veterans would’ve vanished like sand under surf.
“We don’t know the details,” Kailon said, the words careful as stepping stones. “The term came from the Western Kingdom—massive tremors, brutal weather shifts, heaven and earth both wrenching, and it forms. The waves move fast as arrows, and their force is crushing. Sia City sits near the coast, so we built two defenses against the worst.”
“The first is the emergency flood levee along the shore,” Powell continued, hands drawing lines like a map in sand. “Most tsunamis break there like spears against shields. The second wall controls trade like a gate on a river. Smugglers and ill-minded ships drift through like shadows, and while the Boya Sea is our domain, unknown fleets and forces still appear. That sea gate and the border gate are crucial.”
“So that’s why there are so many troops on the walls,” Medith said, memory ticking like a drum. On the way, she’d seen patrols thick as reeds. The city wasn’t large—maybe two hundred thousand souls—but the guards were a white forest. She’d counted thousands in silver armor, all bearing Haidra’s rose sigil like frost on petals.
“Are your crests unified?” Medith asked, curiosity sharp as a needle. Powell answered with a nod like a steady lantern. “Not exactly. Dukes and above hold their own lands and armies; that rank allows personal heraldry. The rest wear uniform silver armor. Lady Haidra’s Dike Guard bears the royal crest in white, while the Erene Guard wears black-gold like night with starlight. Those two are our pride.”
“Wow! So Lady Haidra ranks high—like our honor guard?” Phiby’s eyes shone like polished amber. Haidra’s nod was confident as a spear’s point. “Yes. The Royal Guard numbers five. Two are His Majesty’s left and right arms. I’m the spear; Erene is the shield; another is the mind. With them in place, even if we’re weaker than other nations, no one dares lay a hand on us.”
Medith recalled Haidra’s sky-splitting thrust and that fearsome transformation, the image bright as lightning; spear fit her like name fits a blade.
“I see...” Medith’s thought moved like wind over grass. The Eastern Nation is one of the four powers; even weakened, it’s a starved camel still bigger than a horse. Anyone who would invade has to weigh the loss like stones on a scale.
Behind Sia City lies the Boya Sea, a blue wall spread like steel; to cross it is to pay blood like coin. No wonder none dare stir—one glance at the terrain and most blades return to their sheaths. Medith nodded, peace settling like clear weather after rain.
