Chapter 3

Humming a tune she had heard recently on the television, Elizabeth swiped the yellow feather duster across the shelf. A fine blanket of grey dust came away with the action, revealing the dark brown wood it once covered.

She stepped back to rake her gaze over it. There was still some spots where the wood was grey, and she swiped again. There. All clean. Satisfied with the result, she looked around the study room.

Cleaning the entire Dallimore estate was a task too difficult for three people, even if one of them possessed more stamina than a regular human. It was only the second day, and yet they could only finish the whole third storey.

And she did a third of the work. Noah was against it at first, but there was really not much for Elizabeth to do. The library was still dusty, and would remain so until they fully finished cleaning the bedrooms, hopefully by Tuesday. It was better, she reasoned with him, that she take some of the work off his and Brian's hands.

So with a determined expression, she donned a mask and a cleaning apron, covered her hands with plastic gloves, and wielded a feather duster and a wet cloth to battle the enemy.

It was a nice experience just being able to do something, to let her unspent energy be spent on such a mundane task. The monotonous routine of wiping away at a dusty surface and seeing it with its original color, like a ship freshly painted before sailing out to the sea on another voyage, was calming in a way, and she found herself relaxing despite the troubles plaguing her mind.

The topic of Isabel was never brought up anymore ever since she saw the girl's picture yesterday. Noah treated her the same way he used to, but Elizabeth could tell how seeing his daughter had unlocked something within him that he had already buried. Whenever no one was looking, whenever he thought no one was, Elizabeth would see deep sadness in his eyes.

She wanted to know why.

It was still bright outside, but Elizabeth could already see patches of orange in the distant horizon. It wouldn't be long before Elisa started preparing for dinner. After one last quick glance at the now clean room, Elizabeth took off her mask and went downstairs.

Noah was in the living room with Brian as they cut away the duct tape of some of the boxes they had carried from the attic. After making sure that they were busy enough, Elizabeth hurried to the kitchen where Elisa was pulling out ingredients from the fridge.

Elisa immediately noticed her and smiled. "Hungry already, Beth? It's not 6 o'clock yet."

"Cleaning makes one hungry," Elizabeth responded with a sigh as she removed her equipment and placed them on the laundry basket. Brian would wash it tomorrow.

Chuckling, Elisa set a tray of eggs on the polished kitchen counter. "It's why I hate cleaning. Grandpa Connor often scolded me for that, but…" She shrugged. "I just find it tedious and boring."

"But not cooking."

"But not cooking," Elisa agreed. "Cooking… Well, I learned it from Grandpa Connor too. Mom was too lazy to even prepare something as simple as scrambled eggs. But when it came to beer and Bacardi, you'd think she was one of the world's top experts." She snorted. "A lot of good that did her."

"So you started young?" Elizabeth asked as she sat on a stool.

Elisa nodded, unwrapping the entire carton of eggs. "Ever since I could stand on my own feet without stumbling. Grandpa didn't allow me anywhere near a stove until I was nine, of course, but by that time I already know the difference between a spatula and a whisk." She grabbed a cooking pot and turned on the stove. "He was my inspiration. When I turned 20, I took up a culinary course."

Elizabeth watched as Elisa glided with grace and precision around the kitchen. Every movement was measured, every slice of her knife calculated. She didn't even look at the ingredients' measurements, adding them into the pot when the time was right.

Like a captain who knew his way around the bridge, Elizabeth thought. Acting without thinking, but still able to do every task perfectly. Just like Connor. You taught your grandchildren well.

It was like watching a carefully planned sea battle unfold before her eyes, and Elizabeth contented with resting her arms on the counter while Elisa moved about. She had to time her question, though; Noah would soon enter the kitchen once he smelled dinner.

As she stirred water inside the pot, Elisa glanced at Elizabeth, smiling. "Do you want to help me? You can slice the tomatoes while I prepare the salad."

Cooking wasn't unfamiliar to Elizabeth; her memories of countless meals served in her mess and the dozen cooks who fed her crew granted her knowledge of the most essential steps in cooking. Even so, it was a different matter holding a knife personally in front of the chopping board.

"Relax and don't be stiff," Elisa said, guiding Elizabeth's hands while the water boiled. "Feel the knife as it's an extension of your hand. Yes, just like that. Now cut slowly until you hit the chopping board. You don't have to go fast. This is just your first time and we don't expect perfection."

She was a patient but firm teacher, and soon Elizabeth was confident enough to do the slicing and chopping without her assistance. In no time all the tomatoes and mushrooms were ready.

Elisa looked impressed. "You have a talent for this," she noted, eyes gleaming with interest.

"I have?" Elizabeth smiled uncertainly. She couldn't exactly tell her soon-to-be elder sister that she had seen this already, often every day.

"No kidding. It took me five years just to be proficient with the knife." Elisa raised her right pinky. There was a thin white line slanting over the skin. "See that scar? I almost cut through my finger during my first actual cooking."

Elizabeth winced. "That looks painful." She was no stranger to grave injuries, but still…

"It's part of the learning process," Elisa said, chuckling. "You can't be a master at something without feeling pain."

"Like a warship without having gone through a battle yet," Elizabeth said, remembering Connor's words to a newly recruited sailor.

"Indeed." Elisa paused, staring at her curiously. "You know, Grandpa Connor told me the same thing. Word for word."

Elizabeth didn't let the silence dragged on, fearing that it would lead to a fleet of questions she wasn't ready to face yet. "Ah, Noah told me the same thing when… when I refused to come with him at first."

"Why did you refuse?" Elisa collected the tomatoes and mushrooms in a bowl. "I thought your father was a good friend of his."

It was an innocent question, but Elizabeth still detected the suspicion veiled beneath it. She was glad that Elisa had her back turned to her; it hid the way she swallowed nervously. "Well, we've never seen each other until that moment," she said in a steady voice.

"Is that so?" Elisa smiled briefly over her shoulder before returning her attention to the stew. "You must be nervous when you first met Noah."

"I was. I thought he was taking me to an orphanage." She cleared her throat. "Elisa, can I ask you something?"

"Of course. What is it?"

"I saw Isabel's picture in the attic. But she's not in this house."

The change in the atmosphere was immediate. Elisa stopped her stirring, her back stiff. Heavy silence enveloped them. A minute passed, then another. Elisa resumed her cooking, but slower this time and her movements were careful.

Her voice was tinged with wariness as she said, "Isabel was the reason why Noah left five years ago."

So that was it. "Where is she now?"

"She's… not coming back." There was the barest hint of a hitch in Elisa's breath. She flashed Elizabeth a quick smile that didn't reach her ears. "And I would suggest that you forget about it, Beth. For Noah."

"I understand." She didn't press Elisa for more information, sensing the sorrow in the younger Dallimore sibling's voice. Something had happened, she knew, and it broke Noah to pieces; the look in his eyes earlier confirmed it.

But what could it be?

###

The next days passed quickly.

Cleaning the manor took the better part of the week—longer than Noah had anticipated. More than the dust that had accumulated ever since he left, the house's age necessitated several repairs and renovations, many of which couldn't be done in a week before his return to Devonport.

"You'll have to hire people," Elisa told him during dinner on the fourth day since he came home. "Even with Brian's assistance and going here every weekend, it would take more than a year to fix everything."

Money wouldn't be an issue, of that Noah was certain. He had lived alone for the last five years, and he was never much of a spender; most of his belongings were several years old, including his wardrobe. He had enough saved up to fully renovate the manor while still funding Elizabeth's education.

No, he was more concerned with the amount of people coming to the manor where Elizabeth would be staying. He didn't want a repeat of Devonport, especially with Elisa nearby.

"I'll think about it," he decided. They weren't in any rush anyway.

Elizabeth continued to impress him. As soon as they had finished cleaning all three floors, every free time she would get was spent inside the library. Less than a day passed, and she had already finished one long row of a bookshelf.

It was a gift that shouldn't be wasted. So on Wednesday, he posted an ad for a tutor on the newspaper.

Thursday morning dawned bright and sunny. As Noah sipped his morning tea in the kitchen, Brian strode in. "Commander, there's a woman outside the gate looking for you," he said.

A woman? It must be an applicant. But it hadn't been a day yet. That was fast.

"Let her in and have her wait in the living room." He set his teacup down and folded his newspaper. As he stood, he noticed Brian's odd—awestruck, even—expression.

Noah frowned. "What?"

The lad shook his head, and Noah thought he saw his cheeks dusted red. "Uh, nothing, Commander. I'll let her in."

Brian hurried away. It was odd, but then his aide was odd at times. He'd best leave it at that.

While Brian went back to the gate, Noah strode to the living room and sat on the couch, waiting. It was just past 7:30 in the morning. Elisa had already left for her shift in the bistro, but Elizabeth was still asleep. Not surprising; he found her curled up in the library couch late last night.

It was a familiar sight, one he often saw when everything was still right; when he was still a father who doted on his daughter. And it was a sight that pained his heart. He had stood by the door for a long minute, watching Elizabeth's peaceful expression as she slept. She wasn't Isabel, he told himself before scooping the former warship in his arms and carrying her back to her room.

Just like he always did with Isabel.

"H-Here, ma'am. H-He's waiting in the living room."

Brian's stuttering broke Noah out of his reverie. He shook his head, smoothing his blue shirt and glancing at the clock once more. 7:30, and he was already interviewing an applicant. It was going to be a long day.

When the woman walked in, it was her eyes that caught Noah's attention first. A light shade of amber, tinged with brown, but still bright enough that it was almost golden.

"Good morning!" Her smile was radiant and warm. "Are you Noah Dallimore? I saw your ad on a newspaper yesterday."

"Indeed I am." He gestured to the plush chair opposite him. "Please have a seat, Miss…?"

"Franceska Bridgeman. But you may call me Franz." She sat down on the chair. In her right hand was a suitcase, which she hovered on the table. "May I?"

"Yes, of course."

As she set it down, Noah regarded her curiously. She was young, perhaps in her late twenties, but there was an air of maturity surrounding her. And she was, for lack of a better word, beautiful.

He glanced at Brian. His aide stood nearby, staring at Franz with wonder. Noah recognized the awestruck expression; too often he saw it on young recruits during off-duty hours as they went to the city for a night of partying and clubbing. And it didn't help that Franceska was… physically appealing, her sizable bust outlined by her red and white blouse.

It was best to halt his aide before he made a fool of himself, as was often the case. "Brian? Please prepare some tea for Miss Bridgeman."

Franceska looked up in surprise. "Oh, no, you don't have to bother. I just had tea on—"

"Right away, Commander!" the lad said, quite louder than was usual. Like an excited puppy he scampered to the kitchen in haste.

They watched him disappear into the hallway. As he did, Franceska chuckled. "Your son is quite a strange fellow."

Noah's eyebrows nearly disappeared past his receding hairline. "He's my aide."

"Oh!" A rosy hue bloomed on her cheeks. "I thought he was your son. So he was not the one I'm supposed to be tutoring?"

"My sister, actually. But she's still asleep. Shall we begin?" He wanted to get this finished. He still had to make a call to Portsmouth and check if Edward was going to grant him and Elizabeth access to the docks.

"Definitely." Franceska unlatched her suitcase and pulled out a large brown envelope. She extended it toward him. "My credentials and portfolio."

Noah accepted it and read the contents with a critical eye. He wanted the best tutor for Elizabeth, both on account of her intellect and their limited time before admission in King's College London ended; she needed to learn everything in less than ten months what humans would have to learn in fifteen years.

When he posted that ad, he expected only a few applicants with passable educational backgrounds and teaching experience. Basingstoke wasn't densely populated, and it was mostly a trading and technology community; there were no prestigious schools around here that could produce the kind of tutor he was looking for. He was prepared to be disappointed in the first week or two of his search.

But then his eyes scanned the resumé, and they quickly darted back to Franceska in surprise.

She held a dozen degrees ranging from science to literature and even naval history. Graduate of Cambridge, worked as a history professor in Oxford for some ten years, with a host of odd jobs before that, including a brief desk job in Portsmouth.

And she was only 34.

Noah cleared his throat. "I don't mean any offense by this question, Miss Bridgeman, but how old are you exactly?"

Franceska blinked. "I'm 34, Mr. Dallimore. Exactly as my resumé states."

"Yes, I can see that." He looked at the birth date to be sure: March 5, 1959. "You look… young."

She laughed softly. "Oh, I get that compliment a lot. But it's true. I'm 34."

"Mmm. And you've been working since you were 18."

"Indeed. I had to help my parents, so I started early."

"While studying?"

"I can multitask, Mr. Dallimore."

"It must be exhausting," he said. Noah had experienced it himself, especially during critical operations, and it was anything but pleasant. It was as if he was separating his mind into different pieces.

Franceska shrugged. "I did what I had to, for my parents."

He nodded. That he could understand; it was the same for him with Grandpa Connor. "Your resumé also states that you were a history professor in Oxford until three years ago. May I know why you resigned?"

"It was fulfilling having to teach the past to the new generation, but I guess I grew tired of it." Her black ponytail swayed as she shook her head. "I'm adventurous at heart, honestly, and I find staying in one spot too exhausting."

"Yet you managed to stay for a decade."

She grinned. "Money is money."

He smiled at that. "I'm sure you've seen it already, but the offer I posted isn't as high as the wage of a history professor at Oxford." He was saving it for Elizabeth's adoption papers and her formal schooling, so he couldn't spend any higher for a tutor, even one as exceptional as Franceska.

"That won't be an issue," she said. "I'm used to this rate, and it won't affect my teaching."

"You need this job because of your parents? Is that it?"

"They are dead, Mr. Dallimore. I've been living on my own since I was 26."

Noah winced in sympathy. "My apologies. That was rude of me."

"It's fine. But to answer your question, I'm always happy to teach, as long as the wage is fair and reasonable."

He fell silent, reviewing her work experience once more. Many of them weren't related to her field, but it was still an impressive list. And he thought some of her knowledge could be useful in preparing Elizabeth for the wider world.

Brian returned moments later, a silver tray with teacups and a kettle in hand. He set it down on the table. "Here's the tea, Commander," he said cheerfully. Then he retreated beside Noah, hands dutifully clasped behind his back.

Noah reached for a teacup, as did Franceska. He stopped halfway through. Brian's tea was always bitter even with lots of sugar. He often told him not to let the leaves seep too long, but it seemed his aide just couldn't understand it.

Proper decorum urged him to warn Franceska, but he didn't want to shame the lad in front of strangers, either. With a heavy sigh, he grabbed the teacup and brought the rim to his lips, preparing for the worst.

He took a sip. It was rich and sweet.

Noah nearly recoiled in shock, which would have spilled the drink into his shirt if he hadn't maintained his control. He stared at the black liquid, then at Franceska who hummed in satisfaction as she lowered her cup, smiling at Brian.

"This is really good," she said.

"Thank you, ma'am!" Brian smiled back but kept his gaze forward.

"Yes, thank you for such a wonderful tea, Brian." At last. Who knew all it would take was a beautiful woman? Shaking his head, Noah cleared his throat. "Anyway, Miss Bridgeman, I've been considering your credentials and portfolio along with everything you said. And I'll admit that I'm impressed." He wouldn't get someone with as much experience as Franceska, not unless he waited. But that was an option he didn't have.

"Am I hired, then?"

Noah opened his mouth then closed it as the sound of footsteps came from the stairs. Elizabeth soon entered the living room, yawning wide while she rubbed away the sleep in her eyes.

"Good morning, Elizabeth," Noah said.

"Good morning, Miss Elizabeth," Brian chimed in.

"Good morning, Noah. And to you as well, Brian." Elizabeth stopped as she noticed Franceska for the first time. She sent Noah a quizzical look.

Noah smiled. "Your tutor." Franceska's eyes widened a little. "Elizabeth, meet Franceska Bridgeman. Miss Bridgeman, this is Elizabeth Dallimore, my younger sister."

"Please. Just call me Franceska or Franz." She turned to Elizabeth, offering her hand while smiling. "Hello, Elizabeth. I'm glad to finally meet you."

Elizabeth stared at it hesitantly, her grogginess visibly vanishing at Franceska's introduction. She glanced at Noah again, a silent question on her face. He nodded. Reluctantly, she padded toward Franceska.

"Nice to meet you, Miss Franceska."

As their fingers touched, they froze. Noah furrowed his brows as Elizabeth pulled her hand quickly and stepped back, her eyes wide. Franceska fixed her with an intense gaze. And for a moment, Noah swore he saw a drop of tear appear at the corner of Franceska's eyes. But when she blinked, it was gone.

What was that about?

Elizabeth swallowed. "I'm… uh, breakfast," she mumbled. Without another word, the girl spun around and headed for the dining room.

It was rude, but Noah didn't detect any ill will on Elizabeth. He turned to Franceska with an apologetic smile. "My sincerest apologies. She's, ah, not friendly toward strangers."

She chuckled. "Most young teens are. I'm sure you and Brian would attest to that."

"Guilty," Noah said with humor. Brian merely coughed and muttered something under his breath. It suspiciously sounded like 'hormones'. "But she's a good girl. And… Well, she's gifted, as I'm certain you'll soon find out."

"Is that so?" Amusement and interest danced in her eyes. "In that case, I'm excited to be able to teach her." She paused. "I'm hired, am I right?"

He nodded. "You'll start on Monday next week."

For the better part of the hour, they discussed Elizabeth's curriculum. Her knowledge of the modern world could prove problematic, but Noah wasn't too worried; Elizabeth had been reading a lot of encyclopedias. And she was learning fast.

Franceska was a pleasant woman to talk to. But throughout their conversation, Noah noticed the rather distracted look she would sometimes possess, and her gaze would often linger toward the hallway that led to the dining room, as if she was waiting for Elizabeth to return.

He found it disconcerting. Then again, he was probably getting paranoid. He had never been at ease since that incident back at Devonport. It was a good thing they left quickly.

It was past eight when Franceska finally lowered her teacup after draining it. "I guess that's everything? Do you have any other questions, Mr. Dallimore?"

Noah shook his head. "No, you made everything clear. Elizabeth's education is important to me, and that's all that matters here."

She smiled. "Of course. Don't worry, Mr. Dallimore. She's in good hands."

They stood, the meeting done. Noah led her out of the manor this time, not trusting Brian. When the lad looked like he was about to protest, Noah shot him a withering look and said politely, "Brian, can you check on Elizabeth and see if she is finished with breakfast?"

His aide looked extremely disappointed, no doubt because he expected to be the one to escort Franceska to the gate. Nevertheless, he nodded half-heartedly. "Yes, Commander," he mumbled and trudged away.

As they watch him leave, Franceska said, "Your aide really is…"

"Strange?" Noah asked.

"Interesting is how I'd put it."

She stepped outside into the street. Noah kept the gate open, his eyes scanning the area. Other than Mr. Talbot driving his truck out of his ranch, there were no other people.

"Is something amiss, Mr. Dallimore?" Franceska peered at him with a little concern.

"Ah, nothing." He flashed her a smile. "By the way, Franceska, where do you live?"

"Oh, I have a flat near Portsmouth."

Noah's eyebrows rose. "That's almost an hour away. What are you doing here in Basingstoke?"

"I have a client here. Or rather had." Her expression turned contemplative. "Now that I think about it, it is rather odd. I just finished tutoring his son when I saw your ad." Her gaze met his. "Perhaps we are destined to meet."

"Perhaps." It was indeed rather strange that Franceska was the first applicant, and even stranger that she had an exceptional background. "I'd even say it's a miracle," he added.

At that she laughed, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Thankfully, Mr. Dallimore, I believe in miracles."

###

So much had changed.

Elizabeth exited the car and surveyed the naval base that was her birthplace. She could still remember the day her hull touched water for the first time, the day she had become officially seaworthy, and the start of her duty as a warship.

The memories flooded into her, momentarily transporting her to October 16, 1913. There were more docks back then, more cranes and naval personnel rushing about. More ships like her being built; Suffolk, London, Dorsetshire. She could almost see the docks that had housed their incomplete hulls.

She could almost see hers.

But the passage of time couldn't be stopped nor the progress of civilization. Ships were no longer born here, and many of the warehouses had been replaced by offices. What was once almost ten thousand personnel were reduced to a fraction of their number. But a part of her was glad for that. England was safe and didn't need any more weapons for the foreseeable future. Not until the next conflict, whenever that may be.

She started to walk toward the waters. Noah followed behind her, but he was keeping silent. It was strange navigating Portsmouth on her own two feet rather than the fragmented consciousness of a steel vessel of war. She wasn't even sure if what she felt back then was her own awareness or simply memories brought about by the minds of her crew, bleeding into her own now that she was flesh and blood.

Stopping at the edge of the dock, Elizabeth stared at the glimmering hulls. There were still ships here, a little different in form than what she was used to—sleeker and faster—but warships nonetheless; frigates, destroyers, repair ships, and there were also several merchant vessels.

The world was different now. Less violent, more peaceful. She smelled it in the air; the acrid spew of gunpowder and coals were gone, replaced with the smoke of factories and industries. And everything was fresher and cleaner.

Was that the reason why she had been reborn as a human? To enjoy the things she and her crew fought to protect? To see the sights that millions of men had laid down their lives for? She let her eyes wander, and all she saw were faces devoid of grim acceptance, of the fear that their lands might be invaded by a foe from the other side of the English Channel. There were none of those now.

And yet she was here. Alive and breathing. A being.

She lifted her hands to her face and stared at them. The skin was smooth and soft, the fingers slim. By rights every part of her body should be new to her, but when she wiggled her fingers, they responded as they should. She thought as she ought to, and she acted like the humans that once served aboard her; a ship that had become a girl.

"You're still wondering?" Noah asked. With a sigh, Elizabeth dropped her hands to her side and looked up at him, smiling.

"A little," she admitted. "But I'm beginning to see it. This…" She swept a hand around, indicating not just Portsmouth but everything and everyone else. All of the United Kingdom. "They are what I and my crew had defended."

He nodded. "Indeed. And all of us are grateful for what you and our grandfathers and fathers did." He brushed the top of her head. "Some of your crew are still alive. I can inquire about them."

The unspoken question lingered in the air. She wanted to see them, visit them in their final years, to know how they were doing after such horrendous conflicts. But…

She shook her head and returned her gaze to the glittering waters. "Not right now. Perhaps some day when I'm certain of my place in the world." Their days were getting shorter, she knew, but she couldn't face them yet. Not yet.

"As you say." There was a moment's pause. "By the way, Elizabeth, what would you like me to put as your birthday?"

She already had an answer even before Noah finished the question. "October 16. That's—"

"Your launch date, I know." He fell silent. Elizabeth looked at him again and found him frowning.

"Is that going to be a problem?" she asked.

"No, no. It's a perfect choice, to be honest. It's just…" He trailed off, confused, before shaking his head. "It doesn't matter. October 16 it is." He patted her shoulder. "Say, do you want to see the rest of the areas we have got access to?"

Elizabeth obliged, both for nostalgia and to not let the opportunity pass. She couldn't explore Devonport because of the incident, and Noah went out of his way to get them both permission to see Portsmouth. It was obvious, though, that it was no longer the Portsmouth she knew.

But she wasn't disappointed. It was relieving, in some way, to walk along her birthplace not as a warship but as a human, to witness how humanity had overcome its faults and vowed to become better for future generations. To know that the lives lost hadn't been in vain.

On their drive home, the weight in Elizabeth's was lifted. While she still didn't know her purpose in this peaceful era, her past as a warship taught her to sail on the horizon with pride, as she had always done.

And now she was going to walk toward her future as a human, with her head held high.

###

"Warspite! Valiant!"

She glided along the blood-red water on her damaged rigging, her voice hoarse; she had been calling for her sisters for hours, but everything remained silent except for the rumble of thunder in the black, smoke-filled sky.

And the groan of broken and charred hulls as they slowly sank to the depths of the waiting abyss, both human ships and her kind.

To her immediate left was the remains of an aircraft carrier, its flight deck split in half, its air wing fully obliterated. There was no sign of life, and her heart ached for the kind woman with a radiant smile who had been its reincarnation.

Elizabeth sped past it. She could mourn the dead later. Right now she had to find her sisters.

The decaying stench in the air filled her nose. The defense of the English Channel had been brutal, and she resisted the urge to look around her, dreading the worst. But it couldn't be avoided; a thick veil of hair there, its white luster gone. The torn strip of a black skirt, red with dried blood. A broken saber, still clutched in the hand of a proud knight.

All of them sank. All of them dead.

Her heart crawled to her throat, but Elizabeth kept going, even as she hunched beneath her own rigging. One of her turrets was gone, and another was barely able to fire.

At last the water turned a fiery orange, and she saw the glow from afar, stretching in every direction. She dashed forward. There were more hulls here, more ships, even from other nations. But she hardly cared.

Elizabeth stopped, as did her heart. Tears streamed down her cheeks and her knees finally buckled. No sign of the HMS Valiant remained, and the ruined prow of Warspite's ship submerged beneath the water.

And beyond, Devonport burned.

Shortest chapter so far, though not by much, but this was definitely fun to write, particularly the segment with Franceska. She will have a major role in the story, and I had to go all-out in introducing her.

This one focused more on set ups and provided insight on Elizabeth and the Dallimore's backstory, but I'm sure some of you would find the last scene very interesting. I don't want to confirm the characters that were mentioned there, excluding the named ones of course, because I want to leave it ambiguous. Nevertheless, I will reiterate one thing.

There will be no Sirens here.

Let me repeat: there will be no Sirens. HOWEVER, this is still, for lack of a better term, an origin story for the Royal Navy faction and Azur Lane. The entire series is, in fact. And we can't have Azur Lane without a threat. That threat will be hinted throughout the series, though we might not see it fully arrive until the very end where the story starts crossing over with other franchise.

One thing I can guarantee though, Azur Lane will be formed at the end of Ghosts of the Past. Technically not a spoiler since that plot point is to be expected, but you get the idea.

Once again, thank you for the support! Until next time!