Somewhere in the Bight of Calormene.
2307.
Two-score nights til the full moon.
4th Year of the Reign of King Caspian X.
Lezlea.
Lezlea stood at the stern of her ship, eyes fixed on the vast, silvered expanse of the Bight of Calormene. The water was unnaturally calm – too calm.
It lay still beneath the sky, smooth as polished glass, as if the sea itself were holding its breath. No waves lapped against the hull; no restless winds stirred the sails. Even the gulls were absent, their usual cries swallowed by an eerie hush.
She tightened her grip on the railing, fingers pressing against the weatherworn wood. She had spent a lifetime reading the moods of the ocean – the way the tides whispered of coming storms, the way the winds carried secrets from distant shores. And the silence unsettled her.
She exhaled slowly, watching the way the setting sun burned molten gold across the water. This was where she belonged. Out here, where the horizon stretched unbroken and the air was thick with salt, she could forget the weight of duty, of expectation.
If she had her way, she would spend her days chasing the wind, following the stars to places unmarked on any map. But the sea, for all its endless freedom, could not claim her entirely.
Her island called her home.
She had responsibilities there – titles, obligations, a role to play. She was more than a captain; she was a leader. And though she had long since learned how to balance both, there were days when the pull of the ocean was almost too strong to resist.
Almost.
The wind stirred at last, brushing against her face like a whispered reminder. The next morn, she would turn her ship toward home. But for that night she would linger, drinking in the stillness of the sea, holding onto the fleeting illusion that she belonged to no one but the tide.
Lezlea didn't startle when Nandu approached – she had long since learned the rhythm of his steps, the quiet confidence in the way he carried himself. He stopped beside her at the railing, dark eyes scanning the still, unnatural calm of the Bight of Calormene before settling on her.
"You're quiet," he said. His voice was smooth, edged with the accent of their island, the cadence of home.
She turned slightly, glancing at him. He looked like most men from Galma – deep brown hair tousled from the wind, sun-darkened skin, the sturdy build of a man who had spent his life at sea. But it was his smile that set him apart. When it came, it transformed his face, turning something ordinary into something striking.
And in that moment, he was not smiling, but gazing at her with concern.
Lezlea let out a breath, looking back at the water. "I'm fine."
A lie, and they both knew it.
He didn't press her. Nandu had always been good at that – letting silence fill the space where lesser men would demand answers.
After a long pause, she exhaled again, more heavily this time. "I worry for my father." Her fingers tightened around the wood of the railing. "He was never one to slow down, but he's not as young as he once was."
Nandu nodded, his gaze thoughtful. "Aging does not suit proud men," he said.
She huffed a quiet laugh. "No, it does not."
For as long as she could remember, her father had been a force to be reckoned with – a man who had built and maintained Galma's strength through sheer will. He had led fleets, negotiated alliances, and always seemed untouchable, eternal. But even the strongest captains could not outrun time.
She felt Nandu watching her, as if waiting to see how much more she would say. He wouldn't push, but he would listen, if she let him.
For now, though, she only shook her head. "I should be home," she admitted softly. "But I can't leave the sea behind. Not yet."
Nandu's lips quirked, the ghost of his remarkable smile appearing at last. "The sea wouldn't let you go, even if you tried."
She smiled, just a little. "No, I suppose it wouldn't."
And for a moment, as they stood together at the ship's edge, the silence between them was no longer heavy with worry. It was something else entirely – steady, like the tide, like the certainty of home waiting just beyond the horizon.
So much had changed in the few years that had passed. The world beyond the waves had shifted, reshaped itself like the tides, and yet, upon the open sea, it all felt the same. The stars still guided the way. The winds still whispered their ancient songs. And Galma – her home, her island – remained as it always had.
A place apart.
A new king had risen on the mainland.
Caspian X.
Lezlea had met him but once, when his great ship, the Dawn Treader, had docked in their harbor. He had seemed so young – too young to be setting sail for the edge of the world, chasing myths and old sailor's tales.
A fool's errand, she thought. He would not return.
She had expected that, like so many dreamers before him, he would vanish into the endless blue, swallowed by the unknown.
It had not changed much for Galma.
For a time, the island had been noticed, its harbors filled with foreign ships, its name spoken among the lords and nobles of Narnia. But then, as always, the world had turned its gaze elsewhere. Kings and queens on their mainland thrones forgot about the islands, about the people who called them home.
And Lezlea could not bring herself to care.
She had never needed the recognition of distant rulers.
Galma thrived without them.
They had their own laws, their own way of life. She was content to be left alone, to sail the waters that belonged to no king.
Still, as she looked out at the too-calm waters of the Bight of Calormene, she could not shake the feeling that the tides were shifting once more. Change was coming once more.
The wind stirred only lightly, barely filling the sails, and the sea stretched out like glass, unbroken – except for something in the distance.
A shadow upon the horizon.
Lezlea narrowed her eyes, stepping forward. It could have been anything – a trick of the light, a merchant vessel making slow progress through the calm. But instinct whispered otherwise.
Then the wind shifted, and she saw it.
The remains of a ship, drifting in the still waters.
Lezlea straightened. "Change course," she ordered, her voice sharp, cutting through the quiet. "Bring us alongside."
Nandu was at her side in an instant. "A wreck?"
"Aye."
The crew moved quickly, snapping into action at the command, adjusting the sails, shifting their course toward the broken vessel. The closer they came, the clearer the damage became – splintered wood, tattered sails, deep scars along the hull. The ship was barely afloat, clinging to the last of its strength, battered but not yet swallowed by the sea.
And then Lezlea saw the dragon prow.
Her breath caught.
She knew that ship.
The Dawn Treader.
Her stomach twisted.
She scanned the wreckage, searching for signs of life, for movement, for anything – and then she saw the marks along the hull, the brutal scars from grappling hooks, the telltale signs of an ambush.
"Pirates," Nandu muttered, dark eyes flashing with anger.
Lezlea's hands curled into fists. "Aye."
The Dawn Treader had been attacked, struck hard, and left adrift.
Were there any left alive?
Lezlea did not hesitate.
"Prepare the boarding lines," she commanded, her voice carrying across the deck. "Get the ropes, hooks – now!"