[The Shores of Arcas, painted upon arrival in 1705]
The wind blew through the woman’s red hair. Her hands gently ran along a soft, metallic coin, as she ran it through her fingers, back and forth. She taught herself that trick, a simple dexterity exercise which calmed her easily. Atlas was far behind them. Serrimor was far behind them. The cold, snowy wastelands were gone from the presence of the descendants, as was the Vaeyl.
So why was she so conflicted?
She asked herself this question often, wandering through the snow in search of those she knew. Sure, you could take every day for granted, it sure was what she did, sitting upon the piles of wealth she accumulated through many different means. But the wealth was gone, as was many of those she knew. The endgame never came around for her, but she felt as if what was past, was truly a prologue. Perhaps she should look back to Axios for her solution, after all, it was a simpler time.
Sleepless nights of reading in the quiet halls of Dragur, the antiquated, yellowed pages nearly see-through under the candle-light. Her younger-self didn’t care. She simply enjoyed being there, in that moment. Years later that library was frozen over. Years after that, Axios was abandoned. She was conflicted then too, honestly, but she got over it. Finding new accomplices through it all provided her solace. But another cataclysm, another abandonment? That’s when she realized something was inevitable.
How many people died when Axios froze over, damning the fields that grew the sustenance of the many nations around it? How many people were lost or left behind when they stepped through that gate? She continued to think, and think, and think, until her train of thought shifted course. Now, she was thinking differently. Brighter. Better.
How many people could she save? How could you bring someone hope in a time that’s so dark, you don’t know if you’re even going to see the sun? How can you feed those so in need of food, that they subject themselves to near-slavery just to get by? What extraordinary threats laid ahead of them in Arcas?
Her hands gripped the coin even more, as she held it up. She had them made a few months back, as she’d let the sun’s light beam across the metallic luster of the disc. She had an idea, one that could help so many, and bring safety to the world. She pocketed the coin, and stepped to the ship’s edge, and stared out. Suddenly, a loud shout bore through the silence, through the gentle sounds of waves crashing against the sides of the ship.
Her eyes directed towards it. Arcas.
Atlas was far behind them. Serrimor was far behind them. The snowy, cold wastelands were gone from the presence of the descendants, as were the Vaeyl. She was conflicted. She was upset. She remembered her past.
“I’m ready..” Alexandra said, her eyes staring towards their new home, one that hopefully lasted them a long while. She wasn’t afraid. She had nothing at all to lose. She knew the secret of a perfect world.
The thing about having everything?
You have so very much to lose.