4. Arrival in Jola Island

The sun rose gently over the Jola Desert, casting its first golden light upon the endless dunes. Though its warmth could have brought hope, the scene below was far from hopeful. A small city, nestled within the desert’s heart, stood in a state of decay. Its buildings, made of sand bricks and crumbling stone, seemed as fragile as the people within. The streets were filled with weary figures, their bodies frail and faces hollow, as if they might collapse at any moment. Hunger clung to the air like the sand carried by the desert wind, which swept through the city every few seconds, adding to the desolation.

Beyond the city, a few battered fishing canoes dotted the shoreline, their crews desperately trying to pull some semblance of life from the sea. Among them was Richard, a fisherman who had made it his mission to help the starving city folk. Each day, he rose with the sun, casting his nets with unwavering determination. Yet, his efforts were rarely rewarded. Day after day, his nets came up nearly empty, as if the sea itself had turned its back on Jola.

Three months ago, the nobles had abandoned the city, leaving the peasants to fend for themselves. They claimed to have been called back to the capital to prepare for the arrival of the infamous Ravenna Solarius, the banished princess from the Sun Palace. With their departure, the fragile lifeline that connected Jola to the mainland was severed. Trade with the coastal cities of the Ancorna Empire ceased entirely.

Not that life had been much better before. Even under the nobles’ oppressive rule, the people had at least been able to trade. The nobles had bullied, extorted, and taken liberties with whomever they pleased, yet they had allowed a trickle of commerce to continue. Now, there was nothing. The absence of even that tenuous stability left the people teetering on the brink of collapse.

Richard looked at his net again. As usual, it was almost empty except for some seaweed and a bunch of underwater flowers . Around him, his fellow fishermen were having similar luck, their faces etched with silent despair. Still, they persisted—because they had no choice. Starvation was a certainty if they stopped trying.

Suddenly, Richard froze. On the horizon, a ship’s silhouette emerged, sailing toward the docks. Its merchant flag fluttered in the breeze. He squinted against the sunlight, his heart sinking.

“It’s a ship,” he murmured. “But not the one we need.”

As the vessel docked, the truth became clear. It wasn’t here to bring aid. Soldiers disembarked—rows upon rows of knights in gleaming armor, marching with disciplined speed. Horses and carriages followed in their wake, heading straight for the City Lord’s castle.

“Looks like they’re here,” Richard said grimly, his voice laced with quiet resignation.

“Here to make our nightmare even worse,” muttered another fisherman bitterly.

The people of Jola watched with heavy hearts. Everyone knew the city’s current state was due to the nobles’ greed. Years of exploitation had drained the city of its potential, despite its ideal location as a trade hub. The nobles had looted and taxed with impunity, leaving little for the peasants to survive on. Those who couldn’t pay were met with whips—or worse. Women and children had suffered unspeakable fates at the hands of their so-called protectors.

Now, the sight of armed knights only rekindled those memories of suffering.

The castle wasn’t particularly grand. Built of plain stone, it stood more as a symbol of authority than luxury. Its hundreds of rooms were stark and functional, designed to house the city lord, his workers, and occasional guests. The backyard, a bare patch of sand, lacked even a single tree or plant—a reflection of the barren land it governed.

The knights arrived swiftly, their formation tight and orderly.

On the Streets of Jola,

“What do you think they’re here for? Taxes? Or something worse?”

“Who knows?” one man replied. “But if that unruly princess demands taxes, we’re doomed. We’ve nothing left to give.”

“I heard she killed her own mother,” whispered a woman, her voice trembling.

“What?!”

“A kin-slayer? By the gods, keep your heads down. Don’t look the knights in the eye. If you draw attention, we won’t survive this.”

Fear rippled through the crowd as rumors of Ravenna’s cruelty spread like wildfire. Parents hurriedly pulled their children close, while others whispered desperate plans to hide their daughters from prying eyes.

At the Jola Central Square,

A knight, clad in full armor, rode his horse to the city’s central stage. Dismounting, he unrolled a parchment and read aloud:

“By decree of His Majesty, Her Highness Ravenna Solarius has been appointed as the new City Lord of Jola. She summons the following individuals to meet with her at once to discuss the future of the city and its people.”

The knight listed the names:

“Richard Neil

Jessica Taylor

Nille Vermen

Sarah Bob”

The crowd fell silent, their expressions grim.

“They’re taking the good folk,” someone muttered. “The ones who’ve kept this city alive. Why?”

No one had an answer, but unease hung heavy in the air.

Richard straightened his shoulders when his name was called. He glanced at the other summoned individuals—Jessica, the tailor; Nille, the blacksmith; and Sarah, a healer. Each of them had played a vital role in keeping the city functioning despite its hardships.

“If this new lord tries to harm the people,” Richard muttered, determination hardening his voice, “I’ll fight. Even if it costs me my life.”

Jessica nodded, her eyes resolute. “Same here. We’ve endured enough.”

Nille adjusted his tools, his expression calm but unyielding. “I’ll hear them out. But if they demand anything unreasonable, I won’t back down.”

Together, the four made their way to the castle, unsure of what awaited them—but ready to face it head-on.

Once at the Castle, they followed the knight leading them through the castle's imposing halls. The air was heavy with tension, and every step echoed ominously off the cold stone walls. The castle seemed far more fortified than any of them had expected; knights stood at every corner, their armor polished and weapons at the ready.

The sheer number of soldiers unsettled the group. Why so many? Was the princess afraid of an uprising? Surely her trained knights were more than capable of handling a few starving peasants. The thought gnawed at Richard’s mind, but he forced it aside. There were more pressing concerns—namely, how to protect the city if this new lord’s demands proved unbearable.

When they arrived at the audience chamber, the four hesitated. The grand double doors had swung open to reveal an expansive room, its high ceilings adorned with faded banners bearing the Solarius crest—a blazing sun. At the far end of the chamber stood the lord’s throne, a modest stone seat.

However, the throne was empty.

Instead, a tall, young man with sharp features and jet-black hair stood in front of it, engrossed in a piece of parchment he held. He exuded an air of authority, yet his presence felt oddly informal. His black cloak, trimmed with silver, bore the emblem of the imperial knights.

The group exchanged confused glances, unsure of what to do. They had expected to see the infamous Princess Ravenna, not this stranger. Still, they moved forward, about to kneel out of habit, when the man suddenly looked up.

“Ah, you’re here,” he said, his voice warm yet commanding. He set the parchment aside on the armrest of the throne. “Forgive me; I didn’t notice your arrival. I was reviewing Her Highness’s orders.”

The group stiffened. Her Highness’s orders?

Richard cleared his throat, trying to steady his nerves. “And who might you be, sir?”

The man smiled slightly, inclining his head. “Ah, where are my manners?” he said, stepping forward. “I am Hughes Gatve, Knight Commander of Her Highness’s personal guard.”

The title hung in the air like a hammer. Knight Commander. This man wasn’t just a soldier—he was one of the most trusted individuals in the princess’s service.

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