Chapter 25
After displaying her cruelty, Lady Luck seemed to have spared a meager act of mercy. The fierce storm tore the "Siren's Song" apart, scattering its wreckage and survivors across the outer waters of the Crystal Islands. Serena—no, now Liana—and the other eight survivors were on an island that, while not the largest island containing the main island "Free Port," was, according to an experienced sailor familiar with the area, relatively "safe" within the archipelago due to regular patrols, and not too far from the main island's shipping lanes.
They built makeshift shelters on the shore using scrap wood and palm leaves, barely surviving by collecting rainwater, picking coconuts, and catching fish and shrimp in the shallow waters. Every day was filled with uncertainty, a mix of hope for rescue and fear of the unknown environment.
After four agonizing days, hope finally appeared on the horizon in the form of sails. A two-masted sailing ship on routine patrol from the free port spotted the thick smoke they were raising as a signal.
The rescue went surprisingly smoothly. The patrol boat's crew was clearly experienced in handling shipwreck survivors; they provided fresh water and basic food, and brought the nine exhausted people aboard. The captain, a dark-skinned, shrewd middle-aged man, quickly jotted down the survivors' information—when asked about Liana, she calmly gave the name of the merchant's daughter and showed her identification documents from her pouch. Mara used the alias she had used in the town of Lucatene.
Without much questioning, shipwrecks and stranding on deserted islands were commonplace in the Crystal Islands. The patrol boat adjusted its course and headed towards the free port.
Standing on the deck, gazing at the gradually emerging port city nestled beside a vast natural bay, Liana felt little joy at being rescued, only a deeper weariness and vigilance. Freeport was no paradise. Towering wooden and stone buildings huddled together haphazardly, their rooftops and flags proclaiming the diverse backgrounds of its inhabitants. The air was thick with the stench of fish, spices, untreated garbage, and the sea. The docks were teeming with all sorts of vessels, from massive ocean-going freighters to small smuggling junks. The cacophony of voices, the clanging of cargo being loaded and unloaded, and the cries of seagulls created a chaotic yet vibrant symphony.
There are no unified laws here, only a fragile balance formed by a few major powers ruling their own territories. Opportunity and danger coexist.
The patrol boat docked at the designated pier area. A man who appeared to be a port official boarded the boat and checked the survivor list again. When he called out "Liana's" name, Liana responded clearly. The official made a mark on the list and then told them that they could find a way to make a living in the free port according to their own circumstances, but they needed to abide by the port's "basic rules"—basically, not to cause any major trouble.
They were allowed to leave.
Liana and Mara followed the other survivors off the gangplank and onto the rough stone piers of Freeport. The ground beneath their feet was solid, yet their world remained adrift.
"Let's find a place to stay first," Mara whispered, her eyes quickly scanning the surroundings, assessing potential dangers and opportunities.
Liana nodded, gripping the pouch that belonged to "Liana" even tighter. Inside were some of the unfortunate girl's personal belongings and a small amount of money, their only starting capital at this moment.
She looked up at the intricate streets of Freeport and the more respectable buildings on the distant hillside. The shipwreck had given her a chance to bury the past completely, but it had also thrown her into a more complex and unpredictable new environment.
Serena Wilde has perished at sea. Now, it is time for Liana to find a niche for herself in this lawless land.
Her gaze swept over the diverse crowd on the dock, each busy with their own purpose. Her eyes were calm, carrying a cold resilience forged through a series of hardships.
Just as Liana was preparing to embark on her new life, far away in the Emperor's study at the Korovia Palace, the only sounds were the faint crackling of the fireplace flames and the soft scraping of parchment scrolls as they were unrolled.
Lucien sat behind his large desk, the dark crown on his forehead gleaming coldly in the flickering firelight. He was reviewing a proposal for a new tax system in the eastern part of the empire, his quill pen moving steadily and precisely without hesitation.
The study door was pushed open silently, and his intelligence chief, a thin man whose face was hidden in the shadows, slid in like a ghost and stood quietly a few steps away, head bowed, waiting.
Lucien didn't look up until he finished writing the last annotation on the proposal, then put down his quill and calmly turned his gaze to the steward. "Speak."
The steward's voice was low and flat, as if stating a fact unrelated to himself: "Your Majesty, intelligence from the Free Port of the Crystal Islands confirms that about two months ago, the Cador merchant ship 'Song of the Siren,' en route to the Free Port, encountered a storm and sank in the waters off Kled."
He paused slightly, as if considering his next words, though his tone remained unchanged.
"The list of survivors has been verified. Nine people have been rescued. Meanwhile... among the confirmed remains of the victims, an identification badge matching Miss Wilder's characteristics was found."
The room fell into a deathly silence. Only the flames continued to leap tirelessly.
Lucien's hand, resting on the table, clenched almost imperceptibly for a fleeting moment, before returning to its original position. His face remained expressionless, his deep purple eyes like two frozen pools, unmoving by any ripples.
“The logo,” he repeated, his voice eerily calm.
“A bronze badge, Your Majesty. The design is… a nightingale and an olive branch. It was found by the coroner of Freeport on the body of a young female victim whose build matched Miss Wilde's, and whose clothing matched the description given when she was last seen in Losca Port.” The steward’s voice remained flat. “Local officials have handled the body according to procedure.”
A nightingale and an olive branch. The Norton family crest. She has worn it close to her body ever since she escaped Sunset Manor.
Lucien fell silent. His gaze passed over the steward, as if piercing through the thick walls, and landed on some distant and indistinct point. The air in the study seemed to freeze, and even the crackling of the flames sounded particularly jarring.
The steward stood there with his head bowed, like a stone statue, not daring to make a sound.
After a long time—perhaps only a minute, perhaps an eternity—Lucien slowly, extremely slowly, withdrew his gaze and returned it to the proposal regarding the tax system.
“Understood,” he said, his voice still devoid of any emotion, as if he had just heard a trivial, fragmented piece of news about border taxes. “The eastern tax reform will proceed according to this plan. You may leave.”
The steward was slightly taken aback, seemingly surprised by the emperor's calm reaction, but he immediately composed himself and bowed deeply: "Yes, Your Majesty." Then, just as he had come, he quietly withdrew from the study.
The heavy door closed again.
Lucien was left alone in the study, along with the tirelessly burning fireplace.
He remained seated behind his desk, his gaze fixed on the parchment, yet he seemed not to have absorbed a single word. The shadow beneath his crown shrouded his deep eyes, making it impossible to discern the undercurrents churning within.
He didn't have her. Even the chance to imprison her was taken away by the merciless sea.
The golden bird that had struggled in his palm and finally spread its wings and flew away sank into the cold, dark seabed.
He gained control of the entire empire and wielded immense power.
Yet, they couldn't even keep a living, breathing piece of their collection that they truly longed to own.
A sense of emptiness, coldness… a feeling of nothingness that even he himself hadn't anticipated, spread silently like tiny cracks across the seemingly impenetrable walls of his heart. He raised his hand, his fingertips unconsciously brushing against the cold surface of his forehead.
Upon hearing the news, a somber silence descended upon Duke Wilde's mansion. Its former grandeur and vitality seemed to have vanished, and even the servants shuffled their footsteps with utmost care, as if afraid of disturbing something.
Inside the study, the heavy curtains were drawn, blocking out all light. There was no fire in the fireplace, and the air was filled with a musty, medicinal chill.
Duke Wilde leaned back in his large armchair, looking as if he had aged ten years overnight. His former majesty and shrewdness had been replaced by a deep, indescribable weariness and dejection. He clutched a bronze badge tightly in his hand—the image of a nightingale carrying an olive branch was blurred in the dim light.
The badge, along with the Freeport official's cold, objective shipwreck report confirming Serena's death, was presented to him.
The words on the report burned into his heart like a red-hot iron. "...The characteristics of the remains match...Identity confirmed...Proceed according to local practice..." Every word silently proclaimed the end of his beloved daughter.
He remembered her toddler days, her golden hair shining in the sunlight, her occasional willful yet vibrant smile, and her last calm and distant letter telling him "all is well, don't worry"... He once thought that as long as she was alive, even if she was far away and living in anonymity, there would always be a glimmer of hope and a thought.
But now, even that last glimmer of hope has been ruthlessly extinguished.
“Serena…” A suppressed, broken cry escaped from his dry throat and dissipated into the cold air. He closed his eyes, his fingers trembling violently from the force, the cold badge almost embedding itself in his palm.
Overwhelmed by immense grief and a deep, belated regret, he was consumed by a torrent of emotions. If only he had been more resolute, if only he had seen through Lucien's intentions sooner, if only he hadn't agreed to send Serena to the South… Countless "ifs" gnawed at his heart.
The devastating blow shattered the man, who had always been known for his iron fist and composure. He fell ill, not with a serious physical ailment, but with a rapid decline stemming from a mental breakdown. He refused to see guests and was even unable to handle routine official duties, spending his days in his dimly lit study, staring blankly at the badge.
A silent gloom hung over the Duke's mansion. The power structure of the empire was being reshaped by the new emperor's rule, while the core of the Wilder family was plunged into stagnation and confusion due to this sudden personal tragedy.
That badge, from the distant Glass Islands, imbued with the scent of sea breeze and death, became the last and most cruel proof of Serena Wilde's existence in this world. It weighed heavily on the aged duke's heart, as if drawing a hasty and cold pause for that once arrogant, later struggling, and ultimately vanished soul.
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