As the severed peninsula drifted upon the Azure Veil’s vast expanse, buoyed by mysterious forces beyond mortal ken, the Silvrens gazed back at the receding shoreline where General Korvanus’s army dwindled to specks under Solara’s fading light. A chorus of relief and awe rose from the people, their voices mingling with the gentle lap of waves against the floating land’s edges.
“Praise to Tanes!” cried Thorneus, the male elder, raising his arms toward the prophet who stood at the forefront, her form silhouetted against the three moons’ rising glow. “You have delivered us from the emperor’s grasp! Nua’s voice through you has wrought this miracle!”
Vaelor, the syren youth, echoed fervently: “Tanes, our savior! The land itself obeys your command!”
Liranae, the female mother, clutched her children close, tears streaming: “Blessed be Tanes, who led us to safety!”
But Tanes turned to them, her eyes stern yet compassionate, the wind from Sylvara’s tide tousling her hair. “Hold your praises, kin of Silvren. It was not I who parted the earth and set us adrift. Nua, the Eternal Shaper, has saved us through her divine will. Give thanks to the Shaper alone, for I am but her vessel.”
The people bowed their heads, murmuring prayers: “Glory to Nua, guardian of harmony.”
Yet joy bubbled forth, and some began to dance upon the grassy expanse, sharing meager stores of fruit and bread in celebration. Laughter echoed across the peculiar groves fringing the land, where strange trees with broad leaves and gnarled trunks swayed gently.
“Stop this revelry!” Tanes commanded, her voice cutting through the merriment like a Korveth current. “We float upon unknown waters, our resources finite. Conserve what we have—every morsel, every drop—for Nua’s path may be long.”
Thorneus paused mid-step: “But prophet, we have escaped death! A moment of joy strengthens the spirit.”
“Joy without wisdom invites opposition,” Tanes replied. “Boana lurks in excess. Save your strength for the trials ahead.”
Chastened, the Silvrens quieted, gathering in clusters to ration their supplies under the watchful eyes of Luneth, Sylvara, and Korath.
Soon after, as the island drifted further from familiar shores, Tanes assembled the people amid the groves. “Hear Nua’s guidance,” she proclaimed. “The sea offers bounty: catch the fishes that leap in these waters, gather the seaweed that clings to our edges. These shall sustain us. But mark my words—do not cut down these strange trees. They are woven into Nua’s design for our voyage; harm them not.”
Grumbles arose. Vaelor spoke first: “We are valley folk, not seagoers! Fish are for the coastal hordes; our bellies crave the grains and fruits of solid earth.”
Liranae added: “Seaweed? It tastes of salt and slime. Nua meant us for rivers and plains, not this endless blue.”
Tanes’s gaze hardened: “Foolish words! Nua provides what is needed, not what is desired. The beasts of the deep thrive on such fare without complaint. Would you invite Boana’s shadows by scorning the Shaper’s gifts? Eat as commanded, and faith shall nourish you.”
Humbled, the Silvrens named their floating haven “Nuadrift,” in honor of the Eternal Shaper’s mercy, and dubbed the strange trees “Veilwards,” for they seemed to ward against the sea’s depths with their resilient forms.
As Nuadrift wandered eastward under Solara’s gaze, a derelict sailing ship appeared on the horizon, its sails tattered like Serath wings after a storm, adrift and unmanned. Tanes pointed toward it: “Nua sends aid. Some must swim to the vessel and claim it for our people.”
Thorneus protested: “We are no sailors, prophet! The waves are treacherous, and we know not the ways of ropes and winds.”
Vaelor nodded: “Let it pass; we are safe on solid ground, even if it floats.”
Tanes shook her head: “You speak from fear, not faith. Nua foretells we shall need this ship. Brave the waters, for harmony demands action.”
A band of sturdy Silvrens—males, females, and syrens—plunged into the Azure Veil, reaching the ship and towing it back with improvised lines. Upon boarding, they discovered barrels of fresh water, preserved by some forgotten crew’s craft, a boon amid their dwindling stores. “Nua provides!” they shouted, lashing the vessel to Nuadrift’s edge with sturdy vines from the Veilwards. Though tempted, they dared not set sail to explore, for they were indeed no mariners, the ship’s mechanisms a mystery they could scarcely operate beyond basic tethering.
Days turned to cycles of the moons, and thirst gnawed at the Silvrens as rations dwindled. “Water fails us,” Liranae lamented to Tanes. “The barrels empty; must we drink the sea’s salt?”
“Keep faith in Nua,” Tanes urged. “The Shaper who parted the land will quench our need. Pray, and oppose despair.”
Just as desperation peaked, a modest iceberg drifted near, its crystalline form glistening under Korath’s crimson hue. With ropes from the ship and poles from lesser branches, they secured it to Nuadrift, chipping pure water from its sides. “Behold Nua’s mercy!” Tanes exclaimed, as the iceberg provided indefinitely, melting slowly into life-sustaining pools.
But as Nuadrift veered into colder currents, far from the warm embrace of the Verdant Crags, chill winds bit like fangs of forgotten beasts. The Silvrens, accustomed to the valley’s mild climes, huddled in all their garments, layers upon layers shielding against the frost.
“This cold pierces the soul,” Vaelor complained, teeth chattering. “We must burn something to warm ourselves!”
Thorneus agreed: “The Veilwards stand idle; a few branches for fire—Nua would understand.”
Tanes warned: “Heed my words! Do not cut the trees; they are sacred to our drift. Endure with faith, as the Calyx burrow through winter’s grasp.”
Yet defiance grew, and against her directives, they felled Veilwards, kindling fires that danced defiantly under Luneth’s pale watch. Warmth spread, but shadows lengthened.
Soon, Nuadrift trembled, waters rising at its edges as it began to sink, the mysterious forces faltering. Panic surged: “The island fails!” Liranae cried. “We drown for our folly!”
Tanes gathered them: “Pray to Nua! Apologize profusely for defying the Shaper’s command. Cut no more trees; repent, and mercy may come.”
On their knees, the Silvrens wailed: “Forgive us, Eternal Shaper! We scorned your gifts, inviting opposition. Restore our harmony!”
As waves lapped perilously high, another floating island appeared on the horizon, akin to Nuadrift but larger, its Veilwards groves intact. “Nua answers!” Tanes declared. Using the lashed ship, they ferried kin across in frantic trips—males hauling elders, females cradling young, syrens guiding the fearful. They abandoned the iceberg, salvaging only chunks already hewn, carrying them aboard for fleeting water.
Aboard the new haven, dubbed “Mercydrift,” thirst returned swiftly, the ice chunks melting away. “Water wanes again,” Thorneus despaired. “Shall we perish now?”
“Faith endures,” Tanes replied. “Nua leads us to promise.”
Just as lips cracked and voices weakened, land emerged—a vast, uninhabited continent, its shores lush with untrodden forests, streams cascading like silver threads, and game roaming freely under Solara’s benevolent rays. No Elyrian foot had marked this realm, a gift from Nua’s boundless creation.
Tanes proclaimed: “This is our new home, kin! Nua has guided us to peace.”
The Silvrens erupted in thanks: “Praise to Tanes, voice of the Shaper!”
But Tanes silenced them: “To Nua alone! The Eternal Shaper delivers.”
They prayed fervently, then celebrated with songs and feasts of fresh-caught game and stream water, their harmony renewed under the three moons, shadows retreating in the light of faith.
spikosauropod 
Leave a comment