That autumn brought more merchant vessels to Tidal Bay than usual. At first, the villagers paid it little mind. For a coastal settlement, the ebb and flow of ships was a routine affair—sometimes fishing boats laden with their catch, sometimes merchantmen stopping for fresh stores, and occasionally deep-water freighters from distant ports.
They would anchor for a few days, exchange news and goods, and set sail once more. The local folk were well used to such rhythms. Yet as weeks passed, a quiet shift became apparent: more people were leaving.
On a crisp morning before dawn, the pier was already bustling. Seren walked down the track carrying a basket of baked bread, spotting a merchant ship moored alongside the wooden quay. It was a two-masted brig, far larger than the local fishing skiffs, its hull weathered dark by long voyages.
On deck, sailors moved briskly, preparing to cast off. A crowd had gathered on the dock—families, friends, and curious onlookers.
"You're just in time," her mother said, handing her a wrapped bundle.
"Take this to Elwin.
" Seren nodded, weaving her way through the crowd toward the edge of the pier.
Elwin was two years her senior. They had grown up together in Tidal Bay. As a boy, he had joined the others in teasing her, but as he grew older, he had become one of the few who listened quietly when she spoke of her dreams.
Now he stood beside the ship's gangway, a simple pack slung over his shoulder. His face carried a mix of nervous tension and quiet excitement.
"My mother sent this for you," Seren said, offering the parcel.
Elwin peered inside, finding smoked fish and freshly baked bread.
"Tell her I said thank you.
" "I will.
" They fell silent, staring up at the tall masts of the brig.
"You've truly made up your mind?
" Seren asked.
"Yes," Elwin grinned.
"Can't stay here forever.
" "Why not?
" "Because there's a whole world out there.
" He spoke with easy confidence, as if stating an obvious truth.
"Have you seen it?
" "No.
" "Then how do you know?
" Elwin paused, then let out a loud laugh.
"You haven't changed a bit since we were small.
" "So?
" "So I don't know," he shrugged, smiling.
"That's why I have to go see it.
" A sea wind swept between them as the captain's voice barked orders from the quarterdeck.
Elwin stowed the parcel into his pack and turned to her.
"What about you?
" "What about me?
" "Will you ever leave Tidal Bay?
" Seren did not answer immediately.
She followed the line of the wooden quay out toward the open ocean, glittering under the morning light. After a long pause, she shook her head gently.
"I don't know.
" It was the truth.
She had never given the thought serious mind; she had assumed she would stay, like her mother, like most in the village, growing up and living out her days in Tidal Bay. Yet as Elwin asked the question, her certainty faltered.
"If you ever do leave," Elwin smiled, "make sure you tell me.
"
"Why?
" "So I'll know I wasn't the only one who ran off.
" They both laughed.
The ship’s bell chimed sharply—it was time to set sail. Voices of farewell rose from the pier as mothers embraced sons, wives held husbands, and friends clapped shoulders. Some wept, while others looked on with hope.
Leaving was not always a matter of sorrow; sometimes, departure was a form of hope itself. Elwin stepped onto the gangplank. Halfway up, he turned and waved.
Seren raised her hand in return. The sails unfurled, catching the morning wind as the mooring lines were cast off. The vessel slipped away from the quay, its white canvas swelling as it glided into open water.
The crowd fell quiet, watching until the ship dwindled to a speck on the horizon and vanished.
"He'll come back," her mother murmured, standing beside her.
"How can you be sure?
" "Because those who leave always miss home," her mother smiled gently.
"It's only a matter of when.
" Seren watched the empty horizon in silence.
She realized then that leaving home was not merely a tale from a storybook—it was real, happening to people she knew, on a morning just like this.
That night, Seren dreamed of the city again. The twilight was warm, the wind drifted from afar, and the stone walls stood silent against the twilight. She stood in her accustomed place, gazing at the half-open gate.
Then, she noticed something new.
Outside the gate lay a road. It was narrow, winding away into the distance until it reached her very feet—as though she were standing at its beginning. Seren stared at the path in wonder.
Had it always been there? She was unsure; perhaps she had simply never looked. Wind stirred the grass along the roadside, and the distant gate remained quiet in the sunset.
There was no sound, no guide, and no voice calling out—only the road, resting quietly in the light. Then the dream faded. When she woke at first light, Seren sat on the edge of her bed for a long time.
"Dreaming again?
" her mother's voice called from the hearth.
"Yes.
" "The same city?
" "Yes.
" "Was there anything new?
" Seren paused.
"I saw a road.
" The kitchen fell quiet for a moment, followed by the steady sound of her mother slicing bread.
"Where did it lead?
" "I don't know.
" "Then how do you know it was a road?
" Seren considered the question, then murmured softly, "Because it looked like one.
" Her mother chuckled.
"Fair enough reason.
" After breakfast, daily life resumed its familiar rhythm.
The fish stalls opened, the skiffs set out, and gulls circled over the quay as though nothing had changed. Yet
Seren felt a quiet shift within herself. The road in her dream and the merchant ship leaving port seemed to speak of the same truth, though she could not yet grasp its meaning. A few days later, she returned to the pier at twilight.
The sunset painted the sea in shades of gold. Elwin's ship was long gone, yet her eyes drifted instinctively toward the horizon. She wondered where he was and what he was seeing.
And in that moment, a quiet truth dawned upon her. The world was vast—vast enough for a vessel to vanish beyond the edge of the sea, vast enough for someone to leave home, and vast enough to hold a city she had dreamed of for years. The coastal breeze stirred her hair as gulls crossed the sky.
Seren stood at the pier's edge, watching the sea darken. She still had no plans to leave, at least not now. Yet a new thought had taken root in her heart.
Roads did not exist solely in dreams. In the waking world, countless people were walking their own paths into the unknown. And perhaps, somewhere out there, her own path was waiting for her.
Autumn was deepening. The early mornings in Tidal Bay grew crisp and chill. The sun rose later than before, and a thin blanket of mist often lingered over the sea.
For most folk, this was merely the natural turning of the season. But for those whose lives were tied to the water, a season was never just a season. The winds would turn.
The currents would shift. The shoals of fish would move. And every one of these shifts eventually found its way onto every kitchen table and into every pocket in the village.
*
That morning, Seren made her way down to the pier as usual. The first fishing boats had already returned, docked along the timber jetty while the men hoisted their crates onto the boards. But even before drawing close, she noticed something was amiss.
There were far fewer crates than usual. Normally at this hour, rows of wooden crates would be stacked high along the quay, silver scales gleaming in the dawn light. Children would crowd round to watch, and gulls would wheel overhead, waiting for thrown scraps.
Today, the pier looked strangely bare.
"Is that all of it?
" someone asked from the crowd.
"That's all," a fisherman set a crate down on the timber with a heavy sigh.
"Hauled for half a day just to find this pittance.
" "What about the far channel?
" "Nothing there either.
" "Strange.
" "Yes, right strange.
" A few men gathered in a circle, their hushed chatter laced with disappointment.
Seren set up her stall, sorting her gear while listening quietly to their exchange.
"Do you reckon it's the wind?
" "Wind's been blowing wrong for days now.
" "Wasn't like this last autumn.
" "We'll wait and see.
Maybe they'll run back in a day or two.
"
The conversation dwindled. Life went on regardless; good catch or bad, people still needed to eat, work, and see the day through.
By noon, Seren's mother was wrapping up what little fish remained. A task that usually lasted well into the afternoon was finished early. Fewer fish meant less work, yet neither of them felt pleased.
"Seems nothing's going smooth these days," her mother said, setting the last catch into a wooden bin.
Seren nodded.
"Everyone's saying the shoals have moved.
" "Let's hope it's only temporary," her mother murmured, rubbing her shoulder.
The motion was subtle, but Seren caught it.
"Does it hurt?
" "It's nothing.
" "You were rubbing it yesterday, too.
" Her mother blinked in surprise, then offered a faint smile.
"You notice everything nowadays, don't you?
" "Because you didn't use to do that.
" Her mother offered no immediate reply.
After a quiet pause, she let out a gentle sigh.
"Getting old, I suppose.
" Seren froze.
The answer unsettled her. When she was small, she had assumed her mother would never grow old—much like she believed the sea would never dry up. But over the years, the subtle marks of time had begun to show: deeper fine lines around her eyes, strands of white woven into her dark hair, and occasional flashes of quiet exhaustion.
Enjoying Echoes of the Kingdom? New chapters every Monday, Wednesday, Friday and Sunday.
Follow on Royal Road · Get Letters from Elarion