In the October crisp air in the eve of the morning, like clockwork the sailors prepared their ships across the harbour.

They would swiftly secure the tack and jib to their respective shackles on the boom and the bow of the boat, effectively attaching the sails.

They would then adjust their headings and sail trim for the wind, for any who had sailed greater than the shorelines knew that sailboats cannot sail directly into the wind.

There was a type of structure to their day to day lives.

Every movement perfectly calculated, the routine of the craft showing its colours.

Trades from the ports were booming at the moment, making every second count as precious money for the fishers and sailors of Eldham.

Many come and go to Eldham, trading all sorts of treasures with the merchants of the town. Travel was incredibly popular through the lands.

Their biggest trade came from Southedge which was ironically north east of Eldham but south of the continent for them. Their ships would weave in and out of Dracport, earning both cities much wealth.

Long ago, an old king of Eldham had sent sailors to discover that island and upon finding it the perfect size for a trading port, they had established it barely a year out of expedition.

It was a great achievement that few had done.

Eldham was prosperous and peaceful.

The way it had been for many years.

Economy was high in many places but far below the level of survival for others.

Sailing had intrigued the hearts of many young men as it often did. Sailing was a tradition and usually passed down by the generations, but there were more fishers than there were sailors.

The sea only called those with a free spirit, a passion for the waves and intricate worlds beneath the seas.

It is the taste of adventure that keeps one coming back.

Inside the rickety old boat on the far left of the port, sat an aging man. His eyes were tired and droopy, blackening around the sides. The wrinkling of his smile showed the happiness and courage behind his assiduous eyes.

Greying hair that reached his waist, paired with a long beard. He was dressed simply, no sign of wealth upon him.

"Hey, Father Harlow, when do we set sail?"

It was the sound of the man's adoptive son.

A young man that stumbled into his care as only a terrified and sickly thin boy, that had grown in more ways than one over the years.

"Soon," the response was short, but it held meaning.

Father Harlow pulled out an ancient scroll and a leather, bound book and placed it onto the table. Slowly, he placed the ancient scroll above the book, pointing at the words that were etched into it.

There was no doubt about the words that littered the yellowing parchment.

'The day two worlds collide;
a war will begin,
following a great storm.

A time of great
devastation will befall
the land and seas.

It will take two,
not one,
but a united force
to take down the
Great Evil -

Once old foes,
in a time lost on many,
in the ruins of an
arcane land, a forgotten tale
of a lost battle.

If there is hope for survival,
seek the one braver than most,
and the one that can tame the seas.

In the two,
a balance will be found -
it is in that equal stance
that victory is a possibility.'

As the young man's eyes began taking in each word, they widened with unasked questions. He had seen this scroll many times; it wasn't the first nor would it be the last.

With a loud slam, the thick, leather bound book shut, trapping the scroll within its pages.

The brunette had had enough of Father Harlow's gibberish. He respected the elderly man but sometimes things were just a little too mad to allow to be perceived as truth.

"Tell me again how this prophecy of sorts is important?"

The young man, barely reaching his thirties, he stood tall and broad. He had filled out from when he was nothing but a starving, skinny boy. Times had changed and he had survived the bad ones.

With a sigh of annoyance, Father Harlow spoke once more.

"Young Etan, heed the warnings. The time of great devastation is upon us," the great man spoke once more, claiming the prophecy as fact among fictions.

Etan had read the words that lined the parchment for many months, believing in his father figure, but things just didn't add up. Nothing new had stood out to him that felt important.

Father Harlow had given him the scroll late one night, many moons ago, with the same urgency plastered across his withered features.

"What makes you say such things?" Etan asked, raising his dark eyebrows up at the old man.

He may have been many years older, but he was by far the wisest among men in Etan's humble opinion. He had met many others but nobody else compared to the man who gave him refuge.

Etan trusted Father Harlow above any other man; the loyalty was thicker than blood.

The young boy had washed up on the shores of Eldham when he was only seven. He had no recollection of the life he'd lived before then. He was casted out by everybody else, unwanted, but Father Harlow saw something in him that others didn't at the time.

The scruffy tan boy held promise which granted him Father Harlow's mercy and care.

In time, Eldham became home.

"The world is becoming an increasingly more dangerous place to tread. Fear the angry clouds in the sky and the stubbornness of crops that won't grow any time of the year," commented Father Harlow as he pulled out a map he'd sketched of the lands.

Eldham sat north of the land, where the sun shined all year round and the crops never died. It was warm here, unlike that of Oldmont in the freezing south.

The idea of rain becoming more frequent and crops never growing were only small indicators that there had been a shift between the blessed times and now.

Father Harlow's grey eyes had seen the devastation that was coming but others were yet to believe.

He was adamant on showing others the truth too.

"Do you think the great beyond is punishing us?" Etan asked him, mock worry lacing his words as he teased his father figure.

He was becoming increasingly annoyed as well.

He didn't believe in those higher, but he knew somehow Father Harlow had a belief in the universe.

"Don't mock me, boy," he replied, quickly with a disapproving look upon his face.

"There is no great beyond, just here and now - and something's not pleased."

There was silence for a moment before Father Harlow spoke once more.

"It is time we start planning."

He swallowed thickly, for that was never a good sign with his father.

"For what?"

Father Harlow stood up, striding across the confined boat chambers. As his fingers brushed the spine of a book, Etan feared for his answer.

Etan had come to the conclusion only hours ago, after months of studying this prophecy, that it was nothing more than a plain hoax – a trickery. He was prepared to move on and forget about it but Father Harlow had other plans.

The signs of a war were simple but Eldham bore none.

If there had been a war declaration, there would be mass panic across the lands.

Stuck between a hard place and a rock, Etan knew not of the side he was meant to pick.

He saw no signs of this prophecy commencing but Father Harlow did, and he had to take his word as if it were life and death being handed to him. Faith and virtue had been taught to him young, distilled in him forever.

His reply was short and raspy but struck fear in Etan's bones alone.

"To seek victory against the Great Evil."