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[Deacon Drake]

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Finally about to dock after about a month of sailing, Steel was about ready to give up in his search. All he needed to find the Crest was one single clue, one finger pointing him in the right direction... but he couldn't even find that. He was about ready to believe that the Crest itself was a myth, that it never existed to begin with.

The shore of Zento could be seen as a narrow strip on the horizon. Another hour and he would have his feet on the cool soil of the island. Though the Navy was gone, replaced by the Vanguard, sailing was a passion he couldn't give up, and he retained his fleet for the purpose. He decided to rest for a change, and went below deck to finish his reading.

He picked up a thick volume on his desk, titled The Days of the Phoenix, Volume Four that he had found in the library in Ver Lor Reg. It was a collection of diaries, histories, and tales about the ancient people of the land of Ilshenar, the people who comprised his heritage. He opened the book to the page he had marked, where he had left off.

The top of the page was dated... this was a diary entry, but the date seemed out of place.

February, day twenty-nine, year twenty-six-twenty-four.

He frowned. This diary was very old, older even than the calendar sparked by the fall of Mondain. He read on.

Our voyage is at its end. We are trapped in a war zone here... fires fill the land and smoke fills the air. The water seems our only escape, but the river is blockaded. Our war seems lost. If we cannot get back, our people are finished.

I see no hope in the future. We are trapped here, and no one can get word home about the invasion. If the city falls, we are lost.

Steel put the book down. He had never learned the story of how his heritage had fallen, only that the vast city of the Phoenicians had been invaded and burned. It wasn't until his recent search for the mythical Serpent's Crest that he had regained his interest.

He climbed back on deck and began to guide his crew to Zento. Home was finally near.
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