"He who has lived at the lowest rung of society shall shine light upon all the world." That was Radiance's supposed first declaration.
Michael began explaining what he had discovered through cross referencing documents passed down by the Pamir Empire and the House of Rochester.
"The stories and miracles of Radiance are nothing but a patchwork of tales from the heroes who once defended the continent. In truth, Radiance was a thief who stole their power and ran—and a petty man, at that."
He held back the final part of what he wanted to say:
"And… he was also a reincarnated soul from my homeland—Earth."
"What… did you just say?"
Drake couldn't believe his ears.
What he had just heard from his lord—a blasphemous account of Radiance—was nearly impossible to accept.
Drake hadn't been a believer in Radiance for quite some time, yet even so, the claim was staggering.
That Radiance had been a fraud, who stole the legends of other heroes and passed them off as his own?
A thief who had run off with their powers? A petty, conniving swindler?
Yet Michael's expression remained entirely solemn. Worry and conviction furrowed his handsome brows, and his lips were pressed tightly together.
His long, jet black hair fell over his shoulders, blending seamlessly with the darkness outside.
Drake took a slow sip of the crimson wine in his hand, letting its aroma coat his throat and calm his nerves.
He gazed at the navigation tools—a compass and telescope—hanging on the wall of the captain's quarters, then exhaled a deep breath.
His fingertips trembled slightly as he set the glass down.
Moonlight filtered faintly through the mist covered sea, casting scattered shadows beyond the porthole.
After another sip, Drake finally spoke.
"...Do you have proof of this?"
Michael didn't answer right away. He turned to look out the window.
Under the night sky, the infinite ocean reflected the faint starlight, shimmering atop the rippling waves.
"Earth or this world—only the sea and sky look the same," he mused with a faint, ironic smile.
He reached up to brush his fingers across the spatial ring on his hand.
Drake watched his every move closely. Michael's expression and demeanor radiated confidence.
With a graceful sweep of his hand, Michael activated the spatial ring.
A soft glow radiated from the ring, accompanied by a low vibration that gently passed through the room.
From it, Michael produced a thick bundle of ancient documents. The scent of age and old parchment quickly filled the captain's quarters.
The worn, yellowed pages bore the signs of time—stains, tears, and faded ink. Some still carried faint magical seals.
They were clearly no ordinary texts.
Michael laid the documents on the table and pointed to the leather bound book at the top of the stack.
Under the light of a bright magical lamp, the book's cover glistened faintly, adorned with gemstones still gleaming despite the wear of time.
Its title read: "Royal Chronicles of the Kingdom of Helena."
With practiced care, Michael opened the book to a marked page.
The movements of his hands were slow and deliberate—intentional.
He revealed the royal genealogy of the Helena Kingdom, drawn across the open page.
At the end of the family line, he pointed to a crest—marked only with a male symbol, the name and birthdate deliberately erased.
"Radiance was originally the youngest prince of the ancient Helena Kingdom. Born with ambition, he found his position lacking," Michael explained.
He stepped away from the table and moved toward the window.
The magical ship had been crafted to resemble a real vessel, down to the creaking of its wooden floors and the grain of the planks beneath his boots.
Each step echoed softly in the quiet room.
Resting one hand on the window frame, Michael took in a deep breath.
As he pushed the window halfway open, the heavy scent of saltwater wafted in with the breeze.
The cold wind tousled his clothes and hair, strands brushing against his forehead.
He stared toward the distant horizon, eyes fixed on a small island barely visible in the dark.
"The Kingdom of Helena was a barren place. Made up mostly of islands, it had nothing of value—only fish and brine," he murmured.
"When Radiance was born, it was during a time of brutal conflict, where blood was constantly spilled over territory."
A seagull gliding low above the water faltered against an incoming wave and was finally swallowed by the sea.
The fragile bird, battered by the wind, had lost its direction before the swell of the wave.
As always, the sea smiled gently after taking its offering—only a faint whirlpool remaining as a temporary trace before it, too, disappeared.
Michael watched the spot where the bird vanished before slowly turning back.
He returned to Drake and continued the story.
"No one coveted the harsh land of Helena. Whether that was a blessing or a curse is debatable. But the youngest prince… he was dissatisfied with it."
Drake sat quietly, leaning back in his chair and listening intently.
He still held his wine glass in one hand, the blood red liquid swaying with the movement of the ship.
Michael's voice flowed like the sea's own rhythm, steady and compelling.
Drake absorbed each word like a sponge, the story unfolding gently—like a grandfather telling a child an old fable.
"A tale perfect to share by the fireplace," he thought, shifting his gaze from Michael's face to the open window.
The sound of the sea carried in through the gap, forming a natural background melody to Michael's words.
"The youngest prince had talent—magical talent. It was a time when the world was filled with powerful figures, unmatched even by today's standards. And so, the prince was trained in the ways of magic."
Michael's gaze also remained fixed on the ocean, eyes scanning the shifting line between dark water and darker sky.
The sea's music never ceased. Waves crashed against the ship, throwing up arcs of white spray that glistened under the moonlight.