Chapter 2 – Mare Rosso: The Red Sea Breeze
From the moment the train doors hissed open, the first thing they saw was light.
Below the station's high platform, the coastline of Mare Rosso curved in a perfect C-shape, its
harbor lined with lanterns and gas lamps that shimmered on the water like spilled gold. The sea
caught the glow and broke it into rippling patterns, as if the whole city floated on light.
A soft breeze rolled up from the water, cool against their faces, carrying the tang of salt and the faint
sweetness of grilled fish from the market streets below. Somewhere down in the harbor, a burst of
laughter rose and faded, blending with the distant hum of steam-powered trams and the hiss of
valve releases.
As the sun dipped lower, the water began to shift, bathing the bay in a deep crimson wash. "That's
the Red Sea," Elli murmured, eyes narrowing as she watched the fiery reflection dance across the
waves. "They say the sea turns red every evening — like it's bleeding light."
Max shrugged, but even he looked away for a moment, the fading glow casting long shadows over
the docks.
Ren smirked, folding his arms. "A picturesque name for a port city, don't you think? Though I've
heard sailors whisper about strange things happening when the sea runs red... Mostly just old
stories, of course. But still — makes for a good ghost tale."
The station clock began to chime. Six slow, deep notes drifted across the hilltop.
"Six o'clock," Max said, stepping onto the platform with his satchel slung across his shoulder, the
brass buttons on his waistcoat catching the last light.
"We'd better move," Liza urged, adjusting her colorful scarf that fluttered like the banners
overhead. "I want to check in before the streets get crowded."
They followed the winding road down toward the city. The cobblestones still held the day's
warmth, and on either side, market stalls bustled with activity. Striped awnings, patched and
stitched with care, fluttered in the evening breeze, and the air was alive with the smells of spiced
bread, roasting chestnuts, and sea brine.
Bright banners stretched between balconies, fluttering like ribbons. Fishing boats bobbed lazily in
the harbor; their masts draped with strings of little lanterns that winked in the growing dusk.
Steam vents hissed softly from hidden pipes beneath the wharves, mixing with the murmur of
voices and clinking glasses.
They passed a row of weathered townhouses with narrow windows and sharply peaked gables —
features out of place in a sunlit port city. The shutters were painted in faded blues and greens, their
iron hinges etched with patterns Ren swore looked like snowflakes, a signature of Northern
craftsmanship."More Northern work," Elli said, her keen green eyes scanning the weathered stone with a mix of
admiration and curiosity. "They build for storms and snow — sturdy, practical. Here, it's like a
souvenir. Decoration to remind them where they came from, not what they face now."
Max shrugged, fingers tapping thoughtfully on his satchel strap. "Old habits die hard. I guess the
style stuck around long after the last northern immigrant packed up and left."
Elli's gaze drifted to a carving above one doorway — a bird in flight, wings spread wide, frozen in
stone mid-soar. The craftsmanship was exquisite, each feather etched with delicate precision. But
instead of comfort, a shiver of unease crept through her. She said nothing, only swallowed hard and
glanced away, as if the bird's silent watch weighed heavier than the salt air around them.
Max noticed and gave her a curious look. "You alright?"
Elli forced a small smile. "Just... feels like it's watching us."
"Not bad," Ren said, slowing his pace to take it in. His leather jacket caught the fading light. "Could
get used to this."
Elli smiled faintly. "Told you coastal cities have their charm."
Just then, John strode up beside them, hands tucked into the pockets of his worn coat. He grinned,
eyes twinkling with mischief. "Charm's one thing. But don't get too cozy. I've seen enough port cities
to know trouble likes to hide behind a pretty sunset."
Ren shot John a sideways glance. "Always the pessimist, huh?"
John shrugged, a lazy smirk curling his lips. "Realist, more like."
By the time they found their hotel — a narrow, three-story building wedged between a tailor's shop
and a tea house — the horizon was aflame with orange fading to violet. After leaving their bags
upstairs, they stepped out again into the warm night air.
The waterfront was alive with music and light. Fiddlers played quick, lilting tunes on open
balconies. Glasses clinked in cafés spilling gold across the cobblestones. Children darted between
food stalls, their laughter mixing with the soft clang of mooring bells and the occasional hiss of a
steam whistle.
They strolled without hurry, letting the city's rhythm sink in. Liza stopped to sketch the curve of the
harbor in her pad, her red curls catching the glow from lanterns. Max lingered at the seawall,
watching the fishing boats glide in under strings of lanterns.
Elli murmured, her voice barely carrying over the soft hum of the city's evening song.
"It's beautiful… like the whole world is holding its breath, just for this moment."
Her eyes traced the shimmer of lantern light on the water, the slow dance of shadows along the
cobblestones, and the mingling scents of salt and spices.
"There's a kind of magic here — not the kind in stories, but something quieter, something real."Ren grinned, pulling his jacket tighter as a cool breeze rose. He looked out over the glowing harbor,
then let out a dry chuckle.
"See? No curses here — just a city that knows how to put on a good sunset."
He shook his head, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Though I'm sure if we wait long enough, some old
sea hag will show up, curse the place, and we'll all be running scared. Folk tales are like that —
great for scaring kids, terrible for historians."
The others laughed, a little uneasily, but the warmth in their eyes remained.
"For now," Ren added, a wry smile tugging at his lips, "I'll take sunsets over superstitions any day."