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# Waverider Expedition - Olydrian Isles

Happy reunion

The sea around the Olydrian Isles shimmered like hammered bronze. White cliffs rose from the water, topped with terraces of vine and olive. The air smelled of salt and fruit, the sound of gulls blending with distant laughter from the shore.

Phaedros Pelagos stood at the rail, the wind tugging his gray-streaked hair. “Home,” he said quietly. “Though I never thought I’d see it again.”

Captain Solonex smiled faintly. “You’ve charted half the world, Phaedros. It seems fair the world should let you rest a while.”

Severin Valerius raised his cup. “Rest? On these islands? Impossible. You’ll end up in an argument about philosophy, taxes, or whose god loves them most before the hour is out.”

Kethra leaned on the rail, her eyes narrow against the glare. “And they call this paradise.”

The Waverider anchored off Lysara, the city gleaming white and gold above the hills. They rode inland along winding paths lined with cypress and terraced vines until the Pelagos vineyard came into view, a wide estate of stone and sunlight, its fields sloping down toward the sea.

As they dismounted, the ground shook with a thudding run. From between the vines came a massive figure with gray-olive skin, broad shoulders, hair tied back in a messy knot. An ogre, nearly twice Phaedros’ height, grinning from ear to ear.

“PHAEDROS!”

Before Phaedros could move, the ogre wrapped him in a hug that lifted him clean off the ground.

“By the gods, Ormun!” Phaedros gasped. “Put me down before you break my ribs, or my dignity!”

The ogre laughed, a sound like rocks rolling in a river. “Ha! Dignity hasn’t changed you, little wolf.” He set him down gently, grinning at the others. “This is my brother, in all but blood. We stole grapes together before we could walk.”

Phaedros' face flashed slight embarrassment, but shone with a warm smile.

Solonex nodded in greeting, Severin gave a sweeping bow, and Kethra only raised an eyebrow.

The estate was alive with preparation for a feast. Tables were set under olive trees, amphorae uncorked, and servants hurried between vines with baskets of grapes. Phaedros’ family, cousins, nieces, nephews, embraced him one after another, offering toasts and laughter.

As the sun sank, the feast began.

Wine flowed like water, rich and red. Plates of lamb, olives, and sea bass filled the tables. Music rose from lyres and drums, mingling with the crash of waves below.

Severin told stories of the voyage, of storms survived and ports best forgotten, drawing gasps and laughter from everyone but Kethra, who simply watched, smiling faintly.

Ormun leaned close to Phaedros. “You look older, but not slower. Still chasing the horizon?”

“Still,” Phaedros said. “The captain hasn’t let me stop yet.”

Solonex lifted his cup. “To the sea. And to those who still follow it.”

The toast was echoed around the table.

Later, as the laughter softened and the stars began to burn above the vines, talk turned to the Games, to favored athletes, to old rivalries rekindled, to rumors of new raids by Imperial ships along the western trade routes.

“The Empire grows restless,” said one of Phaedros’ uncles, a portly man with a sailor’s hands. “They’ve been testing the coasts again. Theron and Myrake have already called for stronger fleets.”

“Lysara still debates,” another said bitterly. “They’d rather argue about poetry while the harbors burn.”

Phaedros sipped his wine in silence. “It’s always the same. The Isles unite when it’s too late, then forget why when the blood dries.”

Solonex glanced at him. “And yet you love it still.”

Phaedros smiled faintly. “Of course. It’s the only place that ever made me feel I belonged to something greater than myself.”

Kethra looked up at the stars. “You could have stayed.”

“Perhaps,” he said. “But the sea keeps calling. Some voices never fade.”

A breeze came off the water then, cool and strange, carrying the smell of salt and distant smoke.

Ormun’s smile faltered. “Storm brewing from the west. Not natural, that wind.”

“Then we drink faster,” Severin said, refilling his cup. But his tone was quieter now.

As the night deepened, laughter rose again, but something beneath it had shifted. The music slowed, and the waves below the cliffs sounded louder, heavier.

Phaedros watched the horizon. For the first time in years, he felt uneasy on land.

Somewhere far out to sea, lightning flickered without thunder.

He poured another cup of wine and raised it to the dark. “To home,” he said softly. His voice caught, and his eyes were wet.

No one quite answered, though they all drank, remembering their homes.

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