The port city of Minaret was once a bustling hub of trade and comrce, where rchants from distant lands would dock their ships to exchange goods with the kingdom of Harnas. The city's harbour was always alive with the sounds of sailors shouting, the creaking of wooden ships, and the clatter of goods being unloaded.
It's also the headquarters of the Harnasian navy, which had been built to protect the city from potential invaders. The sight of navy ships patrolling the waters was a common one, and their presence gave the residents a sense of security.
But today, Minaret was different.
The harbour was eerily quiet. The usual hustle and bustle had been replaced by an unsettling silence. The navy ships, which were always visible on the horizon, were nowhere to be seen. The absence of their towering masts and billowing sails left the harbour feeling empty and exposed. The rchants who usually crowded the docks were absent, and the few fishern who remained cast their lines into the water with a sense of unease.
One such fisherman was Fad, a young man in his early twenties. He sat on the edge of the small harbour, his fishing rod resting on his lap.
Fad had tan skin, dark hair, and deep brown eyes that reflected the worry he felt. He wore a simple blue long-sleeved shirt, loose pants, and slippers. A khimar, a traditional headscarf.
"Not even a single navy ship is patrolling the city," Fad muttered to himself, his eyes scanning the horizon. "It's very strange. For so reason, I feel unsafe. Maybe I'm just used to seeing those ships."
As he sat there, lost in thought, a voice called out to him from behind.
"Hey, Fad! Did you catch any fish?"
Fad turned to see a familiar man approaching.
The man was dressed the sa as Fad, except he was wearing a green long-sleeved shirt. He was carrying a fishing rod and a bucket.
"Khuzaf! I see you've co to fish too," Fad said, forcing a smile.
"Yes, I heard there is plenty of fish here, especially since our warships have left," Khuzaf replied, his tone casual but his eyes scanning the harbour with a hint of concern.
Khuzaf sat down next to Fad and began to prepare his fishing rod.
The two n sat in silence for a while, the only sound the gentle lapping of the waves against the dock.
Fad's mind, however, was far from calm. He couldn't shake the feeling that sothing was wrong.
After a while, Fad broke the silence. "What do you think about the war that our king has declared?" he asked, his voice low.
Khuzaf paused, his hands stilling on the fishing rod. He looked out at the water, his expression thoughtful.
"Let think," he said slowly. "This country we're attacking—it's very unknown to us. It's said to be a barbarian land, full of resources but technologically backward. So, in that sense, I think we must defeat it. But..." He trailed off, his brow furrowing.
"But what?" Fad pressed, turning to look at his friend.
Khuzaf sighed. "I'm against the king's decision," he admitted.
Fad's eyes widened in surprise. "You're against the king's decision? Even though we'll benefit greatly from the war?"
Khuzaf nodded. "We will benefit, that's true. But is our kingdom really ready to fight another war? Rember, we've just returned from a victorious battle. Our forces are tired and outnumbered. We haven't even established a proper base in Jimland. There's still resistance from the people there. Starting another war now... it's reckless."
Fad stared at Khuzaf, impressed by his friend's insight. "Oh, as a forr officer of the previous king, you truly are amazing, Khuzaf."
Khuzaf chuckled, though there was little humour in it. "Ha-ha! It's a pity that now I am retired. But the king's decisions are irrational."
Fad raised an eyebrow. "You clearly have so animosity toward the new king, Khuzaf."
"I don't hate him," Khuzaf said quickly. "Especially not when the kingdom is prospering under his rule. I just don't like the way he does things. He's too impulsive, too eager to expand our territory without considering the consequences."
As Khuzaf spoke, he suddenly felt a tug on his fishing line. "Oh! I caught sothing," he said, reeling in his line. But as the object erged from the water, his expression turned to one of confusion. "Is this... tuna? No, it's... cloth?"
Khuzaf pulled the cloth out of the water and examined it closely. It was a piece of fabric, torn and tattered, with several small holes in it. The material was familiar—it was the sa kind of fabric used for the uniforms of the Harnasian navy.
"These things were worn by sailors in our navy," Khuzaf muttered, his voice tinged with concern. "What are these holes? I've never seen anything like them before. Maybe arrows? No, they're too small for arrowheads..."
Fad leaned closer, his curiosity piqued. "Khuzaf, is there sothing wrong with these clothes?"
Khuzaf didn't answer imdiately. He continued to examine the cloth, his mind racing. "Sothing is wrong here," he said finally. "A lot of things are wrong..."
Before Fad could respond, Khuzaf's attention was drawn to the sky. He squinted, shielding his eyes from the sun as he spotted two thin lines streaking across the horizon. Fad followed his gaze, equally confused.
"What is that?" Fad asked, his voice tinged with unease.
"I don't know," Khuzaf replied, his tone grim. "But those things are giving a dangerous feeling."
As the two n watched, the shapes in the sky began to grow clearer. The lines elongated, and the objects they belonged to ca into view. Fad's eyes widened in shock. "Are those... flying swords? And they're burning?"
Khuzaf's heart raced as he realized the gravity of the situation. "I don't know what they are, but we need to get out of here! Those things are coming down, and I feel dangerous vibrations from them."
Without waiting for a response, Khuzaf grabbed Fad by the arm and dragged him away from the dock.
The two n ran as fast as they could, their footsteps echoing on the wooden planks. Behind them, the strange objects in the sky descended rapidly, their shapes becoming more distinct.
To the people of Harnas, these objects were unfamiliar and terrifying. But to soone from a more advanced world, they would have been instantly recognizable: jet planes, sleek and tallic, with flas trailing behind them as they hurtled toward the city.
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