Anchorage

As the Northern Wind's massive hull slowly sailed into the familiar waters of Giant Island, cleaving through the calm sea gilded by golden morning light, Brendan, standing tall on the bridge, finally let out a long, deep breath of stale air that had been trapped in his chest for days.

But at this moment, what he felt even more was the relief of a great boulder hitting the ground, along with a heavy, clear-conscience sense of achievement and... gratitude.

His gaze crossed the shimmering sea and fell on the ever-nearing coast of Giant Island. In just two days, the island had undergone earth-shaking changes.

Along the desolate coastline in his memory, countless newly built thatched huts and adobe houses now stood densely packed together. Though crude, they were enough to keep out wind and rain, spreading like bamboo shoots after a spring rain.

Simple wooden docks and trestles extended outward, crowded with people.

Farther away, large stretches of leveled land could be seen, along with wisps of cooking smoke curling upward.

In the air, there was no longer only the scent of sea wind, but also the raw smell of freshly turned earth, the clean fragrance of timber, and... the presence of human habitation.

Countless small sailboats, rowboats, and even dugout canoes were surging out of the harbor, like fledglings welcoming a parent bird back to the nest, rowing with all their strength toward the returning fleet.

Aboard them were Carnford's civil officials, physicians, volunteers, and soldiers maintaining order. They had already been waiting anxiously here for two days and two nights.

"Finally... we're back." Brendan murmured to himself, and a faint, almost imperceptible ripple flashed through his bloodshot eyes.

He had successfully brought the fleet and the thousands of countrymen aboard and below the ships, who had narrowly escaped