The End of 1487 AD, Successor Dias

November 1487, 22 degrees south latitude, the Namibian coast, Cape Cross.

The summer sea wind of the Southern Hemisphere blew in from the western ocean, carrying a damp, salty tang as it surged toward the eastern sea of sand. Above the clear sea and sky, flocks of seabirds soared. Albatrosses spread their long wings, rufous-bellied herons lifted their throats in song, white pelicans flew from sky into sea, and Flamingos wheeled high through the air.

The sea glittered with rippling light. Dolphins circled the anchored sailing ships, poking their heads up curiously to study the many people they had never seen before. Several li away, humpback whales over ten meters long leapt from the water, throwing up spray several meters high. These enormous creatures moved at ease, swaying their bodies, spreading wing-like pectoral fins, and letting out low, complex, drawn-out calls!

"Tenho saudades! This is the deep sea's confession, like a friend who has gone away. He grew weary of life among men and rests forever in the kingdom of heaven. Leaving only me, a lonely seeker of roads, to suffer through the years in the mortal world!"

Dias stood by the shore, gazing at the wooden grave marker before him as he chanted softly in melancholy. He wore the noble captain's clothes that symbolized his rank, his hair meticulously arranged, though he held his captain's hat in his hand. On his weather-beaten face was that deep, somber melancholy unique to the Portuguese. Then he closed his eyes and devoutly prayed to the Lord.

At this moment, his spirit wandered through memories of longing, while the hundred-odd sailors and crewmen behind him all became an insignificant backdrop.

Bruno wore a captain's uniform and stood silently behind Dias with his head lowered. His lips were pressed together as he forcefully traced