The sea fog had persisted for three full days. No matter which direction the fleet sailed, the mist-shrouded waters were like a chessboard locked in a stalemate, imprisoning the combined fleet out at sea.
Compasses had failed, and tidal magic could no longer determine their heading. Brannon had spent the entire night searching for a way out without sleeping a wink. Mentally and physically exhausted, he barely had the strength to speak.
"When have the Iron Tide Pirates ever used magic this strange? I'm worried we're facing more than one enemy," Halliwell said anxiously, finally realizing the danger.
Brannon had his doubts. The fog had enveloped the fleet for several days, yet the Iron Tide Fleet had not launched a counterattack, squandering the initiative the fog had given them.
There was another possibility, however: the fog had trapped not only the combined fleet, but also the fleeing Iron Tide Pirates.
"The situation is grave. This fog is trying to trap us at sea until we die. Without outside reinforcements to break the stalemate, we may never get out." Brannon let out a long, weary sigh.
Lord Ashvane remained calm and pressed him. "Aside from that, is there any good news for us?"
"Yes. At this stage, at least our fleet is safe."
"Take stock of our food supplies and tighten the formation. Tell the soldiers the combined fleet is safe, and have everyone prepare for a prolonged struggle."
Ellen delivered the news that the combined fleet was trapped offshore to Rowan. Reading the brief battle report, Rowan was utterly bewildered from start to finish.
The combined fleet had more than two hundred warships. Sailing together, they covered an area of sea even larger than Morris Town.
A fleet that big, trapped just like that? Surely this was a joke?