Fruits of one work

Blake finally laid eyes on the fruits of his relentless labor. With a slow turn of his head, he took in the sight before him—the fleet anchored in the bustling port of the Call. The salty breeze carried the scent of the sea and the distant sound of waves lapping against the hulls of the warships.

Seventy-nine vessels stood ready, their masts reaching toward the sky like the spears of an army poised for battle. And yet, he could not ignore the absent ships. Ninety-seven captains had cast their votes when choosing the High Admiral, but nearly twenty had not arrived in time. A shame, but not a disaster. Their absence , at least he hoped , would not change the course of what was to come.

Blake let out a slow breath, his fingers tightening behind his back.