The Wine-Dark Sea

You sail alone, sure, your crew keeps the ship afloat but they’re distant, quiet, shades of their former selves; besides, the story isn’t about them. The silence is only broken by the crashing of the waves, the squawk of the gulls, and the cacophony of your own doubts. You search feverishly, through the expanse of your own mind, desperately hunting for scraps of memories that might explain your predicament but all you can recall is your destination: Home.

The waves fight against your presence as you sail through their anger, racing to what you hope to be safety. You try to remember why you sail on this sea, what actions brought you to this moment, which gods were invoked to bring you here. In the heat of a moment, with a crew actively avoiding eye contact, you scream to the gods, pleading for answers but they don’t come. The gods give their gifts to those they favour and for all you know, they have good reasons not to. 

You look out to the horizon, Rosy-Fingered Dawn makes itself known, turning the sky a beguiling bronze, an imposing reminder of the beauty of the world. You take your position, ready to lead the crew you have no memory of and continue sailing