The sun rose the very next day, a day that no one ever thought could have happened. After all, no one ever expects destruction on such a fine, clear day.
Standing upon the deck with his sword in his hand and his coif and doublet of leather upon him, Falco watched as they closed in on the Hyperionite trireme. Soon this long pursuit would be over and everyone taken from Aether would be safe once more.
Sheathing his sword, Falco turned to the bow and quiver full of arrows that had once belonged to Frumentius, his brother in all but blood. As he placed the quiver upon his person, he kept his eyes on the bow that Frumentius had made use of. Both of them were descendants of immigrants and it had been immigrants who had introduced the bow and sword to Aether. Falco had always favoured the sword while Frumentius had always saved the bow, but never would the former had ever imagined that there would ever be a day when the latter's bow was carried by someone other than him.
The bow was said to be the weapon of monarchs, perhaps it was only natural that a monarch descended from immigrants should wield one. Pulling an arrow from the quiver, Falco prepared it and stared out at the rising sun. Taking aim, he wished he could shoot an arrow into sun, but the Great Mother tended to punish people who tried such things... Just as she punished the Storm Falcon's children.
Looking to the Hyperionite ship, Falco rose his bow, and released the arrow. All on deck watched, his caracal Kenneth even watching with ears fully erect and eyes wide. When the arrow made contact with the mast of the Hyperionite trireme, a smile spread across the Divine Deucalion of Aether's ruddy face.
Looking behind him, Falco saw ready looks upon the faces of all but Taurus. Who knew what manner of expression the High Priest of the Earth Bull was wearing behind that mask of his?