Arthur’s First Voyage

At dawn, young Arthur mounts the gleaming deck,

Breath caught between salt spray and northern sun.

His mom’s lullaby lingers in every reck,

Guiding a heart that’s never come undone.

O’er rippled glass that mirrors gilt mastheads,

He tracks the wake of ancestors untold.

Phosphorescent gulls wheel above his threads,

Feathered heralds through horizon’s fold.

Ice-sprites shimmer on the bow’s pale rail,

Whispering secrets of frozen spring.

Arthur, wide-eyed, learns each silvery tale,

As the sea stitches him to everything.

Storms drum twin cadences on iron skin,

Thunder rolling like far-off battle drums.

He grips the rail against the tempest’s din,

Armour forged not by steel, but spirit comes.

At last, the shores of Astragard rise bright,

Spines of crystal cliffs ablaze in dawn.

His blood fires anew at that sacred sight,

Bridging two worlds where his name is drawn.

He treads beneath auroral veils of flame,

Where runic towers pulse with mother’s cry.

Freia’s child emerges, never the same,

A fledgling king beneath uncharted sky.

With sword untested, and wonder in his veins,

Arthur claims the path that only he can trace.

For journeys home are etched in endless plains,

And every voyage redefines the place.

.

.