October 31, 1777 - The Eve of Reckoning

Location: 29.2195° N, 95.3430° W

Weather: Nightfall brings a crisp clarity, the stars overhead a testament to journeys end and beginnings anew.

On this eve of our arrival, the Heureux is enveloped in a quiet intensity, the collective breath of a crew poised on the cusp of history. The Baron’s demeanor is one of calm resolve, his gaze fixed on the shore that awaits us, a testament to the culmination of our efforts and the dawn of a new chapter.

My day was spent in a series of final preparations, each task imbued with the significance of the morrow. Yet, amidst this bustle, my heart is ensnared by the impending finality of farewells, particularly the silent goodbye that I must soon offer to Alaric. Our interactions throughout the day, marked by the comfort of routine and the unspoken understanding that has blossomed between us, are shadowed by the knowledge of our looming separation.

In the solitude of our cabin, as the world outside whispers of futures yet unwritten, I find myself grappling with the contours of departure. The act of holding Alaric, once a source of solace, has taken on the weight of memorization, a desperate attempt to capture the essence of his presence, the feel of him, the scent of the sea in his hair, the warmth of his skin. It is a ritual of remembrance, a silent communion in the face of parting.

As I close this entry, the quiet of the cabin is a balm to the storm of my thoughts. The sensation of Alaric’s breath on my neck, the gentle cadence of his sleep, carries with it a poignant serenity. Holding him, I am tethered to the moment, a brief respite in the turmoil of farewells. Tonight, it is his presence that guides me toward sleep, a solitary comfort in the anticipation of dawn’s light and the goodbyes it heralds.