Three days later, on the last Sunday of July 1030, a small boat gradually appeared near the shores of Newport.
The creak of the wooden oars echoed across the surface of the still morning waters as Jimmy pulled himself closer to the docks.
It had been more than ten days since he had set off from his hometown, relentlessly rowing along the northwestern shores of Albion.
It had been more than ten days since he had had any food to eat or even any water to drink.
It had been more than ten days since his parents had sacrificed themselves so he could escape the bloody horrors enveloping the town he once called home.
The gray morning mist clung to the River Nimbus, swirling around him, making it difficult for him to see what was in front.
But he didn't care. He continued to row mindlessly as his parents' final words echoed inside his head over and over again.
Jimmy, you must survive! No matter the cost!
