Jean-Luc Moreau watched as his passengers explored the banks of their newfound world, each person engaged in their own discovery. The air was filled with
Jean-Luc Moreau stood at the edge of the deck, his face shadowed by the early morning light. The crew gathered in silence, their expressions somber
Jean-Luc Moreau’s gaze was an anchor, tethered to the turbulent sea where Mihai had vanished. The crew’s cries pierced the night, a cacophony of fear
The Libertine, a majestic vessel, cut through the azure expanse of the Atlantic, leaving a frothy trail in its wake. A couple of weeks into
The Libertine sliced through the night waters, her sails swollen with a benevolent wind that whispered promises of a calm journey ahead. At the helm,
February 25th, 1681 The ink whispers across the page, a faithful confidant in the quiet of my quarters. It is my thirty-third year of life,
