Hello, hopefully you all enjoy the somewhat quick read.
As a long-time fan of Arcane Odyssey since World Of Magic, I couldn’t help myself.
This story was created based on my in-game character Hilda Monroe who “owns” the Latibulum Trading Co(clan). As someone who enjoys writing as a pastime, making her a story has become a new long-term plan that will hopefully grow with the updates of the game!
The Story will start from the beginning, and it will be the first diary of Hilda Monroe from when she was a child. Things will progress quickly eventually but each update will be 5 days to the diary, maybe 10, and then an additional STORY piece that is related to the previous diary writings. I will be doing my best to aim for 1000 words each chapter, hopefully more! I’m not going to be rushing to post these. Some may be once a day and others might take a few days to update.
Takes place in the Bronze Sea, Hilda survives and ends up in Palo Town. The frigate ship is not in the game, I needed a larger ship to be described for the sea scene since a brig didn’t have the appropriate sections to make things more appropriate for a decent-sized merchant organization. Also, no one on the ship was a powerful magic user. The Captain is a Warlord, while Elara his wife is an “Oracle”. The rest of the crew are normal individuals who possibly use magic but not to a volume where they would have been any help. One could argue that the storm of the Dark Sea moved into the Bronze Sea briefly from the shifting currents or imbalance of certain aspects of the sea. I’m not smart enough for that. Ehe.
Possible Trigger Warning
Death and Injury. Harm to a Child. Emotional Hopelessness.
The First Diary. Pages 1 - 5!
Day One
Why did I survive?
Day Two
They brought me food, but their smiles felt weird. It doesn’t taste right either. Nothing tastes right anymore.
I don’t understand why they want me to speak so much, even giving me this notebook to write in.
I miss Mother, and Father. The crew as well.
My eye still hurts. They yell at me when I remove the bandages, when I don’t eat my food, and when I try to leave this house.
I don’t want to sleep anymore.
If I hadn’t slept, I could have helped them sooner.
Mother, Father, and the Crew would all still be here if I had just stayed awake.
Day Three
They keep smiling, why are they still smiling? Why does everyone think that smiling will help?
It all feels like a lie. Their words and the memory. I want it to all be a lie.
I can still hear the creaking of the ship when the main mast broke. It fell so quickly, just like the lightning and rain.
Father was yelling for me across the deck. Mother was missing, I couldn’t find her.
A wave appeared as the masts started collapsing. The ship shook.
They all sank. They are all gone now.
Why did I survive?
Day Four
I fell asleep. I liked the dream at first.
Sailing with Father at the helm and Mother ordering the crew who laughed with me when Father teased her.
It was nice to feel free again. Seeing them all together.
But when I looked back from the sea, they were all gone again. There was no one else on the ship, and I could see black clouds gathering while lightning struck the rising waves.
I woke up, but why do I still feel so empty? Why doesn’t this feeling go away? When can I find Mother and Father?
Day Five
If I let them read this will those people still smile at me? I can hear them whispering every night. They want me to talk with them, to tell them what happened. Why?
Why would saying anything help? Nothing I say will bring them all back.
The Sea Is Without Mercy. Story Section!
A storm raged over the Bronze Sea like the wrath of God being unleashed. It was still daytime, yet the sun was gone. Lightning struck the ocean repeatedly, as heavy as the pelting rain, while a frigate sailed unaided and separated from its fleet. The sails bore the symbol of the Medna Merchant Company—a silver compass embroidered onto them, now pulling harshly in the unyielding wind.
“Reef the sails! Keep them down!” Captain Pelleas roared over the crackling thunder, his hoarse voice cutting through the storm. He still held control of the helm, his knuckles white from the strain. Beside him was a woman, her hands gripping the wheel to help steer. “Get below deck, Elara!”
His wife glared at him, her fingers trembling from the sheer force it took to keep the ship on course. “Shut up and focus!” She snapped back.
Their hair had long been plastered to their skin but still whipped wildly in the wind. Together, they had sailed these seas, building a merchant company from nothing, expanding into a fleet, forging connections, and creating an irreplaceable treasure—their family. And they were willing to die trying to protect it.
One of the crew, a lean man named Fletcher, clung halfway up the mainmast, fighting for his life against the relentless rain. His face, like the others’, had gone pale with fear and his eyes widened further with every violent lurch of the ship that threatened to fling him into the churning black sea. Grasping at the ropes and sails, he struggled desperately to bring them under control, but the wind was too powerful.
The frigate had become a deadly web of snapping ropes. Men clung to the lines below, their fingers raw and bloodied as the saltwater burned their skin. No one dared let go, even as the sails cracked like cannon fire above them.
“Hold steady!” Someone shouted, but it was no use.
A terrifying sound split the air, louder than the thunder—like a tree snapping from root to branch. The mainmast cracked, splintering with a deafening roar as it began leaning over the ship, striking fear deeper into the crew than the monstrous waves sweeping the deck.
Fletcher fell, tumbling with the canvas and hitting the deck with a thud that churned stomachs. The broken mast crashed beside him, dragging ropes and torn canvas with it, slamming into men and sweeping them into the sea. Their desperate cries were swallowed by the storm.
Rain fell like a relentless curtain, waves crashing over the splintered deck, forcing water into the hold faster and faster. Below deck, the crew shoveled water, their arms burning with exhaustion. A massive wave loomed in the distance, a towering wall of black water rushing toward the frigate. Captain Pelleas yelled orders, and the crew scrambled to pull at lines and grab hold of anything solid, but there was no time.
The wave struck the frigate with a deafening crash, seawater surging over the deck, pulling more men into the depths.
Pelleas looked around, realizing with a dreadful jolt that Elara was no longer beside him. She had vanished after the wave hit.
“Elara!” His cry tore through the storm, but there was no reply.
For a heartbeat, he froze, his grip slackening on the helm. The wheel slammed into his ribs, jolting him back to reality. The pain was sharp, but the grief was sharper. He had to carry on, no matter how shattered his heart felt. There was no time to mourn. The sea would give them no mercy.
“Captain! The sails are tearing apart!” A crewman yelled, pointing toward the foremast, where ropes had long since begun snapping like threads. The canvas was now shredded, a gaping hole widening with every second.
Below deck, water rushed in faster as the hull splintered further under the weight of the broken mainmast. Barrels and crates floated in the rising water, crashing into the men still shoveling, though their eyes held a cold, quiet truth—they wouldn’t make it.
“We’re losing her!” Someone shouted, but Captain Pelleas barely heard them. Exhaustion was building in his bones, his grip weakening with every turn of the wheel.
The frigate had lost any sense of direction; she was a dying beast, fighting her last battle as the sea clawed at her, desperate to drag her under.
In a sudden, impulsive decision, Pelleas released the helm and rushed to the lower deck. “Abandon ship!” His boots pounded against the wood as he shouted the command, his voice hoarse but clear.
Another sharp crack pierced the air as a rope snapped behind him. He turned just in time to see the mizzenmast lurch, the sails tearing free. Amidst the chaos, a small figure emerged from the captain’s cabin.
“Hilda…” His frantic breathing stopped as he saw his daughter on deck, her tiny figure dwarfed by the storm.
“Hilda!” He screamed, his voice thick with terror. She shouldn’t have been there—he should have been closer to the cabin.
“Papa?” Her voice was barely audible, cutting through the rain like a blade to his heart.
She took a hesitant step toward him, but her bare feet slipped on the wet deck. Pelleas wanted to tell her to get back inside, but no place was safe. He tried desperately to reach her, but the waves seemed determined to keep them apart. The ship groaned again, tilting more violently now that no one controlled the helm.
In that instant, time seemed too slow for the father and child. A rope, one of the few remaining rigging lines still holding the mainmast from going overboard, snapped loose. Whipped by the wind it lashed across the deck like a serpent, cutting through the air with a deadly whistle. Before Pelleas could shout a warning, the rope struck.
It caught Hilda across the face with brutal force, the crack of impact echoing above the storm. She screamed, grasping at her face as blood poured from her right eye while collapsing onto the deck.
“NO!” Pelleas roared, lunging toward his daughter.
Then, there it was—the final wave. A towering monstrous wall of water. Its black crest foamed and churned as it crashed into the frigate with unstoppable force. Pelleas heard the helm of the ship rattling loose while the ship was lifted, twisted, and overturned.
Pelleas caught one last glimpse of Hilda lying motionless on the deck before the frigate capsized, and the cold, dark sea swallowed them whole amidst the fearful screams of the crew members who hadn’t been able to jump overboard.
