Western Pacific, East of Luzon.
July 1836.
The Rivoli had been at sea for several days after departing Manila, and the rhythm of the voyage had settled into something steady and controlled. Life aboard the ship followed a pattern that did not change. Morning inspections were followed by reports, then adjustments to course and speed, then the quiet routine of maintaining a vessel built for precision rather than comfort. Nothing was left unattended, and nothing moved without purpose.
Guizot had grown accustomed to it.
He spent most of his time between the command deck and the upper observation level, where he could see the sea ahead without obstruction. The air was warmer now compared to the Atlantic. The wind carried more moisture, and the sunlight reflected off the water in sharper, brighter tones. It was a different world, and the further they moved east, the more that difference became clear.
That morning began like any other.
Until the lookout called out.
