Praying to the Sea, Oil on Linen, 15x15 in

—

He stood in silence by the water’s edge, his bow still in his hand. Beyond the horizon lay Lanka.

The waves rose and fell before him without malice or mercy, ancient and unmoved. Salt hung heavy in the air, and the wind carried the scent of war. Each step that had brought him here, every battle, every loss, every promise made, pressed upon his chest like armor grown too heavy to bear. Strength had carried him far, but strength alone would not carry him across these waters.

Tired, his heart aching from a sadness that no victory could dissolve, he closed his eyes for a moment. He thought of duty, of love taken from him, of the fragile line between righteousness and despair. Before the vastness of the sea, even a prince felt small. This was not an obstacle to be conquered by force, but a will older than kingdoms, deserving reverence.

“The sea must be asked,” he whispered softly. “For restraint. For passage. For mercy.”

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