The First Invasion of Ireland

The Vision of Hope

The sea was dark, a shroud of black silk rippling under the night sky, as Cessair stood at the bow of the boat, her gaze fixed on the distant horizon. Her eyes were bloodshot from sleepless nights, and her lips tasted of salt, yet her heart would not yield. They had traveled too far to let fear unravel them now.

The vessel lurched, the waves pounding its wooden sides, and Cessair reached out, gripping the rail to steady herself. Her eyes scanned the sea for any glimpse of the land she had dreamed of—Ireland. A place untouched by any other, a place where her people could build a future, away from the floods that would soon engulf the world they knew. She clenched her teeth, thinking of the prophecy that had driven her here—a divine warning of a great flood, and the rejection she and her people had faced when they sought a place on Noah’s ark.

No, they would not yield. They had been chosen for something greater.

“Lady Cessair,” a voice called, the wind nearly swallowing it whole. Cessair turned to see Emer, a young girl barely fourteen, her eyes wide and filled with anxiety. Emer gripped a small woven charm, her fingers trembling as she approached.

“What is it, Emer?” Cessair asked, forcing herself to soften her tone. The girl had already seen too much; fear would only compound her burden.

“Do you think we’re close? Do you think the gods have heard us?” Emer’s eyes were pleading, seeking hope from the woman who had promised them a new beginning.

Cessair took a slow breath, her gaze shifting to the sea. She could not afford to falter now. Not with Emer, not with any of the fifty women who looked to her for strength. “We are close, Emer. We have come this far, and the gods have not forsaken us. They have led us to a land that waits only for us.”