Two days passed—and in that time, Elyra Estermont turned intention into reality.
An hour west of Valon, beyond the capital's walls and main trade roads, the western port was already alive with movement. Cranes creaked over dark water, sailors shouted orders in practiced rhythms, and the air smelled of salt, tar, and mana-infused fuel. This harbor didn't serve daily commerce—it served departures that mattered.
Moored slightly apart from the common vessels stood a ship that didn't need flags to announce its origin. Reinforced hull. Arcane plating along the keel. Subtle runes etched beneath fresh paint, pulsing faintly with stabilizing enchantments.
Elyra stood at the center of the dock, clipboard in hand, completely in her element.
