The deck of the merchant ship Sea Whisper creaked underfoot, and Elira Veyne clutched her satchel tightly, her notes spilling slightly as the vessel pitched with the rolling waves. She ignored the splashes of saltwater stinging her hands. To her, this voyage was not just perilous—it was necessary.
Every map she had studied, every old sailor's tale she had recorded, hinted at something extraordinary. A continent beyond sight, cloaked in mist, uncharted, and alive with secrets no scholar had yet recorded. If she could make it there, if she could survive long enough to study the land and its people… her final project would be unparalleled. Not fame, not wealth—knowledge. That was her true pursuit.
The crew muttered about the Sea of Trials, swapping stories of vanished ships and storm-tossed sailors. Elira noted the names and locations, scribbling tiny annotations in the margins of her journal. Their superstitions fascinated her more than the danger. She wondered what made people cling so tightly to fear when opportunity lay just beyond it.
"Miss Veyne," a sailor called, "hold tight! The waves won't wait for anyone!"
She adjusted her grip on the railing, letting the wind whip her hair across her face. Most would see only peril; she saw patterns. The swell, the currents, the shifting tides—they all spoke a language, one she had begun to understand through careful observation.
Through the mist ahead, she glimpsed another ship—the Iron Falcon, sleek and commanding. She squinted, sketching its outline quickly in her notebook. A young prince, she recalled from the announcements in port, was aboard. Bold. Dangerous. Likely arrogant. The thought made her lips twitch into a small, amused smile. He was not the kind of person she would normally admire—but observation demanded she watch him.
The Sea of Trials roared as a sudden wave struck the side of the Sea Whisper, slamming a crate of supplies into the deck. Elira ducked instinctively, her journal flying briefly from her grasp. She snatched it back, her fingers trembling slightly from the adrenaline.
This is why the stories exist, she wrote in the margins. Because the sea chooses who survives—and only the clever endure.
While Edric Halvorn may rush toward glory, she thought, she would rely on observation, strategy, and intellect. There was more than one way to survive the Continent, and perhaps more than one way to reach it.
The mist thickened ahead, curling like pale smoke over the water. Somewhere beyond, she knew, lay the Last Haven. A place of chaos and danger, where Raiders gathered to repair, trade, and share tales of the Continent—or die trying. And beyond that… the land that had captured her imagination for years.
Elira pressed her journal to her chest, feeling her heart beat fast with anticipation. This was her chance—not just to study history, but to witness it unfolding.
As the Sea Whisper pitched again, sending spray across the deck, she whispered to herself, a mantra as much as a reassurance:
"Observe. Learn. Survive. Understand."
And with that, she steeled herself against the rolling gray waves, unaware that her path would soon collide with a prince chasing glory—and a bandit chasing freedom.