The sea had calmed, but the horizon remained shrouded in mist, gray waves lapping at the weakened ships. The crews were battered, spirits low, but the storm and sirens had left a single, undeniable truth: they had survived the Sea of Trials.
Edric Halvorn stood at the bow of the Iron Falcon, wind drying the salt from his face, eyes scanning the horizon. Then he saw it—a faint, jagged outline rising from the mist, massive cliffs crowned with strange forests that seemed to glimmer even in the dim light.
"The Continent," he whispered, almost reverently. "Finally…"
Elira's notebook was clutched tightly to her chest as she pressed herself against the railing. "It's real," she murmured, awe in her voice. "The legends… the maps… they weren't wrong." Her eyes traced the mist-shrouded coastline. Strange lights danced atop the cliffs, and forests seemed to sway unnaturally. "Look at that… patterns, ecosystems… things unknown to anyone in the civilized world."
Ronan, ever the pragmatist, leaned against the railing of the Sable Marauder, scanning the coastline with a sharp eye. "Unknown or not," he muttered, "it's dangerous. We've seen what the sea can throw at us, and that's only the beginning."
The coastline was a mixture of jagged cliffs, thick forests, and rivers glinting like silver threads winding into the interior. Strange calls echoed faintly over the mist, and the three could see movement—creatures large and small, some resembling the beasts described in Elira's books, others completely alien.
Edric's mind raced. "We need to prepare for landing carefully. The Continent will not welcome us."
Elira nodded. "Maps will only take us so far. Observation is key. We need to learn the rules of the land before we can move safely inland."
Ronan smirked, tightening the straps on his satchel. "Rules or not, we'll have to deal with whoever—or whatever—is waiting for us. No one survives untouched out here."
The trio gathered their surviving crews, issuing orders to repair what they could and prepare for landing. Supplies were scarce, and every decision mattered.
Edric organized the remaining knights and sailors, emphasizing structure and discipline.
Elira consulted her books and notes, suggesting safe approaches and potential hazards based on observations and rumors gathered from Driftport.
Ronan instructed his men to prepare for ambushes, traps, and immediate threats, using the lessons he had learned from surviving the Sea of Trials.
The first steps onto the Shrouded Continent would be crucial. Each knew that any misstep could be fatal. Yet, despite the fear and uncertainty, there was also exhilaration—the thrill of stepping onto a land unseen by any living soul, a world full of possibilities, danger, and discovery.
From the mist, something moved—large, deliberate, intelligent. Neither beast nor human, yet with a presence that demanded respect. Edric felt a shiver run down his spine, though he straightened immediately. Elira's eyes widened as she scribbled notes. Ronan's hand instinctively went to his dagger.
The Shrouded Continent was not empty. It was watching. Waiting.
And for Edric, Elira, and Ronan, the adventure was only beginning.