The map ended in a ragged tear of parchment, as though the cartographer himself had feared to draw what lay beyond. A jagged line of ink marked the world's edge, where the oceans dissolved into pale emptiness.
Kaelen traced the border with his finger, his brow furrowed. "Beyond here," he whispered, "no one knows."
The old tavern smelled of smoke and salt, the air thick with the voices of sailors who claimed to have glimpsed impossible lands. Some spoke of islands that moved with the tides, others of skies lit by green fire. Most laughed when they said it, but Kaelen heard something truer beneath their tales — the kind of truth people dressed up as lies so they wouldn't sound mad.
Outside, the wind howled against the harbor, carrying with it the briny scent of the restless sea. The shipmasters had warned of storms growing fiercer with each season. Yet, Kaelen felt the pull — as though the horizon itself whispered his name.
He folded the map carefully, slid it into his satchel, and rose. The tavern keeper gave him a glance that was half warning, half pity.
"You're chasing ghosts," the man muttered.
Kaelen paused at the door, meeting his eyes. "Maybe," he said. "But sometimes ghosts know the wa
And with that, he stepped into the storm, toward the edge of everything he had ever known.