The storm had not passed — it had only shifted, brooding on the horizon like a beast waiting for its prey. Kaelen pulled his cloak tighter as he and Urthur strode along the wharf, the wooden planks slick with rain. Lanterns swung violently in the wind, their flames bending sideways, casting long, trembling shadows.
Urthur walked with the steady gait of a man who belonged to the sea. Every creak of rope, every crash of wave seemed to answer him. Sailors stopped their work as the pair passed, whispering of the old mariner's return. Some nodded in respect; others crossed themselves in fear.
Kaelen felt their stares, but his eyes were fixed on the harbor. Ships lined the docks like slumbering giants, their sails bound tight, their figureheads carved with grim faces. He knew one of them must be his passage, though none looked eager for the voyage he dreamed of.
Urthur halted before a vessel with blackened timbers and scars along its hull. The name carved into her side was nearly lost to time, but Kaelen read it aloud:
"The Duskfire."
"A cursed ship," Kaelen murmured.
"A survivor," Urthur corrected, running a calloused hand over the wood. "She's been to places most men wouldn't whisper of in prayer. If you're going beyond the horizon, boy, you'll need a ship that already knows how to crawl back from death."
Kaelen swallowed hard. The sea stretched endlessly beyond the docks, gray and merciless. His journey was no longer an idea on parchment — it had a ship, a crew waiting in shadows, and the weight of choices too heavy to turn back.