Southern Coast of Joseon
Early Winter, 1837
The wind had grown stronger over the past few days.
It did not come in bursts. It did not scream across the coast like a storm. Instead, it pressed in slowly and steadily, as if it had all the time in the world. It carried the cold from the sea and pushed it inland, settling into the air, into clothes, into skin.
The shoreline had changed with it.
There were still people, still movement, still life. But everything felt quieter. Slower.
The fishermen who once filled the waters had thinned out. Only a handful of boats could be seen now, and even those stayed close to the coast. No one wanted to drift too far out anymore.
Not with those ships still there.
They had not moved since the day they arrived.
At first, they had drawn attention from everyone. Guards, villagers, even passing travelers. Eyes had been fixed on the horizon, watching, waiting, guessing. There had been fear, curiosity, and more than a few wild rumors.
