The island was unwelcoming. Its shores, more jagged obsidian than sand. Trees, gray-barked and twisted — clawed skyward like they’d grown screaming. No birds. No waves. Just the wind moving in strange patterns as if trying to form words.
A spot of unease festered at the base of her spine.
“We’ll have to stay the night,” came Alarik's voice behind her. “The mast’s too damaged for a return immediately. The captain plans to repair it as much as he can while we are on the island but it will need to be finished by first light.”
Of course they would.
Stranded.
On cursed soil.
She didn’t say anything just nodded and glanced at the others gathering on deck.
The battalion, and the two warrior magic wielders stood gathered stone faced and whispering.
Serenya looked equally on edge, sea-pale and quiet, her golden braid tucked into a cloak as if that could keep the unease off her skin.
Alarik stood like carved marble, one hand on his sword, violet-blue eyes scanning the shore with wariness.
He met Maris’s gaze, and though he didn’t speak, she felt it.
You are not alone. A shiver kissed her neck.
Her sigil flared just briefly. A faint burn across her palm. The mark the goddess had left her now pointing toward the cliffs edge. Toward rock and ruin.
She pressed her hand to her chest, exhaling slowly.
This was it.
This was why she had come.
Still, dread pooled low in her stomach as they lowered the gangplank and stepped onto the remnants of a crumbling stone dock. Its once beautiful facade lost to the elements with centuries of disuse and lack of repair.
It felt wrong the moment her boots met the brittle, blackened stone. Like crossing a threshold that couldn’t be uncrossed.
There were no signs of life. No insects. No birdsong.
“I’ve seen abandoned battlefields less dead than this,” Serenya muttered.
Maris nodded once. “It’s not dead. Just… waiting.”
They began the hike toward the temple she’d seen in her vision, the place where a tree grew inside stone, where the crown of bones might sleep. Alarik’s warriors followed at a distance, their magical wards already casting glimmers into the underbrush, just in case.
The battalion marched at their sides. Weapons drawn. Prepared for attack.
Every step forward felt like a thread pulled tighter through the tapestry of fate. The heat was unbearable as they climbed, Serenya soon discarded the cloak she wore, the others soon followed.
Still, beneath the fear and heat, something else pulsed in Maris—
Hope.
Not the foolish, desperate kind.
The kind born of knowing that even in the hollows of the world, something that could change everything awaited her.
She didn’t dare look back.
Because even if this place wanted to cast her out —she was meant to be here.
