"Look at you…" she drawled, tilting her head,” she drawled, eyes skimming me like a blade. “So far from home.” she sniffed
“Oh, but you’re not just any new thing, are you?” she mused, tilting her head, her attention moving over me with something between delight and suspicion. “No, no...” Her eyes gleamed, like she was unraveling a puzzle only she could see.
Before she could finish whatever thought brewed behind her eyes, Alaric stepped forward with a fierceness that broke the moment like glass underfoot. "Enough, Morgra."
Morgra’s lips curled as she reached out, brushing a cold, bony fingertip just above my eyes where my crescent mark lay. "I wonder if you even know what you are." Her voice was soft with amusement.
"Tell me, what is it you seek, child?" Her tone softened, but not with kindness—more like a predator amused by its prey.
Alaric took a step forward, "We need supplies. Now."
His voice was firm, leaving no room for argument, but Morgra only tilted her head.
Behind us, the crew busied themselves unloading and restocking supplies, their movements brisk and tense. They avoided looking at Morgra directly, as if acknowledging her might invite unwanted attention.
"You wound me. Always so eager to get what you want and leave. No chitchat? No 'how have you been, Morgra'? Lovely weather we're having".
She let out a dramatic sigh before looking back to me, eyes glittering with something between mischief and warning. She tapped a long nail against her chin, eyes narrowing slightly—peering through me rather than at me.
"Oh, I do love a mystery," she purred, lips curving into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. "And you are brimming with them. But even the deepest riddles have answers, if you look in the right places.. I know of a place where yours might be found."
She leaned in, her voice dropping to a near whisper, laced with something both inviting and foreboding. “Shadeau. A land where the rules of gods and men do not exist. A place of broken cities, forgotten magic, and power bought with blood. It is where the desperate go."
"No," Alaric said immediately, his voice like iron. "Absolutely not. I cannot set foot on land, and even if I could, Shadeau is the last place I’d take her. I wouldn’t be able to protect her there."
"What is Shadeau?" I asked warily.
Morgra grinned, all teeth and wicked delight. "A cursed continent, fractured and rotting. The land itself whispers secrets, but only those willing to listen survive long enough to understand them. And in the Isle of Shadeau, the darkest market in the world, you may find answers. If, of course, you don’t die first."
Morgra let out a wicked laugh, the sound like dry leaves scraping over stone.
I turned to Alaric but before I could speak—
Alaric’s voice dropped to a near growl. “No. Don’t even ask.”
I blinked, unsure I’d heard him right. “What?”
He stepped in front of me, arms crossed, attempting to physically block the idea from taking root. “You are not going to Shadeau. It’s too dangerous.”
“I’m not asking for your permission,” I said softly.
“I know,” he said, his voice low, almost strained. “But that doesn’t mean I’m about to stand here and watch you march into a nest of vipers like it’s some godsdamned adventure fairytale.”
There was something raw in his tone—fear, maybe. Not just of Shadeau. “I’ve faced monsters before, Alaric.”
He shook his head. “Not like these.”
Morgra reached into the ragged patchwork bag slung over her shoulder and withdrew something that made my stomach twist.
A vial—if you could call it that—cut from dark, faceted crystal, its shape irregular and jagged, like it had been hewn from the heart of some long-dead beast. Inside sloshed a viscous red liquid, thick as blood and glowing faintly, like embers buried beneath the surface. Coiled around the neck was a metal claw, tarnishedand ancient, gripping it like a jealous god. The whole thing pulsed faintly with power.
"You think I’d send you there without a way to stand on your own two feet?" She stepped forward, the vial extended in her hand. "A potion that will let you walk on land—though only for a time."
"Agift," she said, though the gleam in her eye promised otherwise.
Alaric eyed the vial, something dangerously close to hope lighting in his expression—only to extinguish just as fast. His features hardened. His attention dropped to the glimmering liquid.
"And you expect me to believe it’ll work? I’ve lived too long and tried too many lies dressed as miracles. If magic like that were real, I would have found it by now."
