When the first human vessels finally reached the safer waters near the island, the decks erupted into noise, boots pounding, voices raised, and disbelief thick in the air. Sailors leaned over the rails, staring back toward the darkened horizon where smoke still clung low over the sea. The scent of burned pitch and blood carried even this far, sharp and unmistakable.
King Sebastian didn't wait for permission, nor for his advisers to catch up. The moment he felt the hull scrape against shallow water, he shoved past his guards, boots splashing as he leapt from the ship and strode straight toward the shore.
Alariel stood there, framed by pale sand and foreign skies, her posture calm yet distant. Her gaze was still fixed on the far horizon, where the sea had finally fallen silent, where smoke thinned into nothing, and where the water, moments ago boiling with blood and fire, had returned to an eerie stillness.
