The boat continued to rock, swaying gently yet uneasily upon the water, as the sound of approaching footsteps echoed from deep within the mist.
Each step carried a strange weight, pressing against the silence like a hammer striking a hollow shell. They were deliberate, heavy, and eerily steady, reverberating through the wooden hull as if the footsteps themselves were walking upon the planks.
Veythor's pupils constricted to sharp slits, his crimson gaze narrowing with piercing intensity. His brows knitted together in a subtle frown, the faint creases along his face tightening as his thoughts sharpened into blades.
Yet, despite the tension rippling beneath the surface, his outward demeanor remained unnervingly calm, almost statuesque.
So… they've arrived, have they?
The thought carried no surprise, no trace of alarm. It was neither revelation nor discovery but simply the confirmation of a truth he had long anticipated.
