At twilight, the coastal skiff grated onto the rocky shingle of a secluded cove ten leagues west of the High Citadel. The shoreline was a desolate expanse of black volcanic sand, twisted driftwood, and jagged granite cliffs hollowed out by centuries of relentless waves. Dense sea fog rolled off the surf, curling around the scrub pines like spectral serpents. Caelan pulled the skiff high above the high-tide line, concealing it…
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