The lagoon of the Isle of Whispers became a boiling amphitheater of splintering teak wood, roaring alchemical fire, and concussive naval ramming. Under the cold, incandescent brilliance of the Twin Moons, *The Crescent Star* surged forward at fourteen knots, propelled by her broad lateen sails and the rhythmic, muscular stroke of eighty southern rowing oars. At her bow, the five-ton submerged ram of volcanic obsidian-steel cleaved through the calm, emerald-tinted…
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