"JORAEL OF THE REIGNIER CLAN, YOU ARE CURSED!
No…
It was the sole solution…
No…
The tempest…
NOOO!"
Jorael woke from his tormenting dreams, finding himself washed ashore under the burning Red Sun.
"Where... where am I?" He muttered, pushing himself up to survey his surroundings.
Just behind him, the wreckage of Armando's stolen ship was beached, in a woeful state.
Soon he spotted his travel companions unconscious on the shore.
"Thia! Kimora! Bromur!" Jorael's voice echoed as he moved towards them with concern.
The three were scattered on the sand, their clothes tattered and bearing minor injuries.
"Thia, are you okay?
Was I able to heal you?" He inquired, lifting her face gently.
"Jo… where are we..." Cyn'Thia mumbled, her eyes fluttering open.
"I'm relieved you're okay..." Jorael's words softened as he enveloped her in a surprise hug.
"Oh… I'm safe too?" The Elf blushed faintly.
