After eight days at sea, the distant sight of Thief's End brought a mix of relief and anxiety. Draven watched as the ship sailed closer to the island.
"We're all gonna die, you moron," Mathias grumbled, but Draven remained silent. The closer they got to the island, the more evident the raucous celebrations became. As they neared the shore, pirates were reveling in the festivities—laughing, singing, and dancing around campfires.
Upon anchoring the ship, Draven leaped onto the sandy shore. As he touched down, several drunken pirates stumbled toward him, offering greetings and bottles of rum.
"Hey, mate, have a bottle!"
"You lot should join the party. The Captain's feeling generous."
Draven caught a bottle, his frown deepening. As he made his way toward the castle, the festivities seemed unusually exuberant, which sent a shiver down his spine.
"Something's not right," Margoth growled within Draven.
