Elara stood at the edge of the ruined tower, staring out at the dark sea that stretched before them. The thick mist that had choked the Isle of Echoes swirled like a living thing, curling around the twisted ruins and the jagged coastline. Somewhere in the distance, the wailing of the dead continued, but it seemed quieter now, as though the echoes themselves were holding their breath.
Behind her, the crew waited in tense silence. Lyra and Doran stood closest, their expressions mirroring the uncertainty that had settled like a shroud over the group. The others—a mix of sailors and warriors who had followed Elara through battles and storms alike—whispered among themselves, glancing nervously at the island that had already claimed so many.
