The ship groaned as it drifted into the harbor, its timbers creaking like an old man settling into a chair. Taryn stood at the bow, her shawl pulled tightly around her shoulders as she watched the port town come into view. Blackharbor was a sprawl of crooked buildings, bustling streets, and mismatched ships—it was chaos given form, alive with a rhythm that made her skin itch.
The captain approached quietly, his boots scuffing the deck. He was a broad, weathered man with a face carved by years of salt air and storms. He stopped beside Taryn, gazing at the docks with the familiarity of someone who had seen it all before.
"Landfall," he said gruffly, as if the word carried more weight than it should. "This is where you get off."
