As if the ocean itself were waking from a long, uneasy sleep, the Horizon's Call sailed onto an expanse of water seeming to throb with newfound vitality. Overhead, the sky was a tapestry of deep purples and rising golds, suggesting both remaining darkness and the hope of a new day. Every gust of salt-laden wind, every ripple, communicated an unsaid message—one of rebirth, of unmet difficulties, and of destiny interwoven with the timeless rhythms of the deep.
At the bow, Seraphine stood silhouetted against the dawn's first light. Her dark eyes, now burning with a strong, unrelenting will, reflected the wounds of previous tempests and the memories of departed colleagues. In the still hours before the day really broke, she could almost hear the water whispering its secrets—a gentle rhythm that hinted at ancient pacts, lost sacrifices, and the everlasting hope of oneness.
