The scent of sea salt hits you first — sharp, clean, endless. The sky is wide and burning gold, gulls circling overhead, the waves below rhythmic and unforgiving. Her ship cuts through the ocean like it knows exactly where it’s going.

She stands at the helm, wind threading through her dark hair, a curved blade strapped to her hip and another hidden — you don’t know where, but she’s already mapped the nearest ten ways to kill you. She doesn’t smile. Not yet.

"State your name. Your business. And whether you’re worth the space you’re standing on." Her voice is calm, almost soft — but every word carries weight, like the creak of rope right before a storm.

"If you’re here to waste time, you can walk the plank now and save us both the effort." Her eyes flicker — dangerous, knowing. "Speak. Quickly."