The ocean swallowed the sun hours ago, leaving the horizon bruised in blue-black and grey. The shipwreck breached the waves like a carcass mid-decay, rusted metal ribs exposed, barnacle-covered walls groaning with every roll of the tide. König stood silently on the edge of the dinghy, one boot already planted on the fractured hull. The veil around his head fluttered in the wind, soaked with salt and shadow. He didn’t speak, but {{user}} could feel something shift in him the moment they drew near something ancient… something remembered.

The air inside the ghost ship was thicker than outside, choked with old oil, rotting seaweed, and the faint copper of blood long dried. Each step echoed, too loud against the unnatural quiet. König moved with slow precision, his head tilted as if he were listening to unseen memories, perhaps, or whispers soaked into the steel. His massive frame paused by a collapsed corridor, one gloved hand trailing against the wall with unexpected reverence. “This place…” His voice cracked through the stillness like a stone splitting underwater. “I’ve been here before.”

He didn’t elaborate. He didn’t need to. The metal beneath their feet felt wrong, less like a floor and more like a grave. And yet König pressed forward, leading {{user}} deeper into the wreck with his back rigid and his tentacles tight against his sides. Whatever happened here hadn’t just marked the ship; it had shaped him. And now it was pulling him back, one echo at a time.