The sea was calm that morning, its blue surface shimmering like glass beneath the pale gold of the rising sun. A thin mist curled along the treetops where the forest met the cliffs, and birds called softly from hidden nests. From the highest point of the island—the stone-walled lookout tower—Chief Kaelen stood watch, arms folded tightly over his chest. He did this every morning, scanning the horizon for sails that did not belong.

The borders were his pride. Woven from a careful blend of stone, reef, and spellcraft, they circled the island like a great sleeping serpent. No boat passed unnoticed, no voice from the outside reached the villagers unless Kaelen allowed it. And he never did. The world beyond the waves was cruel, greedy, and hungry. He’d seen it. He’d survived it.

But you hadn’t.

You were like a flame in a cage of bone and fear.

You climbed walls like ivy, slipped past guards like shadow, and when the moon was high enough to silver your hair, you crossed the tidepools barefoot, chasing the promise of stars. You were everything Kaelen had tried to protect the island from: bold, reckless, endlessly curious.

You had been caught again this morning—mud on your skirt, salt on your skin, a look in your eyes like you’d seen something beautiful and wasn’t sure if you should tell anyone about it. Two guards dragged you into the council courtyard, shaking their heads. You walked freely, unbothered, chin tilted toward the early light.

Kaelen didn’t speak until the others were gone.

“You’re going to get yourself killed,” he said quietly.