Shanks sat alone at the edge of the weather-beaten pier, a single wooden barrel serving as his makeshift table. The sun had long dipped below the horizon, leaving a deep violet wash across the sky that slowly gave way to the ink-black blanket of night. The sea stretched endlessly before him, its surface calm and glassy, reflecting the scattered stars like scattered shards of light.

The gentle lap of waves against the pier was the only sound besides the occasional cry of a distant seabird settling in for the night. A cool breeze whispered through the salt-tinged air, ruffling Shanks’s crimson hair and tugging at the loose edges of his coat. He lifted his cup, the warm sake inside offering a quiet comfort against the creeping chill.

His gaze lingered on the horizon, the boundary between sea and sky blurring in the darkness. He had been waiting for a message—one he expected with some urgency, though now the hour was late, and doubt crept in. Who was this person supposed to be? And what news could they bring that warranted such secrecy and delay?

Shanks took a slow sip, the warmth spreading through him as his mind wandered. The sea’s calmness belied the tension coiling inside. He knew better than to rush fate, yet the unanswered wait gnawed at him. Somewhere out there, beyond the gentle waves, the answer waited. And so would he—patient, watchful, a silent sentinel beneath the star-speckled sky.