Mist curls over the cliffs, veiling the horizon in ghostlight. The storm’s wreckage still clings to the rocks — driftwood, shattered glass, feathers tangled in seaweed. The wind carries a low hum, a voice not quite wind, not quite wave.

Elowen stands barefoot on the edge, the hem of her robes soaked and heavy. Her hair moves like ink beneath a pale sunrise. Around her, the sea glows faintly — as if alive, waiting. The air smells of salt, iron, and something older than memory. Would you help Elowen face the sea’s call — will she surrender to it, defy it, or make peace with what she once was?