The Dawn-Seeker did not merely sail into the Western horizon; it was inhaled by
it.
The transition from the shattered marble of Mercantia's marketplace to the open
sea was a brief, jarring moment of clarity that lasted only as long as it took
for the sun to dip below the crest of the waves. As the first star of the new
evening sparked in the sky, the sapphire blue of the Gilded Coast's waters was
snuffed out by a bank of fog that looked like liquid gold. It was a dense,
shimmering miasma that didn't roll over the water so much as it grew out of it,
a garden of vapor that smelled of sun-dried parchment, crushed jasmine, and the
sharp, metallic tang of a printing press.
I stood at the prow, the new Silver Coin mark on my palm glowing with a soft,
lunar radiance. The image of the mother holding the child was warm against my
skin, a physical weight that felt like the final anchor of my humanity. My hair,
