The morning of departure is gray and bleak. Damp, desolate cliffs shine like black diamonds. Clouds have massed overhead and fog drifts in greasy strands. The Shifting Sea twists hungrily below, black water eddying around the coastal karsts. The wind is low but persistent, flecking my cheeks with sand and salt, whispering dark promises of what’s to come.
A shiver snakes down my spine—not of fear, but of excitement. Crossing this expanse could spell disaster for any of my friends (not to mention magicless me), but this aesthetic of foreboding is just… chef’s kiss. I couldn’t have set the scene better if I’d tried.
… chef’s kiss“Beautiful morning, isn’t it?”
This comes from Asher. I frown—sarcasm isn’t his MO—but when I look his way, I see his tan face shining with admiration. He stands b
