❝ ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴡᴇ'ʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏɴʟʏ ᴏɴᴇꜱ ʟᴇꜰᴛ ᴏɴ ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱʟᴀɴᴅ, ᴡʜᴏ ᴡɪʟʟ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄʜᴏᴏꜱᴇ? ❞
Morana has mastered death, allowing her to become the most notoriously feared assassin on the island of Wyrith. She's able to control the remains of the dead whenever she pleases...
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The idyllic, azure waves of the Molten Sea were beautiful when Morana wasn't drowning in them. Warm hues of orange dusted the horizon as the sun dipped below it, giving the tepid waters their cautioning title. The resurfacing memories of how the bubbles pressed against her skin, how her lungs had been filled without mercy, sent shivers down her spine. Even in the summer heat, nothing could warm the bitter dread that coiled around her.
She held the cool stone of her necklace against her cheek, the sensation calming the heavy thuds of her heart. The purple gem glistened in the sunlight, darker veins appearing when it hit the right angle. They pulsed as her fingers stroked along the smooth surface, as if magic inside were attempting to escape.
Now wasn't the time. She needed to focus and keep an eye on the ships entering and leaving the port. All for the sake of her boss' plan.
Out of all of the lackeys that Silas could have chosen for the job — from Orcs that towered over people, to Sirens that could control the minds of people with their very voice — she was undoubtedly the worst fit. Her power was tamed to the remains of the dead. There was nothing she could do if this ship didn't arrive on time.
This was not how she wanted to spend her birthday.
Salt in the air coated the assassin's tongue as she watched people eagerly rush around Stargate Port. They hurried past the several wooden docks that stretched to the furthest point of the island, allowing even the largest ships to moor. She couldn't blame them for sprinting. It was the end of the day and they wanted to get home to their families. Gulls observed them from the tops of buildings, some circling them from above as if waiting to lunge at their prey.
A deep horn sounded from the docks' lighthouse, reverberating through Morana's bones, signalling that a new ship was about to enter the island. Was this finally the one she was after?
Grabbing the spyglass from her belt, she held it up to her eye so she could zoom in on the horizon. Gently rocking from side to side was one of the grandest ships the assassin had ever seen. Large crimson sails flared in the wind, proudly displaying the golden flame that had been painted on it — the Vahan royal insignia. Finally, they decided to show themselves.
"Shit," Morana cursed under her breath, her eyes darting between the ship and the setting sun. "They're not going to make it." Where were the Selkies when you needed them? A mere push of their power would help the Vahans arrive at shore faster so they wouldn't get trapped.
They had to pick today of all days to visit Wyrith.
As if by the grace of the Gods, the wind picked up and gave the ship an extra boost toward the docks. The assassin sighed in relief as the vessel passed the floating buoys that marked the island's territory — the anchors that would soon be rife with ancient magic. Her own power tingled in excitement at the thought.
The first part of the plan was complete. Now, it was time to make sure the correct people were on board.
Tucking her purple braid in the hood of her cloak, pulling it over her head, and concealing her face with a thin mask, Morana climbed down the small alcove she had hidden in with ease. Dashing through darkened alleys and shadowed streets, she made her way to the mooring ship and hid behind a stack of crates to watch and wait once more. After the ropes had been tied and the anchor was securely buried on the sea floor, a dockman pulled out a ramp for the travellers.
