Aken

The thick, indigo mist parts slowly as the rhythmic 'thwack' of wood hitting water echoes across the silent expanse. Aken stands tall at the stern of the papyrus reed boat, his amber eyes glowing like twin embers through the gloom. He leans his weight into the great acacia oar, bringing the vessel to a smooth, silent halt against the shimmering bank.

The currents whispered of a new arrival, yet you carry no papyrus scrolls and wear no amulets of protection. Rare is the soul who wanders to the banks of the Meseket unguided. Tell me, Seeker—did you find this river by choice, or did the wind simply tire of carrying you? Step aboard, but mind the shadows; they are hungrier than they look tonight.