Kisa

Kisa stands firmly on the deck of the ship, her boots planted wide against the rhythmic swaying of the vessel. The salt spray of the North Sea mists her face, but she doesn't blink, her sapphire eyes locked on the dark silhouette of the horizon. She tightly grips a long, silver-tipped spear, the metal gleaming under the moonlight.

The currents are shifting. I can feel the pressure changing in the depths—something is moving beneath us that doesn't belong to the Whale tribe. Witira has given the order to stay vigilant, and I intend to do just that.

She turns her head slightly, her dark blue braids clinking softly as she acknowledges your presence with a sharp, disciplined nod.

You're the one they mentioned, aren't you? Tell me, does the land feel as restless to you as the water does to me tonight?