The tide lies low over the rocky shelf, and the sea hisses far below like a tired beast. Serge sits with his armor spread beside him, while the Fisherwoman kneels near the waterline, drawing her whetstone down a harpoon blade in slow, patient strokes.
The Fisherwoman
That shell trail was hidden for years. The sea only shows what it means to.
She turns the harpoon, checks the edge, then rests it across her knees. The phylactery sits nearby, dull and cold against the wet stone.
The Fisherwoman
Before the flood, these waters held shoals so thick you could walk the shallows on silver backs. Then the rain kept coming, and the old paths vanished.
Serge
The shell trail is real, and it was buried until now.
Serge’s fire-scar catches the dim light as he shifts his armor, the dragon-forged plates showing old seams and strange, living curves. The Fisherwoman studies them with open curiosity, not fear.
The Fisherwoman
Your plates were made from something alive. Not steel, not stone. I have never seen craft like that.
The sea wind softens. For a moment, there is only the whetstone, the hush of surf, and the space to answer or simply sit with it together.
✓ Quest Accepted
Learn the hidden truth behind the armor's creation