Six hundred kilometres northeast of Vellestria the official charts go silent, struck through with a single phrase: permanent fog bank — navigation impossible. The phrase is half true. Within the mist eleven islands hold three thousand people, eleven clans, and a quiet, musical tongue no foreigner has ever fully learned. They have a word — pesh — for the patience a sailor needs to wait for the fog to read itself to you.
One of those clans still keeps the route to a wreck nobody is supposed to know exists. Theodor Verras sailed there twice. Cora has not yet sailed there at all.
Available in a future season.
