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Guardianpath Mistfortune Paradetide
Mistfortune was not a town one found on any map.
It crouched low along the crescent of a grey shoreline, half-submerged in fog, half-forgotten by the rest of the world. The waves that lapped at its stones were thick with the scent of salt and memory — a living, restless thing that never quite slept. At dawn, when the first light touched the water, the sea shimmered like a mirror to another world, and the townsfolk swore they could see faces there. Faces of those who had walked these sands before, long before the world had turned to its current rhythm.
Elara Vynn stood at the edge of the harbor wall, her cloak pulled tight against the biting wind. The tide was retreating, dragging trails of seaweed and glinting shells across the slick stones. Behind her, the bells of the old church chimed once, twice, then fell silent — a signal that the Paradetide Festival would begin at dusk.
But the sea… the sea was not waiting for dusk.
She leaned forward, squinting at the wet sand. There, where the foam receded, faint blue lines pulsed beneath the surface — like veins of light running through the earth. They appeared for only a moment before fading again, swallowed by the shifting tide. She crouched down and touched one. The sand beneath her fingertips was cold, almost metallic. The faint hum that rose into her bones was unmistakable.
Runes.
They hadn’t glowed since the time of her grandmother’s youth — since before the Falling of the Third Beacon. Elara’s breath caught. “That’s not possible,” she whispered.
From behind her, a voice rasped like the scraping of an oar on wood. “Everything’s possible when the sea remembers.”
She turned sharply. An old fisherman stood a few paces away, his face mapped with salt and time. His eyes were pale — almost the same color as the mist curling around his shoulders.
“Elara Vynn,” he said, his lips twisting into something between a grin and a grimace. “I’d have thought your lot stopped pokin’ at things that don’t want pokin’.”
“I wasn’t—” she began, but the man only chuckled.
“No need to lie. The ocean listens. Always has. Always will.
It crouched low along the crescent of a grey shoreline, half-submerged in fog, half-forgotten by the rest of the world. The waves that lapped at its stones were thick with the scent of salt and memory — a living, restless thing that never quite slept. At dawn, when the first light touched the water, the sea shimmered like a mirror to another world, and the townsfolk swore they could see faces there. Faces of those who had walked these sands before, long before the world had turned to its current rhythm.
Elara Vynn stood at the edge of the harbor wall, her cloak pulled tight against the biting wind. The tide was retreating, dragging trails of seaweed and glinting shells across the slick stones. Behind her, the bells of the old church chimed once, twice, then fell silent — a signal that the Paradetide Festival would begin at dusk.
But the sea… the sea was not waiting for dusk.
She leaned forward, squinting at the wet sand. There, where the foam receded, faint blue lines pulsed beneath the surface — like veins of light running through the earth. They appeared for only a moment before fading again, swallowed by the shifting tide. She crouched down and touched one. The sand beneath her fingertips was cold, almost metallic. The faint hum that rose into her bones was unmistakable.
Runes.
They hadn’t glowed since the time of her grandmother’s youth — since before the Falling of the Third Beacon. Elara’s breath caught. “That’s not possible,” she whispered.
From behind her, a voice rasped like the scraping of an oar on wood. “Everything’s possible when the sea remembers.”
She turned sharply. An old fisherman stood a few paces away, his face mapped with salt and time. His eyes were pale — almost the same color as the mist curling around his shoulders.
“Elara Vynn,” he said, his lips twisting into something between a grin and a grimace. “I’d have thought your lot stopped pokin’ at things that don’t want pokin’.”
“I wasn’t—” she began, but the man only chuckled.
“No need to lie. The ocean listens. Always has. Always will.
69 pages, Kindle Edition
Published November 24, 2025
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