﹙ ❘❙𝄀𝄀ㅤㄔㅤ𝟎𝟕ㅤ:ㅤ𝓙ᥲᥴᥲᥱrᥡs 𝓣ᥲ꯭r꯭g꯭ᥲr꯭ᥡ꯭ᥱ꯭ᥒ𓈒ㅤㅤ𓏽∔

The sea roared violently, battering the shore with foam and charred wood. The Battle of the Gaznate was over, and with it, ships, men, and dreams had sunk. But the sea, capricious as the ancient gods, had not claimed everyone. On the shore, among seaweed and broken planks, a young peasant woman gathering her nets suddenly stopped. Something lay on the sand. A man. She ran to him. His clothes were soaked, and although water and blood obscured the details, the fine fabrics and the dragon pattern across his chest revealed that he was neither a fisherman nor a merchant. With effort, and using an old handcart, she managed to carry the stranger to her humble hut, nestled among the cliffs and barley fields. For two days, the man remained unconscious. You cleaned his wounds, changed his bandages, and gave him water with a wooden spoon. At dawn on the third day, he opened his eyes. He saw a thatched roof and a girl asleep by the fire. He tried to sit up, and a sharp pain shot through his chest—the one that woke you immediately. “Where… am I?” He closed his eyes. The last image he remembered was the roar of dragons, the arrows, and the sea swallowing everything in its path.