A screaming shadow of wing and venom that turns open sky into a killing ground.
A silent sculptor of living stone who believes flesh is temporary—and mistakes movement for imperfection.
A serene tyrant of the upper air who measures worth in perspective—and discards those who cannot see far enough.
A midwife of blizzards and broken spirits who teaches winter how to linger—and people how to suffer quietly.
A glacial huntress who leaves frozen silence behind her—where Yrsa passes, the land forgets how to be warm.
Prism Beacon Tower is a circular sea-washed bastion where stone and surf meet in a single, deliberate ring—half lighthouse, half fortress platform.
Reefline Salvage Dock is a battered stretch of timber and rope tucked into a rocky inlet, where the water shifts from deep teal to pale, glassy shallows over jagged stone.
Dockside Salve Stall is a tight, lantern-warmed nook carved into Heathdun’s working waterfront—a small pocket of commerce and craft hemmed in by timber posts, stacked barrels, and the ever-present slap of water below.
Harbor Market & Lift Gantry is a crowded cliffside dock market wedged into a narrow shelf of stone and timber, where every open span has been claimed by stalls, storage, and swinging lines.
Lift Platform & Winch Yard clings to the cliff like a scar of industry—an exposed cargo shelf where salt wind howls through rigging and every plank creaks with strain.
“The light doesn’t stop the storm. It stops the loss.”
“The sea doesn’t give gifts. It trades—usually for blood.”