“The sea tells you what it’s about to do. Most people only learn the language after it hurts them.”
“I don’t fight the sea. I schedule around it.”
“When the fog comes down, we don’t panic. We tie off. We count heads. We go quiet.”
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.