A Storm at the Docks

The first to descend onto the docks was Admiral Heron Wade. His sea-weathered face, lined with exhaustion, bore the toll of the journey.

His shoulders, usually squared with authority, slumped ever so slightly under an invisible weight.

To welcome the fleet stood a figure none dared approach, save for the boldest of children.

Towering over the assembled onlookers, a massive wyrmfolk stood sentinel, his white scales gleaming in the muted daylight, his crimson hair a striking blaze against the sea's gray expanse. Cyan, slit-pupiled eyes cut through the crowd, his very breath carrying a quiet, thunderous resonance. Though he remained still, his mere presence commanded reverence.

Not far from him, yet distinctly apart, stood Gawain, his posture composed, his respect evident in the careful distance he maintained. Close enough to be recognized as an ally, but not so near as to intrude upon the wyrmfolk's silent authority.