Calling the shots(1)

Blake had never set foot inside the cave beneath the island of the Call. It was sacred ground, where only the most momentous councils in their history were held. His father, before his death, had surely stood within these halls. The old man had once commanded ten ships at his peak—one-tenth of their entire fleet during the fateful battle at Rock Bottom. A man of such standing would have been present.

By contrast, Blake was still seen as a boy. Too young. Too untested. Too unworthy to stand where legends had gathered.

Well , he was now the one standing there.

The cave itself was no ordinary hollow of stone. It had been shaped by the hands of his ancestors, transformed from a natural wonder into a living record of their history. Its walls bore the scars of their past—etched with victories, defeats, and the bloodlines that shaped the Call.

Not figuratively, either.