The dock came into view, the wooden planks dusted with a thin layer of snow. The boat we had arrived in rested quietly, its sails still furled, moving slightly with the gentle rhythm of the water.
A crisp breeze carried the scent of salt and pine, mingling with the distant sound of waves crashing against the cliffs.
Serina was already there, kneeling beside a small wooden crate, carefully packing supplies the elves had given us—dried fruits, medicinal herbs, and freshly baked loaves wrapped neatly in cloth.
She moved with a quiet focus, but her hands hesitated as she reached for a small bundle tucked in the corner.
They were badges. Worn, slightly dented, yet polished with care. Symbols of her fallen teammates—the ones she had stepped onto this island with but would never leave with again.