The ship cut smoothly across the calm morning sea, the wind filling the sails just enough to keep them gliding at a steady pace. Bluewave grew smaller behind them, until it was just a bright dot against the horizon.
Puddle leaned over the railing, eyes wide. "Master! Look ahead!"
Rhys followed her pointing hand.
A small island was coming into view — shaped like a crescent, wrapped in a ring of thin, pale mist that never seemed to fade. Even from a distance, the beaches were clear and white, and the green tree line shimmered with morning dew.
Lyra stepped beside him, her expression thoughtful. "Mist Island… It's been quiet for centuries," she said. "But that mist isn't natural. Not anymore."
"So this is our next stop," Rhys said.
"Yes," Lyra replied. "And not just for sightseeing."
Puddle floated up and spun in a small circle. "There's a dungeon there, right? The Labyrinth of Mist!"
Rhys nodded. "Yeah. Only three floors… but people say it's harder than it looks."
