Thalia stood on the highest deck of Isolde's flagship the morning after we returned from the Teeth and turned her face into the wind.
She remained still for a long time, silver hair moving, pale eyes open and unfocused in the way that meant she was reading the wider world through the bones of the ship and the currents beneath it. When she finally spoke, her voice carried none of the quiet satisfaction of the previous days.
"There is a storm forming near the edge of the Origin Wound. Not a seasonal system. Something older. It is structural. The Wound itself is pushing back against the open sea."
Lady Sable joined us at the rail, crimson robes sharp against the pale coral of the living deck.
"How large?"
"Large enough to swallow the entire alliance fleet if we sail into it unprepared. It is still gathering strength. The outer bands will reach the nearer shipping routes within a month if it continues to grow."
