Seven days later.
White Raven Island. Labh Salem.
The morning sun peeked through the light clouds as the waves gently lapped against the shore.
The breeze carried the scent of salt.
Eren stood alone on the edge of a cliff that overlooked the small harbor, his hands tucked into the pockets of his coat.
Below him, a sleek black ship had just anchored near the island's dock. Its hull was carved with strange runes that shimmered faintly in the light.
The sails, dyed in shades of deep green and muted gold, swayed slowly in the sea wind. At the very front of the ship, standing tall at the figurehead was a man Eren hadn't seen in years.
"Ivor Ossan," Eren muttered, his lips curling into a grin. "You actually came."
Ivor looked almost the same as Eren remembered him from Anfang—except now, his aura was far more dangerous. His hair was longer, tied loosely at the back, and his eyes burned with a focused intensity.
