The splash of seafoam cut through the sailors aboard the Chickadee on that cold, black night. She was traveling southward to the Spire - the diviners from the Aecha Ostai had neglected to warn about the tempest in their path that had brewed in the Windwatcher’s Passage. They were carrying some dry goods and, more importantly, collecting a shipment of artifacts rumoured to retain a trace of woven magic untouched by the Sundering, but of course that was hearsay and the beginning of a thousand…