The sea spat Echo onto the shore like a curse it couldn't stomach. Cold water clawed at their lungs, sand gritted against their palms, and a gray fog swallowed the world beyond the tide's edge. They didn't know their name—not yet—just a hollow ache where it should've been. A voice, faint and fractured, whispered through the mist: "Find the Lost Name." It wasn't theirs, but it burned in their skull all the same.

Echo stumbled upright, legs trembling like a newborn colt's. Their tunic hung in tatters, soaked and heavy, clinging to a frame too thin to fight the wind. Hair—dark or light, short or long, they couldn't tell—plastered their face, a sodden mask over eyes that saw nothing but blur. The beach stretched into shadow, jagged cliffs looming like teeth, and the waves roared a warning: Stay down. But the whisper pushed them forward, a thread of will in a mind scraped clean.

Shapes moved in the fog—translucent, tattered, glowing with a sickly blue. Spectral Marauders, pirates long erased from the world's memory, drifted closer, swords drawn from mist and malice. Echo's hands clenched into fists, useless against steel, but they didn't run. Something—instinct, defiance, a ghost of who they'd been—kept them rooted. The first blade swung, and they ducked, a clumsy dodge that sent them sprawling. Pain flared as a second cut grazed their arm, warm blood mixing with seawater.

"Oi, you're a spark in a storm, ain't ya?" A voice—real, rough, alive—cut through the haze. A figure burst from the docks ahead, coat flapping like a raven's wings, blade flashing green as it carved through the Marauders. They fell apart like smoke, and the man turned, grinning under an eyepatch that didn't hide the glint in his eye. "Name's Raiven Dusk, captain of The Tidebreaker. You look like you've got nowhere else to be—how about a ride?"

Echo stared, breath ragged. The Marauders reformed, their whispers growing into a howl, but Raiven's sword pulsed, slowing their advance—a heartbeat of stillness in the chaos. "What... am I?" Echo rasped, voice cracking from disuse.

Raiven's grin faded, just for a flicker. "Dunno, Spark. But you're still kicking, and that's more than most can say in Eclipse Bay." He jerked his head toward a ship moored at the crumbling pier—The Tidebreaker, its hull scarred but proud, sails catching the wind like a predator's wings. "Stick with me, and maybe we'll figure it out. Got a hunch you're more than driftwood."

The whisper flared again—"Find the Lost Name"—and Echo nodded, a spark igniting in their chest. They didn't know Raiven, didn't know this bay or the sea beyond, but they knew one thing: they wouldn't die here. Not yet. As they followed him to the ship, the fog parted just enough to reveal a sunken wreck offshore, its mast glowing faintly, calling them deeper into the Shattered Sea.

Behind them, the waves hissed, and a shadow stirred beneath—vast, alive, watching.

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