In mid-December, the wind off the Grey Sea carried a bone-piercing chill, scraping incessantly against the black rock foundations of Minas Tirith Harbor like invisible blades of ice.
The sky was an oppressive leaden gray, its clouds hanging so low they seemed within reach. Fine snowflakes began swirling through the air, settling on the dockworkers' leather caps and shoulders before quickly melting into water.
The harbor bustled with activity.
Thousands of soldiers and porters in silver-gray Winter's Embrace coats shuttled between the walkways and cargo ships. The roar of winches, the whistles of foremen, and the rasp of chains came together in a rough-hewn symphony.
At the gangplanks of the armed merchant ships, the Grey Sea Alliance Knights' Order filed aboard, leading their horses. More than five hundred knights clad in dark red Living Graft Armor formed long lines. Beside them, Iserama warhorses snorted white mist as they followed their masters steadily onto the decks and into holds refitted to accommodate them.
Veylin stood on the tower terrace at Deepwater Berth Three, both hands resting on the railing, his collar turned up to cover his chin.
Beside him, the elf Luowu stood wrapped in a dark green cloak, his brows slightly furrowed as he gazed at the sea ahead.
There, a heart-stopping "loading operation" was underway.
The sea churned. An enormous shadow deepened from dark blue to inky black, then broke through the surface.
It was a Leviathan.
The Deep-Sea Behemoth did not surface completely. Only its bare, slime-covered back emerged, like a floating island of flesh. Its two enormous eyes rolled in the murky seawater before finally fixing on the edge of the dock.
On the platform, a row of Slag Snails, each as large as a three-story building, had withdrawn into their shells.
Their blue-black metallic shells were