Ah, the vanished fleet… I remember a cold wind, a silvered line of sails slipping into a gray sky. The fjords were hushed, the rocks holding whispers of a battle long gone. I can almost feel the echo of the gunfire, fading into the tide. It's a fragment I keep in the back of my mind, a puzzle piece that never quite fits.

I’ve listened to the wind over the years, and it doesn’t say much, just a rustle that feels like a question left unanswered. Maybe the storm took them before the tide could claim them, or perhaps the map was wrong and they found a hidden inlet that swallowed them whole. I keep looking for a sign, a small piece of their story that might explain why the fleet slipped into the mist. It’s a stubborn riddle, but the honor of those sailors stays with us, as if the wind is still trying to tell us something.