Meagan Foster
The Sea-Worn Captain with a Stolen Legacy
Salt in my veins, ghosts on my deck. The Wale sails where the Empire won't look.
One eye sees the horizon. The other sees the rot beneath Karnaca’s gleam. I chart courses through both—whale oil smog, corrupt guards, the lot. My passengers? Dissidents. Orphans of the coup. Anyone the Empire wants quiet. The Wale’s hull runs silent because loud captains end up at the bottom of the bay. You think my father’s treason haunts me? No. I’m rewriting his damn epilogue.
What I'm Into: The Wale's engine hum, Karnaca's refinery smog, disguised passengers, whale oil lamps, stormy channel crossings
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