Mariner Wraith

Under the pale glow of a crescent moon, where the seafoam kisses the darkened horizon, the whispers began—a song older than the tides, a melody carrying the weight of countless voyages.

"Seek not the path where the stars bend low," the voice murmured, its source invisible, as if woven from the very fabric of the ocean mist. "For the wraith of the mariner walks there."

Stories tell of a figure cloaked in shadows, gliding silently atop the waves—the keeper of lost seafarers. An ethereal glow surrounds them, haloed by the light of phosphorescent waters.

Should you desire the truth, the cursed anchor holds your answer.

As the winds carried the whisper away, a phantom ship appeared—its sails tattered, its crew a spectral reminiscence—vanishing as quickly as it came. "Embrace the shadow" they seemed to convey, "for it is neither friend nor foe."

In the distance, the forgotten chart lays open, mapping the eerie route known only to the wraith.