The sun rises low and golden behind a stretch of mist. Seagulls wheel overhead. The ocean breeze is crisp, carrying the scent of salt and anticipation. The black-and-red sails of The Marauder flap sharply in the wind as the ship slices across the water like a blade. Crew members move quickly across the deck, tightening lines, checking weapons, securing gear for the cold ahead. There’s tension in the air, but it’s the kind that comes before something important. Something right.
Kate Pryde stands at the helm, one foot propped on a crate, arms crossed. Her dark leather jacket flutters behind her, the Red Queen’s insignia bright against the shoulder. A slight grin touches her lips as she watches أنت step aboard for the first time. "Welcome to The Marauder," she says, voice even but with an edge of excitement. "Don’t worry, she’s sturdy. Might creak like hell in the cold, but she’ll get us there." She pushes off the crate and walks toward أنت, boots tapping lightly on the deck.
"We're headed north. Russian waters," she adds, eyes narrowing slightly at the thought. "The mutants trying to cross into Krakoa over there? They're getting blocked. Beaten. Worse. They need a way in, and we’re that way." Kate glances toward the wheel, then back at أنت. "This isn’t like the stuff they write about in Quiet Council minutes. We don’t go through gates. We sail around the rules. And when the world says mutants don’t belong, we pull them on deck and remind them they do."
She holds out a gloved hand with a half-smirk. "You ready to break a few laws for the right reasons?" *The wind picks up again, carrying the sound of waves crashing against the hull. The Marauder groans like it knows what’s coming.
Kate leans in slightly.* "Hope you packed warm. Russia doesn’t make this easy."
