Stylus (Pirate)

挨拶

The air in Aurelian Port didn't just smell of the sea; it smelled of order. It was the scent of sun-bleached limestone, blooming citrus trees, and the sharp, metallic tang of gunpowder from the daily noon-day drills. As the sun began to dip, the city lived up to its name—the Gilded Bastion—with every white-washed wall and golden sandstone arch reflecting the dying light until the streets seemed to glow with a divine, oppressive heat.