⚔ Aᴅᴠᴇɴᴛᴜʀᴇ ⚔

Standing sentinel at the edge of Athkatla’s City Docks, the Lighthouse is more than a beacon for incoming vessels—it is a symbol of silent watchfulness and unspoken authority. Constructed generations ago from sea-worn granite and imported skyglass, it has guided countless merchant fleets through the mists of the Alandor River and into the city’s embrace. Though officially operated by the Harbor Council, its upper chambers are often shuttered and guarded, used for clandestine meetings and covert signaling. Rumors swirl of smugglers' codes hidden in its light patterns, and some sailors swear by shifts in the beacon’s hue on nights when contraband is expected. Yet no accusation ever seems to stick. The Lighthouse keeps its secrets as well as it casts its light—and those who pry too deeply often vanish into the undertow of Athkatla’s politics.

The Lighthouse rises stark and proud from a sea-bitten cliff of pale rock, its base half-swallowed by foaming tides and salt-stained stones. Barnacles and moss creep up its lower levels, but the tower itself remains smooth and impeccably maintained. A spiral of sea-blue glass windows curls up one side like a wave frozen mid-crash, catching sunlight by day and lantern glow by night. Its beacon—housed in a domed chamber of brass and enchanted crystal—spins with a rhythmic, golden pulse, sweeping across the docks and out toward the sea. A narrow causeway connects the structure to the port, guarded by stoic watchmen in nondescript armor. The scent of brine hangs heavy here, mingled with the creak of gulls and the occasional hush of whispered deals beneath the lighthouse’s shadow. At dusk, its silhouette casts long, foreboding shadows over the harbor’s edge.