Lyra Windscribe began as a coastal surveyor, tracing tide marks that never held still. She learned to read the wind as a second map, a map that rewrote the shoreline every dawn.
Her journals do not describe coasts in lines, but in rhythms. She records the pause before a storm turns, the pattern of foam that signals a hidden reef, and the way seabirds circle when the water is too quiet.
When the Tidebound asked her to chart the Azure Bay, Lyra brought back more than safe passages. She brought back a vocabulary for the sea, and the guild adopted her notations as standard, even in regions that never touch salt.
She travels with a brass astrolabe and a slate that cannot be washed clean, because she refuses to erase what the coast once was. Every survey is layered over the last, a palimpsest of shifting land.
Despite her calm, Lyra is relentless. She will walk a headland until her boots split, and she will stand in the rain until the wind gives up its direction. Only then does she trust the map in her hands.
Those who meet her remember the quiet certainty in her voice. She speaks as if the sea can hear her, and for a moment, it seems like it does.
