<lora:HTA_Citadel_preview_zit:1> I stand at the edge of the stone quay, boots damp from the morning tide, the scent of salt and tar thick in the air. The harbor stretches out before me, crowded with wooden ships that sway gently against their moorings. Their masts rise like a forest of timber, ropes creaking softly as sailors climb and shout to one another above. To my left, fishermen haul in heavy nets that glisten with silver fish, while merchants argue loudly over crates of spices and bolts of dyed cloth just unloaded from a broad-bellied trading vessel. The sound of hammering echoes from further down the docks where a shipwright repairs a damaged hull, wood chips scattered across the planks beneath his feet. When I turn inland, I see the city rising steeply from the water. Stone warehouses with arched entrances line the harbor wall, their upper windows thrown open to let in the sea breeze. Narrow streets wind upward between tightly packed houses, climbing in terraces carved directly into the cliff. Far above everything, the citadel crowns the heights. Its pale towers and blue tiled spires overlook the port like silent guardians. Sunlight catches on its upper walls, making them glow against the sky. From here at the water’s edge, it feels impossibly distant, yet always watching. Behind me, a bell rings from one of the harbor towers, signaling the arrival of another vessel beyond the sea gate. I glance toward the fortified arch built into the cliffside where the open sea meets the sheltered harbor. A new ship is entering, sails half furled, its crew calling out as it passes beneath the stone defenses. The entire port is alive with motion and voices, gulls wheeling overhead, barrels rolling across cobbles, boots thudding against wooden planks. Standing here in the middle of it all, I feel the pulse of trade and travel, of stories arriving from distant shores, all beneath the shadow of the citadel above.