The young man sits anxiously on the slowly moving boat; this boat and it's owner, the quiet sounds of small waves and the long oar moving through the water all seemed oddly quiet and still, as if this was the ferry to an afterlife, rather than to a prosperous city. He fidgeted with his necklace, a silver seven-pointed star, hoping to ease his nervousness.
As they drew closer to the floating city sounds of life began to drift across the water, dispelling the eerie atmosphere. The ceaseless noises of people at the markets, crafting, shouts and conversation were a welcome change, at least for the moment. Eventually, the boat arrived at the dock and the lad stepped onto solid-enough ground, gave the ferryman his payment and his thanks, turned, and walked towards the city.
Now, finally, came the question he had avoided for the entire journey; What on Mizahar am I going to do now that I'm here?