It was noon, the sun high in the sky, as Mermaid’s Cove lay in mourning.
Along the docks, townsfolk gathered in silence while the bodies of the fallen city guards were carried out one by one.
Rough wooden rafts had been built through the night, bound with rope and lined with pine branches.
The dead were laid upon them with care—armor still dented, cloaks folded across their chests, hands resting stiffly on the hilts of their blades.
Men and women bore the weight together, stepping into the shallows until the sea lapped at their waists. With steady pushes, they sent each raft drifting into open water.
A low wind stirred the waves. Salt and smoke mingled in the air.
When the last raft had been released, a line of archers raised their bows from the pier.
Flames hissed as torches touched arrowheads. For a breath, the world held still—only gulls crying above, only the water carrying its silent burden.
Then the first volley arced into the sky.
Fire struck wood. One by one, the rafts caught, flames climbing and curling, their glow mirrored across the dark water. Soon the sea burned in scattered embers, each raft a floating pyre.
From the slope above the harbor, Lucien stood with his cloak drawn tight, the wind tugging at its hem. His face was pale, the firelight reflecting in his golden eyes, his jaw set against words he could not bring himself to say.
Beside him, Cassian remained silent, arms folded, gaze fixed on the burning sea. The weight pressed heavy on his shoulders—every death, every name that would never return home.
Below, the townsfolk bowed their heads as smoke rose into the sky, carrying the last traces of the fallen toward the horizon.
Lucien’s hand tightened on the railing.161Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡITO9VXogrL
“This is my fault,” he whispered.
Cassian’s voice was steady, though his eyes betrayed weariness. “It was the Crows’ doing, Your Highness. Don’t take on a burden that isn’t yours to bear.”
But Lucien stayed silent. His eyes followed the burning rafts until they drifted out of sight, leaving only thin trails of smoke curling over the sea.
On the docks below, the crowd began to scatter—some weeping softly, others leaving in heavy silence, their sorrow carried with them like a shadow.
Cassian let out a long breath. “May the gods be with them. They will all be remembered.”
Lucien didn’t take his eyes off the sea. “They died because of who I was,” he whispered. “And because of where I was.”
Cassian looked at him firmly. “They chose to fight instead of abandon their duties. They were heroes.”
Lucien pressed his lips together, unable to answer.
The chapel bell tolled in the distance, slow and heavy, marking the end of the ceremony.
Cassian placed a hand on his shoulder. “You can’t carry all their deaths. No one can. What you can do is make sure their sacrifice counts. That’s what a good emperor does.”
Lucien swallowed hard and gave a small nod, though his eyes were wet.
They stood quietly for a moment longer, watching the sea grow calm again.
Then Cassian spoke in a lower voice. “Rook sent word. The mayor has put together a team. They’ll be escorting us as well.”
Lucien’s hand tightened at his side.
He breathed in the air, heavy with ash and salt. “Then we should leave as soon as possible. The longer I remain here, the more people will die.”
Cassian nodded, though his eyes were troubled. “We’ll make ready.”
Lucien gave one last look to the horizon, where the smoke drifted like fading prayers.
Then he turned, cloak trailing behind him as he walked down the slope, each step heavy with the weight of the dead...
Meanwhile, back at the Adventurer’s Guild.
The air was thick with the smell of oiled leather and sharpened steel. Sunlight slanted through high windows, catching on rows of spears and blades set along the walls.
Kael stood at the center of the hall, fastening the buckles of his breastplate. His expression was calm, though the tension in his jaw betrayed the weight he carried.
Grey leaned against a pillar nearby, adjusting the straps of his gauntlets. His masked face revealed little, but his silence spoke enough. He watched Kael in that quiet, measured way of his—always observing, always calculating.
Across the room, Leila checked her bowstring, running her fingers over the polished wood with practiced care. Her quiver lay open on the table beside her, arrows lined in neat rows, each fletching trimmed and ready. She said nothing, but her eyes flicked often toward the door, as if expecting trouble before they had even left.
Rook chewed on a strip of dried fig, tossing a knife from one hand to the other. His grin was sharp, careless on the surface, though the twitch of his wrist betrayed his nerves.
“The mayor’s in a rush,” Kael said at last, his voice low but firm. “The prince leaves today. We’re his shield until he’s clear of this town. That means no mistakes.”
Rook let out a soft chuckle. “Easy for you to say. Have you forgotten who we’re dealing with?”
Leila shot him a look. “This isn’t a joke, Rook. Men died last night.”
The grin faltered, just for a moment. Rook slid the knife into its sheath and shrugged. “Yeah. Which is why we’d better not join them.”
Grey finally spoke, his tone quiet, muffled by the mask. “The Crows won’t stop here. They’ll try again.”
Kael tightened the last buckle and pulled on his gloves. “We just need to make it to Blackbarrow. From there, we can take an airship back to the capital.”
The guild doors creaked open, and a runner entered—sweat on his brow, urgency in his step.
He carried a sealed message, the mayor’s mark pressed into the wax.
Kael broke it open, scanning the contents with sharp eyes. Then he looked up at his team.161Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡyV8SVBmzbM
“They’re readying the prince’s departure. We meet them at the east gate.”
Leila slung her bow across her back. Grey pushed away from the pillar. Rook stuffed the last of the fig into his mouth.
The Silver Fangs gathered their gear in silence, each movement practiced, precise.
And as they reached the east gate, they found others waiting.
A second escort team stood in the courtyard—a dozen knights, steel at their belts, eyes sharp and wary.
At their front was a broad-shouldered man in chainmail, his dark hair tied back, a scar running across his cheek.
He stepped up and offered a hand. “Silver Fang, I presume?”
161Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡCbwPih1yQ4
Kael took his hand. “That obvious, huh?”
The man’s grip was firm, his expression calm but watchful. “Dimitri Harbane. From the mayor’s office. I’ll be leading the escort.”
Kael released the captain’s hand and gave a curt nod. “Thank you. We’ll need all the help we can get. We’ll be expecting Crows.”
Dimitri’s scar twitched with the ghost of a smile. “So I’ve heard. Word is you crossed paths with them yesterday.”
Rook spat a shred of fig stem into his palm and flicked it aside. “Crossed paths? That’s a light way to put it.”
Leila shot him a look but said nothing, busying herself with checking the edges of her knives.
Grey stood silent as always, faceless behind his mask, though Kael felt the man’s gaze weighing their every movement.
Dimitri’s eyes lingered on Grey before returning to Kael. “At least you’re still alive to tell the story. That means something. Let’s hope it holds true on the road.”
Kael drew his cloak tighter, one hand shifting the weight of the blade at his side. “I’d rather keep the road free of Crows."161Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡpviTeIsGM6
Dimitri’s jaw tightened at the mention, but he gave a sharp nod. “Then we ride at dusk. Supplies are being loaded as we speak. Until then, keep your people ready.”
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