New Threats

Mirak turned as Czenth waved a hand dismissively.

"Answer Mary's questions," Czenth said, his tone carrying its usual sharpness. "I've been doing this job far longer than him. I'd like to give him the full experience of the docks. It'll be faster for both of us. Best to fill the youth's head up now, so I can ignore his questions later."

Rim took the bait with a shrug. "If you're sure. Just know that each of these boats is made of—"

"Hardened wood from the cliffs of Koona," Czenth cut in. "Yes, I know the type well."

With that, he disappeared into the deeper recesses of the docks, already beginning his work.

The shipbuilders paused to glance after him, then continued leading Mirak onward. The bulkier one spoke first. "You can't tell Mary?"

"No. Am I supposed to?" Mirak replied, tone neutral.

"Look at that, Will. First time someone didn't notice." Rim smirked.

Will grunted. "Sunreachers got sharp eyes from being on the sea so long. Makes the storms a bit clearer."

"For me, it's more a feeling, y'know?" Rim said, gesturing vaguely. "The way the storms shape people—forms and outlines and stuff. Though I've only ever noticed your strange eyes." He nodded toward the direction Czenth had gone. "Your boss is an ass."

Mirak let the insult hang in the air. It wasn't anything new.

Rim pressed on. "You know why he really wears that mask?"

Mirak shrugged. "Never told me. Figured it's to cover up a mangled face."

That earned a hefty laugh from Will. "More likely it's something embarrassing. A scar, maybe, or some childhood accident he's ashamed of."

Mirak's gaze drifted toward the looming hull of a nearby ship nearing completion. His mind trailed off as he tried to find the right word for something so massive, so otherworldly.

Will, noticing the inspection, grinned. "That's a Man O' War, lad. The true jewel of Koona—one of her greatest treasures. Don't let anyone tell you different. A ship so massive it creates waves of its own. Carries one hundred and twenty-four Atta cannons under her hull, with sails strong enough to pull her through any storm. A beauty, isn't she?"

"She is," Mirak admitted.

Rim nodded, but his expression darkened. "Shame it hasn't seen battle in so long. Doubt we'll ever see another ship carve through the seas like the Blacktide."

Will shot him a warning glance. "Hush. Best to stay out of the wars of Lorian. Last time Koona got dragged in was during the First War of Thought. We don't need another."

Their talk veered into politics, a topic Mirak had no interest in. He stood silently, letting their words fade into the misty air of the docks.

Rim suddenly turned to Mirak. "What about you, inspector? Should we send the Blacktide in to deal with the Sunreacher Elves?"

Mirak answered carefully, repeating what they'd already said. "It hasn't seen action for a while."

Rim snorted. "Bah! The Blacktide would have the Sunreachers running. Don't forget—this ship forced their king to send an entire fleet just to stop it. Even Astad recognized its power and signed a treaty when the Atta cannons hummed to life. Ustea and their flying machines wouldn't stand a chance."

"The news has you antsy," Will said, prodding Rim.

Will hesitated as his gaze flicked to Mirak. "There's been rumors—quiet ones. Sunreachers affecting trade routes. That ship," he gestured to the Man O' War, "might be sent to crush them if they keep disrupting cargo meant for the kingdoms."

"Must be something important," Mirak said.

Will shrugged. "I'm not paid to care. Seems more like something you inspectors would know."

Rim glanced toward the back of the shipyard. "Where's that masked inspector of yours? Thought he'd be back by now. Not that many ships in the rear."

Mirak opened his mouth to respond, but a crashing noise cut through the quiet. He turned sharply toward the sound, his pulse quickening.

"What was that?" he asked.

"Probably one of the boys dropped something where they shouldn't have," Will grunted, though his expression hardened.

Mirak's hand brushed against the edge of his shackle, a nervous tic he hadn't shaken. His instincts screamed at him to run, but he forced himself to stay put. Whatever the noise was, it was likely Czenth. He just needed to stall.

The lankier carpenter, Rim, tilted his head. "Are those Publici shackles?"

"Yes," Mirak answered softly.

"Didn't think I'd ever see a Publici inspector. Who'd you know to get into that position? Someone must've paid a lot of money," Rim said, disdain creeping into his voice.

Mirak's reply was curt. "Czenth."

"Figures," Rim muttered.

Will cut in. "Best not prod the inspector, Rim. He could give us bad marks."

"He's still a Publici," Rim shot back as if the title made Mirak lesser.

Before Mirak could respond, another crash broke through the night. This time, black smoke billowed into the air, clashing with the soft glow of the Lunar Storm overhead. The acrid smell of burning wood followed.

"Shit," Will hissed.

Rim darted off, shouting, "Which idiot left their smokes lying around? I've told them a thousand times!"

Mirak followed at a measured pace, his heart pounding. He already knew what he'd find. Should he run? Should he wait for Czenth? In the end, he chose to wait.

The fire burned bright, its glow cutting through the mist as it consumed the first of the ship warehouses. Workers scrambled to douse the flames, shouting orders and hauling water, but Mirak's attention was elsewhere.

High above the chaos, a gray-hooded figure stood silhouetted against the fire. A frail, slender arm lifted, the figure's back arched forward unnaturally.

That wasn't Czenth.

The thing's gaze locked onto Mirak, and a chill ran through his veins. It pointed a bony finger at him, and he felt it—an unwelcome presence clawing into his mind.

Flashes of fire and ash seared through his vision. Memories—or something twisted to feel like memories—swirled around him. The bodies of Akash and Daenys appeared, lifeless and burned. His heart hammered as he tried to make sense of it. What was this? He called out to Atta for strength, but no answer came. Only flames. Only death.

A hand clamped down on his shoulder, snapping him back. He fell to his knees, gasping for air as sweat dripped down his brow.

Will stood beside him, his face pale. "What is that thing?" he whispered, his voice trembling.

Before Mirak could answer, Will crumpled, his massive frame folding like paper. He huddled into himself, muttering through tears. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Please forgive me. I've changed—I swore off that life!"

The figure remained motionless, its frail arm still extended. Mirak felt it again—that molten pressure, like lava crawling across his thoughts. He shut his eyes, fighting to push it away.

"Will, you okay?" Rim called out, but as he moved closer, he froze. His gaze locked onto the figure, and the color drained from his face.

Mirak heard the familiar sound of armored boots against cobblestones. He turned weakly to see Czenth approaching.

"Mirak. Get up," Czenth ordered, his voice sharp but steady.

Mirak tried to warn him, but the words wouldn't come.

Rim whimpered, "Meky? Is that you? No, this isn't right—you died in a fire. Why are you here? I moved on. I moved on!"

Czenth spared him only a glance. "So they've finally decided to take notice."

"Who?" Mirak asked, forcing himself to stand despite the lingering pain in his head.

"The Ten," Czenth said simply. "And the Didcats. It seems Lancelot's plan is fully in motion now. I hoped we'd be dealing with a Sorcerer, but luck wasn't on our side."

Czenth didn't stop. He strode toward the figure, unaffected—or at least appearing so.

"Don't acknowledge it," Czenth instructed. His voice carried a rare edge of strain.

Mirak avoided looking at the figure directly, focusing instead on Czenth. The older man raised his hand, and the faint hum of Atta began to swirl around him. It flowed with precision, threading itself into needle-like points across his skin.

Mirak mimicked the motion, though his connection to Atta came less gracefully—a flood of energy he struggled to control.

Czenth glanced at him briefly, his tone flat. "It's an Augur. Like Kord."

Without further explanation, Czenth unleashed his Atta in a burst of cutting threads, each one slicing through the air with deadly intent. The figure shifted, darting away into the shadows of the Lunar Storm, its element of surprise lost.

Mirak, following Czenth's lead, let his own Atta loose, though its force was wild and imprecise. A nearby warehouse collapsed under the sheer weight of it, sending debris scattering.

The Augur disappeared into the mist.

Mirak's gaze fell to the two shipbuilders, still crumpled and unresponsive. "What should we do with them?" he asked, his voice quieter now.