09: Departure

The horizon stretched wide and open, painted in soft hues of dawn as Ren stepped onto the worn deck of a modest merchant vessel. Wind tugged at his cloak, carrying with it the distant scent of salt and promise. Foosha Village was no longer visible behind him, just a memory softened by the sea breeze.

The ship creaked gently beneath his boots as it cut through the calm waves. Its crew paid him little mind; to them, he was just another quiet traveler paying double for discretion. He liked it that way.

Ren leaned against the railing, watching the water roll by. His watch glinted in the morning light, the crystal core still pulsing a soft, steady blue. Ice, the element that had saved him, revealed him, and marked him.

"They saw too much," he murmured to himself. "Now they'll keep coming."

He exhaled slowly, steam curling from his breath as he reached into his cloak and pulled out the obsidian shard Cael had given him. A last resort, one call, and the shadow soldier would come. But not yet. This part was his to face.

Two Days Later, Glin Harbor

The small port town of Glin clung to the edge of an isolated island between Foosha and the Loguetown shipping routes. Unremarkable, save for its fresh water springs and neutral status. That made it the perfect place to refuel, rest, and disappear.

Ren disembarked without a word. His senses were sharp now, every step deliberate, every glance evaluated. The training, the pressure, the confrontation, they had honed him. He moved like someone aware of being watched.

Because he was.

Unseen, perched atop the bell tower across the plaza, a Cipher Pol agent knelt in silence. This one didn't wear the standard mask. His uniform was dark gray, reinforced, marked with the insignia of Field Unit Lambda. A tracker. A closer.

He spoke into a small transceiver.

"Target located. Orders?"

A distorted voice replied:

"Observe. Confirm direction. Do not engage."

The agent's finger hovered over the trigger of a dart rifle but didn't squeeze.

"Not yet," he thought. "But soon."

Ren's Perspective 

Ren sat in a quiet corner of a tea house, hood low, drink untouched. He hadn't eaten since the ship landed, but he couldn't shake the pressure on the back of his neck. A sensation, faint, but unmistakable. He wasn't alone.

The waitress refilled his cup with a smile, and he gave a nod of thanks, but his mind was elsewhere. His fingers tapped the wooden table rhythmically.

"They're watching," he thought. "I can feel it."

He left some beri on the table and stepped out into the alley behind the shop. There, in the shadows, he opened his hand, and the watch pulsed.

With a soft flick of his wrist, he let the ice form, a mist-like trail clinging to his fingers. Not for show. For message.

"I know you're there," he said aloud, turning slowly.

But no one answered.

Nightfall 

That evening, Ren chartered a small fishing skiff from a gruff sailor heading toward the outer islands. It was slow, unarmed, and barely sea-worthy, which is exactly why it was perfect. No one would expect him to take it.

Except they did.

Halfway across the moonlit sea, sails appeared on the horizon. Fast. Black. Silent.

Cipher Pol.

Ren stood on the deck, cold wind tearing through his cloak. His eyes narrowed.

"No more hiding."

He raised his hand, the watch flared.

A ring of frost burst outward, instantly freezing the water surface for several meters. He leapt off the boat, sliding across the ice, then slammed his hand into the surface.

"Cryo Lance."

Jagged spears of ice erupted upward from the frozen sea, skewering the lead skiff chasing him. The rest slowed, veering.

But it wouldn't be enough. They would regroup.

He pressed the obsidian shard in his hand.

"Cael… I might need you after all."

Somewhere Nearby, A New Shadow Observes

Perched on a rocky outcrop far from the confrontation, a new figure watched, not Cipher Pol, not Marine. Cloaked in deep gray, with a strange metallic eyepiece, they observed Ren's battle with analytical precision.

They didn't speak. Only observed.

Then, with a flick of their wrist, they vanished into smoke.