The cabin aboard the Duskvein felt tighter than usual, heavy with tension and thick with anticipation. The crew was gathered around a worn oak table, its surface littered with maps, sketches, and scribbled notes. Cidrin flipped through his leather-bound notebook, muttering to himself, while Rahl leaned against the wall, lighting another cigarette with an air of detached exhaustion.
"You lot sure like pushing your luck," he said, his tone tinged with sarcasm. "Lyric wasn't kidding when she said you'd need someone to keep your heads above water."
Fenrick scoffed, dragging the edge of his blade lazily across a whetstone. "And here I thought you were here to boost morale. Don't worry about us, old-timer; we've pulled off crazier."
Rahl's eyes flickered toward Fenrick. "Pulling off 'crazier' in Slum City has a nasty habit of getting you dead. I'd rather keep that streak unbroken."
"Enough," Thalor interrupted, his sharp tone slicing through the room. "Focus. Rahl, break it down."
"The caravan route is set," he said tapping a finger on the main city map spread out before them. "The convoy leaves the northwestern docks just after sundown and moves along Blightcross Avenue. They'll travel through the main roads first, but before heading south to the harbor, they'll cutthrough Low Lanterns Alley and stops at the depot to meet and switch with the Tidewarden—narrow roads, old construction. Harder for them to be followed and even harder to get an ambush lined up. They have a fleet docked, ready to take him straight to Ironclad. If Kline boards that ship, it's over."
That word—Tidewarden—drew a subtle shift in the room. Erin a noticed Narza's body tense up, while Fenrick's smirk faltered ever so slightly. Even Erin's brow furrowed in thought.
Fenrick's grin then twitched back, almost forced. "Good thing we're stealing him first, huh?"
"What do we know about the Tidewarden?" Cidrin asked,
"Not much," Rahl admitted. "They don't broadcast who's assigned to what. But If the Tidewarden gets involved, we're done," he said bluntly. "But the caravan itself is still the immediate threat. You take too long? Reinforcements arrive. The delay costs you the element of surprise? Everyone dies, and you get a bounty on your heads so high every hunter within fifty miles will converge on Slum City just to take a crack at you." He shifted, pointing to a different map littered with red Xs. "The streets around Low Lanterns will be foggy by then. Slum City fog rolls thick off the harbors, thanks to the tide. Visibility will almost be piss-poor, and by nightfall, the streets will turn chaotic with nightlife. Vendors. Street performers. Gambling rings. You name it. The good news? All that noise gives us cover to blend in and follow the convoy without raising suspicion. The bad news? So will Ironshadow."
Rahl nodded. "We don't know how Ironshadow plans to strike, but trust me, they'll be there. If they get to Kline first, they'll put a dagger through his throat."
"That's comforting," Cidrin muttered, his sharp voice dripping with sarcasm. "We're competing with a crime syndicate and the Tideguard? Perfect odds."
Ariya leaned forward, resting her chin on one hand. "They're expecting resistance. What kind of defenses are we looking at?"
"Plenty," Rahl said flatly, circling sections of the map. "First off, this Tideguard convoy we're dealing with, not amateurs. Standard units, magic suppression wards, and one Tidewarden are confirmed. Expect nothing less than a professional response to anything they see as hostile." Rahl began, two dozen guards minimum. Half of them wield runework weapons—blades and staves designed to channel low-level mana attacks. The rest are mana specialists who'll bury you if you give them room. "
"They nullify magic, don't they?" Ariya asked.
Rahl nodded. "Wide range. Three enchanted totems in a triangular formation. Disable one without perfect timing, and the others compensate for the lost range. It'll blanket the whole area in a no-magic zone."
"All simultaneously," Cidrin murmured, half to himself, as he adjusted his glasses. "Disabling them is the first step."
"Good luck with that," Rahl said, exhaling a curl of smoke.
"Luck won't be necessary," Cidrin replied with cool precision. "The suppression wards are constantly pulsing energy through interconnected runes. These pulses overlap to create a continuous no-magic zone. But they have a vulnerability—energy alignment. Every few seconds, the pulses sync briefly to recalibrate. That's when we hit. If we disrupt the alignment, the system collapses for a short window. Time it wrong, and the wards compensate, locking tighter. Success means hitting all three anchors simultaneously during that recalibration moment."
Ariya exhaled sharply, leaning back in her chair. "You make that sound like it's an easy task."
Thalor's gaze darkened. "Nothing about this job is going to be easy."
Cidrin adjusted his glasses, his sharp gaze flicking across the map. "Before we discuss their threats, we need our solutions. Let's break this down step by step." He pointed at the route with measured precision.
"First obstacle: suppressor wards. They'll prevent any magic from working within their range. Without neutralizing those, the rest of the plan is worthless. I think I can take care of that."
"And how exactly do you plan to handle Tideguard technology?" Rahl asked, his tone skeptical.
Cidrin didn't miss a beat. "Suppression wards have two key weaknesses—source runes and timing. They rely on intermittent energy pulses; catch the rhythm and disrupt the cycle, and the enchantment breaks. It's not easy, but I'm confident I can disable them long enough for us to move."
"Next," Cidrin continued, nodding toward Narza, "your smoke magic works like an extension of the natural fog. Use the existing haze to thicken the atmosphere—it'll disorient the guards without raising alarm. Don't make it too dense all at once, or they might notice. Keep their formation fractured, so they can't regroup fast enough to respond effectively."
Narza's amber gaze flicked toward him briefly, her expression giving nothing away as she gave a subtle nod.
Cidrin's gaze turned to Ariya next, his voice deliberate. "You'll incapacitate the remaining guards using your healing magic"
"How? Healing Magic only works to support and repair the human body not to harm" Ariya's brow furrowed.
"Healing fixes and restores, but that power can also disrupt. Overstimulate blood production, for instance."
Ariya stared, her frown deepening. "You want me to…"
Cidrin nodded. "Trigger micro-hemorrhages. Small, precise strokes—enough to incapacitate without causing permanent harm. Overload the guards' circulatory systems, just enough to stun them without killing them"
Ariya's lips pressed into a thin line. "That's… I've never used my magic that way before. What if I screw it up?"
"You won't," Cidrin said flatly, meeting her gaze. "Precision magic is your specialty. Focus, and they'll drop before they realize what hit them."
The quiet confidence in his tone made Ariya nod, though unease flickered in her eyes.
"Guess that means I'm next♪" Fenrick leaned forward, baring his usual toothy grin.
"You're the linchpin," Cidrin continued, turning toward the wild brawler, "The fog and incapacitation buy you a tiny window. You can exploit their confusion to breach the convoy and grab Kline. But stagger your approach—don't just barrel straight at them. Use the fog to your advantage."
"Fenrick smirked, flexing his fingers. "Sounds easy enough."
"Not if you botch the timing," Cidrin shot back, unimpressed by Fenrick's bravado. "You've got seconds, not minutes. Waste a single breath, and this entire plan collapses."
Fenrick's grin sharpened, and he gave a lazy shrug. "High stakes are my thing, brainiac. If there's chaos, there's me."
Cidrin ignored him and turned to Rahl. "Your job is the hardest. Track Ironshadow. Stay ahead of their movements. If they strike, we're trapped between two enemies. You have to warn us before that happens."
Rahl smirked dryly, his tone laced with weary humor. "Babysit you lot, then? Sure. Wouldn't want this circus falling apart."
Erin, who had remained silent throughout the discussion, leaned forward. "I want to help too."
Thalor's eyes cut to him, sharp and unyielding. "No."
"What?" Erin straightened, his frustration rising.
"You're not ready," Thalor said firmly. "This isn't just a brawl or a training session. The stakes are higher than anything you've faced before."
"I can handle it!" Erin snapped.
Rahl snorted softly. "Kid, trust me, this isn't about handling it. It's about survival. Sit this one out."
Erin's jaw tightened as the words sank in like cold steel. He clenched the edge of the table. "I'm not useless," he said, his voice low but simmering with frustration. "You can't just sideline me like this—I can help!"
Thalor's gaze was unyielding, the weight of command pressing down harder than any argument Erin could muster. "This isn't about effort, Erin. It's about knowing your place in the fight—and right now, yours is here."
The room seemed to close in around him, the walls mocking his helplessness. He didn't speak again, but the fire in his eyes lingered long after he sank back into his chair.
Thalor leaned over the table, drawing everyone back to focus. "The Tideguard caravan leaves at dusk. Two wagons, suppression wards, heavily armed guards, and a Tidewarden on the first wagon. Their destination is Ironclad Isle. If we fail, Kline ends up there, and we're hunted by the Tideguard and Ironshadow alike. That's the job. It has to go perfectly."
Rahl added with a grim chuckle, "And if it doesn't? Well, hope you've got some rocks to crawl under."
The crew dispersed shortly after, each carrying their role—and the weight of their task hanging over them like the fog waiting to descend upon Slum City.
"You think they'll manage?" Rahl asked dryly, lighting a cigarette with a casual flick.
"They have to," Thalor said, rolling up the map. "Or none of us leave this island alive."