As a compensation for the late upload this week would have one extra chapter.
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CHAPTER — The Silent Passage
Sabre did not return home.
The shattered hall still echoed in his skull, the whispers of the Elders clinging to him like cold dew. Their confusion…their fear…their sudden silence when his name was spoken—none of it left him. It sat on him heavily, like a weight he could not put down.
So instead of turning toward the familiar dirt paths and crumbling houses of his district, he walked the opposite way—toward the city docks. Toward the capital.
Toward the truth that refused to leave him alone.
The night pressed in as he moved. It wasn't loud, not bustling the way nights in the lower wards usually were. Tonight felt strangled—tight and watching. Sabre kept his hood up, every step measured, avoiding lantern pools where guards lingered.
His breath wavered when he finally reached the docks.
Three massive cargo ships loomed beside the piers, their lanterns swinging like tired, glowing eyes. Workers barked orders. Crates clattered. Ropes slapped against wood. All routine—but routine didn't make this safe.
The capital was far, and anyone caught sneaking onto a transport meant for the High District was executed. No excuses. No trials. One arrow through the neck, and your body thrown into the water.
Sabre swallowed hard.
Still…he couldn't turn away.
He glanced around and spotted the second ship—The Silver Mare—its emblem shimmering faintly on the hull. It was headed straight for the capital by dawn. That was his only chance.
He waited.
Listened.
Timed his breath with the workers' shouts.
And when a group moved a long cargo ramp into position, he slipped under it and crouched low, heart drumming painfully loud in his chest.
The scent of tar…cold metal…wet wood…it all pressed into him as he crawled deeper beneath the ship's belly. His hands trembled only once—when a lantern swung too close and a guard's boots stopped right above him.
Sabre held his breath.
The guard hesitated…shifted…
Then, slowly, turned away.
Sabre released the breath he'd been holding, his lungs burning.
He wasn't safe yet.
He waited until the loading slowed. Then, when the chance came, he darted up the narrow gap along the hull, pressed his back against the wooden frame, and slid himself through a tiny maintenance hatch half-buried beneath stacked crates.
He fell into darkness—hard.
A dull thud echoed.
Footsteps froze above him.
Sabre gritted his teeth and curled into the shadows. Dust filled the air as footsteps approached—slow, suspicious. Someone kicked the crate he'd squeezed behind.
Sabre's hand curled around nothing—no weapon. He had deep injuries from before, and his energy was low. He was in no condition to fight a trained dock guard.
The crate shifted.
The guard muttered, "Damn rats…" and moved on.
Sabre sagged in relief.
When the final horn sounded and the ship lurched, Sabre allowed himself one quiet exhale. The ropes were pulled, sails unfurled, and the ocean swallowed the sound of the docks.
The voyage had begun.
But now came the harder part—surviving the trip.
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Hours passed.
Sabre stayed tucked within the cargo bay, hidden behind tall crates of grain and metal parts marked for the High District. The air was thick with dust and the faint metallic taste of sealed containers. Each creak of the ship made him flinch.
His mind was loud—louder than the sea.
Why did they react to my name?
Why did the hall fall silent when I stood up?
What do they know that I don't?
The memories of the Elders' faces haunted him—confusion mixed with something darker. Recognition. Fear.
But of what?
Or of who?
A sudden noise snapped him back.
Bootsteps above him.
Walking slowly.
Deliberately.
Someone descended the ladder to the cargo hold.
Sabre flattened his body tighter against the crate.
A lantern glow swept across the room, illuminating dust flecks like drifting spirits. Sabre could see the boots now—a guard. Heavy leather. Polished. Experienced footsteps, not a new recruit.
The guard paused.
Sabre's pulse hammered.
The lantern beam moved…moved…
Then pointed in his direction.
Sabre's blood froze.
The guard stepped closer.
Another step.
Another.
The lantern now fully faced the crates hiding him.
Sabre clenched his jaw, preparing to bolt—or fight—even with his weakened body.
But then—
A rat scurried out from between two boxes.
The guard let out a harsh sigh, lowering the lantern. "Damn pests. Gonna flood this place with traps when we dock."
Sabre didn't move until the footsteps faded and the lantern glow vanished.
Only then did he realize his palms were drenched in sweat.
He waited a long time after that, longer than necessary, until the ship settled into its midnight rhythm—waves brushing the hull…wood groaning…wind weaving through the sails.
The dread lingered, thick and suffocating.
But beneath it, something else pulsed quietly inside him.
A pull.
A direction.
The capital.
He didn't know why…but every instinct screamed that was where he needed to be.
It wasn't bravery. It wasn't desperation.
It was something older.
He still didn't understand what he was…why he felt an ancient pressure in his bones…or why the monster recognized him before it attacked.
But the capital might have answers.
The Elders might have answers.
Even if their expressions said they didn't want him to learn them.
A sudden throb surged in his chest.
It wasn't pain.
It was like a muted heartbeat beneath his real one.
A silent echo.
Sabre pressed a hand to his sternum. The strange sensation faded…but something remained—like a whisper at the edge of hearing.
He shook it off and tried to rest.
But as he drifted in and out of uneasy sleep, he felt the ship change course slightly, the waves deepening.
And in the pitch-black hours before dawn, Sabre dreamed of lightening again.
Lightening swallowing the sky.
Lightening reaching for him.
Lightening whispering his name.
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