The settlement's dust still clung to Drea's clothes as she tightened the straps of her pack and fastened the hidden blades under her cloak. The forge had gone cold behind her, its flames smothered for the last time. Drea didn't look back. She couldn't. The longer she stayed in any one place, the easier it became for the Syndicate to follow the trails she tried desperately to bury.
Kai held her hand tightly, his small fingers interlacing with hers, trusting her completely.
"Are we traveling again?" he asked, breathless, excitement and fear blending in his voice.
Drea nodded. "Farther than before. Somewhere safer."
Somewhere new. Somewhere the Syndicate's claws couldn't reach, or at least, couldn't reach them quickly.
Over the past year, her name, her work, had traveled faster than rumor usually did. Traders described her weapons as "unnaturally balanced," "impossible to imitate," "crafts of a prodigy." What started as whispers in dusty camps had become clear enough that noble caravans sent scouts seeking the mysterious blacksmith. She never used her real name, never gave the same alias twice, but praise spread whether she wanted it to or not.
Popularity was danger.
Skill was exposure.
Exposure brought the Syndicate.
And lately, she felt them getting closer again.
Someone had recognized one of the insignia marks she accidentally left on a weapon. A trademark curve her father once taught her. A curve the Syndicate knew well.
They were tracking her.
It was time to leave.
But this time, she would outsmart them.
This time, she would disappear entirely.
*****
The harbor at Greyfall was loud with fishermen, sailors, merchants, and townsfolk all shouting over each other. The air smelled of sea salt, rotting fish, and engine smoke from the cargo lifts. Waves slapped the wooden dock rhythmically, glinting in the early morning sun. Drea kept her hood low, her grip firm on Ace's shoulder as they moved through the bustling crowd.
Ships of all sizes lined the piers, from sleek passenger vessels she could never afford to rust-flecked cargo haulers unloading crates stamped with foreign emblems.
Ace tugged her sleeve. "Which ship are we taking?"
She pointed subtly toward the far end of the dock where a cargo vessel, The Murielle, was preparing to depart. It was big, battered, and clearly run by a crew that bent rules in exchange for coin.
"It's cheap," she told him. "And no one looks too closely at who boards."
Ace nodded, though concern flickered in his brown eyes. "Is it safe?"
"No ship is entirely safe," Drea answered honestly. "But safer than staying."
Safer than letting the Syndicate corner them again.
She paid the crewman, an older man with a crooked hat and missing teeth and he waved them aboard with little interest. The Murielle's deck was wide and worn, ropes coiled messily beside stacked crates secured with rusty chains. The cargo wasn't luxury goods, mostly farm tools, ore, and some suspiciously heavy boxes she suspected contained illegal goods. All the better. Smugglers were less likely to question passengers who paid in cash and kept quiet.
Drea and Kai found a cramped resting space between piles of crates. She wrapped Kai in blankets and sat beside him, letting the rocking of the ship steady her thoughts.
"We're heading north," she murmured. "Past the coastlines. If the map is right…we'll reach Valenford within a week."
Ace's eyes widened. "Valenford? The place with the big stone gates?"
She nodded. "A noble region. Strong soldiers. Strict laws. The Syndicate won't have as much power there."
Won't, but not can't.
She needed to be ready for anything.
She sharpened her daggers in the dimness, blades she forged herself, shaped by careful hands and sleepless nights. As metal scraped metal, she felt her heartbeat slow. The rhythm comforted her. Anchored her.
The last time she had been on a ship, she had been too young to remember it. Her mother once told her that journeys by sea were like turning pages in life; something changed when you stepped onto a boat, and something else changed when your feet touched land again.
She wondered what awaited them on the other side of the water.
*****
The first three days passed quietly.
Too quietly.
Drea kept an ever-watchful eye on the ship's movements. She studied the crew, memorized their faces and patterns, who walked where, who carried weapons, who avoided her gaze.
Ace spent much of the time lying on the deck and staring at the horizon, humming little tunes and talking to the seagulls that followed the ship. Sometimes he asked her stories about their old home, about the forge, about their parents. And every time, Drea answered softly, with a voice steady enough to hide the ache behind it.
But the fourth night…
Everything changed.
The sea was calm, the sky clear. Moonlight rippled across the waves. Drea sat on a crate sharpening a small blade while Kai slept curled against her cloak.
Then she heard it.
A distant horn.
Low. Long. Ominous.
She stiffened.
Sailors began murmuring. Footsteps raced across the deck. A voice shouted from the lookout tower:
"Ship on the starboard side! No banner...fast approach!"
Drea's heart froze.
No banner always meant trouble.
Smugglers did not approach openly.
Pirates attacked loudly.
And the Syndicate?
They came silently.
The horn blared again, closer now.
Doors slammed. Men cursed. One of the crew sprinted past them, panic etched into his face.
"What's happening?" Drea demanded.
He barely looked at her. "Raiders! Coming straight for us, no chance of outrunning!"
Raiders.
A convenient word.
We liked to disguise their hunts as raids to avoid political consequences at sea.
Drea's blood turned icy.
She grabbed Ace, waking him gently but urgently. "Stay quiet. Don't cry, no matter what happens."
Ace blinked sleepily. "Drea? What's wrong?"
"We need to hide."
Before the crew scattered, Drea dragged Kai behind a stack of large metal crates. She found one slightly open, filled with rough burlap sacks and carefully tucked Ace inside.
He clutched her sleeve. "You're coming too?"
She cupped his cheek. "I'll be right here. I won't leave you."
She shut the crate just enough to conceal him but not enough to stop his breathing.
Then she drew her daggers.
Placed her back against the crate containing her brother.
And waited.
Ready to kill anyone who came near.
The attack hit fast.
The enemy ship slammed against The Murielle with a violent crash that shook the entire deck. Splintered wood flew everywhere. People screamed. Ropes snapped. Lanterns shattered, plunging half the ship into darkness.
Then came the footsteps, heavy boots boarding, steel clanking, men shouting commands.
She recognized their accents.
Syndicate.
The same men who killed her father. The same men who took her mother.
Her veins pulsed with fury.
She crouched low, blending with the shadows. Her eyes narrowed as multiple men spread across the deck, checking crates, dragging passengers out, beating crew members.
They were looking for something.
No.....looking for her.
"Find the girl," one of them barked. "If she's here, the boy will be too."
Drea gripped her daggers tighter. Her breath shook, but her hands remained steady.
If they came near this crate…
If they touched her brother…
She would stain the sea with their blood.
One Syndicate man approached her row of crates.
Drea lowered her stance.
He reached for the crate Ace was hidden in.
She struck.
Her dagger slashed across his arm before he could cry out, and she pulled him into the shadows, silencing him with a second blade to the throat. He collapsed without a sound.
Her body trembled, not from fear, but from the surge of adrenaline.
She wiped her blade clean on his coat and positioned herself again.
Another man came.
And another.
Each time, she killed swiftly, silently, fueled by a rage that had burned for years.
But there were too many.
Too many for her alone.
Explosions tore through the ship, barrels catching fire, wood shattering, crew screaming. In the chaos, someone cut the stabilizing ropes, and The Murielle lurched sideways, nearly throwing her off her feet.
Water rushed in through a hole torn in the hull.
"Abandon ship!" someone bellowed.
The deck tilted.
Crates slid.
She heard Ace scream from inside the box.
She shoved her shoulders under the crate, propping it in place with all her strength. "Ace! I'm here! Hold on!"
The ship groaned like a dying beast.
Then everything fell apart.
The mast snapped. Fire spread across the deck. A wave slammed into the side, sending half the attackers into the water. Another explosion ripped the hull, flooding the lower deck.
Drea grabbed Ace's crate and dragged it toward the lifeboats, only to realize the boats had already been destroyed in the raid.
Even now, the Syndicate men kept searching, shouting her name like a curse.
"Find the girl! She's worth more than the cargo!"
And with one final explosion, The Murielle split.
Cold water swallowed them.
Drea held onto Ace, kicking desperately, pulling him above the surface as debris rained around them. Flames crackled on floating planks. Bodies drifted. The night reeked of smoke and salt.
"Drea!" Ace coughed, clinging to her neck. "I'm scared!"
"I've got you," she gasped. "I've got you....always."
Wreckage bobbed around them, broken crates, twisted metal, shattered barrels. She grabbed onto a floating carriage door and hauled Ace up.
Behind them, the Syndicate ship circled, searching the wreckage.
Drea ducked low, her cloak blending with the charred wood.
The current pulled them, slowly, relentlessly, toward a distant shore.
Toward Valenford.
Toward a fate she didn't yet know was waiting.
Hours later, the broken remnants of the cargo ship washed onto a pale beach. Carriages and crates floated in with the tide like scattered bones, the last remains of The Murielle.
Drea staggered onto the sand, Ace in her arms, coughing seawater.
They had survived. Barely.
Ahead of them, beyond the dunes, tall stone walls glimmered in the early dawn.
Valenford.
The land of nobles.
The land where Rovan Ackerman lived.
And that morning, soaked, exhausted, carrying her sleeping brother…
Drea unknowingly stepped into the place where her destiny would finally collide with his.