Night settled heavily over the docks.
Lanterns swung slowly above the wooden piers as ships rocked gently in the water. The smell of salt, tar, and wet wood filled the air.
At the far end of the docks, a group of chained figures sat in silence.
Slaves.
Their wrists were bound in iron, their ankles linked with thick chains that clinked softly whenever someone shifted. Some stared at the ground. Others stared blankly at the water.
A ring of armed guards surrounded them.
A few leaned lazily against crates.
Others paced with spears resting on their shoulders.
One guard yawned loudly.
"Ship should be here soon," he muttered.
Another spat into the water.
"Good. I'm tired of babysitting these rats."
Not far from them stood a small wooden building used by the dock masters during the day.
Tonight it was occupied.
Inside, warm lantern light spilled across a table covered in bottles, plates of half-eaten food, and scattered coins.
Four men sat around it laughing loudly.
Slave traders.
One of them raised a glass of wine.
"To the biggest deal we've made yet."
The others cheered.
Another slammed his mug down.
"That southern buyer paid triple for the young ones."
A third leaned back with a smug grin.
"And the best part?"
"No one asked questions."
The men laughed loudly.
Outside, the guards remained at their posts.
Everything seemed calm.
Normal.
Until the first man died.
It happened quietly.
A faint sound—almost like a whisper of air cutting through the room.
Then the trader at the end of the table froze.
His eyes widened slightly.
A thin line of red appeared across his throat.
The others stared in confusion as his glass slipped from his fingers and shattered on the floor.
Then he collapsed.
For a moment, the room went silent.
"What the hell—"
Before the second man could finish speaking—
THUD.
A dagger suddenly appeared in his chest.
He looked down in disbelief.
Blood spread across his shirt.
Then he slumped forward onto the table.
The remaining two traders shot to their feet.
"What is happening?!"
One of them reached for his sword.
But another faint movement passed through the room—fast and almost invisible.
The third trader gasped.
A blade had slid cleanly between his ribs from behind.
He collapsed beside the others.
Now only one remained.
The last trader stood frozen.
His breathing became frantic as his eyes darted around the room.
"Who's there?!"
No answer.
"Show yourself!"
Nothing.
The lantern flame flickered slightly.
Then something moved in the shadows.
That was enough.
The man bolted for the door.
He burst outside—
And immediately stopped.
His legs nearly gave out.
The guards were all dead.
Every single one.
Some lay slumped against crates.
Others lay across the pier.
One had fallen directly beside the chained slaves, who now stared in silent shock.
The trader's hands trembled.
"No… no… no…"
He turned slowly.
A voice spoke behind him.
Calm.
Close.
"You should have stayed inside."
The man gasped and spun around—
But he was too slow.
A flash of steel appeared.
A dagger drove straight through his stomach.
His mouth opened in a silent scream as the blade pushed completely through him.
The figure behind him held him upright for a moment.
Then pulled the dagger free.
The trader collapsed onto the wooden dock.
Dead.
The cloaked figure stood over him quietly.
After a moment, he reached up and pulled back his hood.
A young man revealed himself.
Brown hair fell slightly over his forehead, damp with sweat.
He looked no older than twenty.
Maybe twenty-one.
He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.
"Alright," he muttered under his breath.
"I think we're done here."
Footsteps approached from the shadows.
Three more cloaked figures stepped into the lantern light.
Unlike him, their hoods remained up.
The first voice that spoke sounded amused.
"Done already?"
It was a young man, judging by the tone.
"That was almost disappointingly easy."
The brown-haired man smirked faintly.
"Not every job needs to be difficult."
Another of the cloaked figures stepped forward.
This one moved more lightly.
Possibly a woman.
Her voice was calm.
"What about the slaves?"
The brown-haired man looked over at the chained group sitting nearby.
Dozens of eyes stared back at him with a mix of fear and confusion.
He sighed slightly.
"We unlock the chains."
One of the cloaked figures tilted his head.
"And then?"
The brown-haired man knelt beside the nearest slave and began cutting through the iron lock with his dagger.
"Then we give them a choice."
The chain snapped open.
The slave stared at his freed wrists in disbelief.
"They can leave," the young man continued calmly.
"Or they can come with us."
One of the cloaked figures chuckled quietly.
"You're recruiting again."
The brown-haired man shrugged.
"People who've lived in chains tend to understand why the world needs changing."
The last lock broke open.
More chains followed.
One by one.
The freed slaves slowly stood.
None of them ran.
They simply watched the four cloaked figures standing under the lantern light.
The brown-haired man finally stood again.
He wiped his dagger clean on a piece of cloth.
Then slid it back into its sheath.
"Alright," he said.
"Let's get these people somewhere safe before the city guard notices the mess."
Behind them, the bodies of the slave traders and their guards lay scattered across the docks.
And in the quiet darkness of the harbor, the waves carried the sound of broken chains drifting into the night.