The weeks of waiting along the hidden coast came to an end when Soren Kalt's workshop delivered the final pieces. The Dawn Wind no longer looked like a simple fast merchant ship: now, with ten giant ballistae mounted along her sides — five to a side — and new hand ballistae distributed among the crew, she looked like a hedgehog of wood and metal, ready for war.
Kael studied the horizon from the bridge. The sea was restless, and the long shadows moving beneath the surface told him the season of the great fish hadn't ended.
"It's time to see if that money was well spent," Kael announced. "We sail! But we won't go far. We keep the coast in sight. Safe strategy: controlled hunts."
The first sorties were a resounding success. The twelve youngsters, under the old sailor's direction, learned to load the enormous projectiles with a rhythmic coordination. When the first monster surfaced — a beast of silver scales and dagger-like teeth — Kael gave the order.
"Fire starboard!"
The crack of the great ballista strings was sharp and deep. The bolts tore through the air and buried themselves in the creature's flesh before it could ram the hull. The youngsters cheered, but Aeren remained serious, reloading his own weapon with hands scraped raw by the bowstrings.
"Don't celebrate yet," he called to his companions. "Get the next round ready!"
When they returned to the cove with the holds full of prey, the veterans' distrust began to soften. Those fish weren't just trophies: their oils were prized and their scales sold as material for light armor. The haul was immense.
"Captain, those youngsters have real ability," Marcus admitted, overseeing the processing of a creature. "They've earned the crew's trust in record time. Not only are they fast — they know how to listen to the old sailor."
Kael watched Aeren, who hadn't even wiped the blood from his face while he helped the older sailors.
"They're proving what they're worth," Kael allowed. "But the sea is predictable compared to men."
That night, with the Dawn Wind anchored in the cove and the smell of monster oil soaking everything, Kael sat at the bow sharpening the tips of the projectiles. Most of the crew slept or played cards below deck. The sound of the sea against the hull was all that broke the silence.
Lyra appeared without a sound, the way she always moved. She sat beside him on the rail, legs dangling over the dark water, and stayed there for a while watching the moon's reflection on the waves. Kael didn't look at her, but he didn't ask her to leave.
"Was it always like this?" she finally asked, gesturing toward the deck where dark stains from the day's hunt still lingered. "This violent?"
Kael passed the whetstone along the tip of the projectile once more before answering.
"Battles are like storms," he said without looking up. "You never know how long they'll last, or how much damage they can do. All you can do is be prepared and know when to find shelter."
"My father used to say something like that," Lyra murmured. Her fingers closed around the edge of the wood. "Though he'd add that the best storms are the ones that force you to build something stronger afterward."
Kael stopped sharpening. The stone went still against the metal.
"Your father was a wiser man than I am," he said, and his voice came out different — without its usual edge. "I only ever learned to dodge storms. He knew how to come out of them better than he went in."
The silence returned between them, but it was a comfortable silence — the kind shared only by people who don't need to fill every moment with words. Kael set the projectile and the whetstone aside, glanced at her for a moment, then drew a short dagger from his belt and offered it to her, handle first.
"Take this. If you're going to stay on this ship, you should at least learn to defend yourself with something more than words."
Lyra took it, weighing it in her hand.
"I don't know how to use it."
"Hold it like this—" Kael corrected the position of her fingers with a quick, almost impatient gesture. "Never with the thumb on top. And if someone gets too close, aim here—" he pointed to a spot just below the ribs. "I'll teach you the rest when I have time."
Lyra nodded, tucking the dagger into her belt with a care that gave away she would treat it as something more than a weapon. In the distance, they could hear Aeren laughing as he showed the youngsters how to coil the ballista cables.
Lyra turned toward the sound, and a brief smile crossed her face. Kael noticed. He picked up the projectile and whetstone from where he had left them and went back to sharpening — more to keep his hands busy than out of any real need.
"What do you think of him?" she asked, turning back to the Captain. "Of Aeren, I mean. Several weeks have passed. Do you think he can do it?"
Kael paused the whetstone for a moment, weighing the question.
"He's stubborn, impulsive, and he has that habit young men have of thinking willpower can do everything," he said, and Lyra opened her mouth to argue, but Kael raised a hand. "But he also has something I lost a long time ago: he genuinely believes in what he's doing. He's not in this for money, or revenge, or pride. That boy truly wants to change things — and the worst of it is, I think he might be capable of it."
Lyra looked at him with wide eyes, as if she hadn't expected that much honesty.
"Did you just admit that a boy has something better than you?"
"Don't tell him," Kael growled — though the corner of his mouth curved upward. "He still needs to learn when to walk away from a fight. If he doesn't learn that, nothing else will matter."
"I'll make sure he does," Lyra said firmly.
Kael glanced at her sideways. Then he looked toward where Aeren was still giving orders — bandaged hands and straight back despite the exhaustion. Then back at Lyra, who kept watching the young prince without realizing her expression gave everything away.
"You know..." said Kael without looking up from the projectile, in a tone that didn't quite come out as casual as he intended. "That boy is going to need someone clear-headed beside him. Someone who knows when to slow him down. Someone like you would do him a lot of good."
Lyra went still for a second. The flush climbed her neck before it reached her cheeks. She opened her mouth, closed it, and finally let out a dismissive sound.
"I don't know what you're talking about," she said — too quickly — as she got down from the rail.
Kael let out a low, rough laugh, one of those that rarely escaped him.
"Of course not," he murmured to himself, going back to his work with a half-smile that didn't leave his face for a good while.
---
The Turn of Betrayal
The Dawn Wind's good fortune didn't go unnoticed. Despite Kael's efforts to keep a low profile, the flow of valuable cargo and the activity in the black market set off alarms.
On their third hunting sortie, just as they were finishing securing a large prize, the watchman called from high on the mast:
"Sails on the horizon! Not fishing boats — warships of the royal guard!"
Kael cursed under his breath.
"Someone at the port talked! Cut the lines on the prizes! We need speed!"
Three fast ships of the kingdom emerged from the mist, cutting off the angle of retreat toward their secret cove. Someone had sold their exact location and hunting schedule. The betrayal hung in the air as clearly as the smell of gunpowder.
"We're surrounded!" Aeren shouted, running toward one of the giant ballistae. "Kael, if they take us now, it's over!"
"They won't take us!" Kael roared. "Fire at their masts! Use the giant ballistae against their sails!"
The engagement was brutal. The kingdom's ships launched grappling hooks and fire arrows. The Dawn Wind took several hits that made the lower timbers groan. Splintered wood flew through the air and water began to seep in. But thanks to the new artillery and the agility of the youngsters, they managed to disable the rudder of the lead kingdom ship.
"Full speed! Get us out of here!" Kael ordered.
They escaped by the narrowest of margins — the Dawn Wind's unmatched speed making the difference — but the damage ran deep. It wasn't just the ship that was wounded. Their refuge no longer existed.