Anemoi 15 – Anemoi 18, Imperial Year 1645
The Eastern Continent – The Port City of Luminara
Three months after the ship's arrival. A flashback.
The voyage had been long, the storms brutal, the food scarce. But they had made it.
Luminara was a city of white stone and red tile roofs, built on a natural harbor at the mouth of a wide river. Its walls were high, its towers tall, its streets clean. The ruler, a woman known as the Dawn Queen, had built her reputation on order. Cultists were not tolerated. Criminals were not pardoned. Refugees were processed, housed, and watched.
The ship docked at midday. The survivors – Vlad, Corvin, Sera, Gunnar, Kithri, Echo, Rook, and a handful of wounded – stood on the deck, staring at the city.
"It's not home," Corvin said.
"It's not supposed to be," Vlad replied. "It's a place to start."
The Dock – Afternoon
The passengers began to unload. Crates, barrels, and bundles were carried down the gangplank. The city's dockworkers helped, but the survivors worked alongside them.
Vlad carried a heavy crate of salted fish on his shoulder. His clothes were simple – a dark grey tunic, black trousers, worn boots. But his appearance drew stares.
He was pale, his skin almost luminous in the afternoon light. His hair was long, silver‑white, pulled back from his face. His features were sharp, almost sculpted – high cheekbones, a straight nose, a jaw that could cut glass. His eyes were the colour of old wine, and they held a weariness that made him look older than his apparent years.
A group of young women watched from a nearby warehouse. They were merchants' daughters, idle, curious.
"Look at that one," one said, nodding toward Vlad.
"Which one? The tall one with the white hair?"
"Yes. He moves like a noble."
"He dresses like a dockhand."
"That's what I mean. A man with a face like that shouldn't be carrying crates."
Another woman fanned herself. "Gods above. Who is he?"
"A refugee, probably. From Mesos."
"Then he's seen things."
"He's seen war. You can see it in his eyes."
The first woman tilted her head. "Do you think he has someone?"
"A wife? A sweetheart?"
"Look at him. He's too sad to have someone."
"Or maybe he lost someone. That would explain the sadness."
A third woman, younger, giggled. "I don't care if he's sad. I'd marry him tomorrow."
"You'd marry a dockhand?"
"I'd marry that dockhand."
They watched as Vlad set down the crate and wiped his brow. Corvin handed him a waterskin. They exchanged a few words – too quiet to hear – and then Vlad smiled. It was a small expression, tired, but genuine.
"He smiled," the first woman said.
"So?"
"So a man who can smile after whatever he's been through… that's rare."
"He's probably spoken for."
"By whom? There's no ring on his finger."
"Maybe he doesn't wear one."
The younger woman sighed. "I'm going to find out his name."
"You're not."
"Watch me."
She took a step forward, but her friend grabbed her arm. "Don't. He's a refugee. He's been through hell. Leave him alone."
"Fine." She pouted. "But if I see him again…"
"You'll what? Bat your eyelashes?"
"Maybe."
They laughed, still watching.
The Dock – The Knights of the Dawn
A patrol of city guards marched along the dock. Their armor was polished silver, their cloaks white, their helmets crested with brass sunbursts. They moved with discipline, eyes scanning the crowd.
The leader, a woman with a scar across her cheek, stopped near Vlad's group.
"Refugees?" she asked.
Corvin stepped forward. "Yes. From Mesos."
"Any cultists among you?"
"No."
"Any demons?"
"We left them behind."
The woman studied him. Then she nodded. "The Dawn Queen has ordered a search. Anyone who worships the demon king will be executed. Anyone who hides them will share their fate."
"We understand."
The patrol moved on. They questioned other ships, other refugees. They were thorough, efficient, and cold.
Sera watched them go. "They're not playing games."
"Good," Vlad said. "Cultists deserve no mercy."
The Warehouse – Evening
The survivors were given a space in a large warehouse, converted into temporary housing for refugees. Rows of cots, a communal kitchen, a medical tent.
They settled in. No familiar faces from home – just strangers, fellow refugees, all carrying their own grief.
Vlad sat on a cot, staring at the ceiling. Corvin lay on the cot beside him.
"We made it," Corvin said.
"We made it."
"What now?"
"We rest. We find work. We learn the city." Vlad paused. "And we wait."
"For what?"
"For word of the others. For a sign. For a chance to rebuild."
Corvin closed his eyes. "That's a lot of waiting."
"We have time."
The Rooftop – Night
Vlad stood on the roof of the warehouse, looking out at the city. Luminara was beautiful – white walls gleaming in the moonlight, torches flickering along the streets, the sound of a distant fountain.
Corvin climbed up beside him.
"You should sleep."
"I should think."
"Same thing for you."
Vlad didn't answer.
Corvin leaned against the parapet. "The young ladies were watching you today."
"I noticed."
"One of them wanted to know your name."
"Did she?"
"Another said she'd marry you tomorrow."
Vlad almost smiled. "They don't know me."
"They don't need to. You're pretty."
Vlad shot him a look. Corvin shrugged.
"I'm just saying. You could have anyone in this city if you wanted."
"I don't want anyone."
"That's the problem."
They stood in silence.
"What now?" Corvin asked.
Vlad looked east, toward the mountains. "We find a place to rebuild. We find allies. We find the others."
"And the demons?"
"We kill them. Every last one."
Corvin nodded. "That's a plan."
"It's a start."
End of Chapter Eighty‑Two