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She knew it was impolite to stare, but the sight of the headless corpse had completely captured Persa's attention.

The corpse wore a military uniform, the front of it tattered and torn to reveal its lacerated chest, along with several bleeding puncture wounds at the ribs. Its pants were torn and pouring blood down its leg.

She didn't recognize the uniform, but that was no great surprise. She had never been one to care about the dress of soldiers or sailors, be it at home or among the colonies.

Where the corpse moved, blood poured out of the holes and spurted out of the gaping neck like a fountain, made worse by the manic movements it made as it tried to keep itself balanced. The fact that the corpse was missing a boot made its uneven swagger more obvious.

Persa watched as the corpse thrashed against its unwary victim, hands clawing at flesh and clothing, trying to rend its prey limb from limb.

For his part, the old captain was entirely unbothered by the headless corpse doing its best to eviscerate him.

He was a small, thin, man with a salty beard and a sour expression that looked like it could curdle milk. When he raised his voice to shout over the wind, to bark orders at the crew, or even to speak within the ship's dining hall, it came out rough and torn. Barely understandable.

The result of greyrock use, Persa learned. It was a quick way to an early grave from lung rot. Though early seemed to be quite late for the old captain.

The captain turned her way, his one good eye a swirl of wind, and Persa was quick to lower the Glimmer of her eyes. The corpse vanished into a whisp of air, but not before Persa caught a sight of one armband with a sigil that made her stomach drop.

A crown in white and black, shared among three eyes. That was something she recognized.

The captain approached her, head held high, his one good eye still that storm of wind and clouds with a glassy sheen. The winds blowing against the sails of the boat shifted imperceptibly, guiding the vessel, even as the man walked towards her.

His Glare was fierce indeed, to be able to manipulate the elements so finely, and for such a scale. Yet it was the thought of that murdered woman - for she could not deny that it was murder and it felt wrong to call it a corpse now - and the sheer hatred she held for him that almost made Persa turn and run.

Which would be disastrous for a number of reasons. For one thing, Sabra might be around, watching, and what her minder would do was near unpredictable. Especially if the captain learned from Sabra what Persa's Glimmer could do.

For another, she was a Masked. She couldn't afford to be seen running away from anyone, even if they had a Glare. Even if she felt an iota of the anger that spectre felt. It would ruin everything.

It took all of her will to remain in place and keep the terror off of her expression as the captain greeted her with a tip of his hat and short bow, "Honored Oidan of the Masked."

Persa swallowed and nodded her head back, "C-Captain."

She hated that she stuttered and that she could not recall the man's name. She had locked herself below deck for most of the trip, the sight of the giant waves of an early storm giving her a fright like never before. A large difference from the pleasant meadows and ponds she was familiar with.

The captain merely smiled as he tapped his glassy eye, "Admirin' the work, are ya?"

With the rough edge of the voice, it came out as 'Admirn de workr ye', and Persa took a moment to parse it.

'Work' had her think of the dead soldier, but the captain was looking at the sails, "Ohy' took many a year to harness the winds, Honored Oidan. Even withy's gif' upon me, the Holy Eye don' makey' easy asy' throws the gales and storms with every blink. I saw tha' you were no fan of the voyage with tha' firs' storm. I did my bes' to subside the wors' of the winds."

Her cheeks heated at being noticed for such a fear, once she interpreted, especially by such a man as he. The man stayed silent for a long moment, looking at her.

He wants me to say something.

"You do your job well, sir."

He hummed at that, smiling fainter, "Noh enough to ge' you ou'of your quar'rs. There was some talk of seeing you in the halls like a ghos'. Tha', perhaps, you saw something in the storm…"

The only ghost to worry about is your own.

Still, she was able to notice the question this time, "Poor time at sea, sir. I have only taken the most modest of paddle boats before. Nothing to do with what I have seen."

He barked a laugh at that, "The Honored Aisan said as much. Well, much as she deigned to say. A formidable wall of silence, tha' one is. Even our cooks gave her no lip, and I've never gotten a meal withou' them spitting iny' once as they yella' me."

Persa screwed her face up at that. Both at the thought of the spit in the food and at how comfortable the man was with her already.

Her expression seemed to amuse him, "No' much of tha' humor from the Temple, eh?"

"The Temple was more… subdued," she reluctantly agreed. "It is a holy place after all."

Not that I imagine you are particularly holy.

He nodded, holding up a hand with a silver ring on it, "Bough' this from a merchan' coming through, three years back. Blessed by the Empress herself she claims. Never had a pira' attack since."

Persa sincerely doubted that the ring was actually blessed by the Empress. Such blessed items cost a fortune and radiated with her grace, given only to the most worthy of rulers, warriors, and avatars of her will.

If such a man like this… captain were to be holding a blessed ring, Persa would half expect it to be solely for the Empress to smite him dead at the most opportune time.

"It is quite beautiful," she said diplomatically. "Did she say for what fortune?"

He looked at the ring pensively for a moment, "Aye. Of foresigh' and deliverance from evils. I never seen a Gorgon-"

The captain spat to the side and circled his heart, then his Glare eye. Persa dutifully circled her eyes and crossed her heart.

"-Bu' I hear the tales. I have friends who don' come back, even with small flee's and more guns than some armies. I can stir a mighty wind, but I won' take my chances with the Dark Depths."

Whatever he may be, Persa could not dismiss the man for having a rational fear. There were some things even monstrous men feared, and righteously so.

"And speaking of the Dark Depths, I was hoping to ask a boon of ya."

"What sort of boon?" Persa asked, wary.

"Wouldy' be rude to ask of ya, for the use of a Glimmer? We are close to por', by our accountin', but I'm always weary when I stop'a the Ena colony. I don' know wha' you can see but my other eye ain' the same asy use to be." He pointed to where a long slash cut down a gnarled eyelid, thankfully closed.

"How did it happen?" Persa felt herself ask, curious and hoping to deflect from the request.

"The war off in the South Sea. Ever hear of Transmesca?"

She shook her head.

He looked oddly disappointed, "Ah, well. Wasn' a large war, all things considered. Pirates-" He spat to the side, making Persa wince. A man does not need spit twice in damnation.

"-Damn them all to a watery grave. Took over the por' and city. Rebels helped and they fortified every window, door, gate, and po' of excremen' ify' mean' making us rake ourselves overy'. One took my eye ou' with a fork."

Persa looked at the long gash across his face with doubt.

He smiled darkly, "The knife came later. After I killed the fork man, his partner wasn' too happy, see? I cleared him up real quick like, though."

The captain tapped his swirling, stormy eye, chuckling at his little joke.

Persa swallowed and asked, "And you've been ferrying ever since?"

"Once I go' my glare, yes. The Maiden's Breeze I call her, if you haven' read the manifes' or papers."

She did vaguely recall that. "For how long? Right after your-" Another thought brought the ghost to her mind. "...Glare?"

The captain gave her a curious look, but shook his head, "A year after Heaven blessed me. Was promoted, given a ship, and offered my life to suppor' Seers of all sorts. Masked, Mused, Chronics…"

He waved his hand, "But I be boasting. It is better than sailing from rebellion to rebellion, and it will be a calmer burial ah sea than by cannon fire."

Did your ghost get a burial? I doubt it.

She was a corpse, there was nothing to be done in that regard. And for all she knew, the woman could have been buried.

Yet Persa could not stop thinking of its ferocity. It's anger and desire to kill this man before her.

"Forgive me," the captain said softly. Or as softly as a grated throat could attempt. "I mean' to simply ge' to know you and ask for a Glimmer of good news. Have I pushed too hard, Honored Oidan? Or isy' sea-sickness of a rougher sor'?"

Persa realized she had been glaring - a normal glare - at the old captain.

She forced herself to relax, letting the tension fall and unclenching her hands. "Apologies, sir. The sea and I don't seem to get along. I will be fine once we see land… though you said you were worried about Ena?"

He nodded, "The Governor is a fair man, in price and in virtue, but there's whispers… whispers tha' I assumed you Masked know of, yes?"

Persa thought of the orders given to her by scroll. What the Empress asked of her, to venture out by land and sea to a colony she had never heard of before then.

"I know," she said softly. Her left eye activated the Glimmer, and she could see the captain's eye widen at the symbol it created.

She didn't care, looking more intensely at the old captain as the ghostly woman reformed from his shadow, swinging devastating blows at his skull. With every hit, the clawed hands stopped in their tracks, as though his skin was as impervious as steel.

Persa turned away from the murderous woman, looking across the crew deck with her Glimmer for the second time of the trip.

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Men and few women hustled to and fro, with only a few taking a moment to pause and look out at the deep blue sea, an act that deeply unnerved Persa. It was far too easy in her opinion for someone to fall overboard, lost forever to the cruel Dark Depths.

For every man and woman that she could see, a ghost followed in their wake.

One sailor was surrounded by five heretics, young men weeping with bullets in their chests and skulls. Another had a ghost resting his head on the sailor's shoulder, a dagger in the neck. Almost as disturbing as the captain was a sailor sweeping the deck, a bruised and far too quiet infant clinging to his arms as he moved, eyes rolled up to the back of the head.

Almost, but not quite as bad as the captain's. That ghost was at least at peace, for the time being. There was no rage and hate in it's existence.

She gave the soldier ghost one final glance as it tried to claw out the captain's eye, before shutting down the Glimmer.

"No trouble," she said with forced calm. "Nothing that you don't already know."

He gave her a smile and tipped his hat, "A fine mercy, Honored Odian. This old dog thanks you. Now, I have a ship to righ' and prepare for por'. If you need anything, please pull one of my sailors aside and they'll hop toy'."

She nodded and let the old man hobble away, feeling relieved at his absence and allowing out a shuddering breath.

His ghost truly was the worst of the lot. Even among the horrors, what she saw of that symbol meant she had to act on this particular instance.

Persa moved to the pillar that housed the Crow's Nest and a long rope attached to it. She caught the attention of a passing sailor with a wave, and the captain had certainly not been lying about the crew running to her assistance.

The sailor was quick to answer that the rope did ring up the Crow's Nest and offered to do it for her. An equally quick thanks for the confirmation before she dismissed her, and the sailor was almost happy to no longer be under her attention.

Persa tugged on the rope twice, waiting only a few seconds before two heads appeared from the nest. Even from that height, she could easily discern Sabra's outline.

Sabra turned to her fellow nester, seeming to say a few words, and then looked down from the top of the crows nest. It only took a glance - and then faster than thought - Sabra was at Persa's side.

No sound and no rush of wind to accompany the sudden appearance, only the faint line of rings that were gone in a moment, settling into nothingness like wisps of smoke.

Persa flinched back as the large woman stared down at her. She was easily a head taller that Persa, with shaggy, dirty blonde hair that framed a square jaw and sharp cheekbones. Three deep scars ran from the corner of her mouth to her right ear.

It was hidden from view, but Persa knew that the top half of that ear had been ripped to shreds.

Broad shoulders strained against the black frock coat Sabra wore, the seams lined with silver lattice work, with a crown made out of swords as her epaulets. More of that silver lace and sword theme run down the length of her black trousers and boots. Attached to her collar was a silver pin, a more intricate version of the sword-crown atop a ringed circle at her neck, sharp enough that Persa imagined it could double as a weapon.

Persa's own outfit was similar, though where Sabra's muscular physique tested the uniform's strength, hers felt too big on her short and skinny frame. She had driven the tailor mad when she kept complaining that it hung off of her too loosely, or that it felt like it was swallowing her up, before a silent glance from Sabra had Persa accept the final design. She felt like a child wearing her parent's clothes, despite being twenty years of age.

Where Sabra was silver, Persa had gold. Where Sabra had swords crowning atop ringed circles, Persa had a grinning skull adorned with its own crown. Both pins were gifted by the Empress herself, as recognition and title.

Persa didn't like to look at her symbols for too long. She saw enough of the dead to last a life-time.

"We'll be making land soon," Sabra said after a moment. "They can't see it with their telescopes, but I can make out the hazy ports. Won't be long before we are beset by birds I imagine."

Her ringed eyes studied Persa, "Have you prepared yourself?"

She didn't meet Sabra's eyes; it was too easy to get lost in them. "Yes."

"It will be your first mission and impression amongst the common folk. You'll be representing the Empress's will."

"I know."

"Other Masked will have their agents and ears to listen of your excursion. Impressing them is more important than the people. It's a difference between them thinking you are an asset to an empire to lift up, or a tool to further their own guides from the Empress."

She bowed her head deeper, "I understand."

"Don't bow at me," Sabra said, huffing out a breath. "You outrank me, remember? I am your tool. Treat me as such."

It was hard to believe. Sabra had been a Masked for far longer than Persa, even more so if one counted official missions and gift of the Glimmer and Glare. Really, she had no right to be telling the older woman what to do or leading the mission in the first place.

And yet the Empress had given her this task, and Sabra along with it. A bear of a woman who spoke with the same sort of tone that a tamed, but still wild, animal might growl when an unfortunate soul got its attention for more than a few minutes.

Sabra had petrified Persa from the moment they met and there had been more than a few dark nights where remembering the woman's glower, the furrow of her brow, and the way her lips pressed together in barely held frustration had kept her awake.

Months later, and that had only slightly abated.

The very thought of her now having the power to order the Aisan around was nearly impossible to wrap her head around. She was sure the woman would lash out at some point if she tried, if only because Persa could not imagine giving any intelligent order in the first place.

So Persa simply said, "Yes, Sabra."

Looking down, she could not see the older woman pinching the bridge of her nose to hold back a sigh, but she knew it was happening nonetheless.

"You wished to speak with me?" The Aisan asked.

"I used my Glimmer on the crew."

This time, Sabra could not help but sigh, "I told you that would be unwise. These are hardened, sea-faring soldiers. The people they've crossed blade and bullets with are not going to be a kind sight."

Persa had the idea that even Sabra would be surprised at the man with the ghostly infant, if she thought of the killings only in terms of battle.

"It's the captain. There's… I believe him to be unfaithful."

Sabra's eyes widened in surprise, "That is a bold accusation, Persa. I know not of Captain Horsai personally, but from what I have learned of him and briefly spared words with he and the crew, I could not see such a hint."

"I could be wrong-"

Sabra held up a hand, "I am not claiming you are wrong. You are in charge and I am merely your tool. Or counsel, as it seems you desire."

Persa didn't say anything. She still felt like she was being lectured for failure.

"As counsel," Sabra stressed in her tired voice, "I am merely informing you of what I knew of him. If your Glimmer showed you elsewise, I will correct myself to your liking."

"I-" She swallowed, trying to claw back her confidence. Thinking of the ruined corpse helped, dark as that was, "I saw a corpse clawing at him. Trying to kill him."

"You've mentioned similar sights before."

"Yes, well, um, hm-"

"Confidence," Sabra chided. Persa wondered if she would have rolled her eyes, if Persa hadn't been 'in charge'.

"I-It was wearing a uniform with the Empress's sigil," Persa rushed out, voice quiet. She glanced furtively toward where the captain - Horsai apparently - had gone. To… whatever the crew called where the steering wheel of the ship was placed, his back turned to them entirely.

Sabra frowned, pulling out a square of paper and a chewed pencil from her inner pocket, "Describe the uniform to me."

Persa did, going over the details, stumbling only when she thought back to the wounds and the sheer aggression of the corpse. Corpses of the killed were no stranger to her, but they would never be something she would be used to.

The idea of growing numb to such horror was enough to keep her awake at night.

Sabra tapped the piece of paper with her pencil, "I do not recognize this uniform, but that is indeed the Empress's sigil."

Persa said nothing, simply watching Sabra tap tap tap away at the paper.

With a sudden glance, Sabra was gone, the misty rings where she once stood making Persa jump in surprise. She quickly turned about, trying to find where the woman had been looking, catching only a fleeting glimpse of her by the cannons-

And then Sabra had returned, her large, calloused hand on a small boy's shoulder.

"Chronic," Sabra said, voice somehow even rougher than it had been with Persa. "We require your attention."

The Chronic was Milian, a boy no older than thirteen years of age. He was skinny, pale, and had long hair tied back into a black pony-tail. Persa was of no great height herself, but the boy was especially short for his age, only reaching slightly above her waist.

His uniform was much like their own, but in a tan-white sort of pattern, the broad silhouttes of fluttering paper making up the white parts of the outfit. His pin had no crown, simply a bronze treasure chest.

Milian looked part startled, part terrified, and finally amazed at the sudden change in location. Another, longer, squeeze by Sabra had him flinch and bring his attention back to Sabra, "Ah! My apologies Honored Aisan! How could I be of service?"

Sabra gave Persa a pointed stare.

Persa coughed slightly, getting the boy's attention, "We have some concerns about Captain Horsai's character, and we-"

Sabra gave her a 'look'.

"-I was hoping you could assist me."

"Oh, of course Honored Oidan! Was there something in my report that did not satisfy you?"

Persa had not read the reports, truth be told. She had been engrossed with the stories she had brought along for the trip, but even she knew that would not be appropriate for someone of her position to admit.

She gave a pleading glance to Sabra.

"Everything you delivered was verified," Sabra sighed out, incredibly beleaguered. "His record is seemingly impeccable and his crew are all accounted for. What Oidan wishes to question is what she learned through other means."

"Oh. Oh!" He gave Persa an impressed look, whispering, "You have found subterfuge? Incredible, Honored Oidan!"

His earnestness gave Persa a small smile, "We shall see. Captain Horsai has a Glaring control of the wind, yes?"

"Of storms to be precise. He has manuevered this ship with keen precision and was broadly able to keep the worst of the Clouded Eye and its natural storms at bay."

Persa nodded, "And he is confirmed to have served in Transmesca?"

"Quite. He was deployed there for two years before the Empress reinforced their crews."

"No Glimmer or Glare?"

He shook his head.

Persa described the uniform and Milian nodded, "That is indeed the uniform of the southern belt."

Sabra's eyes narrowed. She was beginning to see where she was leading.

"Of those reinforcements," Persa asked, "was there a Masked with very similar blessings as he?"

Silence for a moment.

Milian's right eye unfurled within its socket, as though a paper rose in bloom, ink swirling in vague approximations of language. Persa thought she could hear paper rustling, but knew it to only be imagination.

"Ah," the young boy said after a small moment. "We did have a Masked Aisan on the field with a similar Glimmer and Glare. Honored Aisan Mendeva was able to create typhons, occasionally with spurts of lightning and rain, and she could Glimmer the movement of air ripples. She was on her third tour of the southern island belt, one of fifty Masked sent to quell the Hang Man's crew and their uprisings."

"Fifty?!" Persa asked, aghast. "I-I've never seen more than ten before."

"You have," Sabra corrected. "You just never noticed at the temple. Some are more subtle than others."

That was not a reassuring thought. Persa felt enough pressure being around Sabra, she didn't want to think back on her time there and wonder who was secretly a Masked.

Sabra didn't notice or didn't care about Persa's discomfort, "What happened to her?"

"Killed. The, um, the details… must I read them, Honored Sabra? It is quite vulgar and I-"

"This is of utmost importance to the empire, Chronic Milian," Sabra brusquely stated. "I need every pertinent detail before I make a decision. Are you refusing your duty?"

"No! Honored Sabra, it is just… I am not well with-"

Sabra's eyes widened, rings pulsing near imperceptibly, "Are you refusing my orders, Chronic?"

That question had the boy paling even more severely, blood draining from his face as though he'd already been gutted.

Persa would be a liar if she did not admit that she was also affected by the tone in Sabra's voice.

Which meant it was a surprise to everyone that she stiffly walked over to the boy and knelt in front of him, shaky hands on his shoulders, gripping them tightly.

Not enough to hurt, but enough to get his full attention on her, "Chronic Milian. Look at me. Not-"

Milian met her eyes, stiffened and then quickly looked away.

"-at my eyes. Alright." She quickly glanced at Sabra before looking away. "Chronic Milian, this is what we'll do. I will simply point at where the young lady was hurt, and you will nod if I'm close. You don't need to look too hard or say anything. Will that work?"

Milian glanced briefly at Persa, avoiding her eyes, and then back Sabra. Persa followed the look.

After a moment, Sabra nodded, "Do as Persa says."

Milian swallowed, "Y-Yes, Honored Persa. Honored Sabra."

Persa forced a smile. The lack of honorifics was understandable considering the mood, "Good. Now.."

Hesitantly, she made a slicing movement across her neck. Milian nodded.

She brought her hand to her chest, making quick slashing motions. At her ribs, stabbing thrusts. Milian nodded to both.

Running a quick slash from inner thigh to upper stomach. Milian nodded.

"Right," Persa breathed out. "Alright. And… was she missing a boot? Was that reported?"

Another unfurling of the paper eye, "Yes. Among other things, such as her pistol, knives, and bandages."

"But not her sigil band? On her arm?"

He shook his head, "No, that was left untouched."

Persa gave Sabra a knowing look.

"Chronic Milian. Seek out First Mate Aulma and bring him here, under orders of the Masked."

The boy didn't bother to look to Persa for permission, bounding off the moment Sabra released her grip on him.

The two women stood there in awkward silence for a moment.

"You should be more commanding," Sabra said.

Persa only bowed her head, scuffling her feet. The older woman sighed.

It wasn't long until the first mate arrived with Milian, a younger man with a sharp beard and a nose that never healed right after being broken.

He gave the two women a controlled bow, though his expression was concerned, "How may I be of assistance to the Masked?"

Persa was grateful that he was asking Sabra and not her.

"How well do you know this ship and its crew?" Sabra asked.

"By heart. I've manned it on occasion that Captain Horsai has gotten ill."

"And you know him well?"

"I am his second first-mate of three years, though I admit he is a rough man to get to know. First Mate Lory was lost at sea due to a storm, one that not even the captain could subside. They had been together for quite some time, and I hear the loss devastated the captain greatly."

Or perhaps Lory learned something he should not have, Persa thought. Maybe the captain was too loose-lipped and realized his error, correcting it with an old habit.

If murder worked once, why not twice?

"You can handle matters in times of crisis?"

"Indeed." His expression hardened, "Is there a crisis? Is the captain well?"

"We ask the questions, First Mate Aulma."

His back straightened and he nodded tightly.

Sabra turned to Persa, "A Glimmer if you may, Honored Oidan."

It felt beyond uncomfortable for Sabra to ask her of anything, but Persa nodded tightly, turning her Glimmer onto the man.

A man who looked very much like the first mate, if not older and lesser of hair, sat cross-legged beside the sailor. He was naked with the exception of a bloody bed-sheet wrapped around him for modesty sake. His eyes were open but glossy, as though he were still half-asleep, and a clean bullet hole marked his forehead.

Persa dismissed the glimmer and stepped to Sabra, the taller woman bending slightly so her ear was in reach. Persa felt her heart speed up at being so close to the cold woman, but still whispered, "It appears to be a relative of his, a father perhaps. Killed in his sleep by a gun. It's a peaceful spirit."

Sabra grunted, leaning back and staring at the first mate, "That matches with what we have on your file."

"I am pleased to hear that, Honored Aisan, whatever it is you have seen." In Persa's opinion, he did a very poor job of sounding pleased, but she could understand that.

Sabra did not care for his feelings, "Do you know the proper protocols for handling a retrieved Blessing?"

At that, his stalwart face faltered, "I-Yes, I am familiar. The captain would keep it locked within a core compartment of the ship's vault, on guard every minute of every hour of every day, inspected by none other than he and two vetted guards of his choosing."

"And you know the penalty for those who deal in stolen Blessings? Especially for those who take it upon themselves without the Empress's will?"

Persa saw his eyes widen. Saw the horror and rage flash behind his expression.

He understands now, she thought sadly. There has been a betrayal.

"Execution," he said quietly. "Prompt execution."

Sabra pulled out the mask from beneath her coat, careful to not let the sharp crowns be caught on the material as she put them together. It was her pin writ large, an alabaster mask with faint, dark rings rippling the material. Two telescopic lenses adorned the mask for her Blessing.

There was no expression on the mask face.

"I will not wait for a storm," Sabra said with steel.

She gave Persa a look that she couldn't decipher before putting on the mask. Persa heard Milian gasp slightly as the crowned Sabra truly became Masked, and her own heart felt as though it would burst out of her chest at the sight.

She had only seen this thrice amongst their time together, all of it while she was doing performative functions and ceremony. This would be the first time Sabra wore it on a mission with her.

Persa couldn't tear her eyes away, even though a part of her desperately wanted to.

Silently, Sabra stalked up the stairs that would lead to the wheel of the ship like a giant coming to exact its sacred duty in the Iris Hall, chatting sailors going quiet with horror as they passed her by.

The silence spread like a breeze with all conversation slowly, softly, dying out.

Aulma looked out onto the ship deck, his words strained, "What do I tell them? By the Empress, they have been on this ship for longer than I have."

Why are you asking me? Persa thought, glancing at him. I'm not the one in charge here.

No amount of scroll, not even from the Empress, can change that.

She couldn't muster up the courage to say as much. She turned away and back to Sabra.

Persa saw only the tail end of the result.

Sabra, too casual, placing an arm around the captain's shoulder. There was a moment where the captain looked at her, saw the mask, and a look of deep horror-

And they were gone. Not a single sound. The only sign of them being there had been the rings of shadow that were already vanishing.

Aulma glanced at Persa's expression, looked back and noticed the duo had vanished. Milian followed their gazes.

Only for Sabra to appear a few moment later in a swirl of rings, knife out and covered in crimson, with something glittering in her hand.

That same hand was dripping with blood.

Sabra's ringed alabaster mask glanced at the gleaming orb in her hand for a moment as she walked down the steps, seeming to consider how it shone despite the blood coating it

All fascination ended as she stepped up to Aulma and then shoved it into the chest of the first mate.

The man reared back from the force of the move, nearly falling to his feet, but his hands went to the stormy eyeball and held it with shaking hands.

Fear and reverence for the power shown. Not just Sabra's either.

She didn't say anything as she passed by Persa or Aulma, beyond, "By the Empress's Will, let the Dark Depths reclaim their traitor."

"And to the Dark Depths, shall he remain blind to eternity", Persa finished automatically

Sabra nodded in approval. To Milian, she said, "Come, Chronic. I must make a notation immediately."

Milian was quick to follow, keeping a healthy distance from Sabra, not saying a word. He chanced a glance back at Persa, looking deathly afraid.

The crew stared at the duo for a long moment, only to lower their heads as Sabra's mask swept in their direction, continuing the drift to port.

Even while the two remained side by side for the remainder of the trip, Persa and the new Captain of the Maiden's Breeze were as silent as the grave.