They ran out of wood on the fourth day. While Alyus and Brealtod kept working on what they could, Pirin and Myraden had gone to the village to get some more. They had stacked up as many beams as Kythen and Gray could carry on their backs, plus whatever Pirin and Myraden could carry in their arms. Again, Myraden had paid in stolen Aerdian silver.

On the way back, they followed the path as best as they could, until the shore began to jut outwards and turn into sandy beaches. That was their cue to march inland and climb up the slope to the Featherflight’s clearing.

Just before Pirin stepped off the path, following just behind Myraden and the Familiars, a twig snapped. He whirled around. His free hand shot down to the hilt of his sword, and he cycled Essence quickly.

At the moment, he didn’t have a Reyad active with Gray. He’d been letting his channels take a break after a long day of practicing (while he was helping fix the airship, of course). But he couldn’t afford to let his guard down.

“Myraden!” he whispered. “Do you sense anyone? Can you?”

She stopped, holding tight to the two beams of wood that she carried across her shoulders. “Sense? My spiritual senses are not very well-developed, if that is what you mean. I have not advanced far enough for that.”

Twigs snapped all the time, but something put him on edge. A twig snapping late in the evening, while they were walking back to their airship with their arms full? Pirin doubted that was good.

Maybe there were angry Rustlers patrolling the woods. But they didn’t seem to come too far down the slopes of the island, and when they were agitated here, there were plenty of trees for them to chew on and satiate themselves.

Still, he followed Myraden into the woods, looking back and forth and examining all of the shadows as if they might leap out and attack him. These forests weren’t as dark as he was used to; the broad fronds of the trees let through larger slices of magenta moonslight, and their shadows were larger and more human.

After a few more minutes, the woods to the left rustled. Just once, but it wasn’t a normal rustle. There was no wind. Pirin stopped and pulled his sword an inch from its sheath.

Myraden halted as well, then turned around slowly.

“Alright!” Pirin called. “Anyone out there, we know you’re there! Can we just—”

Before he could finish, Gray squawked and something crashed into his back. The weight took Pirin off his feet and sent him sprawling along the ground.

Pirin dropped the beams he had been carrying, then drove his elbow back aimlessly, trying to hit his attacker. The weight left his back, but he hadn’t hit anything. He rolled over and sprung up to his feet, then ripped his sword out of its sheath. He held his other hand out, ready to use a Shattered Palm—if only he could glimpse anyone’s eyes.

A man-shaped shadow paced back and forth through the woods beside Pirin. Slowly, Pirin’s eyes adjusted. He was unarmed, as far as Pirin could tell, but he held its fists up, ready to fight. The man was muscular and broad, and he wore a loose robe that exposed a swath of his tattooed chest.

He held his fists up higher. He wore brass knuckles, but on their surface, instead of just metal, large sea-salt crystals had been embedded—ready to slice any opponent’s face to mince.

Pirin backed away, drawing his sword, but two men circled on the other side of their small convoy, facing Myraden. Kythen bleated and ran up to her side, and Gray chirped softly. When Pirin was side-by-side with his gnatsnapper, he put a hand on neck and whispered, “It’s alright. We’ll handle them.”

Then, he glanced over his shoulder at Myraden. “Do you think these are the Saltsprays?”

“Who else?” she asked, dropping the boards. She pulled her spear off her shoulder and let the fabric swirl up into a solid shaft.

“They aren’t wizards, are they?” Pirin asked. The man in front of him shook out his fists, then continued to circle around. Pirin tried to match his footwork, staying in front.

“Do you feel any weight on your spirit?” Myraden asked.

“I can only feel Gray’s core.”

“Then you have your answer.”

Snarling, the man in front of Pirin charged. He used his salt knuckles to push Pirin’s sword to the side, then flung his second fist towards Pirin’s face. Pirin stepped back just in time, then slipped to the side to avoid the next punch.

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The man kept up his assault, springing forwards and delivering a barrage of high blows. Pirin didn’t have his mask on to protect him. Any one of the blows would shred his face.

Gray attacked, gripping the man’s shoulders in her talons and tackling him to the ground. He skidded through the dirt and crashed into a bush, but as he fell, he punched upwards, forcing Gray to let go and flutter back to stay out of harm’s way.

Pirin heard grunts and clangs behind him. Myraden and her bloodhorn fought the other two men, and he’d have to trust her to keep them under control. He sprinted towards his one foe, and he used Gray’s eyes to launch a Shattered Palm. The base technique, however, didn’t backfire—at the moment, not ideal. He needed it to backfire.

Pirin shook out his hand, spinning away from a flurry of punches. The man’s knuckles blasted through a tree, shattering its bark and causing it to list.

The second Shattered Palm activated, blasting into the man’s chest and flinging him back into a tree. He fell down into a crouch, then charged back towards Pirin and Gray. She pecked at the man with her beak, but he knocked it aside with a punch. Gray staggered and stumbled.

Pirin swung his sword, trying to force the man to keep his distance, but the man ducked under and struck Pirin in the gut. The blow drove the air out of Pirin’s lung and made him stagger back. It had been a direct strike, so the salt crystals only left a few small cuts instead of shredding his flesh.

Panting, Pirin whirled away, swiping upwards with his sword and forcing the man back. “We mean you no harm!” Pirin yelled.

“If you won’t leave these woods, we’ll have no choice,” the man spat. “The prize is ours for the taking! It is Saltspray by right!” He unleashed another barrage of punches. Pirin shifted his grip on his sword, turning the flat outwards. A punch raced at his face, but he shifted the steel sideways. The man’s fist clanged off it. Another punch, but Pirin flipped the sword back the other direction. He spread his legs, adjusting his stance. Still, he slid back a few feet.

Pirin blocked each punch of the barrage, until the man punched with both fists at the same time.

Pirin blocked the strike destined for his face, but the man’s other fist ripped into his bicep, sending him spinning away. Pirin stumbled, but he had practiced his footing, and he could control it. He swept his leg around in a circle and used his momentum to spin around. As he spun, he dragged the tip of his sword along the man’s arm, digging a deep gash into it.

Gray flapped her wings, creating a gust of wind that blasted the man a few steps backwards. The man looked up, at something behind Pirin, and his eyes widened.

Pirin kept his sword pointed at the man, but he circled to the side, so he could see Myraden out of the corner of his eye. She had killed one of the Saltspray warriors, and Kythen had trampled the other.

Pirin opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, the last Saltspray turned and sprinted away.

Pirin almost wanted to let the man run. They weren’t enemies. But…the Saltsprays had a few wizards, didn’t they? A few wizards with them, according to the village’s gatekeeper. Pirin needed to know more.

“Get the supplies back to the clearing!” Pirin called. “I’ll go after him!”

Pirin sprinted through the woods, chasing after the man. There was no trail, and Pirin swung his sword back and forth, hacking through fronds and branches to clear his path. He could barely see the man’s pale robes ahead. The man plowed through the woods with ease, sprinting back towards the shore and the path.

Gray tromped through the undergrowth behind Pirin, hopping and fluttered to keep pace. Pirin couldn’t talk to her, but she still had an intelligent mind. He pointed up at the sky, then yelled “Fly!” for good measure—even if she wouldn’t understand what the word meant. She would be able to see their quarrel better from the sky.

She took off on her own, and Pirin continued on foot. He leapt over a fallen log and dashed over a gully.

“A Reyad would be really nice right now,” he muttered. Using a Winged Fist—or kick, more accurately—would help with the natural obstacles of the woods.

But still, Pirin was smaller and more slippery than the man. He gained ground when the trees got thicker near the edge of the woods. He leapt over logs faster, and he could duck under thick fronds instead of smashing through them forearm fist.

When they reached the shore, Pirin leapt off a log, putting all his weight behind him, and tackled the man. He wrapped his arm around the man’s neck, pulling him to the ground. They tumbled through the last dregs of undergrowth and skidded out onto the shoreline trail. Pirin pressed the blade of his sword against the man’s neck.

“I won’t talk!” the man shouted. “I won’t tell you anything.”

Pirin leaned back. “I…don’t need you to tell me anything.” He held his hand out and stared into the man’s eyes. Now was the time for the Whisper Hitch. The first try, the technique backfired, and Pirin didn’t stop it from turning into a Shattered Palm. It blasted the ground beside the man’s head.

“This is Saltspray territory!” the man yelled.

“If I recall, it’s controlled by the Dominion,” Pirin muttered. The Whisper Hitch technique misfired again, and he blasted it into the ground on the other side of the man’s head.

“It’s our clan’s territory! Not for some scavengers across the sea!”

On the third try Pirin managed to get the technique to work. A misty gray orb formed above the palm of his hand.

Pirin fought a short battle of wills with the man, but Pirin’s Spark-stage Essence was more powerful, and his will overwhelmed the man’s own. He listened to the man’s thoughts through his swirling Essence. He only picked up frantic wisps of fear.

“Your wizards,” Pirin said. “Where are they?”

“I won’t tell you anything!” the man snapped. “You’ll never find the entrance on your own! It took months of our work!” But his thoughts betrayed him. He was thinking of the top of the mountain, in one of the tree-filled crevices. There was a camp, filled with tents, and—

“Stop right there!” a deep voice called.

Pirin blinked his eyes, then shook out his hand, dispelling the technique—hopefully, no one else had seen him use magic. A patrol of Dominion soldiers sprinted down the path, their armour silver clanking. They encircled Pirin and the Saltspray man, holding their swords out in front of them. “Hands up, both of you!”