The rain was relentless, coming down in a steady, cold drizzle that soaked Kael’s cloak and left the cobblestones glistening beneath his boots. Each droplet hit with a soft patter, a rhythm so constant it almost became part of the night’s quiet hum. The city was a murmur of distant voices, of doors slamming shut and the occasional rattle of a wagon on uneven streets, but here on the docks, the rain muffled all sound. It was like the world had folded inward, growing smaller and darker as the mist closed in around them.
Kael’s cloak was soaked through, the heavy fabric clinging to him like a second skin. The smell of damp wool mixed with the briny scent of the sea and the faint, sour stench of rotting fish from the harbor. His boots squelched softly with each step, the cobblestones slick beneath his feet. It was the kind of night that sank into your bones, a cold that couldn’t be shaken off.
"Remind me again why we’re doing this in the rain?” Kael muttered, pulling his hood lower to shield his face from the drizzle. “Couldn’t they smuggle things on a sunny day for once?"
Beside him, Aric snorted, water dripping from the hem of his own cloak. "Because sunny days are for respectable folk, and you, my friend, are anything but respectable."
Kael shot him a sideways grin, flicking a drop of water off his nose. "True, but I’ve heard being respectable comes with dry clothes and warm beds.”
Aric’s eyes twinkled under the shadow of his hood. “You’d be bored in two days. You need this kind of mess to stay sharp.”
The two of them crept along the side of the pier, their movements silent, well-practiced from years of slipping through the city unnoticed. The docks loomed before them, hulking shapes of moored ships barely visible through the mist that rose off the water like ghostly fingers. A creaking from the rigging of one of the larger vessels cut through the quiet, its wooden beams groaning under the weight of the damp night. Ahead, the flickering light of a torch swayed in the wind, casting long, distorted shadows over the figures moving silently along the pier.
“This is too neat,” Aric whispered beside him, his voice barely audible over the rain. “Smugglers don’t work this clean.”
Kael glanced at the figures ahead, their outlines blurry in the mist. He could see it too. The way the men moved—quick but efficient, like they’d done this a hundred times before. There was a precision to it, a purposefulness that set Kael on edge. Smugglers were usually rough, careless even, more focused on getting the goods out fast than on doing things right.
“Clean?” Kael whispered back, his eyes narrowing. “Feels like they’re trying to make smuggling look like an art form. Where’s the chaos? The swearing? The guy tripping over his own boots?”
Aric chuckled softly. “Maybe they hired professionals. Should we ask for their rates?”
Kael smirked. “Sure. Right after I ask them if they’ve seen my sense of caution. I seem to have misplaced it.”
They moved closer, slipping into the shadows behind a stack of crates that were slick with rain. The cold seeped into Kael’s fingers, even through the leather gloves he wore. He flexed his hands, trying to chase away the stiffness that was creeping in from the cold. The rain trickled down his neck, sliding under the collar of his cloak, making him shiver. The dock was quiet, save for the occasional creak of wood and the soft splash of water against the pilings. Too quiet.
“Well, that’s not ominous at all,” Kael muttered, his eyes locking onto a faint glow coming from one of the crates being loaded into the wagon ahead. “Glowing crates usually mean one of two things: treasure or something that’s going to get us killed.”
“Let’s hope it’s treasure,” Aric whispered back, his voice tight with a hint of excitement. “I’m not ready for the other option.”
Kael’s hand found the hilt of his dagger, the familiar leather grip comforting beneath his fingers. He had two daggers on him tonight—one tucked against his belt and the other hidden at his back. The second was his favorite, a relic he’d found when he was younger, exploring places he had no business being. His father had called it a “peasant’s weapon,” but to Kael, it was more than that. It was part of him. And tonight, it was whispering to him, humming with a strange energy that he couldn’t quite explain.
He glanced at Aric, who was watching the scene ahead with a frown. There was a tension in the air, something unspoken but heavy. Kael could feel it too, like the weight of the night was pressing down on them, making every breath feel thick and heavy. He didn’t like it.
One of the hooded men stepped forward, raising a hand toward the glowing crate. As the man’s sleeve shifted, Kael caught a glimpse of something dark and twisted on the skin of his wrist—a mark, intricate and angular, like something carved from stone. His heart skipped a beat.
"Well, isn’t that lovely,” Kael muttered, glancing at Aric. “A glowing crate and mysterious wrist tattoos. They’re just ticking all the ‘don’t mess with me’ boxes, aren’t they?”
Aric’s frown deepened. “What do you think it means?”
Kael tilted his head, considering. “I think we should ask if they’re accepting new members for their club. But first, let’s not stick around to get a membership card.”
Before Aric could respond, one of the men near the wagon turned, his hood slipping back just enough to reveal a shock of silver hair. Kael’s stomach dropped.
“Aric… we need to leave. Now.”
Aric’s gaze followed Kael’s, his eyes narrowing as he took in the man with the silver hair. “Why? Who is he?”
Kael’s voice was low, barely a whisper. “That’s Lord Tarvin’s man.”
“Tarvin?” Aric shot him a look of disbelief. “What’s someone like him doing down here?”
“I don’t know,” Kael said, his fingers tightening around the hilt of his dagger. “But we don’t want to be here when we find out.”
Aric’s expression turned serious, the grin slipping from his face. “Let’s go.”
They turned to slip away, but before they could move, two shadowy figures appeared in the alley behind them, blocking their path. Kael’s hand instinctively went to his second dagger, the one hidden at his back. “Looks like we have company.”
The figures moved closer, their faces obscured by hoods, but the glint of steel in their hands caught the faint torchlight. “Coin or your lives,” one of them growled, his voice thick and rasping. “Your choice.”
Aric sighed dramatically, the tension easing from his shoulders as he flashed Kael a grin. “Oh, good. More options.”
Kael shot him a sidelong glance. “He’s right, you know. We could just hand over the coin.”
Aric snorted. “Yeah, right after you give up your charm.”
Kael’s grin widened. “I suppose I’ll keep both then.” He shifted his weight, his hand resting on his second dagger. “Besides, you know what they say about thieves.”
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“What’s that?”
“They always go for the jugular.”
And with that, Kael moved. His first dagger flashed in the rain, quick and precise, slashing toward the thug’s hand. The man yelped, dropping his blade as Kael stepped in close. “Better luck next time,” Kael said cheerfully, as his second dagger flicked out, slicing across the man’s arm.
The second thug lunged at Aric with a rusty short sword, but Aric was already moving, sidestepping the blow with a fluid grace that came from years of practice. “Come on,” Aric taunted, his grin widening. “Is that all you’ve got?”
The thug swung again, but Aric was faster. He ducked under the blade, his dagger flashing out in a quick, precise strike. The man grunted in pain, clutching his side as he stumbled backward.
Kael barely noticed the exchange. His focus was on the man in front of him, his heart pounding in his chest as adrenaline surged through him. He spun, bringing both daggers up in a cross motion, disarming the thug with a quick twist. The man’s eyes widened in panic, and for a moment, Kael almost felt sorry for him. Almost.
“You know,” Kael said conversationally as he kicked the thug’s legs out from under him, sending him sprawling into the muddy street, “you really should invest in better knives. I’m sure there’s a sale somewhere.”
Aric finished off his opponent with a swift jab to the back of the knee, and the thug crumpled to the ground with a groan. Aric finished off his opponent with a swift jab to the back of the knee, and the thug crumpled to the ground with a groan. Aric straightened up, flicking a bit of rainwater off his sleeve, looking as though he’d just finished a particularly dull conversation instead of a street fight. His grin reappeared, the glint of mischief in his eyes undeniable.
"Not bad, huh?" Aric said, nudging the unconscious thug with the tip of his boot.
Kael wiped his daggers on the hem of his cloak, casting a glance at Aric. “I’ll give you a seven out of ten. Points for style, but you were a little slow on that last swing.”
Aric scoffed. “Says the man who practically danced through that fight like he was on stage.”
“Well, what can I say?” Kael sheathed his daggers with a flourish. “I’m an artist.”
Aric laughed, the sound light but not without a note of weariness. “And here I thought I was the one keeping you grounded.”
“Grounded? You?” Kael smirked. “You’re about as grounded as a bird with a broken wing.”
They both fell quiet after that, the gravity of the situation settling back over them. The rain hadn’t let up, and the cold was starting to creep in again, sinking into Kael’s bones. He could feel the weight of the night pressing down on him, heavier than before. The fight had been brief, but it had left his senses on high alert, every instinct telling him that the danger wasn’t over yet.
“Come on,” Kael said, nodding toward the narrow alley that led back to the main road. “Let’s get out of here before more of Tarvin’s men show up.”
They moved quickly, their footsteps nearly silent on the slick cobblestones as they slipped back into the shadows. The rain was still falling in a steady, unrelenting drizzle, the sound of it drowning out the distant noise of the city. Kael’s mind raced, his thoughts swirling as he replayed the events of the night over and over again.
The glowing crate. The symbol on the man’s wrist. The strange energy he had felt pulsing through his dagger.
It didn’t make sense.
Kael had always felt a connection to the dagger—it was more than just a weapon to him. Ever since he’d found it, hidden away in the ruins of an old shrine when he was barely old enough to be sneaking out on his own, he’d known there was something different about it. It was like the blade had been waiting for him. But tonight... tonight, it had been more than that. There had been a pulse, a hum, almost as if the dagger was alive, reacting to something around him.
And the shadows. The way they had shifted, bending toward him, as though they were drawn to the blade. Or maybe it was the other way around.
Kael shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. It was probably just his imagination. The rain, the cold, the adrenaline from the fight—it was making him see things that weren’t there.
But what if it wasn’t?
“You’re quiet again,” Aric said, his voice low as they ducked into another alley. “That means you’re thinking, which usually means we’re about to do something reckless.”
Kael forced a grin. “Reckless? Me? I’m offended.”
Aric rolled his eyes. “Right. Because you’re the picture of caution.”
“I’m careful when I need to be,” Kael said with mock indignation. “I just don’t see the point of being careful all the time. Where’s the fun in that?”
They moved through the narrow streets, the familiar maze of the lower districts providing plenty of places to slip away unnoticed. The buildings here leaned toward each other, casting long shadows across the uneven cobblestones. Most of the windows were dark, the inhabitants long since retired for the night, but a few flickers of light could be seen through the cracks in the shutters. The smell of wet stone and damp wood filled the air, mingling with the faint scent of smoke from the chimneys above.
Kael’s mind kept drifting back to the symbol on the man’s wrist. He had never seen anything like it before—at least, not in person. But there was something about it, something familiar, like a half-remembered dream. The old stories his father used to dismiss came to mind—stories about the Godsblood Walkers, people who carried the blood of the gods in their veins. It was said that they had marks on their skin, marks that signified their power.
But those were just stories. Legends from a time long past, when the gods still walked the earth and magic flowed freely through the world. Magic had been gone for centuries, and the Walkers were nothing more than myths.
So why does it feel like those myths are real now?
Kael glanced at Aric, who was walking beside him with the easy grace of someone who was always ready for trouble. He hadn’t mentioned the strange hum he’d felt from the dagger earlier. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Aric—he did, more than anyone. But he didn’t want to sound like a madman, especially when he wasn’t even sure what had happened himself.
“You ever think we’re in over our heads?” Kael asked, his voice quiet.
Aric glanced at him, one eyebrow raised. “You mean now? Or in general?”
Kael smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Take your pick.”
Aric shrugged, his expression thoughtful. “We’ve been in trouble before, and we’ve always found a way out. This time won’t be any different.”
“Yeah,” Kael muttered, though the weight in his chest told him otherwise. “I hope you’re right.”
They turned down another alley, the walls of the buildings on either side closing in, making the space feel tighter, more confined. The rain had started to ease up slightly, but the cold lingered, biting at Kael’s skin even through his cloak. He pulled the hood lower over his face, trying to ward off the worst of it.
Ahead of them, the glow of the Black Swan Tavern came into view, the sign above the door creaking softly in the wind. The light spilling from the windows was warm and inviting, a stark contrast to the chill of the night outside.
As they approached the door, Kael hesitated, his hand resting on the worn wood. He glanced back toward the docks, the weight of the night pressing down on him again.
“You coming?” Aric asked, already halfway through the door.
Kael nodded, pushing the door open and stepping inside. The warmth hit him immediately, wrapping around him like a blanket. The smell of roasting meat and ale filled the air, and the low hum of conversation buzzed in the background. It was a welcome relief from the cold, damp streets outside.
The tavern was crowded, as it always was this time of night. Dockworkers, sailors, and merchants filled the tables, their faces flushed from drink, their voices raised in laughter. A bard sat in the corner, strumming a lazy tune on a lute, though no one seemed to be paying him much attention. The fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the stone walls and wooden beams.
Kael and Aric found a table near the back, shaking off their wet cloaks and settling into their seats. Kael leaned back, letting the warmth from the fire seep into his bones, though the tension in his chest remained.
They ordered drinks, and as the mugs of ale were set in front of them, the familiar buzz of the tavern began to ease some of the weight Kael had been carrying. But even as he took a long sip, the events of the night lingered in the back of his mind.
“That mark on the man’s wrist,” Kael said after a moment, his voice low. “I’ve seen it before.”
Aric looked at him, his brow furrowing. “Where?”
Kael hesitated, his fingers drumming lightly on the side of his mug. “In some of the old books my father keeps. It’s an old symbol. From the time of the Walkers.”
Aric’s expression darkened. “You think it’s magic?”
Kael shrugged, though the word sent a shiver down his spine. “I don’t know. Magic’s been gone for centuries. But if it’s not magic, then what is it?”
They sat in silence for a while, the noise of the tavern a distant hum. Kael’s mind was still racing, turning over everything they had seen tonight, trying to make sense of it. The glowing crate. The symbol. The hum from the dagger.
There was something bigger at play here. Something dangerous.
“We need more information,” Kael said finally, his voice quiet but resolute. “We need to figure out what those crates were, and why Lord Tarvin’s people are involved.”
Aric nodded, his expression serious. “And how do you propose we do that?”
Kael’s grin returned, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Same way we always do.”
Aric raised an eyebrow. “By getting into more trouble?”
Kael laughed, though the tension in his chest remained. “Exactly.”
As the fire crackled in the hearth and the warmth of the tavern wrapped around them, Kael couldn’t shake the feeling that they were on the edge of something big. Something that would change everything.
And for the first time in a long while, he wasn’t sure if he was ready for it.