“Do you see that?” Vayra asked Glade.

“I see it!” he replied.

They both stood at the very front railing of the ship, clinging to it and holding tight as sailors scrambled around and the ship sloshed through the Stream.

Though to mortal eyes, the Cardinal Arrant would’ve only looked like a speck on the Stream ahead, Vayra could pick out more minute details—especially in her spiritual sight. Its stern windows glowed a bright blue, brighter than the Stream or even the aura of Karmion’s presence.

“I’ll watch the patterns,” Vayra said. “Phasoné and I will. Can you direct Pels and make sure we stay on the right branch of the Stream?”

“It will be done,” Glade said.

As best Vayra could tell, they were taking a loop through the nearby star systems, travelling what would amount to a few hundred lightyears.

Supposedly, it was because Karmion needed the constant strength of the Stream water to maintain the forging process. To maintain a direct flow of energy, and to keep a half-formed weapon from collapsing in on itself.

“They are turning! Galactic North!” Glade yelled. “Take the lefthand branch!” Nathariel, who stood halfway across the main deck, relayed the order back to the mortal crewmen on the quarterdeck.

She trusted Glade to not drive them off course.

‘Vayra, the flashing windows,’ Phasoné said. ‘Pay attention.’

“I’m trying.”

The Cardinal Arrant’s stern windows lit up in her spiritual vision with a blue flash, though (as she half-detected with her regular eyes) it would’ve appeared just like any normal orange-yellow flame light to a mortal.

“What am I looking for?” Vayra asked. “What are the telltale signs of Moulding?” For all she knew, that burst of light could’ve just been from a pulse of Arcara, from a Reach technique activating.

‘Look for explusions of perfectly straight beams. As the Arcara crystalized, its spiritual radiation slips through its rigid structure in tighter formations. Like you’re looking at a torch and squinting.’

Vayra actually squinted, but as it turned out, that made everything streaky and elongated all the lights—and before Phasoné could complain, she thought, I know you didn’t actually tell me to squint. Sorry.

A whiff of amused irritation still radiated off the Goddess and into Vayra’s mind, but that was better than raw disappointment.

The energy sliced out with a steady rhythm, like a blacksmith pounding on metal. At first, the patterns swirled, like clouds of vibrant blue pipe smoke exhaling from the window’s lips, but the longer she watched, the straighter the beams became. Tendrils reached out in lines, expanding away from the centerpoint of the Cardinal Arrant.

And then, finally, after a few minutes of sailing, the lines entirely straightened out, turning into what Phasoné had described.

Perfectly straight beams, like squinting, or the flare of sunlight through a spyglass—except she was watching it with her bare spiritual vision.

“Myrrir was right,” Vayra whispered.

“He is forging a weapon?” Glade asked.

Phasoné said, ‘He is Moulding something—permanently. If it isn’t a weapon, and if it doesn’t confirm Myrrir’s comments, then I don’t know what does.’

Contemplating the implications, Vayra swallowed then said, “We should turn back. Return to Shatterport and—”

“He is turning!” Glade called out. “He is taking a branch into Summerfall!”

“Summerfall?” Vayra asked.

Ahead, the Stream branched. One path led off into deepspace, and another toward a nearby star. It shone slightly brighter than the others.

Karmion was sailing to the nearest star.

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“It is a sparsely-populated sugarcane farming planet at the edge of the Shatter Sector,” Glade provided. “He has no reason to head there.”

“Clearly, he does…” Vayra whispered. “We need to find out.”

“Slow down!” Glade called. “He is slowing down to enter the system, too!”

The Harmony took the same branch of the Stream as the Cardinal Arrant, and Pels pulled the Streamrunning fins up a few notches before reefing the sails and pulling to the edge of the Windlane.

The star expanded. It was an average yellow star, and Summerfall was an average world in the habitable zone, with expansive blue oceans and lime-green landmasses, icy poles and swathes of forest. From an astronomic overview, only a small fraction of its surface had been turned to farmland—the land closest to the Stream, which, even from high above, appeared a flaxen wheat-yellow.

“Karmion isn’t stopping for a snack, is he?” Vayra whispered.

‘I doubt it.’

“Does this have to do with the weapon?”

‘We’ll find out.’

The Cardinal Arrant slowed as it descended through the atmosphere, and the Harmony matched its speed, maintaining a vast distance between them. The flashes of light—real and spiritual—stopped flowing from its stern, and the Harmony slowed even more. If Karmion stopped forging, there was a greater chance he was up on his ship’s deck, watching his surroundings.

The Stream levelled out and merged with the planet’s ocean. It was close to the shore, only a half-hour voyage away. Close enough that Karmion could bring his ship ashore, do whatever he needed, and return to the Shattered Moon before morning.

Vayra and Glade watched the shore carefully. Karmion’s ship didn’t sail into a port. There likely weren’t any on the planet large enough to host a ship as large as the Cardinal Arrant, but the nearest bay to the Stream was deep enough to host a few cargo vessels—anchored offshore, of course.

Farm worlds always exported produce, and at all times of the day. The Harmony would have no trouble slipping into the ships at the port.

Still, Pels skirted the edge of the bay, approaching a stout city perching on the shore. Its buildings had simple thatched roofs and daubed walls, though a few of the port warehouses had clay tile shingles that shone red in the light of the planet’s two gray moons.

Pels slipped the Harmony between a pair of bland, unmarked cargo haulers, each with a double deck of defensive cannons and heaps of barrels and crates on their decks. They hid the Harmony from sight perfectly.

“Veil yourselves,” Nathariel instructed, running up to the forecastle, where Vayra and Phasoné stood.

Vayra held her Arcara still and stopped it from cycling, muting her spiritual presence. If Karmion looked really hard, he could still probably sense them, but she hoped he wasn’t concentrating. He’d have no reason to think he was being followed.

The Cardinal Arrant anchored at the opposite side of the port, and Karmion leapt off the quarterdeck. He flew ashore on a cloud of mist, moving fast as a bird.

“Glade?” Vayra whispered, even though she didn’t need to. “Can you fly and follow him? I’ll keep up with you on the ground, and so will Nathariel.”

The Admiral nodded dutifully.

Vayra swung over the railing and activated the Astral Shroud. Before reaching Commodore, or even Captain, she wouldn’t have been able to use a technique while veiled. But the Astral Shroud’s Arcara movements could be restrained, and though it wasn’t as strong as usual, that restricted its spiritual radiation. No one would pick up on her as easily.

When she hit the water, she half-kicked and half sprinted, skimming along the surface with her speed. Glade leapt over the forecastle railing and swung the swordwyrm under him, then took off, following Karmion at a distance. With his black coat, he mostly blended into the night sky—and Karmion wasn’t looking back.

Nathariel used a Bracing technique on his legs, wrapping them in coils of flame, and sprinted off after Vayra. Though, normally, his Brace wouldn’t have been as fast as the Astral Shroud, he kept up, maintaining his veil effortlessly. He had centuries more experience than her. Arcara control wasn’t something that just improved through advancement.

Vayra skimmed ashore and leapt up onto a pier. She lost sight of Karmion, but Glade still streamed through the sky above. She caught the occasional glint of the swordwyrm or flash of white hair.

She ducked and wove between the dock workers with impeccable precision, slipping between barrels and crates and vaulting over wagons. In a flash, she and Nathariel entered the streets, following below Glade as best they could. Her feet pounded on the cobblestones, and the two-storey buildings whipped past her face in a blur. When Glade turned, so did she.

The buildings became darker the further inland they travelled. Vines crawled up the walls, windows were boarded over, and eaves drooped into scowls. The streets emptied, save for feral cats and dirt-smeared vagrants.

Then, without warning, he dipped, dropping down between a pair of buildings and diving toward an abandoned warehouse that stood a few storeys higher than the rest. Vayra shut the Astral Shroud away and veiled herself as tightly as she could, and Nathariel’s Brace guttered out as well.

She pressed her back up against an abandoned storefront adjacent to the old warehouse, then craned her neck up. Glade and the swordwyrm circled around the warehouse’s exterior before dropping down beside Vayra and Nathariel.

“Karmion went inside,” he said. “Whatever he came here for, it is in there.”

“Then we follow him in.” Vayra pushed away from the wall. “We came all this way. If he’s up to something, we need to know.”