The morning mist clung to Stratus Haven’s lower levels like a shroud, transforming the maze of platforms and walkways into something dreamlike and treacherous. Helletta walked slightly ahead, her new needle a comforting weight at her hip. The dream weaver’s mask felt odd against her skin, but she was grateful for its disguise as dock workers passed by without a second glance.
Kern walked in the center of their formation, his elaborate central region attire managing to look out of place even through the mask’s illusion. Every few steps, he lifted the hem of his robes with a delicate distaste, muttering about the “primitive conditions.”
"Careful," Ella murmured as they passed a group of early-morning fishers. "Your distaste is showing."
Helletta kept a close watch on Kern from the corner of her eye. Something about him unsettled her, though she couldn’t pinpoint exactly why. Maybe it was the way he seemed to catalog everything despite his supposed disdain—the meticulous awareness behind his feigned disgust. His gaze tracked patrol patterns, noted guard positions, and marked every intersection and shadow.
Not the gaze of a merchant, she thought. Something else.
They descended another level, where the mist grew thicker, and the creaking platforms spoke of age and decay. Around them, the city’s colossal support pylons rose like ancient trees, vanishing into the fog above. The morning light barely penetrated this far, casting a perpetual twilight ideal for avoiding unwanted attention.
"Must we take such… scenic routes?" Kern asked, his central region accent sharpening with his discomfort.
"Unless you’d prefer explaining your business to the harbor patrol," Sour Boy replied dryly. His military-inspired outfit looked even more out of place in the gloom, but paradoxically, that added to his cover—no one trying to hide would dress so boldly.
A sudden noise from above made them freeze. Heavy boots on wooden planks—a patrol passing on the level above. They pressed back into the shadow of a pylon, watching through the mist as armored figures moved past. Kern’s grip tightened on the case he carried, his knuckles stark white against the worn leather.
Helletta felt a prickle of curiosity about its contents. The case appeared ordinary, but something about the way he clung to it—the careful way he kept it close—hinted otherwise. Her master had taught her to notice such details, though she couldn’t quite recall when or why.
"Clear," Ella whispered once the patrol had moved on. Her usual bright smile had faded, replaced by an intense focus that, in this shadowed world, seemed oddly natural.
They pressed on, descending deeper into the maze of Stratus Haven’s lower levels. The mist wrapped around them, thick and damp, muffling their footsteps and blending with the constant lap of waves against the pylons. Figures drifted past now and then—workers, fishers, the usual early morning traffic—but no one paid much attention to what looked like a merchant and his escorts.
Still, unease gnawed at Helletta. She noticed how Kern’s gaze lingered on certain shadows, certain junctions, his eyes flicking between platforms as though he were cataloging details beyond their route to Quartersquare. It felt like he was mapping something larger, something intentional.
Before she could dwell on it, Sour Boy raised a hand in silent warning. A patrol was approaching, and this time, there was no cover.
The patrol materialized from the mist, dark figures taking shape—four guards in sturdy harbor leather, hands resting casually on their weapons. Helletta’s pulse quickened, but Ella moved forward smoothly, her borrowed face wearing a blend of innocence and mild exasperation.
"Good morning!" she greeted, her voice bright and a touch flustered. "Thank you, ancestors, we’ve been so turned around in this fog—"
"Papers," the lead guard interrupted, though not harshly. His gaze swept over their group, noting each detail.
Helletta braced herself as Kern stepped forward, half expecting a disaster—but the merchant’s usual fussiness had transformed into a surprisingly endearing awkwardness. He fumbled with his documents, dropping them once before handing them over with an apologetic chuckle.
"First time in the south," he explained, his accent softened but still distinct. "Everything’s so… vertical here. Fascinating architecture, really. The way you’ve built up instead of out—"
The guard’s stern expression softened as Kern launched into an enthusiastic, slightly bumbling admiration for Stratus Haven’s engineering. His tourist-like curiosity was so genuine, so thoroughly performed, that even Helletta almost believed it.
"—and I simply had to see the famous fish markets," Kern went on, gesturing vaguely. "These kind people offered to guide me, but with this mist, I’m afraid we’ve completely lost our bearings..."
"Lower market’s that way," the guard replied, pointing ahead. "But you’ll want to head up two levels for the better goods."
"Oh, thank you!" Kern beamed, his face lighting up with such earnest appreciation that it looked real. "You’re all so helpful here. In the central regions, the guards would never—well." He paused with perfect timing, catching himself. "Not that our guards aren’t… that is…"
The lead guard actually chuckled. "Move along," he said, handing back the papers. "And stay on the main platforms. Fog’s treacherous this morning."
They murmured their thanks and resumed walking, Kern’s cheerful nods lasting just a beat longer than necessary. Only when they were a safe distance away did Helletta let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. The patrol faded into the mist behind them, and they continued onward, four figures blending into the fog, slipping deeper into the heart of Stratus Haven’s hidden paths.
As they walked away, Helletta couldn’t help but admire Kern’s performance. He’d managed to embody every stereotype of a central region tourist—curious, clueless, harmless—without causing offense.
"That was well done," she murmured once they were safely beyond the patrol’s earshot.
"One learns to adapt," Kern replied, his theatrical manner fading but not disappearing entirely. "Though I meant what I said about your city’s construction. Fascinating use of vertical space. On the main Island and in the central regions, everything’s spread out. Becomes rather dull, really."
They continued winding their way through the misty platforms, and Helletta found herself unexpectedly drawn in by Kern’s observations. He had a sharp eye for detail, pointing out aspects of her home she’d never given a second thought. He noted the angles of the platforms to catch the most light, how the fog patterns affected trade routes, the ingenious use of tidal currents for power.
"Your merchants must save a fortune on transportation," he mused after explaining how central region traders had to maintain costly road networks. "Here, water carries everything, with the current doing half the work."
"When it’s not trying to drown you," Sour Boy muttered, though Helletta could see even he was warming to their peculiar charge.
"Nature’s toll," Kern replied, sidestepping a wet patch with practiced ease. "Every advantage has its price." He reached into his robes and pulled out a small flask. "A little something from home. Good for the nerves."
The liquid inside was smooth and warm, a far cry from the harsh southern spirits Helletta was used to. They each took a sip as they walked, and she felt a bit of her tension dissolve.
"See?" Kern said, smiling, and this time it seemed almost genuine. "Not everything from the central regions is entirely terrible."
Somewhere above them, a bell tolled, a low sound that echoed through the platforms, grounding them back in their mission. But as they moved deeper into the city’s maze, Helletta found herself slightly less suspicious of their merchant. Odd, certainly, and likely hiding something—but in this business, wasn’t everyone?
Then, up ahead, she saw shadows shifting in the mist, and all such thoughts vanished. They had bigger problems.
"Guard shift change," Ella whispered, swiftly pulling them into the shadow of a storage shack. "Regular patrol heading out, special enforcement coming in."
Through gaps in the weathered boards, they watched as a new group of guards materialized through the fog. These wore the distinctive blue-gray of Stratus Haven’s special enforcement—the ones who dealt specifically with Remarn’s operations outside Quartersquare.
They pressed back into the shadows, holding their breath, as the guards passed by.
"Fascinating," Kern murmured, studying the guards’ formation. "They move like imperial soldiers. Someone’s trained them well."
"Quiet," Sour Boy hissed, but Helletta had noticed it too. The guards’ movements were too precise, their positions too coordinated for a standard harbor patrol. Their patterns felt eerily familiar.
The special enforcement team passed close enough that Helletta could make out their weapons—needles modified for essence combat, reels designed to bind rather than merely catch. Suddenly, one of the guards turned, and the group collectively held its breath.
But the guard’s attention was elsewhere. Through the mist, Helletta caught sight of a familiar figure—Swinter, wearing a different face but unmistakable by the pressurizer strapped to his back. He was escorting what appeared to be a standard fishing crew, but the way they handled their nets suggested a heavier, hidden cargo.
"Friends of yours?" Kern asked softly, his sharp gaze catching her moment of recognition.
"Just another merchant group," Ella answered smoothly. "Though they seem to be having less luck with the patrols."
They watched as the special enforcement team surrounded Swinter’s group, interrogating them and inspecting their papers. Swinter kept his expression carefully neutral, but Helletta could see the tension in his shoulders as the guards began inspecting his cargo nets.
"Poor form," Kern remarked. "See how they’re all focused forward? In the central regions, that’s the first thing they teach you to avoid. Always leaves your backs exposed."
Sour Boy shot him an annoyed look, but Kern merely smiled, reaching into his robes. Before anyone could react, he pulled out a small crystal and flicked it toward a distant pylon. It shattered with a sharp crack, echoing through the mist.
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The guards spun, hands on their weapons, scanning for the source of the sound. In that brief moment of distraction, Swinter’s group slipped away into the mist, their cargo untouched.
"Shall we?" Kern gestured to their own path, now conveniently clear. "While their attention is elsewhere?"
They moved quickly, keeping close to the shadows. Once they were safely away, Ella turned to their merchant, her expression shifting to one of newfound respect. "Quick thinking."
"One picks up a few tricks, traveling as much as I do," Kern replied, a glint of amusement in his eyes. He produced his flask once more. "A celebratory sip? I find that even a minor escape deserves acknowledgment."
As Helletta took another careful sip, she couldn’t help but wonder how much of Kern’s cleverness was natural and how much was practiced deception. Either way, he was proving to be more than just a merchant from the central regions.
As they sipped the smooth liquor Kern had offered, Helletta found herself re-evaluating him once again. There was still an air of mystery that put her on edge, but anyone willing to help another group escape the guards couldn’t be all bad—or so she hoped.
"We should move," Sour Boy said, though his usual edge had softened. "Quartersquare’s still a fair distance."
They continued into Stratus Haven’s depths, the mist curling around them like a living shroud. Ahead lay the riskiest part of their journey—the approach to Remarn’s territory. But with the warmth of the liquor in her belly and their merchant’s unexpected competence, Helletta felt an unusual confidence.
She should have known better.
As they neared Quartersquare, the atmosphere subtly shifted—a pressure change that had nothing to do with the weather. Remarn’s twisted tower loomed above the market district like a jagged spine, Serkulls circling its peak in eerie formation.
"Remarkable birds," Kern murmured, watching their movements with professional interest. "The precision of their flight patterns—someone’s put serious effort into their training."
They took a roundabout path through what had once been a bustling commercial district, now nearly deserted. Most shops stood empty, their owners driven out by Quartersquare’s creeping influence. The few people they passed walked quickly, heads down, carefully navigating the narrow space between standard trade and Remarn’s rule.
"Stop," Ella whispered suddenly. "Look."
Ahead, a special enforcement squad was sweeping the abandoned shops, their movements precise and methodical. This wasn’t a routine patrol; they were searching for something specific.
"That’s not standard procedure," Sour Boy muttered, his hand drifting to his needle.
Kern observed with unexpected calm. "The third guard," he said quietly, "the way he’s moving—he’s new to the unit. See how he keeps glancing at the others for cues?"
Helletta focused on the guard, and now she saw it too—the slight hesitation, the way he followed his companions’ lead, his attention momentarily divided.
"If we time it right," Kern continued, "he’ll leave a gap in their formation. Three minutes at most, but—"
"But enough," Ella finished, her voice carrying a note of genuine respect.
They waited, concealed in the shadow of an old fish-smoking house, watching the patrol’s precise movements. Kern produced his flask again, but this time, no one drank. The guards moved like clockwork, save for the one lagging behind, just as Kern had noted.
"Now," Kern murmured, and they slipped forward.
The gap in the patrol’s pattern opened as predicted. They moved silently through the empty shops, blending in with the few legitimate traders still lingering in the area. Kern matched their pace perfectly, his elaborate robes somehow managing not to rustle or snag on the debris-strewn floor.
They were nearly clear when a shout pierced the air: "You there! Stop!"
Everyone tensed, but the call wasn’t meant for them. Through a cracked window, they glimpsed another group confronted by the guards. The merchants wore masks that flickered faintly in the gray light—a dream weaver’s work, but rougher than their own.
"Poor craftsmanship," Kern murmured under his breath. "In the central regions, they would never..." He trailed off, catching their expressions. "Ah, perhaps not the moment for comparisons."
"This way," Sour Boy said, guiding them down a narrow alley. The sounds of the confrontation faded, replaced by the haunting cries of Serkulls circling overhead.
They emerged onto a wider platform that marked an unspoken boundary. Beyond lay Quartersquare proper, where Remarn’s rule was absolute. Behind them, the special enforcement squad would soon complete their sweep, unaware of how close they’d come to their quarry.
"Almost there," Ella said, though her smile had turned sharp with tension.
"Indeed." Kern adjusted his robes with his usual practiced precision. "Though I must say, this has been rather stimulating. In the central regions, expeditions like this are usually so... routine."
Helletta found herself almost smiling at his affected tone. Despite everything—or perhaps because of it—she was beginning to understand how this peculiar merchant had survived so many risky journeys.
Then she saw the harbor master’s flags rising above the next platform, and her amusement vanished. Ahead lay their final, most dangerous crossing.
They were about to step directly into the heart of Stratus Haven’s authority, carrying whatever secrets Kern’s case held and wearing faces that weren’t their own.
The harbor master’s station loomed ahead, dominating the last stretch before Quartersquare—a stark symbol of Stratus Haven’s official authority. Guards in formal uniforms patrolled elevated walkways while clerks hustled between offices, juggling the day’s shipping manifests. This was where the city’s legitimate business was conducted, where everything had to be documented, registered, and stamped with approval.
"Interesting placement," Kern murmured, his voice barely audible. "Right on the border. Makes quite a statement, doesn’t it?"
Helletta nodded. The harbor master’s station stood like a barricade between the lawful city and Remarn’s shadowed territory. To reach Quartersquare, they would have to pass directly by the heart of the city’s bureaucracy.
"Remember," Sour Boy said, adjusting his collar to look every bit the dutiful guide, "we’re—"
"Local guides escorting a central region merchant to the famous fish markets," Kern finished smoothly. "Though perhaps..." He withdrew a set of official-looking documents from his robes. "These might come in handy."
Ella’s eyes widened slightly. "Those are—"
"Trading permits. Entirely legitimate." Kern’s smile was understated. "One never knows when the proper paperwork will prove useful."
They approached the first checkpoint. A weary clerk glanced briefly at Kern’s permits, stamping them without a second thought, though Helletta noticed how the guards’ eyes lingered on their group, as though something about them piqued suspicion. The masks held, but a prickle of unease crept over her skin.
They were halfway across when everything nearly unraveled.
"Sir!" A voice rang out, authoritative and sharp. "Your papers again, please."
A harbor official approached, his uniform marking him as someone of genuine rank. Unlike the clerk, he scrutinized Kern’s permits with methodical care. Helletta’s hand drifted instinctively toward her needle.
"Interesting route you’ve chosen," the official said, looking up from the papers. "Most central region merchants prefer the upper platforms."
"Ah, yes." Kern’s manner shifted, his tone refined but slightly restrained. "I’m actually conducting a survey on regional architecture. The way your commercial and residential spaces integrate is fascinating. The load-bearing calculations alone..."
He launched into a technical discourse on platform engineering that appeared to simultaneously bore and impress the official. Terms like "distributed weight matrices" and "tidal stress factors" flowed easily, each word carefully chosen to sound sophisticated while revealing little.
"And naturally," Kern went on, "one can’t truly appreciate the structural integrity from above. The genius lies in how the lower levels..." He paused just as the official’s eyes began to glaze over. "But I’m sure you have more pressing duties."
"Yes, well." The official handed back the permits, visibly relieved to escape the impromptu lecture. "Carry on. But I’d suggest the upper paths next time. Much safer."
"Oh, but where’s the academic value in that?" Kern called after him with a friendly nod, then winked at their group as the official moved away.
They continued across the harbor master’s domain, past more guards and clerks, with Kern occasionally stopping to make exaggerated notes on support beam placements and wave erosion patterns. His enthusiastic architectural ramblings became a perfect cover—everyone they passed seemed eager to avoid the risk of being roped into another discussion.
At last, they reached the final checkpoint. Beyond it lay the unofficial border of Quartersquare, where Remarn’s influence superseded any harbor master’s authority.
"Almost there," Ella whispered, though her hand hovered close to her hidden vials, ready for anything.
"Just one more—" Sour Boy began, then abruptly stopped.
A special enforcement squad had appeared at the checkpoint. Their blue-gray uniforms stood out among the regular guards, and they moved with the precise coordination Helletta recognized from imperial training. This squad wasn’t part of the routine patrol—they were searching for something specific.
"Well," Kern said softly, his theatrical demeanor entirely gone. "This should be interesting."
The squad inspected everyone trying to cross, their searches far more thorough than any checkpoint they’d encountered. Whatever they were hunting, they intended to leave no stone unturned.
Helletta felt the weight of her needle, ready at her side. Ella’s hand drifted closer to her concealed vials, and Sour Boy’s normally composed stance had tensed, his military bearing sharpened with alertness.
But Kern merely smiled—a cold, calculated smile that was unlike any expression they’d seen on him before. And as Helletta watched, her earlier suspicions resurfaced with chilling clarity.
"Follow my lead," Kern said softly. "And remember—sometimes the best way to hide is to be exactly where you’re expected to be."
He stepped forward toward the checkpoint, his entire demeanor shifting once more, adopting an air of quiet, dangerous authority.
The special enforcement squad’s leader was a hard-faced woman with essence-enhanced needles strapped across her back. Her gaze followed them with unblinking focus, lingering on each face as if she could pierce the dream weaver’s disguise by sheer will alone.
Before she could speak, Kern took command, his posture and voice crackling with unassailable authority. Gone was the fussy merchant and the cautious professional—this was someone who wielded power like a weapon.
"Ah, perfect timing," he said, his central region accent cutting through the air like a blade. "I was assured competent security, and here you are." He produced a silver-edged document that gleamed faintly in the gray light. "Special dispensation from House Brightreave. Your harbor master should have been informed."
The squad leader’s face remained impassive, but her stance shifted subtly. "We received no such notification."
"Typical provincial inefficiency," Kern said with a weary sigh. "Perhaps you should check your records again. It would be most unfortunate if I had to report delays to the House." The way he said "the House" lent it a weight of age and authority that felt almost tangible.
The leader dispatched one of her squad members to verify, and Kern continued, smoothly shifting into his role. He pulled out his architectural notes with an air of critical expertise. "While we wait, I must commend the placement of your security checkpoints. The way you’ve integrated patrol routes with platform structure is quite clever..." He launched into another technical assessment, this time carrying an edge of authority that made even the seasoned squad members pay attention.
Helletta watched in astonishment as Kern systematically unraveled the tension at the checkpoint. He posed questions about patrol patterns that made the guards feel essential, offered observations on security that subtly flattered their professionalism, and somehow managed to shift the balance so that he seemed to be evaluating them rather than the other way around.
When the messenger returned, clearly perplexed, Kern only sighed, as though mildly inconvenienced. "An administrative oversight, no doubt," he said smoothly. "Nonetheless, do forward my compliments to your harbor master for the efficiency displayed by your personnel. Especially..." he paused, consulting his notes with impeccable timing, "Officer Kellian’s attention to detail." The squad leader straightened slightly, the flicker of recognition on her face unmistakable. "The House appreciates thoroughness."
With a nod of approval, they were waved through with minimal inspection. Kern’s guise as an architectural surveyor had provided flawless cover for their journey into the lower levels.
As they crossed the invisible boundary into Quartersquare, Helletta felt the suffocating weight of official scrutiny lift.
"That," Ella murmured, "was impressive."
"Experience," Kern replied, his demeanor settling back to something less commanding, more enigmatic. "Though I must admit, your local security is more professional than I anticipated. Again they are almost reminiscent of imperial military training..."
"We made it," Sour Boy cut in, though there was a hint of newfound respect in his voice. "Quartersquare’s borders. You’re under Remarn’s protection now."
Kern looked up at the twisted tower looming over the district, where Serkulls wheeled in intricate, looping patterns. "Yes," he said softly, almost to himself. "I suppose I am." There was something in his tone that reawakened Helletta’s earlier suspicions, but before she could examine it, he had returned to his usual smile. "Tell me," he said, reaching into his robes, "did that flask survive our journey?"
They shared a final sip, standing on the threshold between official law and Remarn’s shadowed territory. Above them, the Serkulls called out in eerie, echoing voices that sounded almost human, while behind them, the harbor master’s flags snapped in the chill, iron-gray wind.
"Well then," Kern said, tucking his flask away with practiced ease. "Shall we conclude our business?"
They moved deeper into Quartersquare, toward Remarn’s heart, where the true work lay waiting. But Helletta couldn’t shake the sense that they had helped set something into motion—something far more complex and dangerous than simple smuggling.
The dream weaver’s masks seemed heavier now, almost as though they weren’t the only ones wearing borrowed faces.