In the quiet, candlelit room of Sylas’s chamber, the atmosphere was tense but oddly calm, as if the storm outside had yet to touch those within.

Sylas leaned back in his chair, swirling a glass of dark red wine in his hand as Gran recounted his observations.

Gran crossed his arms, shaking his head in disgust.

“These thugs, Master Sylas, they’re all the same. Nothing’s changed about them in decades. Always fighting for scraps, dragging everyone else down with their pettiness. It’s pathetic.”

Sylas chuckled lightly, his gaze fixed on the swirling liquid in his glass. “Pathetic? Maybe. Predictable? Definitely. But I can’t say I’m surprised, Gran. It’s their nature.”

Gran snorted, leaning against the edge of the table.

“Their nature? Let me tell you something about their ‘nature.’ When your father ran things, he didn’t tolerate this kind of nonsense. Iron fist, Master Sylas. That’s how he handled it.”

Sylas finally looked up, his expression neutral but with a hint of amusement in his eyes.

"My father was a proud and good man, but compared to my standards, he was lacking knowledge."

"You know that..."

Gran nodded and said nothing more, as he believed if he said more, it would not be the best.

Sylas set the glass down, the faint clink breaking the silence.

“I don’t disagree, Gran. But the lower levels are not my concern right now. And they are not my people. Let them squabble. Let them kill each other if they must. Their chaos is a distraction, nothing more.”

"I am also not my father, as I said, and I do handle things on my own."

Gran thought and then smiled.

"Yes, Master Sylas, I understand. What do you think about other organizations, especially the big magic organizations?" he said.

Sylas leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table and intertwining his fingers.

Sylas didn’t answer immediately. He reached for his glass again, taking another slow sip before responding.

“The real players in this game haven’t shown their hand yet. The thugs, the Distantias, the Ferlo Boys—they’re distractions. Noise. The real threat will come from those who are patient, who wait until the chaos reaches its peak before striking."

Gran studied him for a moment, his expression unreadable.

“So, what’s the plan, then? Sit back and wait for the big fish to swim into your net.”

Sylas’s smile widened, but his eyes remained cold. “Something like that.”

Gran exhaled sharply, shaking his head.

“You’re a damn enigma, Master Sylas."

Sylas leaned back again, his gaze shifting to the window.

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“I don’t prefer to fight on this ship, Gran,” he said softly, almost to himself. “It’s too confined, too risky. The walls have eyes, and the decks have ears. A misstep here could cost us everything. Especially, I do not want to get on the bad side of the judge."

Gran chuckled dryly, shaking his head. “You’ve got a way with words, Master."

Sylas’s smile returned.

The two men sat in silence for a moment, the weight of the conversation lingering in the air. Outside, the distant sounds of shouting and scuffling continued, a testament to the chaos brewing below.

-

Rud sat at the head of the long table, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the dark wood.

Around him, his subordinates remained silent, awaiting his command.

“Elizt,” Rud finally said, breaking the silence.

Elizt, a tall woman with sharp cheekbones and jet-black hair tied into a braid, stepped forward.

“Yes, my lord?”

Rud’s gaze met hers, his expression unreadable.

“I want you to reach out to the distances. Specifically, their leader. I want a meeting.”

Elizt blinked, her usually composed face betraying a flicker of confusion.

“The Distantias, my lord? They’re a minor organization. Hardly worth the time of someone like you.”

Rud smiled faintly, but there was no warmth in it.

“Minor or not, they’ve demonstrated something... interesting. Using magic to kill so silently..."

Elizt tilted her head slightly, choosing her words carefully.

“Forgive me for questioning, my lord, but what could the Dark Father possibly gain from an alliance with them?”

Rud chuckled, leaning back in his chair.

“Who said anything about an alliance? I simply want to understand them better. Their methods, their ambitions. Sometimes, the smallest flames can ignite the largest fires.”

Elizt hesitated but eventually nodded.

“As you wish, my lord. I’ll make the arrangements.”

Rud’s gaze hardened.

“I want no delays. Send word immediately. Let them know that Lord Rud himself wishes to meet.”

Elizt bowed slightly.

“It will be done.”

As she turned to leave, Rud called after her.

“And Elizt?”

She paused at the door, looking back.

“Yes, my lord?”

“Handle this delicately. We don’t want the wrong people getting wind of our interest in them.”

Elizt nodded again.

“Understood.”

Once she left the room, Rud turned to the rest of his subordinates, his smile returning but this time sharper, more predatory.

“Now, the rest of you,” Rud began, his tone lighter but still dangerous. “What do we know about the distances?" Speak.”

One of the men, a stout figure named Garvek, stepped forward.

"My lord, the Distantias are a relatively small group. They operate mostly in the lower levels, dealing in smuggling and small-time protection rackets. Their leader, Alexander Distantias, is a reclusive figure. Rarely shows his face, even to his own people.”

Rud tapped his chin thoughtfully.

“And yet, they were the first to use magic to settle a score on this voyage. Fascinating. What else?”

A woman with silver hair and piercing green eyes, named Morla, spoke up.

“Their second in command, a man named Julian, is more visible. He’s known for handling most of their day-to-day operations. Ruthless, but loyal.”

Rud’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“Loyalty can be an asset—or a liability. Keep an eye on this Julian. If he’s the one running the show, we may need to deal with him instead of Alexander.”

Garvek cleared his throat. “If I may, my lord... do you believe they’re worth the risk? They’re volatile, unpredictable.”

Rud’s smile widened.

“Exactly. Volatility is often mistaken for weakness, Garvek. But in the right hands, it can be a weapon. The

Distantias have already shown their willingness to cross lines others wouldn’t dare. That kind of boldness intrigues me.”

Morla folded her arms, her expression skeptical.

“And if they refuse your invitation, my lord? Or worse, if they see it as a threat?”

Rud’s voice dropped, his tone icy.

“Then they’ll learn what it means to cross the Dark Father.”