Wiping the sweat off her palms and onto her dress, Delia took large confident steps towards the door, ignoring the lurching sea within her stomach.

“Del… you think he knows?” Jeremy said, as she edged closer to the door.

“Of course, he knows, Jeremy.”

“And what makes you say that?” he asked.

Delia paused with her hand touching the cold brass handle, and turned to him with her brows furrowed. “Weren’t you the one who just said Pa’s hiding things?”

“And weren’t you the one who said he has reasons to hide things from us?”

“And?” she shrugged. “Just because he has a reason doesn’t mean we can’t ask.”

“Fine,” Jeremy said, “but we both know you can’t just waltz up to him and demand answers. We need a plan. What are you even going to ask?”

“I…” Delia trailed off, one hand tightening around the doorknob and her free hand finding itself occupied, fingers fidgeting with the hem of her dress sleeve. Her heart pounded in her chest, and her palms grew clammy once again. "I don't know," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Delia knew he was right, that getting answers from her Pa would be like prying open an oyster, but she had to try. Greg knew the truth. He had to have. He was the one who spoke about green cells. He was the one who let Jonah fight the Kraken, not letting anyone else even stay above deck, let alone go below waters. And he was the one the men of house El were weary of.

“Del?” Jeremy prodded.

"I don't know Jeremy," she said louder, turning away from the door.

Her shoulders slumped as she hung her head, feeling defeated before she even began. She couldn't shake the nervous energy that buzzed through her body, making her feel jittery and on edge, as though if she asked Greg, something would change. Perhaps it already did.

"I don’t even know where to start," Delia admitted, voice cracking, and the facade of a brave and confident young woman along with it. Even now, her Pa was hiding things from her. Just when she felt like she had made progress, she was a little girl protected from the world.

“Why?” Delia said, voicing the question that resounded louder and louder in her head.

“Why what?”

“Why hide it from us? Pa knows the truth. Some of it. Enough of it. I’m not an idiot, Jeremy. I know he knows. I… just don’t understand why he hid it from me. From us.”

If Greg knew about the ranks, that one could increase ranks, then there was no reason to hide it from her or Jonah. Delia could understand the kingdom withholding the knowledge. She could understand Greg keeping a tight seal over his mouth, not telling others for fear of the knowledge spreading. But did he not trust her?

She bit back the tears that welled in her eyes. “I’m going to ask him why he hid what he knows. And I'm going to ask him what the ranks are. And I’m going to ask how we can get stronger.”

“We can ask him why and what and how,” Jeremy said softly. “But we need to have a plan, Del. We need to have a gotcha card up our sleeves, otherwise the Cap will just avoid answering us.”

She nodded, avoiding his gaze and wiping her eyes. “The plan is we pretend to know everything. Just like with the house of El. We learn from what he reveals until he reveals enough.”

“And you think that will work?” He said sceptically. “Greg knows what we know, Del.”

“No, not anymore. He doesn’t know what Khaleel told us.”

“Which wasn’t much.”

“Enough to speculate.” Delia took in a deep breath and steadied her nerves before meeting Jeremy's eyes. “We know he’s hiding stuff based on the truce he recited,” she said. “I think it’s to do something with the royal guard, or the guild, or both.”

“And you say that because?” Jeremy asked.

“Because remember how the guild building asks for a badge or phrase?"

"I don't really go near those buildings."

"I’m certain they ask you to complete a blood oath, or to tell them a truth,” she continued. "I've been there enough times, not that I could ever get in."

He nodded. “And what's the blood oath?”

"The truce of kind is a writ of blood. For without it, man will never trust. The truth of these words serve our bond. Bind our souls and keep us strong.”

“Talk about a good memory,” Jeremy muttered.

Delia quirked a smile, but focused on the swirling thoughts in her mind. “The first line, 'truce of kind is a writ of blood,' has the word blood in it, obvious enough, right? And writ is a formal command of sorts. And the rest of the phrase sounds like some sort of oath, with the whole serving our bond thing.”

Jeremy nodded, following along. “And the truth thing?”

"The truth," Delia paused, emphasising the word, " of these words serve our bond," she recited. “The truth is the truce. Or the truce is the truth, same difference. The blood oath or the truth, they’re asking for the same thing.”

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“I see… It does make them sound satanic,” Jeremy said absently.

She felt her face stretch into a smile. “Why do you think I called the guards a cult?”

He threw up his hands and shrugged, the movement so exaggerated it almost seemed comical.

Delia let out a light laugh. “I always thought it was a riddle, you know. The truth thing; Like, what goes up but never comes down sort of thing.”

“I know what a riddle is, Del.”

“Do you?” She said jokingly.

“Haha, very funny,” Jeremy said dryly. “Right, ok. So Greg knows stuff about the royal guard. What else?”

“Pa also absent-mindedly mentioned a green-ranked cell powering the script of the ship. I do think he slipped up there.”

Jeremy nodded. “Haven't heard of coloured cells before. Artificers sell different quality ones, but they never refer to them as colours.”

“They don’t refer to them as colours to us,” Delia corrected. “I’m sure they are a lot more specific to the royal guard, though.”

Jeremy grunted. “So the truce and the comment about the green cell. Anything else?”

“Other than kicking us out of the room and Khaleel and his men’s reaction?” Delia asked. “I think we have enough. The plan is we go in and pretend to know everything. We know a good part of it all –”

“- If you’re right about any of this,” Jeremy interrupted.

“If we are right about any of this,” Delia repeated. “Still, if we pretend to know, and hint at what we do know instead of outright saying it, then it’ll be more believable.”

“And if we’re wrong?”

“If we’re wrong,” Delia replied with a shrug, “then we’ll know we’re wrong. At least it’ll mean that Pa didn't hide something that put us in danger.”

Delia hoped she was wrong; that her fears and suspicions were baseless, and that she was mistaken, though the small voice in the back of her head told her she had hit the mark — everything was too perfect, too neatly aligned, to be mere coincidence.

“Shall we?” Jeremy said, breaking her out of her thoughts.

She nodded resolutely.

----------------------------------------

Jonah's hand tightened and loosened around the supple leather of the hilt of his sword, feeling the familiar contours of the blade. He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath, letting his mind replay the short skirmish for what was perhaps the fifth time, focusing on how the stranger produced his onyx blade from thin air, the practised ease it twirled in his fingers, and at the blur of the man's movements.

Jonah could feel the weight in the soles of his feet and the pounding of his heart as adrenaline coursed through him, though he felt strangely at peace. Not at peace retroactively reviewing the fight, but at the moment, as though it was a mock battle rather than a fight for life.

There was no hostility or aggression, just purposeful and swift motion as Jonah and his opponent engaged in a dance of intent: a subtle shift of his weight and the man responded by raising his blade. Jonah’s eyes glanced at Karl on the floor and the onyx blade tilted forwards. Mana filtered into the Midnight Ode and the stranger took on a defensive stance, forearms raised in a cross, and legs braced as though expecting an air slash.

And then the battle was over.

Jonah gave out a deep exhale, a bitter smile creeping onto his face. Though he knew he was severely outmatched, he was disappointed he didn’t manage to exchange blows with the man; it wasn’t often one could enjoy fighting without fearing for his or someone else’s life.

He was acutely aware that in a real fight, he would have been killed before having the chance to react. The recent skirmish playing in his mind had only reinforced this fact.

Jonah knew that if his hand hadn't already been on the hilt of his sword, he would not have had a fighting chance. Even then, the man from house El moved with such speed, Jonah only managed to draw the Midnight Ode partially before the small black blade collided with it, striking with the force of a Greatsword. The impact sent shockwaves through his arms, causing them to ring like a ship's bell, and pushed him back against the wall, leaving him momentarily stunned.

The attack was aimed low, towards the Midnight Ode itself in perhaps an attempt to remove the sword from Jonah's belt. The man didn’t press when Jonah was dazed, nor when he looked over to Karl's prone form.

If this man wanted Jonah dead, then he had ample opportunity to place that blade between his neck. But given how the other man had only knocked Karl out instead of stabbing him only made it more obvious in hindsight that they were holding back.

The implications made his smile wider, before transforming into a grimace.

“Ow.”

“What. Are. You. Doing?” Delia said, face frowning.

“Nothing.”

“He’s being a creep,” Jeremy said, standing behind Del, though he said the last word with an exaggerated drawl, making sure Jonah could lip-read.

As he was about to respond, another sharp jab poked into his ribs. “Is Pa in there?” Delia asked slowly.

“Yeah, Greg’s in there.”

She nodded, saying something to Jeremy before walking towards the door.

Jonah grabbed onto her arm. “You can’t go in there, Captain said so,” he said, face frowning with confusion. But Delia must've known that, so why was she pulling her arms away?

His free hand reached for the comfort of his blade as his mind whirled with chaos. Did something happen? Did the sirens return?

----------------------------------------

Delia froze with shock as Jonah stopped her from walking towards the door.

“Jonah, let me go.” She tried to pull her arm away, though his grip tightened.

“Why are you trying to go in there, Del?” Jonah said, voice sharp.

“Why are you trying to stop me?”

As she turned to face him, her eyes widened in surprise. His countenance was marked with a scowl, and his free hand rested on the hilt of his blade, ready to unsheathe it at a moment's notice.

“Del?” He repeated.

“Let go of me, Jonah.”

“You need to tell me why,” he said.

Just as the unsettling thought of why he was unwilling to release her crossed her mind, a small, nagging voice in the back of her head supplied the answer, causing her complexion to drain of colour.

“He knows," she stuttered. "Jeremy, Jonah knows.”