The five passengers of Ceana's Wing stood on the upper deck as they came upon the Odulfo family grounds.

Silverhand couldn't help but notice Rynnelle and Dashard adopt somber expressions upon seeing the Manor. However, when Dashard caught him looking, he was mad again.

Then there was the big guy, Kaleon, who was a different case altogether. For one thing, Kaldon could barely keep himself awake. Gumbo floated in the air beside him to try and catch him in case he dozed off. While Silverhand had a good hunch about why that was, it was clear to him that it was far from Kaleon’s only problem.

It was how he carried himself, head down with shoulders slumped as if he could shrink his considerable size to blend into the background.

Silverhand was far from calling himself an Acolyte, but you didn't need to be a member of the Medical Guild to see what was going on. Kaleon was a cook, competing with a Captain of the Naval Guild for the chance to marry the future Lady of Teon. Silverhand was sure most would say competing would be a generous term, considering Dashard is engaged to her. From what he saw this morning, though, Kaleon had more of a chance than anyone probably realized.

A breeze wafted over the ship. The air filled Silverhand’s nose with a scent of roses, lavender, and a virtual sea of other floral aromas that almost lifted him off his feet and over the railing. Silverhand let out a deep sigh, he was on a timetable, sure, but it wouldn't hurt to take in the view

A kaleidoscopic maze of flowers stretched over the Manor grounds, nearly taking up the entirety of the terrace. Large swathes of reds, blues, and yellows bled into each other like the easel of a grand painter, mixing to create a mosaic of color. As if that wasn’t interesting enough, Silverhand couldn’t help but notice a lot of the flowers and plants here weren’t even from the same region. The sight vaguely reminded Silverhand of another garden with just as much, if not more diversity in its catalog of plant life. Seeing as that one was maintained by a literal God, however, he mentally dubbed this one superior simply because of the comparison.

“You know, most people get stuck looking at the Manor, not the garden,” Rynnelle said, trying her best to make her tone sound casual.

Silverhand gave her a sideways glance, then followed her gaze to the Manor.

Seeing the Odulfo family Manor up close only reaffirmed Silverhand's earlier opinions. Simply put, whoever designed it was trying to compensate for something.

The exterior of the building was a mix of white and grey marble and a wood that looked like rich mahogany aside from its iridescent shimmer. Golden molding and embellishments stylized like cloud stuff ran across each side, incorporating pink and white flowers blooming atop lattices that climbed along the walls between tall stained glass windows. The most distinguishing aspect of the Manor was a multifaceted dome of shimmering emerald crystal with gold running along its edges. From its position, it looked like it sat at the very heart of the Manor, directly underneath the crater.

As far as Silverhand was concerned, the only part of the Manor that held any of his interest was the fortress ring surrounding it, and even that was because he was pretty confident he’d known the architect.

“Eh, you see one Manor you’ve seen them all,” Silverhand said with a dismissive wave of his hand, “This garden though? You’ve got flowers here that belong in totally different biomes sitting so close to each other I want to tell them to get a room. Every greenie at this branch deserves a raise for this.”

Rynnelle almost laughed at that, but she thought better of it after discreetly glancing at Dashard. "Yes, Mrs. Kitiska and the rest of the Agriculture Guild have outdone themselves." Her eyes looked back to the Manor, and she bit her lip, “Sil-I mean, Nick, Id feel a lot better about this…whatever this is-”

“Alliance?” Silverhand offered.

“Sure, I guess alliance works,” Rynnelle accepted with a sigh, “But I’d feel better about this alliance if you told me exactly how you’re going to get my father to agree to let you stay here. I can at least tell you if your ideas going to work,”

Silverhand drummed his fingers along the railing, “Don’t you worry your pretty little head, I have plenty of ways to get in the Manor, and in half of them only a handful of people end up getting hurt.” He smirked as he cut a look to Rynnelle, then winced when he saw all the color drain from her face, “Kidding kidding, I really have to get better at this whole people thing, anyways don’t worry. I have plenty of tricks to get in his good graces. Believe me, the only person that want’s to keep me out of custody more than you do, is me.”

Rynnelle gave Silverhand a look that said she didn’t believe him in the slightest but nodded anyways. “I’ll be busy tonight entertaining at the ball so we may not get another chance to talk freely until tomorrow. If that’s the case then for Hewa’s sake can you please not cause any trouble?”

“Me? Trouble?” Silverhand took on an accosted expression, “Nick Nahm is an upstanding, law-abiding citizen who would never dream of doing anything that could be seen as ‘trouble’,”

Silverhand grinned as he watched Rynnelle’s eyebrow twitch, followed by a spark of lightning that coursed through her hair and melted the look of worried indecision frozen on her face. Rynnelle responded by rolling her eyes and walked over to check on Kaleon. Silverhand’s grin fell as he watched her go.

“Why does it always seem like everywhere I get dragged into other people’s problems,” Silverhand grumbled to himself.

“Because you spent so much time being a problem for everyone else.” Dashard said evenly as he stood beside Silverhand, "We're about to depart for the Manor. Before I let you step off this ship, there's some things I'm going to need you to understand."

Silverhand sighed, letting his head drop. "Alright, lay 'em on me."

Dashard crossed his arms, giving Silverhand an incredulous look, "You're going to stick to the path leading to the perimeter of the fortress ring, where you'll relinquish all weapons, magical items, and personal effects. Then, you'll plead your case with Lord Reinard. If, and that is a big if, he agrees to allow you to stay in the Manor, you will remain cuffed and under heavy supervision until we can verify your Adventurer ID, and prove who you are." He paused, and even without looking, Silverhand felt the icy chill of his glare, "If you do anything besides exactly what i just described, I don't care what kind of agreement you have with Rynnelle, i'm taking you in."

Silverhand scratched the back of his head, taking another long look at the floral labyrinth before pushing himself off the railing to look at Dashard. "Alright, I've only got one question for you then."

"No detours," Dashard said flatly.

Silverhand narrowed his eyes, "Y'know, I'm getting the feeling that I'd really enjoy shooting you in the face."

Dashard's stone-faced expression broke off a sliver of a smirk, "The feeling's mutual."

Ceana's Wing slowly descended into a clearing between the Naval Base and the Manor. It stopped once it was hovering just above the grass. The steady hum of the ship overtook the air, flower petals dancing in the wind kicked up in its wake.

Silverhand's eyes widened when he noticed they'd landed next to a pavilion woven together from live trees. He took a step toward the pavilion but stopped when someone behind him cleared his throat.

Silverhand turned around, finding Dashard, Rynnelle, Simon, what Silverhand presumed to be the staff for the Manor, and the sea of officers they’d just left at the docks looking at him expectantly. In fact, the only person not staring at him was Kaleon, who’d somehow perfected the art of sleeping while standing up in that short amount of time.

“Right, right, no detours,” Silverhand grumbled.

Simon gave them a curt salute before heading back to the ship. Rynnelle and Dashard watched him go, then shared a look that Silverhand couldn’t exactly read. Before he could ask, Rynnelle took point and started walking ahead, immediately being swarmed by the Manor staff. Kaleon groggily followed behind her, Gumbo still floating beside him as a standing pillow.

“After you,” Silverhand said, gesturing for Dashard to go ahead of him. Dashard stared at him. “Fine, have it your way,” Silverhand complained, as he fell in line behind Kaleon, “But I don’t want to hear you complain I didn’t at least try to be civil.”

The “path” Dashard had laid out was a cobblestone walkway of blue stone that coursed through the labirynth like a meandering river, breaking off at several points leading to different sections of the grounds. Different sections that Silverhand was painfully having to remind himself, he wasn’t allowed to go. To help in that affect, officers in blistering white, grey, and blue armor stood along the edges of the path. Everytime Silverhand looked like he was considering going down a different path, fists tightened around the shafts of spears and weapons were raised in his direction.

Instead of wallowing in self-pity at being unable to explore alone, Silverhand thought of the other member of his ‘alliance’.

Rynnelle was a few feet ahead of him, trying her best to fend off the staff hounding her with questions about where she was, who she was with, and what she was doing while simultaneously bickering on the best way to get her ready for tonight's ball.

Silverhand still had mixed feelings about Rynnelle. Admittedly, when he first agreed to let her take him to meet the Lord, he was going to kidnap her and drop her off on a nearby island. Terrible idea, for multiple reasons, sure, but it wouldn't have been the first time

She made several attempts to get them to check on the clearly unwell Kaleon, but they kept circling around the excuse that he was just tired and she was the one who really needed to be taken care of.

What surprised Silverhand was that Rynnelle had accepted that as an answer. Her back was to him, but Silverhand wondered if he’d even recognize the face of the woman who all but told him he was coming with her. Regardless of if he wanted to or not. It was like each step toward the manner chipped away at the conviction that made Silverhand like her in the first place.

Silverhand paused, his brow furrowing at the thought and its implications. After thinking on it some more, Silverhand scratched the back of his head, coming up with only one conclusion, “You’re getting way too invested in this,” Silverhand told himself.

“What?” Dashard said, coming up from behind him.

“Oh I just realized that I know why people fawn over you so much.” Silverhand hugged himself, looking at Dashard with exaggerated adoration, “It’s the way you look when you’re brooding, makes me feel all tingly inside,”

Dashards scowled in disapproval, “You can make light of this situation as much as you want, but we both know you’re about to reach the end of the rope Rynnelle insisted on giving you,”

“Well that’s the difference between you and me Captain Chin” Silverhand responded with a wry grin. “You see the end of a rope and try to think of how you’re gonna hang on. Meanwhile, all I’m thinking of is who tied me down in the first place.”

Dashard gave a noncommittal grunt and pointed to something past Rynnelle, "You'll put all your belongings there,"

Fortress rings, as the name would suggest, were magical barriers whose sole purpose was protecting whatever person or objects were inside. The barriers themselves were invisible, only being seen once something made contact with them while the anchor creating said barrier sat comfortably inside. Spell anchors varied in size and shape, depending on how big you wanted the barrier.

The Anchor for the Manor fortress ring sat in a clearing that surrounded the building and acted as a barrier for the floral labyrinth. Several large, interconnected archways form a circle around the Manor. They were twenty feet tall and magically carved from Nimbian marble. The magical stone looks like a cloud of cotton-white held in shape by golden engravings and embellishments similar to the Manor.

Sitting just a few feet before one of the archways was a table flanked by more officers. They ground walked over to the table, except for Silverhand, who strolled past it to peer at one of the archways.

“What’re you doing?” Dashard asked as she stood off to one side of the table.

Silverhand didn’t immediately respond, leaning forward until tilting his head to either side and squinting out of one eye. After he was done, Silverhand stood up, walked over to the table, and shrugged, “Just wanted to get a better look at the architecture.”

“Right,” Dashard replied skeptically. He nodded toward the table, “Well, get on with it.”

Silverhand looked at the table, then at Dashard, “Don’t suppose you have a bigger table? I only ask 'cause I kind of skipped spring cleaning, so I have a lot of stuff in here,” He gave himself a quick pat down. As he did a knife fell out of his coat, landing right between his feet with the blade pointed down. “See?”

“We’ll take this as an opportunity to take inventory then,” Dashard said, completely unsympathetic to Silverhand's concerns.

“Alright, looks like we’ll be a while then,” Silverhand huffed, “Can’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Silverhand picked up the knife off the ground and placed it on the table. Next to it, he placed a sword that looked way too long to fit within his coat's confines without being noticed.

Just as Silverhand started removing a pair of bandoliers, carrying dozens of multicolored vials, he noticed that he didn’t feel the weight of Dashard's disdainful glare anymore. From the corner of his eye, Silverhand saw Dashard's attention drawn to his sword. His hand rested on his own sword, feigning a readiness for attack, but there was an unmistakable look of curiosity in his eye.

“Go ahead,” Silverhand said as he removed a sash holstering two six-chamber Egun pistols, one a shining silver and the other a brilliant gold.

Dashard blinked, realizing that he’d gotten lost in his thoughts, “Excuse me?”

“I said go ahead, give her a whirl,” Silverhand said casually. He reached behind his back, pulling out a pair of ethereal blue knives that looked like the claws of some jungle cat. “I can tell you want to, and we’re gonna be here a while.”

The curiosity behind Dashard's eyes faltered for a second as his skepticism tried to reinsert itself, but eventually, it won out.

Curiosity and skepticism warred across Dashard's face, and after a minute, curiosity won out. He strode over, shooting another weary glance at Silverhand before picking up the sword and removing it from its sheathe.

The sword was four feet long, with an untraditional two-handed grip that comprised half the weapon's length. Its blade looked similar to a spear, flat with two razor-sharp edges that tapered to a point. Dashards eyes went wide in intrigue as he looked it over, “Radantum blade?” He asked quizzically, running his hand across its golden surface, “impractical but not totally unheard of I suppose.”

“Sometimes, it pays to be a little flashy.” Silverhand shrugged, putting his flask on the table beside a thunderstorm trapped inside a bottle. “Also, in case you didn’t get the hint, I mostly agreed to let you see it so you’d stop crowding me.” He gave Dashard a flat look, waiting for him to stop admiring the blade and look back at him, “So if you wouldn’t mind…” Silverhand let the words hang, but Dashard got the hint, rolling his eyes as he strode away, sword in hand.

Dashard removed the sword from his hip and his coat, handing them to an officer as he found a space clear enough for him to move. Dashard took a stance, weighting the sword in either hand as he absently talked to himself, “A little lighter than I’m used to,” He thrust the forward, doing a couple of experimental swings, “But it’s deceptively well balanced.” Without saying another word, he rolled up his sleeves and entered into a kata.

At first, Silverhand didn’t pay Dashard any mind. He wanted the attention anywhere away from him so he could discreetly pocket some of the vials that may be useful if Silverhand found himself needing to break out of a cell. After a while, Silverhand found himself bombarded with memories. Some of which he’d rather have stayed in the past.

A book sat amongst a stack Silverhand had collected over the years. It was old, bound in wood that shone like amber in the light and tied with vines. Silverhand's fingers brushed the cover, and scars across his body lit up as if made new.

The memories hit him like a tidal wave, and an entire lifetime flashed in his mind. Silverhand wanted to warn his past self of the things to come, to comfort him in those private moments where the last thing he should have been was alone, and to chastise himself on the decisions he’d made out of grief and anger. He wanted to, desperately, but he didn’t. There was no changing the past, only coming to terms with how to live with it.

As frivolous as he made himself appear, Silverhand was well aware that he’d be paying for his sins for what was shaping up to be a very long life.

A round of applause roused Silverhand’s attention back to Dashard’s display, and his eyes went wide.

Now, humans weren’t rare in the Iega. In fact, it’s more rare to go to an island with absolutely no human population at all. What’s rare is a human joining the Navy, rarer still, them becoming a captain. It’s not that anyone from the other tribes or races weren’t welcome to enlist. The Yanayin Navy sailed the skies just as much as they did the seas, and when you're thousands of feet in the air, it helps when you innately know how to fly.

There were plenty of ways around it. You could either have the skill to make up for it or use one of many magical devices that enable flight. Dashard was very much the former.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

Despite his bulk, Dashard moved with the steadied certainty of a river. The blade left a trail of glittering gold around him as each swing and thrust flowed seamlessly into the other. There was an unmistakable focus in Dashard's eye. Silverhand recognized it and knew then, that his initial assumptions of the Captain were wrong.

Silverhand thought that Dashard was essentially in his position to promote diversity in the Naval Guild. He seemed to be a stickler for the rules, which you’d need out here on the borders of charted waters, not to mention his marrying an Islands Lady would help the growing disparity between the two groups. Seeing him in this moment, however, Silverhand quickly realized that even if all that may have had some validity to it, Dashard's skill with the blade more than earned the position.

Dashard's movement utilized his speed, strength, and stamina in equal measure. Each swipe at the air built his momentum until the blade was little more than a blur wrapped in a shimmering haze of heat and golden light. White flower petals danced in the wind, gathering around him. I’m a single, fluid motion, Dashard used the sword to slice two dozen or so petals precisely down the middle in an instant. The heated metal ignited them, and the wind dispersed their ashes before they touched the ground, prompting another round of applause from the Manor staff.

Silverhand blinked, fixing his jaw as he reassessed how easily it would’ve been to get away had he tried earlier. He was confident he still could get away, but it wouldn’t have nearly been as easy as he thought. Silverhand felt eyes on him and found Rynnelle looking at him with a knowing expression that could only mean, “I told you so,”.

“Yeah, definitely shooting him in the face,” Silverhand grumbled as he rolled his eyes, begrudgingly resuming his task.

“So this is why you insisted I remain in the Manor? So you could show off in front of my daughter?”

Everyone’s head turned as a cluster of Yana strode from underneath the nearest archway. A dozen men and women in heavy sets of emerald armor surrounded two men. One was positively ancient and looked like every stereotype you’d expect from the head butler. The other, Silverhand guessed, was the Lord of Teon.

Silverhand fought back a sharp laugh that almost snuck past his lips. The man was a lot shorter than he was expecting, which wouldn’t have anything of note if not for the cartoonishly large cloud he called hair sitting on his head. He walked with his hands clasped behind his back, exuding the self-assured confidence that came with the knowledge that his word was law.

While no stranger to dealings with the Parliament of Isles, Silverhand took no pleasure in it. Its members ranged from just as bad as the pirates they vilified to worse. As far as Silverhand was concerned, politics was a volatile game built on pillars of avarice, narcissism, pride, and deceit, then glossed over with a veneer of public good works.

In all fairness, Silverhand did acknowledge his own biases, but from where he stood, the unspoken rules of Parliament were the outspoken rules of Piracy. You can do whatever you want, so long as you have the power to back it up.

“Lord Reinard! Of course not!” Dashard said hurriedly. One of the staff hovering around Rynnelle came over to bring him a towel, which he used to wipe his brow as the Lord approached. “I admittedly forgot myself in the moment, but I assure you-“

“Oh relax, my boy, relax!” Reinard chuckled, “I was young once too. I understand the urge to show off in front of a group of pretty young women.” He gave Dashard a playful elbow to the ribs, “I know you’re eager, but don’t go hogging all of my daughter’s attention this week. I’d still like to see her, and you’ll have plenty of time after the ceremony for that.”

Dashard’s lips formed a line as he worked out a response, trying and failing not to appear flustered. “Yes, Lord Reinard.”

Silverhand was surprised to see Dashard’s stoic exterior shatter when facing the man, but he understood it. If a man marginally taller than your waist with hair enough hair to make up the difference walked up to him, it would take all of Silverhand’s willpower not to burst out laughing.

The tiny Lord nodded, then turned to pan his gaze across the crowd. His eyes lingered on Silverhand for a fraction of a second longer than everything else, but he quickly moved on when he saw Rynnelle doing her best to hide behind the Manor staff.

Lightning flashed in the towering pompadour as Reinard marched to Rynnelle, the staff parting to give the lord an unobstructed view of his daughter.

While physically taller than her father, Rynnelle’s unabashed conviction shrunk to that of a field mouse when facing him. She bit her lip, playing with the hem of her clothes as she tried to come up with something to say. “Father I-“

“No,” Reinard said abruptly, all playfulness in his voice gone. “You’re not talking your way out of the Rynnelle. Not again. We’ve had this conversation so many times I can’t even keep track anymore.”

“I’m sure it’s not that bad,” Rynnelle offered meekly.

Reinard made a face, then looked to the butler, “Gaspar?”

“Two thousand three hundred and sixty-eight times over the course of twelve years,”

Rynnelle winced, and Silverhand let out a low whistle that no one acknowledged besides Dashard, who shot a glare in his direction.

“Rynnelle,” Reinard said, his voice filled with parental disapproval, “The Harvetal is not just a time where we remember the past, and honor the present. It’s to celebrate the new year and the future that comes with it. A future that will not come to pass if you insist on making the same mistakes like wandering around unsupervised…” Reinard turned and sneered at Silverhand, “or picking up strays,”

Reinard turned back to face Rynnelle, silently holding his gaze on her for a long time. Eventually, he let out a deep sigh, “Are you hungry? You missed breakfast,”

“No! It’s fine, I already ate!” Rynnelle said, quickly taking the opportunity to change the subject.

Silverhand guessed she apparently said something wrong because panic darted across her face, followed by a barrage of lightning illuminating Reinard’s hair. It took him a moment to get it under control, he turned a menacing glare on the crowd. Silverhand followed his gaze, noting that it landed on Kaleon, who'd sat underneath an arch fast asleep with Gumbo curled up in his lap.

“Mrs. Katelo, please escort my daughter to her room. Place guards outside her door as she isn't to leave until tonight’s event.” Reinard said through barred teeth.

One of the Manor staff surrounding Rynnelle stepped forward. She was an older woman and spoke with a heavy accent, “Very well, Lord Reinard. C’mon dear, let’s get you inside.”

Rynnelle looked like she wanted to protest, but Reinard beat her to it. “We’ll be finishing this conversation later.” Rynnelle nodded reluctantly, sharing a look with Dashard, and then another with Silverhand before being escorted off. Silverhand watched her as she gave a worried look at Kaleon, but Mrs.Katelo stepped in to block her view.

“Mark my words Dashard,” Reinard sighed in exasperation, “Children are the most rewarding, and infuriating gift a person can have in this life. Now, what exactly was all this commotion in the bay? And who is he?”

Reinard strode over to Silverhand without waiting for Dashard to respond, but he was used to this and fell into step behind him. “Our morning patrol reported that a pirate ship was on a trajectory to crash into the island.” Dashard said, “They had orders to destroy it, but-“

“Luckily I was aboard, and landed before anything bad could happen,” Silverhand interrupted, “Nick Nahm, adventurer, I’d shake your hand, but the only one I have is preoccupied at the moment.” Silverhand’s hand was inside his left coat sleeve up to the elbow. His face twisted in concentration.

Dashard's brow furrowed in annoyance at being interrupted, but when he put his full attention on Silverhand, the words died before they passed his lips.

Aside from the pair of pistols he’d placed on the table, the rest of Silverhand’s guns formed a mountain of a pile off to the side.

While it largely consisted of pistols, there was no shortage of rifles, thunderbreakers, and, for some bizarre reason, a cannon that looked like Silverhand ripped it off the side of a ship.

Dashard put Silverhands sword down and leaned over to peer around the pile, surprised to find another one right behind that one. This new pile was composed of knives, hand axes, hammers, and an assortment of weapons Dashard didn’t even know the name of.

At the same time, Reinard was both intrigued and perturbed at the items laid out on the table. There was some of the standard adventurer's gear, waterskin, cooking plate, rope, ten-foot pole, and things of that nature. All the other contents of a more eclectic nature, however.

A potted plant with thick leaves, dripping a thick red sap sat next to a barrel of rum labeled 'Seven Sellestial'. A bottle holding a raging thunderstorm sat in a golden prosthetic hand.

Gaspar gingerly touched the clasp of a map case. It sprang open and startled Gaspar as enough of the shimmering parchment inside unfurled that it rolled off the table. Reinard picked up Silverhand’s flask, taking an experimental sniff before jerking his head back, “Hewa help whoever’s body has to stomach this.”

“It’s not so bad when you get used to it.” Silverhand chuckled darkly, “Ahh, here we go.” There was a click, and Silverhand held out his left arm over the table. Glass spheres rolled out over the Jolly Rodger of the pirate ship. The glass itself was dark, as if filled with smoke but cradled with each was a single bolt of lightning.

Reinard peered over the spheres, Dashard coming up to join him. “Are those…” There was a quiver in the lord's voice as he let the words hang, but Silverhand finished for him.

"Yep. Tākohr batteries. Fully charged." Silverhand picked up a sphere as if to examine it. "You wouldn't know what it took to collect all these." He looked around, noticing that Dashard, Reinard, the Naval Guild officers, and Reinard's guard were stealing nervous glances at him. Resisting the urge to play a quick game of catch, he put the sphere down.

"How many of these would it take to power Teon?" Reinard asked absently.

Gaspar audibly gulped, "It depends," He paused, steeling his nerves. "We typically go through six to eight in a year, m'lord."

"How many do you have?" Reinard asked, although his tone suggested he didn't want to know the answer. Silverhand told him anyway.

“Oh, I stopped counting around forty,” Silverhand shrugged. “Never can be too careful, y’know?”

They stared at him for a long time, Silverhand waiting patiently as they gathered their thoughts. He almost felt bad for them. They’d essentially stopped him right before he was about to singlehandedly, no pun intended, wage siege on a pirate fleet. Just another reason why he wasn’t trying to stay on this island for long.

“Dashard,” Reinard said steadily, breaking the silence.

“Yes, Lord Reinard?”

“Explain to me who this man is and why he’s at my front door,” Reinard said, still keeping his gaze trained on Silverhand.

Silverhand was about to speak, reminding the lord he had already given him his name, but Dashard didn’t give him a chance. Dashard reached into his coat, pulling out a piece of shimmering parchment similar to Silverhands. The parchment unfurled until it almost touched the ground, Dashard holding it up for Reinard and Gaspar to see.

“The pirate, commonly known as Silverhand,” Dashard read aloud as words and pictures started to appear, “Real name unknown, known aliases include Jackobi Jakarta, Makarov Metiska, and Tayleirin Thrace. Wanted for burglary, petty and grand theft, destruction of public, private, and government property…”

Silverhand whistled, “Wow, you must be President of the Silverhand fan club. It’s probably just a-”

“I’m not done,” Dashard said. There was a razor's edge in his voice that dared Silverhand to interrupt again. When Silverhand didn’t, he continued. “Arson, vandalism, trespassing, robbery both unarmed and armed, aggravated assault, assault with a deadly weapon, coercion, extortion, murder, and last but certainly not least, wanton acts of terrorism. That includes the deaths of several members of Parliament and other Noble Houses. In addition to over three thousand deaths of Naval Guild officers, one of which was an Admiral.”

When Dashard finished speaking, the frigid glare he gave Silverhand could have frozen an ocean solid. Silverhand had a vague idea of all the things he’d done over the years that would technically be considered illegal, but this was the first time he’d been in custody long enough for them to read them all out to him like this.

One thing Silverhand knew for certain, however, was that he’d grossly underestimated Dashard. He’d been under the assumption that Dashard had blindly guessed at his identity, mainly thanks to raving spectacle that was his entrance, but he was beginning to suspect something else. Nowadays since most think he’s dead, the few officers that Silverhand had encountered that recognized him wanted to do so to bring glory for themselves rather than seek Justice for those lost. Nothing exactly wrong with that but Silverhand wasn’t exactly gentle in showing them he wouldn’t go down quietly. Dashard’s case was different. Silverhand could tell as much from the fury in his eyes. Whatever score he wanted to settle with Silverhand, at the very least, it was a personal one.

At the bottom of the parchment in Dashard’s hands was a picture of a teen. A disheveled mop of silver hair covered his eyes as he grinned broadly and held both hands up in a peace sign. Age aside, the picture wasn’t exactly a one to one match to Silverhand as he was now. There was a noticeable difference in hair color, but even more than that, the teen didn’t have a single scar, or at least not one shown in the photo. A picture was just a picture, though, so it wasn’t definitive proof.

It felt like hours before anyone said anything else. A putrid miasma of hatred choked the air around them as the Naval officers Silverhand unanimously willed their collective hate to crush him.

Silverhand saw rain break from Reinard’s hair, the nervous sweat trailing rivers down his face. He’d taken a step away from him as Dashard continued reading from the list and was likely one loud noise away from running for the hills.

“This is Unlu’s work right?” Silverhand asked as he shrugged off his coat and threw it over his shoulder.

Reinard blinked, the question throwing him off guard, “W-what?”

Silverhand nodded toward the fortress ring, “The ring, you had Unlu Shoal build it?”

“And what of it?” Reinard said. He’d regained a bit of his composure, or at least enough of it to be cautious.

“I hardly think this is relevant,” Dashard interjected.

“Oh, it is, if you’re worried about the safety of the Manor, I mean.” Silverhand countered, watching both of their reactions. Dashard hesitated, biting back a response. Gaspar adjusted the collar of his suit while Reinard visibly blanched.

“I can tell it’s his work because when you tilt your head to the side and squint your eyes that cloud formation looks like a deformed baby head.” Silverhand continued, pointing his finger. Dashard hesitated, but he, and a couple of the more curious officers and guard, did eventually look. Reinard and Gaspar didnt take their eyes off Silverhand. Silverhand grinned, and added, “It also helps that I know how he inscribed his enchantments.”

Dashard turned back to Silverhand, ”Are you going to get to a point?”

“My point, is that Unlu Shoal was an member of the Stewards of Staleward Stone, until the SSS kicked him out for cutting corners by using cheaper materials than regulation and pocketing the difference.” Silverhand watched as rivers of sweat flowed down Reinards face. Gaspar deftly handed him a handkerchief to clear his face. Silverhand turned back to his inventory, setting down his coat to pilfer through a couple of books. “The thing is. Regulations aren’t just decided for shits and giggles, the materials are chosen because they have a better hold on the enchantments magic. As it stands now, it can take one, maybe two big hits well enough but let’s say every officer here decided to open fire on the barrier all at once. It would shatter in a couple minutes. Even faster if they focus on one spot, which is strange but, the guy got kicked out for a reason.”

Silverhand lifted a pocket book from the pile, flipping to one of the pages and handing it to Reinard. “While you guys have my stuff, have some of Teons Artisans take a look at this. It should be enough to make up for the corners Unlu cut, but personally I think the investment into getting an official ring from the SSS is worth it. Gotta do whatever it takes to protect your family, right?”

Reinard was stunned, for a moment he looked at the journal like it was the most valuable thing in the world but he cleared his throat and nodded In appreciation, “Right…thank you, Gaspar?”

“Of course, m’lord.” Gaspar took the journal and slipped it into his suit pocket.

“All this withstanding,” Dashard said, trying to take back the conversation. “None of that, detracts from the reality that he is still a figutive wanted for his crimes against the Yanayin tribe.”

“Well acording to my Adventurers ID, I’m not.” Silverhand said, showing his band for emphasis. “So unless you can prove that’s me, besides an old picture, I’m innocent until proven guilty.”

Silverhand picked up his coat, and flourished it over the table and piles of weapons. A glyph appeared over each of the items, and when the coat passed over them they were sucked back with a whoosh. Silverhand neatly folded his coat, a broad grin on his face. This game should be over soon. Reinard should’ve had enough reasonable doubt that he’d at least not just hand him over to the Navy. It shouldn’t take much more to win him over, at least until Rynnelle holds up her end of the deal.

Silverhand was about to flash Dashard a genuine sympathetic smile, but he froze. There was a predatory grin on Dashards face. As if he’d been waiting for this very moment.

Dashard placed a finger on the parchment and swiped down, the text scrolling through an extrodinarily long list of more detailed reports of Silverhands crimes. Silverhands brow furrowing as it reached the bottom.

On the parchment was a darkened silhouette of a man. Taking up almost all of the stomach and torso was a blob of shifting black, silver, and gold.

“Look familiar?” Dashard said with a hint of satisfaction in his voice, “Contrary to what the public may be aware of, but we were able to get an aura signature on Silverhand. It was before anyone knew who he was, that’s why it went unnoticed for so long, but after the Promise a lot of good people spent a long time combing through your entire history. So, if you are, Nikolas Nahm, I’m sure you would have no problem with us scanning your signature then. Actually, let me clarify, a live scan, not whatever you have stored on your badge.”

Silverhand felt his entire body freeze as nervous tension filled his veins. Dashard flashed him a grin, convinced that he’d trapped him in a corner. Which, he had, just not in the way he thought.

Instinctively, Silverhand's eyes shifted around him, once again taking in his surroundings and assessing his options. He’d counted at least fifty standard officers, and then the dozen from Reinard's personal guard. They were in arms reach, so he could try something but Dashard was only a step behind them. He’s likely on edge and already waiting for me to try something.

“I can’t do that,” Silverhand said darkly, unable to meet Dashard's eyes. The bones in Silverhands hand cracked as he closed it into a white-knuckled fist. To Reinard, he said, “I know how suspicious that’s going to sound, but I have a good reason to be cautious.”

“Likely story,” Dashard scoffed, he signaled for the officers to close in. “If you won’t provide us with a signature confirming your identity, we’ll have to have you detained until we can get this matter resolved. Lord Reinard, if you and Gaspar would please back away.”

A lump formed in Silverhand's throat as the officers leveled their guns on him, “Wait! Wait, Re-Lord Reinard if you’d at the very least allow me to explain myself,” He said, pausing for a moment before adding, “In private,”

“Absolutely not.” Gaspar and Dashard protested immediately. Naval officers continued circling Silverhand. He didn't think they’d open fire with the island's Lord in front of him, but he saw more than one finger on a trigger.

All the while Silverhand’s eye never left Reinards. The tiny man still looked afraid, but that wasn’t it. Silverhand could see the gears turning behind his eyes as the politician in him considered the unique position he was in.

After almost a full minute, Reinard said, “Very well, but make it quick.”

“But-Lord Reinard, I don’t think-“ Dashard started to say, but Reinard cut him off.

“You’ll only be a step away. I trust you could close any gap before he can put his hand on me.” Reinard said swiftly, “Now, you, Gaspar, and your officers take a couple of steps back. I want to hear what this man has to say.”

Reluctantly, Dashard signaled the officers to cease in their advance as he and Gaspar took a couple of steps back themselves.

Reinard pressed a cuff link on his robe. A bubble of semitransparent air surrounded himself and Silverhand while simultaneously slightly deafening the sounds around them. Silverhand recognized this to be a privacy barrier and sighed in relief, knowing his words wouldn’t be heard by anyone outside.

“Now, ‘Nick’” Reinard said, sounding like he didn’t like the way the name tasted in his mouth, “What could you possibly have to say that would make me consider letting you in my home?”

Silverhand took a long time answering, and in the end, he couldn’t bring himself to speak. Instead, he slowly reached for something hidden under the collar of his shirt.

Part of him, a very vocal part, wanted to throw caution to the wind and escape. Even with them on high alert, the Navy had no real way of holding him. Even if they tried, when all was said and done, Silverhand was sure to be the last one standing.

Silverhand sighed, pushing those thoughts aside as he pulled out his necklace. It was a gold chain looped through two necklaces and a brown feather speckled with white and black.

Each ring featured a black band stylized to look like a raven with a gemstone embedded in the forehead. The gem was a brilliant ocean of crimson with flowing currents of gold and silver shaped like a nine-pointed star.

Reinard's eyes went wide as he stared at the rings. His face was unreadable as emotions came and went, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to think of what to say next.

“So if I am to understand correctly,” Reinard said slowly. Taking the same care you’d expect when walking through a field of landlines, “You mean to have me believe that the reason you don’t want your aura signature is not because you’re Silverhand but because you’re-“

“Yes,” Silverhand said quickly, cutting him off. “It’s going to bring up a lot of questions it would bring up if word gets out that I've been arrested, with the Navy accusing me of being a wanted terrorist.” He leaned forward to look over Reinard, “And I think I both know that Teon doesn’t want to deal with the kind of people that come looking for answers.”

Silverhand took a step back, giving the lord some breathing room. Reinard began to pace, the stars along his chart twinkling in a frantic, staccato rhythm. Silverhand waited him out, putting his necklace back beneath his shirt.

“What do you need?” Reinard said, wheeling on him.

“Two things,” Silverhand said, “Honor Rynnelle’s agreement with me in getting me a ship and keeping the Navy off my back.”

Reinard stroked his chin, “Okay, okay…Dashard is pretty convinced you’re…” He shook his head, letting the words hang, “I’ll have to make some concessions with him, you understand. To mitigate the strain this will put on my relationship with the Naval Guild.”

“No worries, as long as I’m not in a cell and get my ship, I can deal with the unpleasantries.”

“Alright, and the second thing?” Reinard asked.

Silverhand’s only response was a wide grin.