Silverhand felt more naked in these formal robes than he did on the day he was born.

Captain Chin had apparently figured out that he'd swiped a key and, much to Silverhands dismay, had provided another much more tricky alternative to get out of.

The shoulder-length cape was a vibrant vermillion, while the unimpressive yet acceptable robes were black. They had an iridescent sheen to them, which Silverhand would've thought was a nice touch if it wasn't coming from the bands of Ininka stone woven into it and the enchantments preventing him from taking the damn thing off. While he would've liked to stand in a corner, waiting for the inevitable. The nondescript robes had the exact opposite of their intended effect, however. Being the only one not dressed in super fancy attire in a ballroom full of the Iegas elite stands out. Who would've guessed.

Silverhands only saving grace was that Reinard had enough sway, so he didn't have to spend the night with a missing hand. His prosthetic was another of countless neat souvenirs he'd picked over the years. It was made of radantum with minor insight enchantments in encrusted multicolored gemstones in the knuckles, back of the hand, and palm. He called it his Winning Hand.

He put his right hand in his pocket, mentally going through the vials he'd pocketed earlier. Silverhand grabbed them with the intention they could help him escape a Naval base. Funny how it only took a couple of hours for that to be the least of his worries.

Out of the corner of Silverhand's eye, he spied another silver tray floating through the crowd of guests. On it was a pitcher of a delicious glittering green cocktail. It had a slightly sweet taste initially, but magic made the liquor run down smooth while it sent a tingle through the chest.

Frankly, he preferred stronger liquor, but it was the only one served with magic strong enough to overcome his resistance. Albeit temporarily.

Silverhand stepped in what should've been the tray's path, but it stopped a few feet out of his reach. He darted forward, trying to snatch the pitcher, but the tray backed up, reversing its direction and floating away.

"I refuse to do this shit sober," Silverhand growled under his breath as he glared after the tray.

Silverhand grits his teeth as a burning sensation seared between his shoulder blades. He didn't let it deter him from chasing after the tray, but as the clock ticked closer to midnight, that sensation grew into a white-hot spike of pain that refused to be ignored.

He spent a longer time than he'd rather admit just chasing after the platter, stopping briefly to stalk a food platter when his stomach started to growl. People were staring at him, but Silverhand didn't acknowledge it. This was all he could do to appease his racing nerves. It wasn't until Silverhand felt a particular set of eyes on him that he looked up. After a moment, he found Rynnelle staring at him from across the room.

Silverhand couldn't put his finger on how he'd known she was looking at him. Some woman staring at him intensely hadn't triggered his senses since he was a teen, and those were for entirely different circumstances.

Silverhand didn't exactly know what she was talking about with Dashard, but he recognized the haunting look of regret on her face.

If he had to guess, she was probably rethinking making that deal with him, which was fair; he was, too. Luckily for both of them, mitigating circumstances pushed up the timetable for him to leave the island—not that she or any other people in the ballroom knew that. Silverhand had contemplated telling Reinard and Dashard of the pending danger but thought better of it. For one thing, they've already heightened security to the max just for him, and two, he doubted it would make any difference.

The train of thought passed just as quickly as it appeared. Silverhand winked at Rynnelle before returning to pick at the food platter and resume his master plan for surviving the night.

"That outta do it." Silverhand had to dial up the party-drunk act he had going on, herding the members of Parliament who tried to avoid him like sheep into the places he wanted.

The music blared, the orchestra in the clouds reaching a melodious crescendo as Silverhand stuck out his foot. What happened next was likely the most glorious sight he'd produced. It was masterful, complex, and perfectly calculated, and Silverhand saw none of it. His eyes focused on his prize.

"Be invisible, be invisible, be invisible." He whispered to himself. At the last second, he stuck out his hand, and a cheeky grin spread across his face as Silverhand finally snatched the pitcher from the tray.

Wasting no time, Silverhand turned on his heel and left the crime scene. Pouring the liquor directly into his mouth, the tingling sensation spreading through his body and quenching the spike of danger.

As if speaking too soon, Silverhand stopped as a new sensation overcame him. His chest had an unsettling resonance as the foreign magic inside him fought to get free.

Silverhand shuddered, slowly tilting his head to look past the clock floating in the air to the domed ceiling.

At that moment, Silverhand remembered another side effect of that bektal Unlu's shoddy work. When the shield was actively defending against an attack, those inside couldn't hear anything outside.

""Where. Is. Kal?" Silverhand almost tripped over himself as Rynnelle appeared out of nowhere in front of him.

Silverhand stared at her, his mind swimming, its only tether to the moment ironically being the still noticeable feeling between his shoulder blades.

Captain Chin stepped up a second later, and a bubble of silence wrapped around the trio, muffling the music. Silverhand heard him make some snide comment, but he ignored it. Paying attention to the new threat in front of him.

There was a loud ring, followed by an eruption of cheers from the crowd that momentarily pierced the bubble of muffled silence before it reasserted itself.

Rynnelle ignored the celebration around them, taking a step forward and getting into Silverhands personal space. Looking up at him with an almost burning intensity as she repeated her question, "Where. Is. Kal?"

Silverhand slowly blinked, giving her a look of confusion, "Wh-hic, who?"

When Silverhand saw the look on Rynnelle's, he knew he had messed up. She balled her fist as if to punch him, but Dashard quickly grabbed her wrist before Rynnelle could raise it.

Rynnelle's fists stayed clenched as she glared at Silverhand for three more seconds, and he used that time to shake his head clear.

"Relax, he'sssss fineeee," Silverhand said, his words came out slurred and only on the borderline of coherent enough to be understood. "The man nee-hic, needed a nap."

Rynnelle's fist unclenched, and Dashard let her go as she hissed "Toagbwi." at Silverhand.

Silverhand laughs despite himself, "I sss-hic see why Seabreeze likes you," He says, lifting the pitcher back to his mouth.

Dashard grabbed his wrist this time, squeezing so tight that Silverhand thought he was attempting to break it. He gave Silverhand a stern look, "I know you must think that because Lord Reinard bought into whatever you're selling, you're untouchable." He leaned forward, looming over Silverhand, "Please, keep pushing. I can't wait to show you that you're not. Now you're going to tell us where Kaleon is, or I'm putting you in a cell. Lord Reinard be damned."

Silverhand knew they were serious; he could hear it in their tones and see it on their faces. Maybe it was the liquor that kept the grin on his face, or perhaps it was the sight of two people standing up to a 'highly dangerous criminal' for the sake of their friend. Whatever the case, the resonating sensation inside him rang in his ears.

"Yeaaaaaaaaaah, how about we put a pin in this conversation." With his free hand, Silverhand pointed toward the ceiling. "We hav-hic have other things to worry about."

Dashard didn't look at first, keeping his glare on Silverhand, when a terrified scream pierced Dashard's bubble of silence entirely. He looked confused and glanced at Rynnelle to see if it was her, but she wasn't looking at him. Her gaze followed Silverhands finger.

The music was still playing. The scores of trumpets had quieted, barely audible over the rumble of the drum line. All other noise in the room stopped as Rynnelle, Dashard, Silverhand, and all the ball attendees looked past the strobing clouds to the domed ceiling.

They'd seen the vast expanse of stars in the sky only a few minutes ago. Now, a face blacker than night looked down at the ballroom occupants with thousands of beady pale grey eyes. They blinked in an eerie rhythm, rippling like tossing a stone in a pond.

Another scream broke the silence of the night as the ballroom became a frenzy. Members of Parliament and other guests raced toward the exits, colliding with the officers who tried to establish order. The shadows took haunting forms across the ballroom walls, and the pitch of screams went several octaves higher as the exits slammed shut. Sealed with wisps of smoke as black as the void of space.

Some guests cast magic on the doors and walls, but the shadows absorbed every spell. Still, they continued to cast until they started fighting with the officers, who didn't want everyone to start casting spells in an enclosed space all at once.

When the creature noticed the crowd's fear, its face opened, revealing a gaping maw of blistering white needle-like teeth. The monster bit down on the dome, releasing an ear-piercing roar that shattered the dome, sending daggers of glass to rain on the stunned guests below.

"Spirit of zephyr, coat me in your reverence." One second, Silverhand felt the crushing grip of Dashards hand on his wrist. A moment later, the captain had disappeared.

Silverhand scanned the crowd, finding Dashard, as his large frame was the only one running toward the center. They weren't too far from the center themselves, and Rynnelle nearly stepped back into him to avoid the manic crowd sweeping her away.

A shimmering dervish of wind surrounded Dashard, allowing him to flow against the surging tide with fluid ease. He reached the center of the ballroom, and the shards of glass shredded the orchestra. The music abruptly stopped, and the room darkened as the lights of the clouds disappeared. The only thing keeping them from plummeting into total darkness was a loose ring of radantum rods in small alcoves along the walls.

Dashard crouched, drew his sword, and shot into the air to meet the falling glass. The swirling wind surrounding his body transferred to his sword, "Spirit of Zephyr, release thy breath and howl." He slashed the air, and a wind blade slammed into the glass.

Some of the glass shattered into dust, and others veered away from the people below, impaling the walls or smashing against the other raining shards.

Dashard floated back toward the floor. He cursed under his breath. The dome had been massive, and his slash cut the glass wave by half. While he'd bought them a few seconds, there was too much.

Two figures rushed past Dashard. A miniature green tornado carried the figure to Dashards left. They were a female captain, and when she thrust her fist forward, the tornado rose around her to float in the air above the ballroom. The tornado turned into a sphere of howling wind that pulled in the remaining glass.

The other figure held a cane, tracing a glowing light-red circle in the air. The circle expanded, surrounding the sphere of wind, and shrank until the entire thing, glass and all, winked out of existence in a burst of red light.

An uneasy pause overtook the room as the manor staff, Reinard's Personal Guard and Naval Officers regained some semblance of order. Dashard and the other captains didn't pay it any mind, eyes locked toward the ceiling.

"You got a safe room?"

"What?" Silverhands question startled Rynnelle, who quickly stepped away from him. "Yes, we have one. Why?"

"Because if I were you, this is around the time I'd head to it."

Rynnelle stared at him in indignation, "I'm not moving until you tell me what happened to Kal,"

Silverhand shrugged and raised the pitcher back to his lips. "Don't say I didn't warn you," he said, walking into the crowd. Rynnelles glared at him, looked back toward Dashard in concern, sighed, and followed after Silverhand.

The members of Parliament had abandoned the center of the ballroom, clearing it out and crowding around the room's exits. Trying, to no avail, to get the doors to open.

Reinard's personal Guard was trying to maintain order, protecting the manor staff who wanted to tend to those injured by the rushing crowd. The naval officers drew their weapons and formed a ring around the center. They all chanted an incantation, "We tether our hearts to those unfettered." The officers raised their bucklers as if holding up a tower shield. The air before them began to congeal, turning white and going from transparent to opaque as alabaster cloud stuff appeared before the officers. These clouds didn't shift or move with the slightest change in breeze. Instead, it was more akin to marble carved to look like clouds than anything you'd see in the sky, "Guard our charges and reject those who wish us constrained."

Dashard's grip on his sword tightened as he saw the creature move. The beast had tried to fit its massive bulk into the ballroom, only for its head to get wedged inside. Instead of struggling, it opened its mouth again. The creature's mouth resembled a lamprey's, except its mouth was filled with so many winding rows of teeth that it filled the ballroom with an unsettling chittering sound. There was a sound of rushing water, a geyser of oily black bile spilled out from its mouth toward the floor.

A chorus of maniacal laughter sent a chill over the room. The terror of their situation had once again taken over the members of Parliament; some resumed their mad scramble, trying to get out of doors that wouldn't open, and others, for some inexplicable reason, started a shoving match.

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"Bring it in!" Dashard yelled as he and the other captains moved back to leave the center. The captain with the cane was the last to move. He used his cane to launch another glowing circle at the falling darkness.

As the officers pushed forward, the wall of clouds shrank in diameter as it grew taller. Reinard's Guard waded through the crowd to take up arms behind the Navy. Filling the air with the scent of ozone as they butted their spears on the floor, their tips crackling with electricity. The guards pierced the growing cloud wall, and lightning flashed throughout it as it rose to meet the darkness as the last captain cleared from the center of the room.

Terrified screams and demonic laughter turned the ballroom into a carnival of the damned. The laughter only stopped when the oily liquid slammed into the glowing circle. A hissing sound filled the air as a fetid smoke rose to conceal the monster and the ceiling, the black liquid evaporating like steam when it came in contact with the glowing circle.

The electrified clouds raced to meet the circle as the first cracks appeared. They surrounded it and continued to race upwards until it disappeared into the smoke. A flash of red light, followed by crackling electricity, flooded the ballroom with the smell of ozone. The creature roared, and then the sound of rushing water stopped.

The guests' weary gaze fell on one another, the ceiling, and then to the Navy and Guard. There was a pause before someone in the crowd started a slow clap that turned into a round of applause.

Silverhand leaned against one of the alcoves, directly under the radantum light, and eyed the nearest doorway. It was a short sprint, but with the wall to his side, he wouldn't have to shove too many people out of his way. As the applause continued, Silverhand sucked his teeth and took another swig from the cocktail pitcher.

Rynnelle was beside him, biting her lip as she worriedly looked at Dashard. When she heard Silverhand suck her teeth, she shot him an annoyed look, "What?"

Between swigs, all Silverhand said was, "Preemptive celebration,"

Rynnelle's brow furrowed as she looked back to the center of the room. The top of the column of clouds disappeared into the perilous smoke, but something was different. Splotches of black appeared in the alabaster white, slowly but steadily spreading throughout. Her father's guards withdrew their spears before the black reached them, forming to defend the guests while the naval officers kept their eyes on the cloud.

As soon as the column was black, a sharp laugh cut through the adoration as something dropped from the smoke overhead. At first, Rynnelle couldn't determine what it was as it was still shrouded in smoke, but then it started to move. The smoke began to coalesce, much like clouds had, until it resembled a kneeling humanoid figure.

The blackened figure rose to its full height, standing over seven feet and taking on more Yana characteristics as he stood. When the smoke cleared, it revealed a monster of a man who loomed over the three captains.

Nobody moved. An all-encompassing stillness washed over the room. The man was covered in a heavy leather coat with rusted silver plates. Dashard studied the plates. His eyes widened when he realized they were tags. Tags belonging to the Yanayin Naval Guild.

Dashard met the pirate's eyes, and a ghastly grin spread across the man's face. Dashard brought up his sword to block just as the man swung a massive cleaver in his direction. The blow had so much power behind it that it sent him flying into the crowd.

That signaled the next round of mass hysteria as more pirates fell from the hanging smoke like rain. Some dropped between the Guard and the Navy officers in the no man's land, trying to attack the captains. Other pirates fell into the crowd; more spells flew as some guests fought to defend themselves, but most tried to run away. Not that there was anywhere to go. If that weren't bad enough, more pirates spilled from the black column, slamming like a tidal wave into the wall of officers.

It was like a wellspring of chaos had opened in the middle of the ballroom. People screamed in fits of outrage and alarm, shoving to get out of the way of the pirates, who moved with near impunity.

Just like that, a night of year-end celebration transformed into a baroque mosaic of terror and shadows. Silverhand let out a low whistle at the brutal efficiency of Teon's defenders, which kept them from getting overwhelmed. Whenever pirates fell, they only got a few steps before being surrounded by a mix of Naval officers and a manor guard. The heightened securities validation went unsaid as they made quick work of them to very odd effect.

The pirates ensnared by the Ininka bolas let out pained cries as they exploded into clouds of smoke seconds before falling to the floor. For those sliced by swords or impaled on electrified spears, pressurized streams of black blood erupted from their wounds, spraying all over the floor, defenders and guests alike, before unceremoniously falling limp like a cordless marionette.

At first glance, the Navy and Guard looked to have the upper hand, slaying five pirates for every one of their number to fall. Silverhand would've expected them to win if this were under normal circumstances. Although he'd never say it aloud, part of him wished they could. But Silverhand knew this was over the moment the lantern was lit.

Rynnelle bit her lip as she watched the events unfold, eyes darting every which way across the room. Her heart pounded like a jackhammer in her chest, rooting her in place at the very edge of the alcove's light.

Trails of sparks and crackling electricity filled the dimly lit ballroom as the manor guard and naval officers fought to keep the pirates at bay. The validation of tonight's heightened security went unsaid as they surrounded the attackers and cut them down with smooth, well-practiced efficiency.

They might have stood a chance if that was all they had to focus on, but that's when the members of Parliament started casting their own magic. Spells of all kinds flew across the ballroom, hitting pirates, guests, and officers alike. It was only a minor miracle that members of Parliament focused on flashy spells rather than hazardous ones. Otherwise, the night would go wrong for a slew of other reasons.

Silverhand watched in awe at the strange timbre the night had taken on. The odds were skewed just enough that things weren't one-sided. Some might even make it out of this if they could buy enough time.

Five pirates fell for every officer or Guard, which was to be expected. It was rare for pirates to raid the islands themselves. When they did, their plans relied heavily on surprise guerrilla tactics. They wanted to avoid fighting prolonged battles with the Navy or Adventurers who received formal martial training. Unfortunately for the people of Teon, this was no normal raid.

When a pirate got slashed by an officer's sword or impaled on a guard's spear, pressurized streams of black blood jetted out of the wounds before they fell limp like cordless marionettes. Stranger still were the few pirates ensnared by Ininka bolas, who let out short screams of outrage before exploding into clouds of smoke.

The blood misted the air, carrying a pungent odor that smelled like a rancid mix of crude oil and decay. Whenever the blood splattered against the Navy officers, manor guards, or still panicked guests, it sizzled. Sending up tendrils of more smoke that rose to replenish the cloud of smoke overhead that had started to thin.

Out of the corner of his eye, Silverhand caught Dashard fighting that oversized psychotic armadillo from earlier. Not that he'd say it allowed; he wished Dashard was anywhere else.

Dashard was on the back foot, the pirate swinging his bloodied cleaver with reckless abandon. Two officers tried to come to his aid. Dashard screamed for them to get back, but it was too late. The pirate turned on a dime, rushing the officers before they knew what hit them. He cleaved both officers in half in a single swing. Dashard screamed. He ran circles around the pirate in an alabaster dervish.

Surprise registered in the pirate's eyes as Dashard cut pieces out of him. Silverhand thought he saw a fistful of sausages fly through the air, but then he heard the cleaver clattered to the floor. A geyser of black ichor and viscera burst from his gut as Dashard finally moved to the side.

The pirate fell to his knees, a fingerless hand pawing at the ragged remains of his face. He looked at Dashard, and his massive shoulders shook as he silently laughed until he went slack.

Silverhand blinked as he looked Dashard up and down. After slicing that man up like a holiday roast by some extraordinary act of divine intervention, Captain Chin hadn't gotten a single drop of the black substance on him. "Show off," Silverhand grumbled, taking another swig from the half-full pitcher. Beside him, Rynnelle flinched when her eyes finally found Dashard and what was left of the man he was fighting. She was about to leave the alcove and into the fray when Silverhand dragged her back.

Rynnelle jerked her arm away and wheeled on him. Swinging her fist in a wide haymaker that might've rung Silverhands bell had it connected, he leaned back, watching the fist glide past his face.

Silverhand figured Rynnelle was in shock. He almost chastised himself for forgetting for the umpteenth time that, for most people, situations like this weren't a regular occurrence, but then he saw her eyes.

The manic fright that was a telltale sign of somebody in shock was nowhere to be found. Instead, Silverhand saw the righteous determination of someone about to defend their home and a twinge of disappointment that her punch hadn't connected.

"Now that the big guy is dead, Dashard can help the other officers hold the rest of the pirates back. If you're going to stay here, that's fine. Fighting pirates on our behalf wasn't a part of our deal," Rynnelle said quickly, ignoring the fact that she'd just tried to punch him. But don't try to stop me from trying to help everyone get out of here and someplace safe."

"Two things," Silverhands said, trying to sound sober. First, no one is leaving this room unless you've got a powerful flashlight or the caster dispelled his magic. Aside from that, the only safe place is under one of these lights." Silverhands held up another finger, then pointed back into the surging mass of bodies. Second, he's not dead."

Rynnelles eyes widened, and she turned back to find Dashard among the crowd.

Dashard stood off too the pirate's side, chest heaving as he caught his breath. By some strange blessing of fate, even though a thick layer of black blood coated the floor, not a single drop had gotten onto his coat. Dashard sighed deeply, then raised his sword again, not towards any new attacker, but at the dead pirate.

Silverhand studied Rynnelle's face, waiting for her to understand. It took her a second. Rynnelle had to shuffle around to get a proper angle to see Dashard and the pirate at the same time. The moment he saw Rynnelle's face go from scoldingly cynical to horrifyingly revolted, he knew she'd seen it.

The monstrous pirate sat in a pool of their blood, still and unmoving. Although it was hard to make out because of the low light, black tendrils rose from the oily liquid to flow back into the body. The tendrils dug underneath the pirate's skin, sowing the gaping wound in the pirate's stomach closed and healing the damage to his face. The entire process took a little over a minute. Still, Silvehand knew from experience that if the wounds had been superficial, they would've healed much sooner.

Moving faster than anyone that size had any right to, the pirate rose back to his feet, grabbed his cleaver, and laughed as he resumed his fight with the clearly weary Dashard. Rynnelle silently stared at the pair until their battle moved out of view, then slowly scanned the rest of the crowd.

The officers' number advantage was gone, and another surge of pirates punched through the blockade. Funneling into the already cramped ballroom. The captains and officers could've cast spells to force the pirates back if they had the space. Still, the members of Parliament were reacting with the same crazed desperation as an overcrowded cage of wild animals. They didn't want to risk someone being caught in the crossfire. Reservations that the pirates did not have as they opened fire into the crowd, adding the sharp cracks of gunfire to the orchestra of violence serenading the evening.

In a haunting voice, Rynnelle whispered, "Hewa help us."

The liquor in Silverhand's system almost got him to snap back at that, but he was interrupted by a new sound that silenced the night.

It wasn't so much a scream but a soul-crushing shriek that rose to a pitch so high a person's throat shouldn't have been able to make. All eyes turned toward the source.

Off toward the center of the ballroom, a pirate was surrounded by mounds in an evaporating pool of black blood. He held a Lord by the throat, a bowler hat tumbled off the man's head as he was lifted off his feet. Rynnelles hands covered her mouth as she gasped. Bulging black veins spread from the pirate's fingertips across the Lord's body as his face was locked in a look of silent terror. He cried black tears as that oily substance glazed over the Lord's eyes.

The pirate released the Lord. Before the member of Parliament hit the ground, the substance inside him silently ignited in a burst of flaming shadows that momentarily blackened the entire room aside from those directly under the lights. All that was left of the Lord when the darkness faded was a mummified husk at the pirate's feet.

"Good, I'm glad I have all of your attention." The pirate's voice was a flat baritone, as dark and chilling as the night. He was older than the rest, with lit tea-light candles woven in between a salt-and-pepper beard. Sitting on his head was a captain's hat encased in wax, a black flame flickering on a wick at its top. "Now, who do I have to thank for honoring me and my crew with an invitation?"

Nobody said a word, and the pirate panned his gaze across the room. His presence shifted the energy in the room. Looking at the man hurt the eye. It was like all light was being drawn into him, making it hard not to notice him, but staring directly at him felt like trying to separate an individual shadow in a dark room.

The pirate captain nodded to himself, drew his sword, and dragged his edge across the floor. "How many of you will have to die before I get my answer?" He spoke dispassionately, sounding a mix of annoyed but mostly tired. Flaming shadows burst from where the blade touched the floor, somehow darkening the room while simultaneously giving off an eerie light that made it impossible to look away.

"No! No need for that!"

Silverhand and Rynnelle followed the voice to find Reinard, squeezing through the crowd toward the pirate captain.

Rynnelle drew in a sharp breath, "Oh no," Before she could race off to block her father off, Silverhand clamped a hand on her shoulder. She tried to fight it, but Silverhands grip held firm.

"Wait." Silverhand said in a harsh whisper in her ear, "If you run out there right now, your father'll be as good as dead. So will you and just about everyone else on Teon."

"He just killed my uncle. You expect me to stand here and watch him kill my father?" Rynnelle snapped.

"I'm not going to let him get the chance," Silverhand said without missing a beat, his sudden seriousness stunning Rynnelle into silence. "I have a plan," he continued. "But Captain Chin outdid himself with this monkey suit, and I'll need a second to build up a decent charge, so they need to keep talking. I need you to hug the wall underneath the light and follow my lead."

Rynnelle instinctively bit her lip as she stared into Silverhands eyes. She looked like she wanted to hesitate, but Rynnelle nodded. Silverhand let her go and watched her follow his direction. Frankly, he was surprised he could convince her, but there wasn't time to dwell on that.

Reinard cleared his throat as he stumbled into the pirate captain's path. His robes were in tatters, but there wasn't a tuft of cloud out of place on his pompadour. "I'm afraid that there must have been some mistake,"

The captain stopped his stride right in front of the tiny Lord. "Is that right?" He clasped his hands behind his back and looked down at Reinard. "And who might you be?"

"I am Lord Reinard Odulfo, Lord of this Manor, and yes, it is," Reinard confirmed, clearing the last of the nerves out of his voice as he tried to stand a little taller. I personally vetted every invitation sent, and I can assure you. If you received any kind of invitation, that was an accident." When the pirate captain stared at Reinard without responding, he continued.

"Furthermore, you and your crew are violating the Esporah Accords between the Vozwatä and your Pirate Lords. Now, I'm sure it's safe to assume none of us, including you, I'd wager, want another war. If that is indeed the case, I'd implore you to look around." Reinard gestured a hand to the crowd. "If any more harm befalls the people here, I can assure you that both the Parliament and the Vozwatä will respond in kind."

The pirate captain looked about the ballroom again consideringly. To everyone, including his crew's surprise, he sheathed his sword. With a frighteningly calm voice, he said, "Very well." Around them, the line of flaming shadows shrank back, nearly going out altogether. "If you hand over what's rightfully ours, my men and I will leave your island without causing more harm than we already have." He leaned forward to loom over the Lord, the flames strewn across him rising as he spoke, "Keep resisting, however, and when we're through, this island will be nothing more than a smear on the map."

Reinard swallowed hard, his composure fluctuating as he processed that the captain agreed with his proposal and threatened him in almost the same breath. "And what do you think I have that belongs to you?"

"The Eclipse Lantern," the captain said, speaking for the first time with genuine emotion like he was sitting on the edge of his seat.

Reinard blinked, and all the color seemed to drain out of his face as rain drizzled down from his cloud hair. Reinard stammered, "I-I don't know what that is."

The pirate captain stared at him for a long time—so long, in fact, that a puddle started to form around Reinard's feet. Without warning, the captain's hand darted forward, grabbing Reinard by the throat and lifting him off his feet. "Smear it is then," he said, disappointed.

Time slowed as half a dozen things happened at once.

The Navy captains were the first to react. The older man and woman blurred through the crowd only to slam into a wall of pirates.

Dashard was momentarily distracted by Reinard and the captain's conversation. He reflexively took a single step in Reinard's direction before remembering his situation, but it was too late. Tall, broad, and ugly slammed his meaty boulder-sized fist into Dashards gut, the power behind it lifting him off his feet and flying backwards.

A new litany of primal terror erupted from the guests as they started to move despite their fear. Nobody cast any spells. They were so engrossed in their fear that all they could do was run, push, and fight whoever came too close.

Other officers and the manor guard tried to intervene. In response, the pirates used the cowering members of Parliament as hostages to keep them rooted in place.

As for the Lord himself, he was furiously kicking his legs, trying to get free while staring into the dispassionate gaze of the pirate captain.

Rynnelle screamed, and that snapped time back into its normal flow.

A beacon of white light cut through the darkness filling the room, drawing everyone's attention. Its source was Silverhand, holding out the lantern in one hand as he used the other to pour the rest of the cocktail pitcher directly into his mouth. When he was done, Silverhand dropped the pitcher, which shattered at his feet, wiped his mouth on his sleeve with a satisfied sigh, and said, "Yo Wickersby, lookin' for this?"