Chapter 11: Watchful Eyes
Two days later.
At dawn, Lukas made his way toward the bustling port. The sharp scent of saltwater filled the air as he stepped onto the creaking creosote docks. Overhead, seagulls circled, swooping down to snatch bits of bread tossed by passing tourists along the wooden walkway. Nearby, fishermen and merchants secured their vessels, ropes groaning under tension. Lukas overheard one of the deckhands grumbling about the delays, saying they'd be stuck there for a while.
He soon reached the city's transport hub, an aged wooden structure weathered by time and the sea. Though worn and speckled with seagull droppings, the building had a certain charm. Nautical gear decorated its exterior, and an intricate design of knotted rope with an anchor at its center adorned the space above the main entrance. A faded sign beneath read, 'Ferry and Taxi,' the letters chipped and barely visible under layers of salt and sun.
Stepping inside, Lukas passed rows of oak benches filled with people, many dozing or slumped in exhaustion. The place was far busier than he remembered, crowded with travelers waiting for a way out of the city. Dim and dusty, the interior was lit only by the hazy glow from small windows and the faint flicker of oil lamps hung along the walls. At the counter, an elderly man beckoned Lukas over with a bored expression.
The man was bald and had a large scar under his right eye. He combed his gray bird as he perched a pipe in his mouth. “You again?” The man asked with a dull tone. He began tapping his pipe ashes on the counter as he spoke, “I thought you were going northward and staying there for a bit?” Lukas shrugged, not wanting to talk. The old man nodded, admitting that he didn’t really care. The geezer coughed looking at Lukas’ cold gaze. “Nevermind that. Where are you going today, son?”
Lukas said nothing at first, reaching to his belt to pull out a coin pouch. Without a word, he slammed it onto the counter with a heavy thud. "I need the first ferry to Ferloch."
The old man shook his head, the pipe still dangling loosely from his lips. "All ferries are closed," he said flatly, flicking the ashes from his pipe again. "Storm’s got everything shut down."
Lukas' brow furrowed. "Closed?"
"Why do you think this place is packed to the rafters?" The man gestured toward the crowded benches, filled with restless travelers and impatient locals. "They’re all trying to leave this place, just like you."
Lukas leaned forward, his voice hardening. "There’s nothing you can do? Nothing at all?"
The old man met his stare, eyes crinkling as he shook his head. His cough rattled in his chest again. "Not by boat, no. Weather’s bad, worse than they’ve seen in years."
With a slow grunt, he turned away, placing his pipe down on the counter. His gnarled hand reached upward, stretching toward the top shelf of the wall behind him. The shelves were crammed with rows of tiny wooden cubicles, each packed with rolled-up maps, documents, and various charts. The smell of old parchment and salt hung heavy in the air. His finger, calloused and shaking, traced along the worn labels beneath each cubicle—names of cities, regions, distant lands—until he found the one he sought.
He plucked a rolled map from its resting place with deliberate care, as though any sudden movement might cause his fragile body to betray him. Shuffling back to the counter, he carefully unrolled it before Lukas. The map was detailed, its crisp lines and precise markings showing a high-quality chart of the surrounding waters and beyond. "Might not be ferries running, but there’s always another way," he muttered, his rheumy eyes flicking up toward Lukas as he spread the map flat on the counter.
The old man rubbed his chin thoughtfully, his eyes scanning the map as he pointed to the region. "Ferloch's been hit by some rough weather lately. That’s why the ferries have been shut down for days. It’s probably those sea serpent kings causing the trouble—this time of year is their mating season. Happens only once every few years, but when it does..." He paused, tapping the map with his knobby finger. "They stir up storms, violent ones that can disrupt the entire area. Very dangerous. When those beasts rise, they churn the sea into a frenzy. So, as of now, the ports are closed for a few more days…"
Lukas glanced out the window toward the docks, noting the calm, clear sky and the still waters. "It looks fine here," he said, voice skeptical. He thought back to the peaceful morning, the light breeze that had greeted him on the walk over. "How do they know the condition of the waves that far ahead? Days in advance, no less."
The old man gave a lazy shrug, taking his pipe back into his hand. "Ferloch’s far enough from here that it could be pouring rain and thrashing with storms this very moment, and we’d never see a drop." He sucked briefly on the pipe, the faint embers glowing as he continued. "If it is the sea serpent kings, you’ve got to understand—they’re massive creatures. When they thrash about, they make the sea swell and heave like a beast itself. They’ve taken down more ships than you’d think, torn them apart like driftwood. They’re mating season can last weeks."
He paused, eyes darting around the room as if to check for eavesdroppers. Then, with a conspiratorial gleam, he leaned in closer to Lukas, his voice dropping to a hushed tone. "But between you and me, I’ve heard whispers that the weather isn’t the only thing behind the closures. And it’s got nothing to do with sea monsters either."
Lukas’ eyes narrowed slightly, intrigued despite himself. "Like what?" he asked, watching the old man’s weathered hands as he began stuffing his pipe with more tobacco. The clerk hesitated for a moment, glancing up at Lukas with a sly grin, his fingers starting to roll in a familiar motion.
Lukas sighed, already anticipating what was coming. "How much do you want for the information?"
The clerk chuckled, shaking his head. "Ah, I’m just pulling your leg, boy. This one’s on the house." As he bent down to rummage beneath the counter for his lighter, his voice lowered conspiratorially. "You didn’t hear it from me, but rumor has it that someone attacked a cargo ship—a very important one at that." He straightened up, placing the lighter on the counter before continuing, his eyes gleaming with the thrill of gossip. "Whoever it was, they were strong enough to take out two level-thirteen guards, dozens more lower-ranking ones, and three other armed ships that tried to defend it. At least, that’s what a fisherman in the area claimed. Makes you wonder, doesn’t it? What kind of person could do that—and why?"
The old man shook his head slowly, his lips curling around his pipe as he struck his lighter. The small flame flickered for a moment before the tobacco caught, and he took a long, satisfied puff. When he glanced back up at Lukas, his smirk faltered. The change in the young swordsman’s expression was startling. The weary, indifferent look Lukas had worn just moments ago had vanished, replaced by a searing intensity. His eyes burned with hatred, his face tight with barely contained rage.
"Do you have any information on this man?" Lukas asked, his voice low but urgent, his fingers tightening around the edge of the counter. "Was he wearing dark armor? I'll pay whatever it takes if you know anything."
The old man blinked, suddenly uneasy under the weight of Lukas' gaze. Just seconds earlier, the young man had seemed exhausted, even defeated. Now, the desperate edge in his voice and the fire in his eyes unsettled the clerk. He shifted on his feet, fumbling with his pipe as he tried to mask his nervousness.
"Is this the person you mentioned last time?" the clerk asked cautiously. "The one you’ve been looking for?"
Lukas' jaw clenched, his voice barely above a whisper. "I’ve been hunting him for the last few years." His hands curled into fists at his sides, and for a moment, his eyes flickered with something darker. "If you know anyone with information about him—anything at all—I’ll make sure you're well rewarded."
The old man shook his head, his expression grim. "I don’t know anyone who matches that description, nor have I heard any talk about a man like that..." He paused, leaning in slightly as if sharing a secret. "But from what I’ve gathered, the attack on the cargo ship wasn’t by a man at all. They say it was a woman. Dressed in white, like some kind of ghost." He glanced at Lukas, watching for a reaction. "The sailors were terrified. They claimed she killed dozens of military guards without a flicker of emotion on her face. They called her a ghost because of how cold and detached she was during the onslaught."
Lukas' curiosity sharpened, his brow furrowing. "What was on the ship that made her go to such lengths?" he asked, his voice tense with anticipation.
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The old man’s lips curled into a faint smile, clearly relishing the mystery. "Who knows? Treasure, maybe?" His voice took on a teasing edge as he continued, "Some say she sank the ship because she’s some kind of monster in human form or, better yet, an angry goddess taking revenge on mankind. Whatever the truth is, the guild didn’t take any chances. They’ve shut down all ferries headed west. Any ship still moored in the harbor is grounded if it's planning to sail in that direction."
The clerk paused to cough into his hand, his pipe nearly slipping from his fingers. He looked back up at Lukas, a cloud of smoke hanging between them. "Some of the sailors... claimed they saw red eyes watching them from the water," he said slowly, gauging Lukas’ reaction. He didn’t miss the sudden tension in the swordsman’s posture, nor the way his eyes widened ever so slightly. The old man gave a slight shrug, trying to downplay it. "But that just adds to the theory that it was the sea serpent kings, right? Their eyes are said to glow red in the dark. Could’ve just been them."
Lukas' mind raced, but before he could process what the man had said, a sudden tingling sensation crept along the back of his neck. The hairs on his skin stood on end. He froze for a moment, his instincts flaring, before quickly turning around to see who—or what—was behind him.
The clerk’s expression shifted to one of concern, his brow furrowing as he noticed Lukas’ sudden unease. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice tinged with a hint of fear.
Lukas didn’t answer. Instead, his eyes swept over the room, scanning every traveler sitting or milling about the terminal. He could feel it—an unsettling sensation, like someone’s gaze was fixed on him. Whatever it was, it made his skin crawl. His instincts screamed that he was being watched, and the feeling gnawed at him with increasing intensity. He didn’t like it. Lukas turned back to the clerk, his voice sharp with urgency. “I need to get to Ferloch as soon as possible.”
The old man let out a long sigh, exhaling another puff of smoke from his pipe. "Well, with all the ferries grounded, everyone’s taking the carriages. You’re not the only one trying to get out of here." He leaned over the map again, tapping his finger on a marked location. "Your best bet is to head to Madock first. Rest there for a night, then catch a carriage at Torrwr Point just down the road. It’ll be a four or five-day trip altogether. Otherwise, you’re going to be stuck here for at least a week, maybe longer."
Lukas frowned, frustration clear in his expression. "Then I’ll take the first carriage to Madock."
The old man gave a slow nod. "That’ll be two silvers. No food or provisions included, though, so make sure you're prepared." His eyes drifted to the sword strapped across Lukas’ back, the blade large and ornate. "And security isn’t provided either, but judging by that sword, I’d say you’ve got that part handled."
Lukas glanced at the map again, his mind racing through possibilities. "Anything I should stock up on? Any dangerous creatures I should be worried about on the road?"
The clerk scratched his bald head, his fingers tracing the deep wrinkles across his bald scalp. "Nothing on that road that I reckon would give you trouble," he muttered thoughtfully. "Some travelers came through yesterday, said it was clear. No beasts… There were some saying that there was more bandit activity, but nothing out of the ordinary. Oh! I also heard about there being good deals on potions in either Torrwr or Madock—can’t recall which one exactly. Regardless, it might be worth checking out."
Lukas looked at the map, “Torrwr’s the one stop before Madock, right?” He gave a nod as he came to a decision, “Alright, I’ll wait and stock up there for potions, then. When’s the first carriage leaving?” He asked, still feeling the eyes on him.
The old man turned slowly, his back creaking as he reached toward the shelves once again. His gnarled fingers fumbled inside the same cubby where he had pulled out the map earlier. This time, he retrieved a small, weathered chart and brought it close to his tired, clouded eyes, squinting as he held it up. The lit pipe in his mouth bobbed dangerously close to the paper as he muttered, “Let’s see here… today’s Thursday, right? Hm. Looks like two carriages heading that way tomorrow, so plenty of room for you, boy. They’re both leaving promptly at eleven in the morning.”
Once the feeling of being watched finally dissipated, Lukas moved with swift determination. He reached for his waistband and retrieved his coin pouch, the metallic clinking of coins cutting through the quiet of the room. His fingers sifted through the pouch with practiced ease, and after a brief search, he extracted a handful of silver coins.
Without a word, he tossed the coins onto the counter with a decisive clatter. “Keep the change,” he said flatly, his voice devoid of emotion. He didn’t spare a glance at the clerk, instead turning sharply and striding toward the exit. “Consider it a tip for the information,” he added, his tone final and unyielding.
The old clerk watched him go, his wrinkled hands scooping up the silver with a sigh. As Lukas walked toward the exit, his footsteps heavy and deliberate, the old man shook his head in quiet dismay. His gaze lingered on the young swordsman’s back, a deep frown settling into his worn features. “That boy looks more dead every time I see him. I suppose that’s what the guild does to the youngsters now,” he muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible above the low hum of the room.
A distant memory flickered in the old man’s mind. He could recall a time, years ago, when Lukas was just a young boy, full of life and promise. He saw it clearly—the image of a younger Lukas, standing outside this very building, a genuine smile on his face. Six other boys surrounded him, laughing and jostling as they prepared for their next adventure. The memory of that moment, the carefree joy in their faces, felt like it belonged to a different world entirely.
As Lukas moved through the crowded room, an unsettling sensation gnawed at him once more. It felt like eyes were on him again, watching his every step as he made his way toward the exit. His head turned subtly, scanning the rows of tired faces slumped on benches, their expressions dull and worn. The exhausted travelers blended into one another, none of them standing out as threatening or out of place, yet the prickling sensation along his neck wouldn’t leave him.
His gaze wandered until it landed on a table near the corner of the room. Seated there was a figure that jolted him from his unease—a woman with long, jet-black hair, dressed in traditional Eastern garb. The distinct style of her attire and the way she sat, poised yet distant, made her stand out like a specter from his past.
Lukas’ eyes narrowed, and his hand balled into a fist as he stormed over to her, slamming his fist down hard onto the wooden table. The sudden impact rattled the nearby patrons awake, their startled faces blinking in confusion. "I told you not to follow me," he growled, his voice low but laced with fury.
Yumiko lifted her head calmly to meet his heated gaze, unfazed by his outburst. Her dark gray eyes gleamed, reflecting his anger with a steady, unblinking stare. “And what makes you think I’m following you?” she replied icily, her voice sharp as she arched a brow. “I’m merely here for my own travels. I’ve already ordered my ticket to Dryffn to visit Hiro’s grave.” Her tone matched his coldness, but was also laced with sadness.
Lukas straightened, his expression faltering as he absorbed her words. “I see,” he muttered after a beat, his hand slowly unclenching. “Forgive me, then.” His voice was gruff, but there was a hint of uncertainty now. He turned, ready to leave, the tension between them palpable in the air.
But Yumiko wasn’t done.
“You know, speaking of the whole Hiro thing…” her voice trailed off as she stood up slowly from the table, her presence drawing his attention back to her. “I spoke with my older brother, Shoto, again.” Her words were careful, measured, but there was a weight behind them that caught Lukas off guard. “Turns out he’s been keeping secrets from me, especially about Hiro. He admitted he didn’t want me involved, that the people connected to Hiro’s disappearance are dangerous.”
Without turning to face her, Lukas’ voice came out low and warning, “He’s not wrong. You’d be wise to stay away from them.” His words carried a weight of finality, as if speaking from experience. But even as he spoke, the uneasy sensation of being watched still gnawed at him. He placed his hand on the hilt of his blade. His eyes darted once more across the room, scanning every shadowed corner, but there was no one that stood out—just the same weary faces waiting in the smoky, sweat-filled room. His gaze briefly flicked back to Yumiko.
“If you’re smart,” Lukas said, his voice growing colder and more menacing, “it would be wise not to pursue this conversation any further—especially not in public.” He turned, his gaze sweeping over the crowd with a tense, guarded scrutiny, as if expecting someone to emerge from the sea of weary faces and shifting shadows.
Yumiko noticed the subtle tension in his posture and the way his hand hovered near his blade, her unease growing with every passing second. A chill of apprehension ran down her spine as she felt a sudden wave of panic, bracing for the possibility of an imminent threat. Her eyes began to look around too.
As the feeling of being watched began to fade, Lukas let out a slow breath, his eyes finally returning to meet Yumiko’s. “Take my warning seriously,” he said, his tone carrying an undertone of grim sincerity. “And good luck with Hiro and his grave.” With that, he turned and started walking away.
Yumiko, standing behind him, couldn’t hold back her concern. “Are you hunting them? Or are they hunting you? I may not look it, but I can handle my own in battle. I can help you.” Her voice carried a mix of urgency and determination, though Lukas’s back remained turned. For a fleeting moment, she hoped he might turn around and accept her offer, but he continued on his path without a word.
He walked toward the exit, his footsteps heavy on the wooden floor, the tension between them left hanging in the air. The door creaked as it swung shut behind him, leaving Yumiko standing there, alone in the crowded room.
She stood still for a moment, watching the door, her mind racing. The room around her felt stifling, the murmur of tired travelers blending with the thick scent of sweat and stale smoke. The distant clatter of the ferry terminal outside only added to the weight pressing down on her.
After a moment’s pause, she shook herself from her thoughts. With a glance around to make sure Lukas was truly out of sight, Yumiko made her way toward the counter, her steps deliberate but light.
“Excuse me, sir,” she said, her tone shifting to something sweeter as she approached the old man behind the counter.
The old clerk, puffing lazily on his pipe, glanced up through the haze of smoke, squinting slightly at her. “What can I do for you, dear?” His voice was friendly, a completely different demeanor from when he spoke with Lukas.
Yumiko leaned in slightly, her voice dropping in volume but not losing its polite edge. “That blonde man who was just here,” she gestured behind her with a small nod, “the one who looked rather… depressed. Where is he headed?”