Vior finally arrived at the Shattered Isles, the island of Sages. It was once a single island known as Seguin before Alevander’s conquest. Now it’s a mere remnant of its past glory, shattered into eight small islands separated by Houses. To its irony, the island’s defenses rely on the assistance of the infamous pirate fleet known as the Black Sails.

Seagulls squealed overhead, circling as Vior’s ship docked on the Blank Harbor. Vior stared at them for a while, smiling at the sky, as he had never seen one before. He quickly took out his lead stylus and diary and began to sketch seagulls. Birds were so lively, beautiful, and free. He often dreamed of flying over the seas, scouring the world as a great adventurer.

After he finished his sketch, Vior paid a hefty port fee and then walked the harbor with his crew. There were many reasons Vior wanted to run to the shattered Isles more than anywhere else in the world.

The first was because of their reputation. Despite being as old as any of the other boundlands, it has never participated in a war. It was a place of peace and harmony where the Great Sages could bloom and polish their knowledge rather than their swords.

The second reason was because the Shattered isles have the Martian Library, the biggest library in the world said to have had the knowledge of the gods before Alevander burned it to the ground with his dragon. Still, scraps of it remain; just enough for the scholars of the Shattered Isles to fight over.

The third and final reason: Family. His mother was the first Daughter of House Blueveil, a Great House of the shattered Isles. He had many questions, he had many worries, hopes and dreams. This was a fresh start. He had his band of friends with him and a ground free of snow beneath his feet.

As he took his first step off of the docks, he looked into the far distance where the London Keep loomed over the harbor like an ever watching tower. His gaze lowered when he saw the flag hoisted on top of the Keep—A Bluejay. The sigil of House Bluejay and unfortunately not what he was looking for. He wondered; did his mother ever step here, in this exact spot? She had to have gone to this harbor at some point. Maybe if he goes to Lord Bluejay he’ll help him find his Grandfather. No, that's a foolish thought. Ironstones are rarely accepted anywhere but The North.

Sailors unloaded crates with a mix of laughter and grunts, while weathered merchants bargained with captains fresh from distant shores. The bustling mixture of shouting voices and marching feet reminded him of his time with the sergeant at arms in Blight Castle. That man could never talk below anything other than a yell. The breeze screamed at him, tossing the scent of sea salt and oil into the air. Vior took a deep breath. It was a fresh scent; untouched by blood or iron.

Children walked with their parents, hand in hand, laughing and skipping. A group of men walked out of a bar with beet red cheeks, stumbling over air. Vior noticed not a single one of them carried a sword. In fact, no one he saw carried any sign of self defense on them. No Armor, no swords, no short blade. Vior frowned. They were fools. Did no one here care for their own safety?

The cobblestone roads were better paved and carved than any he had ever seen. He wouldn't have been surprised if someone told him a sculptor took the time to do each individual block himself. His brows furrowed as he looked closer at the road and noticed something astonishing. Are those…ancient runes, glyphs, sigils? Many strange symbols were mysteriously carved into the road. They were so small he could only spot them after staring for a while and yet they were nearly everywhere he stepped. The North often said that they had the best craftsmanship in the world. What he saw here, he’d never seen anywhere up North.

“This…” he brushed his fingers along the delicate carvings.

“V?” Selina eyed Vior’s strange behavior.

Her soft voice broke Vior out of his trance and he remembered why he was here. He reached into his coat and pulled out three scrolls made of parchment.

“Aki, Thrax,” Vior said.

The two men knew the plan. Aki, a tall, lean man grabbed one of the scrolls with his worn out-finger cut gloves, revealing his hardened and scarred knuckles. His actions were swiftly and silently copied by Thrax, the quiet.

The stories on these small pieces of Animal skin would give him everything he wanted. But they were only the plan b. For now he had to make sure they were well hidden and not on him. “Enjoy your vacation, boys,” Vior said.

And the two walked away, fading into the buzzing crowd of pedestrians.

Vior’s palms reached for the sky as he stretched while thinking of the best way to gain

information on House Blueveil. He couldn’t just blatantly go up and speak to the closest native. It could paint him as a spy or worse, get him caught by his brother. The North had spies and his brother was a powerful man. There was doubt that any of the houses would sell his location for a favor from the lord of House Ironstone.

And then his mind flashed to the group of drunkies walking out of the bar earlier. His lips pressed into a reluctant expression. An alcoholic would sell his soul twice for a good cup of ale. He just had to keep Rondo away from the drinks.

Vior stood in the frame of the bar's entrance with a look of disdain. The place was much larger than he had hoped it’d be. Two floors of a bunch of unwashed, sweaty, intoxicated fools. Their hot breaths, heating the air with the stench of cheap ale and wine. Vior watched as the Devil bartender flipped cups of wine to the succubus demon servers who then gave the poison to their happy victims.

Vior scanned the bar for the group of people who looked like they drank the most of the Devil’s poison and he spotted a group of jolly victims playing cards on the second floor. With a plan in mind, Vior began setting the board.

“Selina, you find out as much as you can about the Martian Library. And how I can Rob it.”

She smiled, looked around, and then fixed her hair. “That will be easy.”

“Ox, stick with her.”

The giant pouted, and sent a reluctant look Vior’s way.

“Don’t worry, Big Guy, I’ve seen ten year olds who look stronger than these fools. I’ll be fine.”

Ox nodded, slowly.

“And Rondo…” the dwarf was already licking his lips, his mind already feeling the buzz from the aroma of ale. “Just don’t cause a scene.”

The second floor gave Vior a bird’s eye view of the hell below. He spotted Selina already working the bartender. Ox stood like a lost puppy. Rondo was…having fun with a group of pirates.

Vior approached the group of sailors with a smile, concealing his distaste for the brine and sweat that clung to them like an extra layer of skin. He shook hands firmly, then casually wiped the grime on his coat as he sat down. The trio let him join their game of Mythrum, a card game he was ignorant of but observed intently.

The rules seemed simple: play a legend card, then argue who’s legend was more legendary. But beneath the surface, it was a game of knowledge and persuasion. The more you know about your card’s legend, the better your chance to weave a convincing argument. Vior could already see how the game revealed its players’ minds.

To his left sat Ketler, thick-headed and unremarkable. Across the table, Tolur shuffled the cards with long, agile fingers, his smirk as crooked as his teeth. Snarky, but sharper than the others. The timid Felp sat to Vior’s right, fidgeting with his cards and avoiding eye contact. Vior quickly decided Tolur would be his target to find information on House Blueveil.

“You in this round, pretty boy?” Tolur’s voice carried the rough edge of someone who enjoyed being underestimated.

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Vior smiled, leaning back. “You sure you want me ruining your streak?”

Tolur chuckled, dealing cards like a gambler at a rigged table. This was his seventh deck of the day, one of the twenty-three currently in circulation. Scholars of the Shattered Isles produced new decks constantly, making it impossible to know every legend. Vior glanced at his nine cards, already plotting stories for the ones he didn’t recognize.

“Let’s toast to our new friend,” Tolur said, raising his mug.

Vior raised his own, pretending to drink. “The ale here is leagues better than where I’m from.”

Tolur cocked an eyebrow, setting his first card face down. “Not local, then? With looks like yours, I’d have sworn you were a Great House brat.”

The jab landed harder than Vior expected. He forced a laugh, making a mental note to dirty his face before venturing out again. “A Great House? If I had a choice, I’d pick House Blueveil.”

Tolur barked a laugh, shaking his head. “Blueveil? That old relic? It’s past its prime.”

Vior’s heart quickened. Past its prime. The scorn in Tolur’s tone told him everything he needed—mockery like that was reserved for the fallen.

Vior’s heart skipped a beat and his eyes widened. He took a mental note to put some dirt on his face on future ventures before smiling, pretending to be flattered. “A great house? If I had my pick I'd choose House Blueveil.” Vior set his card down. The last one left was Ketler to his right.

“Blueveil?” Tolur chuckled. “That old House is well past its prime.”

Past its prime. Vior studied Tolur’s expression. The mocking chuckle and the dismissive gesture told him a lot. No one would mock a great house if it were still great.

Ketler put his card down.

“Bout time,” Tolur said. “Nearly fell asleep waiting.”

They flipped their cards over at the same time and the debate began with Tolur, of course.

“Not bad, not bad, indeed.” Tolur commented as he looked at the name on Vior’s card. “The Lady of Spring, Akane Hatake. She was quite the legend.”

Vior glanced at the talkative man’s card and he froze; then chuckled. The man on Tolur’s card was someone he knew all too well. A past that won't leave him alone. A culture he was trying to escape. King Benteke Ironstone, the Iron Monarch.

“King Benteke hunted the Greatest raksha of all time,” Tolur said, sparking the debate. ”It was a 15 foot bloody beast with a ten foot tail! Its scales were as hard as northien steel. Its blood and venom are still the strongest poison used today. It was the only beast to rip through the wall. 7,000 northern men died fighting it. But Benteke killed it in solo combat! No other legend here has a tale as legendary as that one!” Tolur had a smackable smile on his face.

Vior didn’t know the people on the other cards but by Ketler’s and Felps reaction, it didn’t look like they had any better stories to tell.

But Vior had many.

“7,000 men died before he could arrive? That’s what you call a legendary battle? Where I come from that would be called a graveyard.” A lie. Where he came from, there was a holiday every year for this very battle.

“Oy, Oy! The Iron Monarch killed the strongest creature the boundless has ever seen. Possibly even saving more people than your little princess of Kyutela.”

So she was a healer. Mr Ugly didn’t know when to shut his mouth. “Do you really believe that?”

The table fell silent. For a moment, even the bar’s raucous noise seemed to fade.

“If you're going to tell the Iron Monarch’s legend, tell the whole thing. Like how he was a tyrant who personally executed 2,500 of his own during his short reign.” Vior’s hands balled into a fist as he remembered his brother’s betrayal. “He was killed by his own son, Benteke II, who turned out to be no better a ruler than his father. The Iron Monarch…” Vior realized he was getting to worked up and softened his expression. “The Lady of Spring healed countless people. She was a savior who managed to get a spot in the legends without killing a single soul. Tell me, Tolur, is it harder to save a thousand people or kill a thousand?”

The question left Tolur stunned. And Vior sighed inwardly, glad that his guesses were at least correct enough for Tolur to believe. Tolur’s hesitation must have given Ketler a spark of motivation because he slid his card into the middle—a sign he was joining the debate. Vior held back a smile as he saw the card Ketler played. Just what I needed, he thought.

“The Great Sage Orlando founded what is now known as the shattered Isles,” Ketler said. Vior thought that common and vague piece of information was all that Ketler knew until he continued. “He also created the crown of bones that alevander used to tame the dragon.”

“Is that it?” Tapped the table with his finger. “He created a crown and founded a now shattered island?”

“That crown gave Alevander the means to conquer the boundlands and create an empire. He united the eight kingdoms.” Ketler said.

“United? Alevander slaughtered more people than the Iron Monarch. He razed the eight kingdoms into submission. And now that he is dead, there are sparks of war at every border. Take this island for example, shattered and dividend as a result of his “legend”. The boundlands are no different.”

“Those are Alevander’s faults. Not Orlando’s,” Tolur said, aligning with Ketler. He wasn’t even in the debate anymore. He just didn’t want Vior to win. Petty.

“Orlando’s feats are no better. We are sitting in the sad result of his legend. Hiring pirates for defense?” Vior chuckled. “Even the great houses like House Blueveil has fallen so low.” Vior added. This game, if you can still call it that, was more fun than he had expected. He was so riled up about debating history that he had almost forgotten he was here to gain information.

“Blueveil is still a great house,” Tolur replied. It seemed he had taken over Ketler’s debate for him like a bandwagon who’s team had just lost.

“And what is still great about a fallen House?”

“It holds the greatest research in the world. Without their studies and discoverings of the various raksha weaknesses, the North wouldn’t be able to kill the beasts so easily. And the boundlands would have been flooded with those monsters by now.”

Death, Kiling, Death. The man was like a broken record when it came to his knowledge of legends. But he was useful for something at least. Research. If Vior pretended to have some big discovery, maybe he’d get an audience with Lord Blueveil. Then he remembered the three scrolls in his possession. Maybe he didn’t need to pretend.

“Stuck, lad?” The ugliest smile crawled onto Tolur’s face.

Vior blinked out his thoughts and said the final piece of his puzzle. “The Blueveil’s reside on the smallest island of the shattered Isles. How can they still be called a great house?”

Tour scoffed and then pretended to hold a laugh before he said, “You don’t even know that much? The Blueveil’s live on Saltwake, the biggest island.”

Vior got all he needed. He took his card out of the middle, signaling that he had drawn

out of the debate. Ketler was the winner, but Tulor no doubt thought he was the real winner.

“You have to admit, I had you in the beginning there.” Vior said, tossing his nine cards in the pile.

Tolur laughed, his slithery demeanor gone, replaced by a brighter and easy going attitude. “You are good. Much better than these two fools.”

Vior jumped a bit when he followed Tolur’s finger to Felp on his right. The kid hadn’t said a word the whole time, silent as a shadow. The way his presence could disappear in an instant reminded him of Thrax.

The thought of Thrax sent his mind to his friends below. He peeked down the railing just in time to see the commotion begin. Rondo, cheeks flushed red from drink, swayed unsteadily on his feet. His fist shot out toward a pirate, landing with all the force of a summer breeze. The pirate, more amused than hurt, let out a bark of laughter before swinging back—a blow that never landed.

Ox, towering like a mountain, stepped in. His massive hand caught the punch with ease, fingers curling around the pirate's fist as though it were a child's toy. "No. Fight," he rumbled, his voice low and steady like distant thunder.

The pirate’s companion, less amused, lunged forward. But before he could close the distance, a blade whispered free. Selina, a shadow made flesh, slipped behind him, her dagger pressing lightly against his throat. Her voice, soft and deadly, coiled around him. "Don't make me ruin a handsome man."

The bar froze. Conversations died mid-sentence, chairs creaked to a halt, and the air grew heavy with unspoken violence.

Vior moved swiftly. His boots hit the ground floor with a solid thud, and he pushed himself between the two groups, arms wide in a gesture of peace. From his coat, he produced a small, weighted purse and tossed it onto the table between them. Gold spilled out, the clinking sound cutting through the silence. "Let’s not ruin the evening. Rondo couldn’t hurt a fly, and we all know it. Take this and call it even."

The pirates exchanged glances, their eyes flicking from the purse to Vior. Slowly, the tension ebbed as smirks replaced scowls. Then one pirate threw his head back, laughing loud enough to shatter the moment's stillness. The others followed, scooping up the gold with greedy hands.

The bar’s hum of life returned, the danger defused. Vior turned on his companions as they exited, his voice low but sharp. "We’re here to gather information, not start brawls."

Rondo hiccupped, still swaying. "They… started it."

“We are trying to be quiet, Rondo. And the pirates are the knights of this island. So if they say bark, bark.”

Rondo sucked his teeth. “I’m…not a...dog.”

Vior sighed. And then turned to Selina hoping to shine some light through this gloomy situation. “Did you find what we were looking for?”

Selina’s lips curved into a sly smile, her dagger disappearing into the folds of her cloak. "Of course."