Cane climbed back onto the deck, retrieving Starstrike from where it still sat embedded in the mast. He exhaled once, then touched his bracelet.
Cane: Status update.
Siya:Third level's clear. Both targets are down—though I caught a musket ball to the arm.
Yuta:Everyone surrendered. You were right—they had no weapons. A few fists were thrown, but nothing serious.
Cane:Perfect. Line them up on deck—fingers interlaced on top of their heads.
At the rail, Cane lowered a rope just as Fergis finished tying up the unconscious Orion.
"Nice work, Dhalia," he said as he helped drag the slaver's limp form onto the deck.
Dhalia smiled, pushing wet hair from her eyes. "Thanks. I've never done anything like that before."
Clara grinned and looped her arm through hers. "Told you—you're awesome."
Cane's gaze shifted to Fergis, who was favoring one leg. "You alright?"
"Yeah. Idiot dropped his musket—thing went off and caught me in the calf." He winced. "What kind of luck is that?"
"The kind where you're still alive," Cane replied. "Could've been your head."
Fergis gave a crooked smile. "Point taken."
Clara gestured at Orion. "Want me to tie him up?"
"Yeah, do it," Cane said. "I'll check the cabin again."
Fergis made to follow, but Dhalia grabbed his sleeve. "You stay. I'm healing you before you do anything else."
Fergis groaned but leaned against the rail as she knelt beside him, rolling up the pant leg.
Inside the cabin, the air was thick with smoke. The fire had burned out on its own, the worst damage scorched across the back wall. Cane scanned the interior, noting the trap rune across the door frame.
"Didn't even trust his own crew," Cane muttered.
The chests, footlocker, and closet turned up nothing useful. He crouched by the shattered desk, brushing aside ash and paper. A burned briefing caught his eye—military details, mostly unreadable.
"I refuse to believe that damn slaver didn't stash something."
Closing his eyes, Cane reached out—not with magic, but his metallurgist's sense. His awareness swept the cabin like a tide, seeking the shimmer of precious metal. Platinum.
He circled the room once. Twice. Then paused.
A throw rug. Worn at the edges.
He peeled it back, revealing floorboards. At first glance, ordinary. But the wear pattern was subtle—too precise.
"Clever." Cane slipped Starstrike from his back and worked the blade beneath one board. It gave with a snap, revealing a hidden compartment.
Cane: I'm counting twenty bags of platinum in the Captain's floorboards. Come help me haul it out.
Zio:I love manual labor!
Clara: Right? Beats getting shot again.
One by one, students arrived and Cane passed out heavy bags until the hold was cleared. Only one bundle remained: leather-wrapped and tucked into the far corner.
"Books?" Cane unwrapped them. The first was Orion's log. The second—much heavier—was the Twisted Snake's slave ledger.
Back on deck, three professors had arrived. Telamon, Selene, and Ignasius were overseeing the prisoners. One by one, the sailors were sent through rifts—presumably to holding cells or a tribunal chamber.
Cane: Outstanding job, everyone.
Siya:Thanks. That was a smooth op, all things considered.
Zio:Let's work together again sometime.
Telamon approached as Cane returned from the captain's quarters with maps and weathered charts under his arm.
"Planning to take up sailing?"
Cane shrugged, then nodded. "We could use a field ship… you know, for our class project."
Telamon raised an eyebrow, amused.
"I don't see why not," the Archmage said. "The Academy will confiscate the platinum—it'll be returned to the families of the victims. But the twelve of you…"
He paused, letting the weight of the moment settle.
"Each will receive one thousand platinum for your efforts."
The deck erupted with cheers. For once, nobody held back.
It was nearly 3 a.m. when the group stepped through a rift back to the Academy. Telamon greeted them with a single nod and the welcome news: no classes for the next two days. Professor Selene collected the support items as the midnight raiders were officially cut loose.
Cane:I don't suppose you're up, Sofie?
Sophie: I am… Lost track of time, but I'm off again tomorrow. I'll sleep in.
Cane:Kitchen raid?
Clara:YEAH?
Fergis:I'm in.
Dhalia:Those lemon desserts were so good last time…
Sophie:I'll grab the keys…
As the other student groups began filtering off into the night, Cane raised his voice. "Kitchen raid, if you're interested."
Siya paused, eyes flicking with rune-light behind his ear before he nodded. "We're in."
Yuta was already nodding. "So are we."
Sophie's eyes widened at the unlit back door of the kitchen. She'd been expecting four—maybe five people—not twelve.
Still, she bit her lip, unlocked the door, and ushered them in. "In you go, quickly now."
The unfamiliar students smiled politely, a little confused but clearly curious as they filed past her. Who was this girl with the key?
"Goodness," Sophie murmured under her breath, then made a decision. She moved toward the ice closet, hunting for the tray of lemon desserts. "Just take a seat around the prep tables. I'll get us started."
Cane followed her in, gently taking the first tray from her arms. "The raid grew a bit. Sorry, Sophie."
"It's fine," she said with a smile that meant it. "I'll just have to make a fresh batch before morning. Can't expect Marge to redo work I borrowed."
"I'll stay and help," Cane said without hesitation.
"Extra for you, then." Sophie's grin softened as she handed him another tray. Then she tapped her rune:
Sophie: Clara, the drawer behind you has spoons. Could you grab some?
"On it!" Clara spun on her stool, rummaging cheerfully.
Zio's hair sparked lightly as Sophie set a bowl in front of her.
"Thank you… Hey—how do you have a key? Aren't you a student?"
Sophie shook her head. "I used to work kitchen staff—before the announcements gig."
Zio blinked. "You're Sophie Sweetwater? I love listening to you!" She placed a hand on Sophie's arm—then jerked back at the static crack. "Oh! Sorry. Side effect of the whole lightning mage thing."
Sophie laughed, rubbing her arm. "It's certainly… eye-opening."
The ice broke fast. Questions flew between bites of lemon dessert:
"You're Sophie?" "You used to work here?" "How do you know the first-years?"
Laughter echoed through the kitchen. Barriers between teams melted, replaced by banter and clinking spoons.
Zio, now seated beside Sophie, gave her a look. "I'm guessing you and Cane are… close?"
Sophie smiled softly. "He's my boyfriend."
Zio nodded, unsurprised. "Figures. Every time someone mentions his name, yours follows."
"Really?" Sophie took another bite, cheeks flushed. "Maybe because his accomplishments keep crossing my desk."
"Maybe. Or maybe it's how you say his name." Zio winked. "This dessert though? Unreal."
Just then, Cane returned, dragging a crate closer and sitting beside Sophie. "Ready whenever you are."
Sophie stood and stretched. "Grab the binder from the top pantry shelf. I don't want to mess up the recipe."
Cane nodded, heading toward the pantry—only to jump slightly when he bumped into Zio in the narrow doorway.
"Woah—ow! Seriously?" He rubbed his arm. "Is it always like that?"
"Afraid so," Zio said, grinning. "What are you up to?" she asked as he passed.
"Helping Sophie make more lemon desserts," he said. "We don't want to leave extra work for the staff."
Zio's eyes sparkled. "Hey—we're not freeloaders. Let's help."
Sophie tried not to laugh.
After the dishes were cleaned, she'd laid out the ingredients and guided the three raid teams through the prep. "We're gonna need more trays…"
Cane peered into his mixing bowl, stirring with suspicion. "How does this become icy again?"
The mixture was fragrant and bright—lemon juice, cream, ginger, sugar—but decidedly not frozen.
Sophie nodded toward the icebox. "It sets over a day or so... Dang it. No way it'll be ready before the staff comes in. I better leave Marge a note."
"Hold on." Cane looked down at the metal bowl in his hands, eyes narrowing in thought. "I've got this."
The other students paused mid-task, drawn in as the air around them cooled. A crisp wind swept through the kitchen, tinged with something ancient.
Cane summoned Blue into his hand and gave the bowl a light tap.
A high-pitched cry echoed through the room—the hunting screech of an Ice Gryphon. A hazy image of the creature swirled into view: spectral wings, glacial eyes, talons of frost. The illusion lingered, then dissipated like snow caught in sunlight.
"Holy crap," Zio breathed, eyes wide. "Did you just use a mythic rune on a mixing bowl?"
Cane nodded, calm as ever, and dipped his spoon. "How's the texture, Soph?"
Sophie tested a small scoop, paused, then blinked in surprise. "Whoa. That's... actually amazing."
He grinned. "Told you."
Without missing a beat, Cane tapped the other two bowls with Blue, while the rest of the students hurried to scoop and portion the now-frozen dessert.
Sophie wrapped an arm around Cane's waist, still smiling. "I guess I'd better leave Marge a note—though I think we just cut her dessert prep time in half."
By the time the group filed out, the sun was teasing the horizon. They left just an hour before the first kitchen staff would arrive, bellies full, moods light.
Cane walked Sophie home, hand in hand beneath the soft morning hush.
Later, as he trudged up the stairs to his room, his thoughts on the bin of sabers and armor Skye had left behind.
He paused. Then sighed.
"Might as well finish the work," he muttered. "Could always sell it, if nothing else."