The aftermath of Fenrick's fight still clung to the crew as they lingered by the ring, the thrum of the crowd's cheers buzzing in their ears. Fenrick leaned casually against a wooden counter near the betting booth, flipping a heavy pouch of crowns in one hand while grinning at the shaken man behind the desk.
"Come on, keep counting," Fenrick said, his voice mocking as he tapped the counter impatiently. "Don't shortchange me. I don't have the patience—or the interest—to take this out of your ass."
The bookkeeper's hands fumbled with the coins, sweat glistening on his forehead. "Y-you're already getting what you won! No need to rub it in, mate!"
Fenrick laughed, his chest puffed as though he'd just conquered an empire. His sharp grin lingered as he thumbed through the crowns he'd collected, relishing the weight of his winnings. "See that? Easy money," he said, tossing a smirk over his shoulder. "Guess some things never change, huh? Anywho, who's buying the next round? Because I've earned my drinks tonight"
Erin, still standing at the edge of the pit, found his thoughts split between the fight and the surreal energy that had infected the Red Alley Pit. Around him, patrons roared and hollered as another bout was announced. His eyes scanned the fighters stepping into the ring, his heartbeat still unsteady from watching Fenrick's earlier clash.
"No one," Cidrin muttered, his attention fixed on Thalor, who reappeared at the far side of the room. "Looks like Thalor's back—and someone new."
Standing beside Thalor was a man dressed in worn, patched clothes. His tired eyes swept over the raucous club with weary indifference, his posture slouched but deliberate. Everything about him—his long, easy stride, his quiet demeanor—spoke of someone accustomed to threading through danger without being seen. He carried himself like someone who had seen the worst of the world and had little reason to be impressed by what was left.
"Who's the extra?" Fenrick muttered, swinging his blade back onto its clip at his side.
The man caught Fenrick's glance, smirked faintly, and closed the gap. "Rahl Vered," he said, his voice low and cutting cleanly through the noise. "Lyric sent me to make sure you don't die—or worse, embarrass yourselves."
"Another babysitter?" Fenrick scoffed, his eyes narrowing.
Rahl's gaze lingered on Fenrick, and for a moment, it seemed as if he might spit back a scathing retort. Instead, he glanced at Thalor. "Is this one always this loud?"
"Usually louder," Ariya replied with a smirk. "But don't take it personally. It's his way of saying he likes you."
"I'll pass on that privilege," Rahl said dryly, his tone laced with exhaustion. He turned to the crew as a whole. " I'm Just here to make sure you lot don't fuck up. This city eats people alive, and I'm not about to lose credibility because someone underestimated Slum City."
"Tell that to him," Cidrin chimed in, gesturing toward Fenrick. "His moral compass swings wherever the wind blows."
"Good thing I'm the wind, then," Fenrick said with a self-satisfied grin, crossing his arms. "I grew up here, Vered. If anyone knows this shithole inside and out, it's me."
"Then that means I only have to keep the others alive," Rahl quipped back without hesitation.
Thalor cut through the tension with a subtle raise of his hand. "Rahl's with us. He knows the terrain better than anyone here—Fenrick included."
"High praise," Ariya muttered with a small smirk. "You as dangerous as they say?"
"Dangerous, no." Rahl straightened slightly, his voice laced with heavy cynicism. "Cautious? Thorough? Definitely."
Back aboard the Duskvein, the crew gathered below deck, a thin tension settling as they circled the map-strewn table. Thalor stood at the head, with Rahl leaning in the corner, his posture suggesting disinterest, though his sharp gaze betrayed otherwise.
"The job is simple in theory," Thalor began, "but far from it in practice."
"It always is," Fenrick muttered, flipping a coin into the air lazily.
Narza, silent and imposing as always, glanced at Rahl but said nothing. The usual disapproval that hovered in her gaze was now locked on the backstreets around them. Ariya stepped in to break the quiet. "What exactly do you know, then? What's the job?"
Rahl scratched at his stubble, his shoulders slumping. "We've got to save someone before the Tideguard transports him away." He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in.
Erin tilted his head, curiosity surfacing. "Save someone? Who?"
"Darial Kline," Thalor interjected, his tone direct.
"Who's Darial Kline?" Erin asked, cutting through the growing murmur. "I know he's important if the Tideguard's escorting him, but who is he really?"
Rahl's expression shifted slightly—something between bemusement and warning. "Kline used to be Lyric's partner," he began, his voice heavy with disdain. "Smuggler, saboteur, and one of the most dangerous informants Slum City's ever seen. He knows how everyone—Tideguard, Ironshadow, even freelancers—operates. He's been playing sides for years."
"If he's so connected," Fenrick said, his voice laced with skepticism, "then why's the Tideguard not taken care of him already?"
"They don't want him dead—they want him caged," Rahl replied sharply. "And not just anywhere. He's bound for Ironclad Isle."
The room fell silent at the name. Even Fenrick's smirk faltered slightly.
"Ironclad," Ariya said quietly, her face taut with unease. "They're taking him there?"
"Yes," Rahl confirmed, his voice tinged with grim finality. ""It's a fortress designed to break the spirit as much as the body," Rahl said, his voice dark. "Enchanted restraints to suppress magic so completely that even the most dangerous prisoners—mages, pirate lords, war criminals—can't do a damn thing, no daylight, and guards trained to kill escapees on sight. Most never see the light of day again."
Erin glanced around the room. Even Fenrick, who rarely took things seriously, seemed unsettled. "So, what's the plan?"
Thalor's tone sharpened. "Lyric wants us to intercept the Tideguard caravan transporting Kline and deliver him to her safehouse before they can ship him out to the island."
"You mean before they lock him away in a place no one's ever left," Fenrick quipped.
"Exactly," Rahl added. "And Ironshadow has other plans for him. They aren't interested in keeping Kline alive—they want him dead. He's holding information they can't afford to leak. If Ironshadow gets to him first, they'll kill him on the spot, and their influence in Slum City will skyrocket."
"Ironshadow?" Erin asked, leaning slightly closer. "I've heard the name, but... what are they exactly?"
Rahl raised an eyebrow, seeming almost amused. "Imagine the nastiest smugglers, mercs, and gang leaders you can think of. Now give them ambition and just enough brains not to kill each other outright. They want this city—top to bottom. Territorial control, extortion, arms, contraband, you name it. Problem is, the Tideguard won't stand by forever, not when their hold on the city's slipping". He let out a sharp bark of laughter. "Yeah, speaking of. That gang isn't the type to make friends. Smuggling operations. Extortion. Territory wars. They're playing the long game—trying to carve out a proper foothold in Slum City and bleed it for every crown it's worth. Darial, unfortunately, has information they'd pay good money to bury."
Erin frowned. "If they're criminals, why doesn't the Tideguard just take them down?"
"It's Slum City," Fenrick cut in. "Peacekeeping here just means taking bribes from the loudest bidder. None of this is new.
"Spoken like someone who knows the underside of the city's belly." Rahl replied
Fenrick leaned back, a cocky smile returning to his face. "Raised here, remember?"
"It's never that simple," Cidrin chimed in, adjusting his glasses. "The Tideguard and Ironshadow have their hands in so many pots, it's impossible to say whose crowns end up where. Turning a blind eye works just as well when both sides are profiting."
"Exactly," Rahl said, nodding at Cidrin. "But trust me, they won't be buddy-buddy forever. Once Ironshadow gets what they want from Slum City, they'll burn their bridges—and half the district with them."
"What happens if we fail?" Ariya asked, her voice taut.
Rahl's grin was sharp and humorless. "If you fail, the Tideguard will put bounties on your heads so high it'll attract every hunter in the archipelago. On top of that, Ironshadow won't take kindly to interference, and they'll have you on their hit list as well. One mistake, and you'll have nowhere to hide. Not from either side."
"Great," Fenrick said, leaning back with a sarcastic laugh. "We either play Lyric's errand boys or risk pissing off two of the most dangerous factions in the Inner Islands. What's not to love?"
Rahl leaned over the map, pointing at key routes. "You've got forty-eight hours to scout, plan, and prepare. The caravan's on a tight schedule, so they won't slow down. It's heavily armed, precise, and prepared for trouble—but so are you."