The fog clung to the streets of Galveston, thick enough to swallow vision. It carried the stink of the harbour with it. Salt, rot, and filth that never quite left the stones.

Dawn had barely touched the horizon, staining the sky a dull red that did nothing to lift the gloom of the slums.

Buildings leaned into one another for support, warped wood pressed tight after years of damp and neglect. Roofs sagged. Alleyways twisted inward narrowly.

Somewhere beyond them, birds cried over the docks, and ships groaned against their chains, restless in the waves.

Gabriel moved through it all without sound. His boots found the cobblestones by instinct, each step placed with care despite the urgency burning in his chest.

The hooded robe taken from the tavern hung loose across his shoulders, light and unfamiliar without the weight of armour and his swords.

Lucius's face followed him through the fog. Not the calm mask he wore now, untouched by effort or doubt, but the one from years ago. The look he had given Gabriel before exiling him from the Paladin's

The memory fed the fire in his chest. Even as his body protested, even as old wounds pulled tight with every step, the resolve did not fade. He would kill him.

Gilbert followed a pace behind him, spear resting across one shoulder as if he were on a casual patrol. His posture was loose. His attention was not. His eyes never stopped moving, sweeping rooftops, doorways, broken windows, and the shapes that pressed themselves into corners where the mist grew thickest.

Nothing lingered long enough to draw his focus, but nothing escaped it either.

He had not questioned Gabriel when he slipped out of the tavern. He had not asked where they were going or why the urgency sat so heavy in the air.

All he needed to hear the demon-eyed adventurer say was that he was getting revenge.

Tess would be furious when she woke. Mera would worry, her hands twisting the way they always did when she felt annoyed.

Gilbert couldn't refuse. So, he followed. Not due to loyalty to the former Paladin, but to the Guild Master.

The demon-eyed adventurer and the C-rank shared an understanding of what revenge required.

"You sure this is the move?" Gilbert finally broke the silence. His voice stayed low, barely rising above the murmur of the city as it stirred awake. "Church outposts in the slums aren't exactly important. These guards might not know anything about Lucius."

Gabriel didn't slow.

"They wear the sigil," he said. "They know enough."

The words were flat, stripped bare of feeling. Inside, the rage remained, steady and unresolved. Hanitz's death replayed in fragments. The giant bracing the gate. Buying them seconds. Falling beneath Lucius' blade. Even though he hadn't seen it, the vivid images looped in his mind

This was not only vengeance. It was a correction. A wrong that demanded balance. Hanitz was the light that was swallowed by darkness.

Galveston was a step, nothing more. A place to collect fragments before the real hunt began. And if blood was the price for those fragments, he would pay it.

This was not only vengeance. It was a correction. A wrong that demanded balance.

Galveston was a step, nothing more. A place to collect fragments before the real hunt began. And if blood was the price for those fragments, he would pay it.

They went around the corner, and the church came into view.

It was small and unremarkable, a block of weathered stone wedged between a collapsed warehouse and a line of sagging houses. There were no spires, no stained glass catching the light. Just a pair of wooden doors with paint flaking away in long strips, and a rusted lantern hanging above them, swaying slightly as its flame struggled to stay alive.

The sigil of Mazrian was carved into the stone above the entrance. Crossed swords beneath a flame. Worn by time, but still clear enough to recognise.

Two soldiers stood watch.

Their cloaks bore the same mark. Regular soldiers, not Paladins. Gabriel could tell at a glance.

One was broad and heavy, a scar pulling at his jaw, his posture loose in a way that came from routine rather than readiness. The other was younger, thinner, his stance tighter, eyes shifting often as he scanned the street.

Gabriel stopped at the mouth of the alley, his eyes fixing on the guards.

Gilbert stiffened beside him, his grip tightening on the spear. "They're just watchmen," he murmured. "Probably conscripts. We could talk our way in. Ask a few questions without-"

"No," Gabriel said.

The word cut clean.

"Talking wastes time."

He stepped out into the street. The fog shifted as he moved, drawing back around him as if reluctant to give way.

The soldiers noticed at once.

They straightened from the wall, lazy posture snapping into something closer to discipline. Spears that had rested idle were lifted, points catching the weak light.

The broader guard stepped forward. The scar along his jaw pulled tight as he looked Gabriel over, weighing him with a soldier's eye dulled by routine.

"State your business," he said, his voice rough, worn down by years of barking orders and cheap drink.

"Church is closed to vagrants. Move along before we-"

Gabriel did not let him finish.

He crossed the distance in three hard strides, faster than his unarmoured frame had any right to be. His hand snapped out, fingers locking around the man's throat with crushing force.

The spear slipped from the guard's grasp and clattered against the stones as Gabriel drove him back into the wall. The impact rang out. Stone cracked, or bone did. Gabriel didn't stop to care.

The man wheezed, breath torn from him, hands scrabbling at Gabriel's wrist. His nails scraped skin that was still tender from half-healed wounds, but his grip did not loosen.

The second guard moved on instinct.

He lunged forward with his spear. His thrust aimed low at Gabriel's midsection. It was clumsy.

Gabriel released the first man just long enough to turn. His body twisted smoothly, motion carried by muscle memory rather than thought. He caught the spear mid-thrust.

The wood groaned under his grip as he wrenched it aside, the shaft splintering slightly as the younger guard stumbled off balance.

The young soldier's momentum carried him forward, feet tangling as he stumbled into reach.

Gabriel stepped in and drove his elbow into the side of the man's head. The strike landed clean. The soldier reeled, vision flooding with light as his balance faltered. He stayed upright only through shock.

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