Gabriel's head snapped up at once. Footsteps pounded overhead as steel rang out in hurried preparation. He rose without hesitation, sword already in his hand, the crimson fog held tight beneath his skin like a coiled spring.

His eyes closed for the briefest of moments.

"Righteousness Begets Cruelty" The words slipped from his mouth.

He would not let the ship fall. Not now, not when the road ahead had only just begun.

He climbed the ladder and emerged onto the deck into chaos.

Waves reared up like moving walls, crashing down as rain lashed across the ship. A smaller vessel had drawn alongside, its hooks buried deep in the rail as raiders poured over the edge.

They came armed with cutlasses and boarding axes, ragged men shouting as they clashed with the crew in a desperate melee. At the helm, the captain bellowed orders, his sword flashing as he cut down a boarder who strayed too close.

Gabriel moved without pause, instinct guiding him. A raider lunged from the side, axe raised for a killing blow. The crimson fog answered first, snapping out in a tight, controlled tendril that wrapped the man's wrist and tore him off balance.

The demon-eyed adventurer followed through immediately, driving his blade straight into the man's chest in a clean motion.

The raider choked and collapsed, blood spilling across the deck and vanishing beneath the rain.

Another attacker rushed him from the side, cutlass swinging low with vicious intent. Gabriel twisted clear of the strike as the fog gathered instinctively, tightening into a thin barrier that pushed the blade aside. He stepped in and slashed once, clean and precise, opening the man's throat before moving on.

He did not linger.

A third raider fell moments later, dropped by a fog-guided thrust that punched through armor and drove the body hard onto the deck. Gabriel kept his movements tight, intervening only where needed, doing just enough to break the assault without drawing unnecessary attention.

The captain noticed him in the midst of it, eyes widening as he parried a desperate blow.

"You," he shouted over the storm. "Stranger. Good arm."

Gabriel gave no reply. As the last of the raiders broke and retreated, their vessel tearing free under the storm's fury, he stepped back into the shadows and let the fog fade from sight.

The crew cheered, voices hoarse, but more than a few glances followed him. They had seen the red glow pulsating in his eyes. They had seen the mist move when it should not have.

Below deck, Gabriel cleaned his sword with care, ignoring the renewed ache in his shoulder from the fight. The storm eased into a steady drizzle not long after, rain pattering softly against the hull.

The captain found him later and offered a flask with a short nod.

"Saved our hides back there," he said. "What are you? Some kind of mage?"

Gabriel took the flask, drank once, and handed it back. "Just a traveller."

The captain studied him for a moment longer. "Heard stories," he said. "Eyes like yours. Church calls them demons."

Gabriel's expression did not change.

Gabriel's jaw tightened, just enough to be noticed. "The Church says a lot of things."

The silence that followed stretched between them. At last, the captain shrugged.

"Fair enough," he said. "But hear this. Vaelmir's coast is crawling with them now. Purges in the central kingdom, villages emptied overnight. High gatherings at Adaranthe

Cathedral, drawing the faithful in droves." He lowered his voice. "Whispers say the Executioner himself is calling them together. If you're headed that way, you'll want to keep your head down."

Gabriel felt his pulse quicken.

Lucius.

The name went unspoken, but it hung heavy all the same. This was the first solid confirmation he had since Galveston, lining up too neatly with the soldier's broken confession to ignore.

Lucius was consolidating power, drawing belief and bodies inward, tightening his grip from within his fortress.

That night, the voice returned.

Dracamere. Complete the trial.

It was fainter than before, more distant, like a whisper rising from somewhere far below thought itself. Gabriel woke with his hand clenched around the sword, the crimson fog flaring for a heartbeat before he forced it back into stillness.

Revenge comes first.

Dawn broke cold and grey as the Sea Wren approached Criston at last. The port city rose out of the fog in slow detail, docks spreading wide along the shore and crowded with ships of every size.

Warehouses lined the waterfront in solid rows, their stone walls heavy and watchful, while towers marked with familiar Church sigils loomed farther inland.

The docks were already alive. Traders shouted from carts stacked with goods, fishermen hauled in nets still heavy with their catch, and porters moved in steady lines between ship and shore.

Yet beneath the noise, something tighter held the city together. Armored patrols marched with purpose through the streets, eyes sweeping the crowds.

Whispers drifted from one knot of people to the next. Monsters pushing closer from inland. Nests spreading faster than before. New Church edicts nailed to walls and doors, all demanding obedience.

Gabriel waited until the crew was absorbed in unloading before slipping ashore. His hood stayed low, the sword hidden at his belt beneath the cloak as he moved with the flow of workers leaving the docks. No one spared him a second glance.

The weight of isolation pressed harder here. He had no plan beyond the road stretching ahead of him. Criston to Bridgedon, then on to Adaranthe.

Three days through land that would not welcome him, gathering what he needed as he went. Supplies to keep moving. Weapons worth trusting. Information sharp enough to guide his steps.

He blended into the crowd without effort, boots striking cobblestones slick with sea spray and morning dew. The sound of the harbour faded behind him, swallowed by the press of bodies and noise, but the storm inside him did not quiet.

Gabriel didn't look back, already calculating what he would need to take down the army gathering in Adaranthe.

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