I had reserved a simple room on the ship — little more than a hammock strung above a narrow bed bolted to the floor. At sea, I didn’t bother with heavy armor. I stuck to a red long gambeson, my belt of arms, and the harness slinging my two pistols tight against my body.
The first few days, I kept mostly to my cabin, nose buried in the grimoire I had liberated. Most of the spells inside were tuned to water and darkness — fitting, given the grim seas outside. Only about a third of the book dealt with spells, though. The rest was a deep, headache-inducing dive into the principles of magic itself. Charts, diagrams, theories... Enchantment formulas so dense I swear I could feel my remaining brain cells filing for workers’ comp.
Restlessness hit me hard after a while. I wasn't made to sit still like some monk. So, eventually, I hauled myself out onto the deck to see what was going on topside.
By now, winter was breathing down our necks. Even though we were heading south at a good clip, the mornings were colder and meaner with each passing day. The sea looked like a sheet of frozen glass under a bruised sky, and the crew huddled in thick coats, their breath steaming like angry ghosts.
I pulled out a smoke, catching the eye of a crewman strolling by with a stout porcelain pipe. He didn’t ask questions when he saw I had only one arm. Just leaned in and lit me up before getting back to work, his boots clunking hollow against the damp deck. A thick fog clung to the ship like a shroud, visibility dropping to a bare few feet.
Apparently, it was normal this time of year. One of the older sailors muttered as much when he caught me watching the sides of the ship a little too closely, his own eyes just as nervous. I nodded, but I stayed alert anyway. I trusted the ocean about as much as I trusted politicians.
Soon enough, the fog began to peel back, revealing a town perched on the tip of a peninsula, the red cliffs jutting out like the broken teeth of some half-drowned god. We would dock there for the night, set out again at first light.
Opting for safety, I wrestled painfully with my armor, fighting with straps and buckles like a drunk wrestling an octopus. After an hour of swearing and struggling, I gave up. Gambeson and chainmail would have to do. The itch in my missing arm was driving me mad anyway, like a ghost limb scratching at my nerves.
I couldn’t help but wonder, not for the first time, what exactly the Inquisition had seen on my status sheet to slap a gag order on it. I didn’t have answers. Just more questions stacked like bad debts.
Shrugging it off, I found a pub tucked near the docks, the kind of place where the beer barely passed for drinkable but the patrons minded their own business. The veteran sailors seemed to favor it, so I figured it was a good enough place to sit quietly, drink, and listen.
Between mugs of sour beer, I caught snippets of conversation. Some spoke of ships vanishing without a trace in the waters north of Tretaria — whole crews swallowed up without so much as a floating barrel left behind. Others whispered about the Empire moving troops and gear north in a hurry while the noble families quietly fled south.
Something ugly was stirring. I could feel it in my bones, in the stale air, in the way the sailors kept looking over their shoulders when they thought no one was watching.
But the one rumor that truly caught my attention was about a green comet.Sailors said it had appeared about a month ago — a streak of eerie emerald fire crawling across the heavens, seen by those who still navigated by the stars. It wasn’t like any shooting star they'd ever known. No, this thing didn’t just fall; it slowed mid-flight, almost choosing where to crash before slamming somewhere northwest, probably deep into Valakia.
There were stories — whispered, half-drunk, and too detailed to be simple tavern talk — that after seeing it, some men simply dropped whatever they were doing, walked to the edge of the ship, and threw themselves into the sea without a sound. They never surfaced. No cries for help. No struggle. Just… gone.
I leaned back in my chair, mug halfway to my lips, thinking hard.Green comets. Men drowning themselves without reason.None of it sounded natural.
And if it had crashed in Valakia... well, there was no good news ever coming out of that place. Only trouble.
I decided I had enough information for now. No point stirring a hornet's nest I couldn't stomp out yet.I finished my beer, tossed a few coins on the table, and went back to my quarters to get some rest.
The rest of the trip went smoother than I expected.We stopped twice more along the coast — first at the Kingdom of Stone, a land founded by old alliances between dwarves and humans, built tough into the cliffs and mountains. The second stop was barely more than a trading post tucked into the edge of the Dwarven Kingdom — a small port where we hauled in goods, swapped barrels and crates, and sailed out again before sunset.
By then, I was sick of the sea. The endless creaking of wood, the salt in the air, the feeling of bobbing like a cork in a barrel — it wore thin fast. Part of me even started hoping something would happen just to break the monotony. Pirate attack. Sea monster. Hell, even a good old-fashioned brawl would have done.
In the quieter hours, I went back to studying the grimoire.Digging deeper into the ancient script, I uncovered a few interesting points:
First — only those who could manipulate a certain kind of energy could actually see it. That meant if I could see the threads of an element, I could, at least in theory, use it.
This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work.
Second — the old masters compared mana and runa to simple math. Mana was likened to a +1 force, something that added to the world. Runa, on the other hand, was -1 — a taking force, something that subtracted, consumed, or unmade.
Yet, curiously, nowhere in the entire book was there any mention of a "0" state — no balance point.Only creation or destruction.No peace.
It stuck in my mind like a splinter.
By the time the Holy Capital came into view, the crew was already gathering on deck, half to gawk and half to ready the ship for port.
I leaned against the railing, the wood rough under my palm, and stared ahead.
The city stretched across the horizon like a living painting — a sprawl of stone, timber, and tile spreading for miles, at least five if my eyes didn’t lie.At the heart of it all, tall, ornate buildings pierced the sky, the richer districts gleaming like polished bone. But towering above everything else was a cathedral — a monstrous thing of white marble, crowned in gold, perched on a hill like a king's crown.
The morning sun caught its spires, making them blaze bright enough to hurt the eyes.
Even from here, still a good hour out from the docks, the sheer scale of it all hit me like a hammer.This wasn’t just a city.It was a statement.A promise of power and faith in stone.
I fished a battered cigarette from my pouch, holding it awkwardly between my teeth, and gestured to a nearby sailor."Mind giving me a light?" I asked around the cigarette.
Without a word, he struck a match against the railing and lit it for me, shielding the flame from the sea breeze with calloused hands.
I took a long drag as the city loomed closer, the scent of salt slowly giving way to the smell of hearthfires and distant bakeries.
When it came time to disembark, I hefted my heavy bag over my good shoulder and headed down the gangplank, disappearing into the chaos of the port.
Or at least, I tried to.
Before I could melt into the crowd, a stout dwarf with a half-burnt beard stepped in front of me, holding a crystal tablet like a badge of office.
"Name?" he barked, voice scratchy like gravel.
"Sam."
He gave a look like he'd bitten into a lemon. "Good Lord, Sam, just a drop of blood here so we can confirm your identity," he said, tapping the tablet with a stubby finger.
Instead, I pulled the Inquisition letter from my pouch and let him have a good look.The moment he saw the wax stamp at the bottom, his face drained a little. He snapped into a deep bow so fast I thought he might knock himself out on the docks.
"Apologies, my lord," he stammered. "Please, be on your merry way."
I tossed him a small silver coin for the trouble. He caught it with a swift movement, grinning wide enough to show gold teeth.
"Thank you, my lord," he said with a wink.
The streets beyond the docks were a different kind of battlefield — filled with carts rumbling over cobbles, traders yelling out the names of their goods, and kids darting through the mess like rats in a maze.A few shady types gave me a once-over, but the heavy belt of weapons at my waist seemed to convince them I wasn't worth the headache. Their eyes slid off me like oil on water.
Not wanting to wander like a lost lamb, I flipped a few coins to a random street kid and asked him to show me the way to the Church School.
He was more than happy to oblige — coin had a way of motivating miracles.
On the way, he pointed out a handful of good shops: a smithy, an apothecary, a bookstore that smelled like old parchment even from the street. Useful places for later.
Finally, we stood at the base of the cathedral.It was even more massive up close, the doors towering high enough to let giants through, carved with saints and monsters both.
I cracked my neck, adjusted the bag on my shoulder, and stepped toward the front door.
However, when I stepped inside, I had to stop and just stare for a minute.
The hall stretched so high that the tops of the statues disappeared into the ceiling shadows, each one carved from gleaming white marble. The floor itself glowed with a soft golden light, giving the whole place an otherworldly, almost dreamlike feel. It was the kind of beauty that kicked you right in the chest whether you wanted it to or not.
I shook off the awe and made my way toward the reception desk, where a foxkin woman sat, dressed in an elegant white gown. Her hair was the color of ripe wheat and her eyes burned bright like twin flames.
"Hi, I'm here to see the Dean," I said, trying to sound like I belonged there.
She smiled politely. "I see. What's your name? And do you have an appointment?"
"Uh, Sam. No appointment, sorry."
"It's okay, let's schedule one now," she said, lifting a golden quill and scribbling across a crystal tablet like it was second nature.
After a moment, she looked up. "It seems the Dean could see you... in about six months. Would that be to your liking?"
I grimaced. "Sorry, I kind of expected to see him sooner if possible. Also, I’d like to visit Miss Lilith Makina if she's available."
The foxkin's brow furrowed slightly at my pushback, but her tone stayed polite. "My lord, unless you have... special circumstances... six months is the earliest meeting. As for Miss Makina, she doesn’t accept visitors. My apologies."
"Right. Let's just get the ID part over with," I sighed.
At her expectant look, I pulled out the Inquisition letter. Again.If this ID business kept up, I was going to need a damn holster for the thing.
The moment she caught sight of the wax seal, her expression shifted from mildly professional to sharp attention.
"My apologies, Lord Sam. Please, follow me. The Dean will see you in a moment," she said, her voice just a little more careful now.
She led me through a series of bright marble halls and up a short flight of polished stairs, finally stopping in front of a cozy-looking meeting room. Inside, soft leather sofas circled a low table carved from a single massive slab of dark wood. A fireplace crackled quietly at the far end, filling the room with a faint smell of cedar smoke.
I dropped my heavy bag by the door and slumped down onto one of the sofas with a sigh.
After fumbling around a bit, I pulled out a cigarette and looked around helplessly for a second. With a shrug, I got up, leaned down to the fireplace, and lit it directly from the flames.
As I took the first drag, I couldn't help but chuckle to myself.Well, I thought, smoke curling up lazily, I guess the Inquisition seal has some advantages after all.
