The cultist cut through the smoke-filled skyline of Blackwater like a dark arrow.
Wind roared past her ears as suspended cargo rails and massive steel support beams flashed beneath the city's endless industrial haze.
Below—
the streets crawled with life.
Merchants shouted across crowded walkways.
Mercenaries moved through the masses in groups draped with weapons and worn armor.
Steam-powered transports rumbled across layered transit roads while neon signs flickered through drifting smoke and rising heat.
The magical tracking threads pulsed steadily ahead of her.
Closer now.
Very close.
Then—
she saw them.
At the edge of a crowded lower street near one of the transit lanes.
Kaelira stood beside the pilot near a parked motor carriage while several large supply bags rested at their feet.
Food.
Bread.
Wrapped meat.
Fruit.
Bottled drinks.
Enough supplies to stock a small kitchen for days.
The cultist landed lightly beside them.
Barely a sound escaped her boots as she touched the metal pavement.
Kaelira blinked immediately.
"…You're here?"
The pilot nearly dropped the loaf of bread he was holding.
"By the abyss—"
The cultist ignored both reactions entirely.
Her sharp eyes swept across the supplies once more before she spoke.
"Where are you going?"
Kaelira frowned slightly.
"…What?"
The pilot slowly lifted the bread in one hand.
"We just went out to buy supplies."
The cultist's gaze shifted back toward the bags again.
Bread loaves.
Wrapped cuts of meat.
Fruit.
Several bottled drinks.
At least they weren't lying.
Still—
her expression remained tense.
"Where's Lyriana?"
Kaelira answered immediately.
"She stayed back on the ship."
The cultist exhaled quietly through her nose.
Good.
At least one problem hadn't become worse.
The driver of the nearby motor carriage leaned halfway out the window impatiently.
"…You getting in or not?"
Without hesitation, the cultist opened the carriage door.
"Get inside."
Kaelira raised a brow.
"…You're ordering us around now?"
"Get in."
Something in her tone erased any further argument.
The pilot quietly climbed inside first while taking another bite of bread.
Kaelira clicked her tongue softly, though she entered after him without complaint.
The cultist stepped in last and shut the door firmly behind her.
The motor beneath the carriage hummed to life.
The driver glanced back briefly.
"Destination?"
"The Metal House Sky Port."
"…Got it."
The vehicle lurched forward into the crowded industrial streets.
For several long seconds—
only the rumbling engine and distant city noise filled the cramped interior.
Then the pilot swallowed another mouthful of bread and glanced sideways at the cultist.
"So what's this about?"
A pause.
"You thought we were escaping or something?"
Kaelira snorted lightly beside him.
"Escape?"
She reached into one of the bags and casually picked up an apple.
"If anyone wants to run, they can do it themselves."
A loud crunch echoed through the carriage as she bit into it.
"I'm not interested."
The cultist sat across from them silently for a moment.
Her posture remained rigid.
Focused.
Tense in a way both of them noticed immediately.
Then she finally spoke.
"My lord gave an order."
The atmosphere inside the carriage shifted instantly.
Kaelira lowered the apple slightly.
The pilot stopped chewing.
The cultist's voice remained calm.
But heavier now.
More serious.
"He wants the ship out of the city within the next hour."
Silence.
The motor carriage continued rattling through Blackwater's crowded lower districts while steam hissed from overhead pipes outside and neon lights flickered against the smoke-stained windows.
Kaelira's expression slowly hardened.
"…What happened?"
The cultist didn't answer immediately.
For the first time since finding them—
something uncertain flickered faintly within her eyes.
Then quietly—
"My lord is angry."
Silence settled heavily inside the carriage.
Even the pilot looked less relaxed now.
Kaelira stared at the cultist for several long seconds while the motor carriage continued weaving through Blackwater's industrial streets.
Outside—
steam burst from rusted pipes while glowing signs flashed through drifting smoke beyond the windows.
"…Angry about what?" she finally asked.
The cultist remained silent for a brief moment.
Then—
"I don't know."
Her answer came calm.
Controlled.
But not entirely convincing.
Kaelira noticed immediately.
"So you *do* know something."
The cultist's eyes shifted slightly toward the passing city outside the window.
For a moment—
her thoughts returned to the guild hall.
The blood.
The killing intent.
The violent mana outburst.
Then—
the names those adventurers had mentioned.
Grayhaven.
The princess.
The Demon King's Son.
The cultist lowered her gaze slightly.
*…I have an idea.*
But she saw no reason to say it aloud.
Not now.
Not unless absolutely necessary.
So instead, she answered evenly,
"It's not important."
A brief pause followed.
"What matters is following my lord's orders."
Kaelira leaned back slightly in her seat, still holding the half-eaten apple.
Clearly unconvinced.
But she didn't push further.
Across from her—
the pilot continued eating bread as though the conversation wasn't carrying potentially catastrophic implications.
"…An hour, huh…"
He chewed thoughtfully before swallowing.
"I think we can manage that."
The cultist immediately looked toward him.
The pilot shrugged lightly.
"Before your lord gave me the money for the ship repairs, he already told me to make sure the work got done quickly."
A pause.
"He said the repairs should be finished within the next hour."
He casually lifted another piece of bread.
"And it's already been over half an hour since then."
Kaelira frowned slightly.
"So unless the engineers are slacking off and refusing to do their jobs…"
The pilot nodded.
"…The repairs should already be nearly finished."
Another brief silence followed.
Then he added more carefully,
"Unless the damage turned out worse than expected."
The carriage fell quiet again after that.
Only the low hum of the engine and the distant roar of the city remained.
The cultist sat silently with folded arms while the mana threads at the edge of her senses continued pulsing faintly.
Tracking.
Watching.
Waiting.
Meanwhile—
aboard the docked ship—
the interior remained dim beneath partially restored mana lighting.
Loose cables and dismantled wall panels lined sections of the corridors while repair crews worked somewhere deeper within the vessel.
Nia moved quietly through the halls.
Her small footsteps were barely audible against the cold metal flooring.
Then—
she stopped.
A figure stood ahead.
Tall.
Silver-haired.
Watching her calmly.
Lyriana slowly lowered her arms from where she had been leaning against the corridor wall.
Her sharp eyes narrowed slightly.
"Nia."
A brief pause followed.
"Why did you return without His Highness?"
Silence lingered for a moment.
Nia looked up at her quietly while holding the small pastry bag tightly against her chest.
Then—
"…The lord said we should leave this place."
Lyriana's expression shifted instantly.
"The city?"
Nia nodded once.
"…Soon."
Silence spread through the corridor.
Lyriana straightened fully now.
The relaxed posture she normally carried vanished almost immediately.
"…What happened?"
Nia hesitated slightly.
As though trying to figure out how to explain something she herself didn't fully understand.
Then quietly—
"The lord got angry."
The air in the corridor suddenly felt heavier.
Lyriana's eyes sharpened immediately.
"…Angry?"
Nia nodded again.
"The lady with black hair said we should leave within one hour."
That alone was enough.
Lyriana's expression hardened slightly as she glanced toward the distant ship entrance.
If even the cultist was worried—
then whatever had happened wasn't minor.
And if Draven himself had already ordered the ship to prepare for departure—
then events were already moving toward violence.
Fast.
Lyriana exhaled quietly through her nose.
"…I see."
Then immediately—
"Stay close to me."
Nia blinked once.
"…Okay."
Far away—
deep within Blackwater's lower districts—
Draven continued walking beneath the dark cloak while faint crimson light flickered beneath the hood like restrained fire threatening to erupt once more.