The journey would take two days across open water. The Phantomis II moved with a steady rhythm, cutting through the waves beneath the cover of night. There were no lanterns along its hull, just faintly pulsing sigil patterns barely visible against the blackwood and stormsteel construction. The ship was built not for show but for survival and silence. It made no sound save the shifting of tide and hull.
Teshar spent the first day in discipline. He had already memorized the Spirit Binding manual entrusted to him by Stormwake. The method was a mental cultivation meant to reach what ancient writings called the "mind sea," a realm of focus and clarity where one's soul creatures could reside permanently. If opened, his bonded companions, Ruun the warhawk, along with his spider and wasp, could enter and dwell within, strengthening their bond beyond flesh.
At dusk, he took the manual, lit a signal burner, and burned it page by page. When nothing remained but ash, he scattered it into the sea. Then he returned to the deck, seated himself cross-legged near the stern, and began the breathing cycle. Inhale slowly, hold, then exhale through the diaphragm. Hours passed as he locked into trance. His heartbeat slowed. Limbs numbed. Thought fell away.
And then, the mind sea stirred.
He stood at its shore, still and silent. Water extended in every direction, unbroken and gray. In the distance, a stone gate loomed, massive, unmoving, sealed. His warhawk circled high above, never landing. The spider clung to his shoulder. The wasp hovered before him, wings motionless. None of them entered. The door stayed closed.
He returned to himself before dawn. His muscles ached, but his thoughts were quiet. The door had not opened. But he had seen it.
By the second day, Zevekhan had begun to take shape through the fog, its jagged mountain ridges, rough ravines, and black cliffs cutting a stark line across the horizon. The largest of the island chain, it sat closest to Dazhum's southern coast. Once a training ground and command hub, now it was compromised.
Before landfall, however, there was a disturbance.
Near midday, the Phantomis lookout gave a sharp whistle, three sharp bursts.
"Sails," he called. "Three ships. Horizon, north by west."
Ryoku and the captain moved to the forward rail. A Blacktide scout handed Ryoku a sigil lens, an obsidian disc etched with focusing runes. He raised it to his eye, activating the viewing sigil. Distant outlines sharpened. Three galleys, oar-driven, bearing no banners. But they were not patrolling.
They were fleeing.
The vessels moved with urgency, scattered formation, hulls scarred. Black smoke trailed from the aft of the second ship.
"Dazhum make," the captain murmured. "Civilian retrofits. No escort."
"Running from what?" Ryoku asked.
The captain didn't answer. He snapped his fingers, barking orders. "Battle stations. Sigils lit. Soundless veil. Stealth protocol."
Moortide engineers activated hull glyphs. The ship dimmed further. The Phantomis slipped into deeper shadow, its presence vanishing from distant view.
The three ships passed within a league. Close, but not close enough to spot them.
Teshar stood at the stern rail, watching. His wasp pulsed once within its case. Faint chemical trace, ash and decay. Something had burned behind those ships.
None of the Phantomis warriors spoke.
Whatever had driven those galleys from the north, it was no ordinary patrol.
And it lay between them and Zevekhan.
But before the central acropolis could be reached, the landing party would need to navigate the outer landscape, terrain riddled with ridges, knife-edged slopes, and gullies too deep to cross without detour. Obsidian quarries and volcanic remnants twisted the topography into a hostile mess of dead roots and sharp stone.
On deck, the Blacktide warriors made final checks. Armor was tightened, blades sharpened, lines and straps tested for noise. The Moortide squads worked through their equipment without chatter, checking crate locks and securing rations. Orders had already been given. There was no reason to speak.
Teshar moved to his pack beneath the bulkhead. Ruun remained overhead, perching quietly. The scout began his final preparations, confirming every draw angle, every strap. His falcata rested on his hip; the backup blade sat diagonally across his back. The sigil-bound cases for his spider and wasp were clipped tightly to his side. His flame orb, padded and secured, hung behind his belt.
He inspected his bow, drawing it halfway to test the tension. The limbs held firm. He checked every arrow in his quiver, fletching, sigils, balance, tip alignment. All were functional.
Finally, he touched the wasp's sigil case.
The creature within stirred.
He unlatched the outer seal. The wasp emerged into the sea breeze, hovering for a moment before spiraling forward. It turned, pulsed, and then repeated the movement, this time with a slight twitch.
Teshar narrowed his eyes.
It had found something. A chemical marker. Not natural, faint, but deliberate. The Veilguard had left scent trails. The wasp had picked them up.
Teshar gave two short clicks with his tongue. The wasp returned and settled onto his arm. He resealed it into the case.
The trail would guide them inland.
At the stern, Ryoku stood beside the Phantomis captain, studying a weathered map. He gestured toward a coastal inlet. The captain nodded and rolled it away.
Ryoku turned to face the assembled landing team.
"We make landfall in six hours," he said. "Zevekhan's cliffs are shielded. We'll approach under cloud cover. Once in range, we drop by skiff, silent landing. Then we move along the southern ridge. The Veilguard sign trails were confirmed. Our scout will guide the route. If the signal posts are lost, fallback paths have been marked."
Connach stepped up next. "Moortide holds the outer ring. Two squads forward, one in reserve. We wait for contact before shifting."
Ryoku nodded. "Blacktide enters the facility. Teshar leads. He scouts ahead. Patrols must be tracked."
Teshar acknowledged without a word.
The next hours passed in stillness. Some warriors rested with closed eyes. Others inspected armor, tightened belts, or simply waited.
The Phantomis slowed as cliffs rose from the mist. Twisted trees crowned the high ridges. Volcanic rock jutted outward like broken teeth. The ship adjusted to shallow draft. Sails shifted. Oars retracted. Submerged pylons accepted tether lines. No anchor was needed.
Ryoku moved first, boarding a skiff on the starboard hull. Ten Blacktide followed. Connach issued hand signals; Moortide fell into formation.
Teshar entered the second skiff. Ruun lifted from the rail and glided ahead.
The landing was quiet. Skiffs touched shore without splash. Boots found stone. Teshar disembarked and advanced first, placing each foot with care. The sigil on his wrist masked footfall. The slope was steep, slick with moss and roots. He placed scentless resin markers as he climbed.
Once on the ridge, he signaled back.
Ryoku halted the Blacktide column. Moortide positioned across a loose overwatch line.
Teshar scanned the field. The terrain was worse than expected, ridgelines twisted through one another like old scars. Gullies broke the earth, turning travel into a maze. But the depth gave cover.
He spotted the glow of a Veilguard signal point, half-shrouded in brush farther ahead.
Then Ruun cried overhead. A warning.
Movement in the valley below.
Teshar motioned: enemy presence, lightly armed.
Ryoku signaled: observe only.
Teshar shifted to a thinner ridge path and moved low, avoiding loose gravel and exposed root. He paused at the next rise and lay flat, eyes focused downward.
There, on the slope below, a group of Dazhum marines stumbled forward, disorganized, wounded, and in retreat. Their armor was broken. Their lines were shattered. Some dragged their comrades. Others barely held their weapons.
They were running.
And behind them, the shapes came into view.
Sleek. Precise. Silent. The Nerathil.
Ruinborn.
They moved like predators, flanking fast and cutting off angles. Two surged ahead with long spears. Their formation spread quickly.
Teshar froze. Then raised a clenched fist.
Hold.
Ryoku joined him moments later. He followed Teshar's line of sight.
They had expected scattered patrols, maybe a forward nest.
But this was more. The Nerathil were not probing the island.
They were in it.
"Too deep," Ryoku muttered. "They're past the outer ridges."
Teshar nodded. "The infestation runs farther inland than the agents reported."
The first mission was to retrieve the trapped Veilguard. But the second, assess the extent of the enemy presence, was unraveling fast.
The situation was worse than expected.
Far worse.