A night of quiet after battle, lanterns bobbed on ropes, laughter drifted from the inn, and the sea whispered its old lullaby. On a rocky outcrop beyond the village, two figures moved like shadows that belonged nowhere.
A younger man, slick white hair combed back, smiled with a calm that was almost tender. He whispered, "Oh brother… he's here." The words were soft, but sharp as a blade in the dark.
Beside him, a broad-shouldered man turned, the black whale sigil on his back catching the moon. "Are you sure, Seirath?" he asked, voice low. He did not want to alarm the village; Hollow Nine patience was its own weapon.
Seirath Eluron's grin was slow, a moth's wing unfolding. "Yes. I'm sure, Nore." His gaze traveled across the lit quay where the villagers celebrated. "Rael's here. Little brother hasn't changed his habits."
Nore let his jaw tighten. "We watch. Quiet."
They melted further into shadow and watched the scene they had come to inspect.
