The city of Maltoon burned before my eyes.
Flames devoured the streets, and smoke rolled over the rooftops like a dark tide. I caught sight of Tokham retreating in the distance, though I knew nothing of his mission. Whatever it had been, its aftermath was written across the city , collapsed buildings, firelight licking the heavens, and the cries of the broken.
People wailed. Some scrambled to rescue others trapped beneath debris. A child, no older than six, clawed through the rubble with his bare, bloodied hands, crying out for his mother. My chest sank like a stone in deep water.
Elhaan, despite being a pirate, wore sorrow openly on his scarred face. For the first time since I had met him, I felt something different in him , pity.
Locals rushed to help the boy, but I couldn't move. All around me, desperate families screamed names into the choking smoke, hoping for a voice to answer back.
When the sun finally sank, the fires were beaten down by bucket lines of villagers and with the reluctant help of Elhaan's magic.
We raised a small makeshift camp beside the ruins of a fallen hall. Elhaan treated the wounded, though he was no healer. His magic knit flesh clumsily, leaving scars and pain behind, but it was better than death.
I dragged the injured to him one by one. He never enjoyed the work , his life had been one of fighting, not saving , but still he pressed on, jaw tight, eyes carrying that strange, reluctant compassion.
By midnight, the Deens finally arrived. Reinforcements, though late enough to be useless.
Their commander stepped through the wreckage toward us .A all man with broad shoulders and a long blue coat trimmed in gold. The imperial crest gleamed on his shoulder. Short black hair framed a face carved sharp, his eyes hard and calculating.
My heart skipped. We were wanted fugitives, and yet here he stood before us.
To my surprise, he thanked us. He seemed blind to who we truly were , or perhaps he simply chose not to suspect. His men spread through the ruins, lanterns swinging as they searched for survivors.
The commander clapped Elhaan on the shoulder.
"You've raised your son well."
Son? For a heartbeat I forgot. Of course , we had altered our appearances. Had it been otherwise, he might have recognized me as his grandson.
He invited us to his camp, promising to honor us, but Elhaan refused with a firm shake of his head.
The commander did not press. He only smiled faintly, said, "Thank you for saving my people," and walked away.
Soon the streets felt empty again, save for scattered Deens sifting through rubble. Lantern-light bobbed against the half-moon's glow.
I drifted closer to Elhaan, ready to speak of the crew members we planned to recruit, when something stirred above us.
Not falling—landing.
A small shape dropped onto the ruins we sat beneath, something wrapped tightly in webs clutched in its many arms.
Elhaan's eyes lit with sudden recognition.
"Zee? Zaman Zee?"
The spider froze, his eyes wide.
"You?" he hissed, surprise dripping from his voice.
"It's me," Elhaan said, a flickering green orb of magic already sparking in his hand.
The Zaman scuttled closer, his voice brimming with disbelief and joy.
"Merchant of Death? How , how are you here? Where is Azan? Where is the baldy? Where is the crew? Was it all a lie? A trick? Misinformation?"
Elhaan raised his hand to calm him.
"I'll tell you," he said. "But first , let me heal that man. Then we'll talk in your house."
The house was quiet.
We sat around a narrow wooden table while lanterns flickered, throwing long shadows across the walls. Their warm yellow glow softened the edges of the room, but it did little to ease the weight pressing down on us. In the corner, the two children kept their eyes fixed on Irees .,who lay injured on a small bed. His breathing was heavy, his face pale.
The home itself was simple , wooden walls, two small windows set high so no one could see in or out. Behind the house was a tiny judo courtyard, its crooked door opening directly into the room. Everything inside was neat, polished, and cared for.
Across from me sat Zaman. A thick muffler was wrapped tightly around his head, hiding most of his features. Only two of his many eyes were visible, sharp and watchful as they followed Elhaan.
Elhaan removed his disguise.
Zaman stiffened. His visible eyes widened, disbelief written in them. In just two years, Elhaan had aged terribly, his face lined by more than time.
Then Elhaan began to speak. His words came steady, unflinching , names and truths we already carried like scars.
He told Zaman of the crew's death.
Of Azan's fall.
Of how he had survived when he should not have.
And of what had become of us in the two years since, until at last he spoke of Gorran—the one who revealed the truth about the Black Mark, where the dead were kept.
When he fell silent, the room seemed heavier.
Zaman sat in silence after Elhaan finished. His two visible eyes stared down at the table, the lantern-light trembling across them.
"The crew… Azan…" His voice cracked faintly beneath the muffler. For a long while, he didn't speak again.
Elhaan leaned forward, his eyes gleaming in the lantern light.
"That's why I want you with us, Zaman," he said. "Join the crew. Help us uncover the Black Mark's mystery."
For a long moment, silence reigned. The lantern hissed as the oil burned low.
Zaman lowered his head, then rose slowly from his chair. His muffler shifted as he tightened it across his face.
"Everything for Captain," he said firmly.
His two visible eyes glimmered with something between loyalty and anticipation.
He looked at us both, then asked the question that made the air feel suddenly colder.
"So… where will we be heading next?"
"Takhbay" Elhaan said .
To be continued...
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