The tavern doors slammed open, and a gust of sea wind carried the roar of dozens of voices. Raiders—some armed with jagged blades, others brandishing clubs and pistols salvaged from wrecks—stormed toward the Splintered Oar.
Edric's hand flew to his sword. "Stand back!" he shouted, pushing past the tables to confront the intruders. His knights flanked him, forming a protective line, but even their presence could not quell the sheer chaos.
Ronan's eyes sparkled with a mix of amusement and calculation. "Finally, some excitement," he muttered. He rolled his shoulders and drew his dagger, ducking under a swing to strike a Raider threatening Elira. A quick slash and the man crumpled to the floor, groaning.
Elira pressed herself against a wall, notebook in hand, scribbling furiously even as her instincts guided her movements. "Focus!" she shouted at both men. "If we survive this, I need to record it!"
Edric's pride bristled at the tone, but he recognized the truth. Their survival depended on more than just skill—it depended on timing, coordination, and awareness.
A Raider lunged at him, swinging a heavy club. Edric sidestepped, slashing with precision, but another attacker came from behind. Ronan intercepted, his dagger flashing in the dim tavern light. The prince and the bandit moved in a deadly, improvised rhythm, covering each other instinctively.
Elira grabbed a fallen chair and swung it to block a strike aimed at Edric. The distraction was enough for him to finish off his opponent. She didn't fight like a trained warrior, but her quick thinking and agility made her a surprising asset.
Breathless, the three of them found themselves back-to-back as the Raiders regrouped, circling them like predators.
"We can't keep this up!" Edric shouted, scanning the room for an escape. "There's too many!"
Ronan smirked. "Then we get clever. Watch the exits, use the crowd. Chaos is our ally."
Elira's eyes darted to the tavern's side door, slightly ajar and leading to the narrow alley behind the building. "That way! We can funnel them into the alley and make them hesitate. Then we can escape or force them to scatter."
Edric hesitated. Pride screamed to face them head-on. Survival screamed at Elira's logic. He nodded. "Your plan. But we act fast."
Working together, the three funneled the attackers into the alley. Ronan used a flare of quick strikes to keep them off balance, Edric parried and countered with precise swordsmanship, and Elira guided them, calling out openings and weak spots.
Within moments, the Raiders began to break, confused and frustrated. Some fled, others scrambled back into the tavern, but the trio emerged unscathed, panting and bloodied but alive.
For a brief moment, silence fell over the alley, broken only by the distant crashing of waves against the docks. The three of them exchanged glances, an unspoken acknowledgment passing between them.
"You're… not completely hopeless," Ronan said, nodding at Edric.
"And you're… less reckless than I feared," Edric admitted, eyes narrowing slightly, though a faint smile tugged at his lips.
Elira stepped between them, brushing dust from her sleeves. "We make a decent team," she said cautiously. "But don't get used to agreeing with me."
A faint laugh escaped Edric despite the adrenaline, and even Ronan's smirk softened.
Somewhere deeper in Driftport, shadows stirred. Rumors of the Hollow King and his corrupted lieutenants whispered through the docks, carried on the salt wind. The trio had survived their first trial together, but the real dangers—the continent itself, and the forces waiting there—were still to come.
And somewhere, in the gray mist beyond the docks, the Shrouded Continent awaited, silent, mysterious, and far more dangerous than Driftport ever could be.