The harbor was silent. The only sound was the gentle lapping of water against the shattered docks and the distant cry of seabirds that had returned to inspect the carcass. Kaelen stood in ankle-deep water, staring at the dust that had been a spear, and felt the weight of thousands of eyes upon him.
He turned. The crowd was frozen. Knights with swords half-drawn. Fishermen with nets still in their hands. Children with their mouths open. The Baron with his face the color of old parchment.
Kaelen raised a hand. "I'm sorry about the spear."
No one answered.
He waded toward the shore. The water parted around him, not dramatically, just the natural movement of displaced liquid, but everyone watched as though he were walking on the surface. He reached the dock. A young knight scrambled backward, nearly tripping over his own feet.
"Easy," Kaelen said. "I'm not going to hurt anyone."
The knight's eyes were wide. "My Lord... the beast..."
