The Defiant moved silently through the flaming wreckage of seven ships. The blockade at Scorpion Strait—once thought unbreakable—had been destroyed in under an hour… by a single vessel.
Flames cracked and hissed as they met the sea. The groans of wounded sailors clung to the air, scattered among wreckage or struggling toward the shore.
Cane ignored the chaos, sinking into the metal of the Main Gun. He soothed the heat within, calmed its warping edge, and reinforced weakened spots with quiet precision. Inside the metal, the symphony washed over him, vibrant and still. He stayed a moment longer than needed, just listening.
When he emerged, Maude was waiting near the hexagonal rack. "How's the Main Gun?" she asked. "We fired eighteen rounds."
Cane stood and stretched. "Everything looks great."
His stomach growled. He pulled a strip of dried meat from his ring and handed a piece to Maude.
Captain Rhiati and Neri approached. Neither smiled.
Even in victory, war left its mark.
"Great job," Ria said quietly, placing a hand on Cane's shoulder. "Not a single miss. You're one of the most impressive people I've ever met."
Neri nodded and pulled him into a tight hug. "Several sailors are clinging to wreckage. They're waving white flags."
Cane's jaw tightened. "What happens to them?"
"Nothing for now," Ria replied. "I've already signaled for reinforcements. I'm not bringing prisoners aboard until we've got backup."
Cane nodded in agreement. The Defiant didn't carry the numbers of the larger vessels—they couldn't afford to take chances.
"What about this bay?" he asked.
"We'll hold it," Ria answered. "Allied ships will be stationed here soon. This—this is a turning point, Cane. As big as the fall of the Black Legion."
"Which he also helped with," Neri added with a smile.
Ria nodded. "Once we're relieved, we'll stand down and head back at a slower pace."
Cane smirked. "You do plan on returning me to the Academy, right?"
Ria gave him a wink. "Probably."
Hours later, four captains stood on the deck of the Defiant, deep in discussion over the destruction of the Scorpion Strait blockade. Cane leaned near the helm, arms crossed, eyes distant.
"They'll probably use this as an excuse to keep me out here," he muttered.
He'd already spent the better part of an hour going over the specs of the Main Gun with the visiting officers—how it loaded, rotated, the firing rate, effective range. Each of the captains had immediately understood what it meant.
They all wanted one.
And who could blame them?
The naval war had shifted overnight. From this day forward, the Allies would dominate the seas. Every crewmember on the Defiant felt it in their bones—this was the turning point.
Neri approached with a cloth-wrapped bundle in her hands.
"This is for you," she said, holding it out.
Cane raised a brow. "Really?"
"Trying to bribe him into staying?" Captain Rhiati smiled, approaching after the her crew helped the other captains into their dinghies.
"I would," Neri admitted, "if I thought it would work."
She placed the package into his hands. "It's the fish suit. The one you used to sabotage the Avenger."
"Neri…" Cane hesitated, pushing it gently back toward her. "I can't take that. You said it's a rare merfolk artifact."
Neri nodded. "When the war ends… Would you help me find them?"
Cane looked into her sea-colored eyes and didn't hesitate. "Yes."
"Then hold on to it until then." She smiled softly and bent forward, brushing a kiss against his cheek.
"Oh, that's right," Ria grinned, wrapping Cane in a hug, scruffing his hair like an older sister. "I heard you took down the Twisted Snake. I owe you for that. The first mate beat the crap out of us when we were her prisoners."
"She's an angry merfolk," Neri said, visibly shivering at the memory.
"Skye? I smacked her with my shield. Her and that odd-looking guy."
"Nephrim…" Ria nodded thoughtfully, then glanced at the still-wrapped package in Cane's hands. "Go on. Take it. We'll get it back when this is all over."
"Then we'll find my people," Neri added quietly.
Cane gave a resigned smile and stored the suit in his silver ring. "Fine… I'll come willingly. No conscription required."
An hour before sundown, a rift shimmered into being on the deck of the Defiant.
Cane gave the surrounding crew a quiet wave, then stepped through without fanfare. As the portal vanished behind him, it left something in his place—a fresh crate of encased cartridges, courtesy of Brammel and the Academy.
Cane stepped into a room filled with Academy staff. Applause broke out immediately.
"Great job, lad!" Brammel beamed, clapping him hard on the back. "Scorpion blockade, busted wide open! This is big."
Telamon nodded. "Seven ships against the Defiant… and the battle was one-sided."
Cane grinned. "It's not like I built that thing alone. The metallurgy class perfected the aiming and range system. I'd call it a win for the Academy."
"Well said," Ignasius agreed. "A true group effort."
Cane shook hands, offered smiles, and exchanged nods with a few staff he hadn't yet met. When it quieted, Telamon gave a brief reminder: their first training day would began at dawn, with a rift to the capital.
Later, walking back toward Seven Tower under the darkening sky, Cane felt it all catch up to him. The fire, the salt, the roar of the Main Gun—it had been a long few days.
A flash of brown swept through the shadows. Pudding landed gently on his shoulder, claws retracted.
HOOACH.
"I know. Next time, you're coming," Cane said, scratching the bird's oversized head.
The stairs felt steeper than usual. At room 321, Cane nudged the door open with his foot, weariness rolling over him like a tide.
The dream was different this time.
Cane stood in a circular chamber, the air humming softly. Without needing to look, he knew: it was entirely made of metal.
A man and woman stood side-by-side, holding a swaddled infant. An elder in priest robes stood before them, voice ceremonial.
The couple—young, barely thirty—had skin streaked with shimmering metallic veins. They bowed in unison as the priest intoned:
"Having tested this infant, his future as a metallurgist is confirmed. Who gives this child to the metal?"
"Sandoval and Meris Ironclad," the parents replied.
Cane drifted closer.
The woman handed over a narrow metallic tube. The priest opened it.
"Mithril?" he said, eyebrows raising. "Tis a good omen. It's been some time since I've seen anything beyond mid-tier alloys. Even adamantium is rare for the giving, these days."
The couple smiled faintly. The woman held the baby close while the father gently raised the child's hand.
The priest held up a sliver of mithril—so fine it shimmered like thread.
"Accept your place among us, and you shall be named."
Cane flinched as the strand was pressed into the infant's palm. The baby wailed, tiny hand already being wrapped in soft cloth.
"How long?" the father asked, clearly worried.
"Three days," the priest said gently. "It's always three days. But don't fret—I have a good feeling about this one."
Knock Knock.
Cane bolted upright, breath ragged, his chest heaving like he'd been running.
He rubbed his face, pushed his hair back, and checked the time.
"Come in."
The door creaked open. Sophie stood in the frame, her smile bright, a breakfast tray balanced in her hands.
"I thought we'd have breakfast together."