Charles managed to steady himself first, then glanced anxiously at the man he had accidentally knocked down. The stranger had pale blue eyes and wet blond hair plastered to his forehead, a striking face with a cleanly chiseled nose and a faint dimple at the corner of his mouth.
They stood warily, not quite hostile but far from trusting. Then the ominous warning of Charles's instincts flared a second time. Once again, the warped void appeared—its area even larger than before, wide enough to encompass both the blond man and Charles himself.
At that silent alarm, Charles shoved the blond man away with every ounce of strength. The man was unprepared and staggered backward, surprise lighting his features just as Charles dove in the opposite direction. Faster than lightning, they both cleared the danger zone.
A heartbeat later, the twisting air tore everything within reach to shreds before winking out in the gloom, leaving behind a scene of utter devastation.
Charles stared at it, his legs gone weak with horror, struggling to keep upright on shaking knees. In a single fleeting moment, life or death had been decided. The sheer power of that phenomenon burrowed terror deep into his bones.
The blond man, still reeling from being shoved aside, had also witnessed the annihilation. He realized in a rush that the dark-haired stranger had saved his life. Glancing back at Charles, he attempted a silent nod of gratitude.
But there was no chance to speak. The third void opened, larger than ever before—this time massive enough to swallow the entire ship. Both men realized instantly there would be no escaping it.
Dread blanketed Charles's heart. It was as though an invisible cage had trapped him in this lethal phenomenon. A fraction of a second before the ship would be torn to pieces, the blond man leaped toward Charles. He latched onto Charles's shirt, unwilling to give in to death without a fight.
All at once, a shroud of gray mist swirled around them, forming a barrier that blocked the destructive force. All else was shredded beyond recognition in mere moments—planks, sails, raindrops, even the churning water beneath the hull. Every person on both ships died unaware, disintegrated in the blink of an eye. Their remains, each in varying degrees of gruesome ruin, sank into crimson waves.
Somehow, Charles and the blond man were spared. As soon as the mist had done its job, it dissipated, leaving them to plummet into the icy sea. Numb cold swept over them, water filling their ears and their mouths. A heavy smell of blood stung the back of Charles's throat.
The blond man regained his wits first and managed to cling to some floating wreckage. For Charles, however, it was anything but smooth. He floundered in the swirling depths, battered by waves. His limbs flailed, each breath drawing salty brine instead of air, agony choking him. Each time he tried to grab hold of something, his hand found only empty water. His mind reeled, vision hazy, his last spark of hope flickering away.
He tried to call for help, but all he heard was the roar of the storm. His lungs burned as more seawater invaded them, and soon he sank helplessly into the dark. Then a piece of driftwood slammed into his head. Blood seeped into the ocean, though he was beyond feeling pain. Barely conscious, the final sight he registered was the blond man fighting the raging currents to reach him.
"Argh!" Thump!
Charles jolted awake, crashing face-first onto the floor. He lay still for several seconds, dazed and breathing hard. Slowly, he pushed himself upright, ending up seated on the floor with his back against the bed, one hand pressed gingerly to his head.
With trembling fingers, he touched the half-hidden scar on his scalp. Dampness trickled across his forehead—sweat, cold and slick. Eyes darting around the familiar shape of his bedroom's walls and furniture, he let out a ragged exhale, relieved to be safe.
His legs were unsteady when he stood, both hands trembling and clammy. The dream had been terrifyingly vivid, far more real than any other dream in his memory. Images of the two ships in a wild storm, the strange force that nearly claimed him multiple times, and the swirling mist that saved them—the blond man to whom Charles owed his life, just as the blond man owed him.
Wanting fresh air, Charles opened the window. A light breeze fluttered the curtains and cooled the sweat on his skin. Moonlight spilled inside, chasing away some of the oppressive dread. He crossed to the desk, lit the oil lamp, and watched his shadow stretch across the wall like a phantom. Then he took out a sheet of paper, dipped a quill in ink, and began writing.
To Joseph…
I hope this letter doesn't disturb you too much, but I'm in urgent need of your help. I recently had a dream—though calling it a "dream" might be too small a word for what it felt like.
I saw myself aboard two ships caught in a raging storm, thunder echoing across a dark sea. It felt more like reality than any dream, and it seemed… you might have been there, too.
Then something impossible happened—a power so destructive that it annihilated everything in its path. Both ships were destroyed, and we ended up in the cold waters, fighting enormous waves. A piece of debris struck my head before I saw a final glimpse of you swimming toward me—then I blacked out.
It was so lifelike I cannot forget it. I suspect it may not be just a dream but rather a fragment of my lost memories, possibly linked to why my memory is gone. Because of that, I need to see you and talk about all this. Please, if it's at all possible, spare the time to meet me and share your insight. It might help me finally understand what truly happened.
If you're available, I'll be waiting at the Two-Flavors Tavern until an hour before closing, for three days straight.
With respect,
Charles Ravencroft
Once he finished, Charles carefully rolled the letter and sealed it with red wax, pressing his personal seal into the still-soft surface. By the flickering lamplight, the fresh wax gleamed as though it were a drop of blood. His unsteady hand then addressed the outer paper to Joseph Cavendish in a hasty scrawl. Drawing a deep breath, he realized the courier's office would not be open at this hour, so he would have to send it first thing in the morning.
Setting the quill aside, Charles lay back on the bed, forcing his eyes shut in hopes of getting more rest before sunrise. His heart still beat wildly, haunted by the next possible dream. And he felt conflicted—fearing it might all be nothing but illusions, yet desperate to find out the truth. At least by sending this letter to his friend, he might finally get some answers.
…...
That same night, in a hidden location shrouded by mystery, a group of individuals dressed in dark attire gathered around a flickering lantern. Their faces lay half-concealed in the gloom, their eyes sharp and intense with grim purpose.
"The raid takes place tomorrow night," the leader announced, voice hard as steel. "Does everyone understand the plan?"
A man in the group raised his hand in concern. "They're well-fortified and wary. How can we be sure the attack will succeed?"
"Tomorrow, the special enforcement unit will coordinate with us," another person replied. "We also have the Seal Keys to cut off any escape routes. It'll be tough, but our chances are a lot better now."
Before the conversation could continue, urgent footsteps clattered into the room. A young man in dark garb came racing in, breathing hard. "There's an emergency! The city guards just raided the orphanage in the nearby quarter. Our targets… they escaped before we could get them!"
A wave of alarm buzzed through the group. Several members cursed, slamming fists on the table or gripping their heads in frustration. In the midst of the commotion, a tall figure lurking in the shadows stood up. His low voice rumbled with authority.
"We need to find out where they've fled—and why the guards were there in the first place."
The group leader nodded. "Agreed. Dispatch spies to track them down at once. This organization is too dangerous to let slip away. We have to destroy it."
All heads bobbed in affirmation, though many held hidden displeasure at this major hitch in their plans.
A slender figure—a woman, by the look of her silhouette—raised her hand. "What about the people we sent to watch that house? Should we recall them now, Boss?"
"No. Leave them where they are for the time being," the leader ordered immediately.
And so the assemblage dispersed quietly under the veil of darkness, each member preparing for the next steps of their mission.
…...
Early the next morning, Charles woke at dawn, quickly dressing and gathering the sealed letter. He set out across the cobblestoned lane, passing the slowly stirring city. Some townsfolk were already up, baskets in hand to shop for fresh produce; laborers trod by with their tools, while children scampered about laughing. Street vendors hawked hot breakfast with bright voices.
The private courier office stood not far from Charles's place—a neat, two-story wooden building painted a pleasant shade of brown. Sunlight streamed in through spotless windows. Outside, an elderly man swept away fallen leaves, pausing to greet Charles with a friendly nod.
Inside, the scent of ink and parchment permeated the air. Clerks in brown uniforms sorted letters with deft efficiency. A couple of customers waited in line at a heavy wooden counter, while tall shelves were crowded with mail awaiting dispatch.
"Good morning! How can I help you?" a staff member asked with a polite smile.
"I need to send this letter to Joseph Cavendish, in the royal district," Charles said, handing over the scroll along with payment.
"Certainly, we'll make sure it's delivered today," the clerk assured. "And if there's a reply, shall we deliver it directly to your home?"
"Yes, please. I'd appreciate that," Charles replied.
"Of course, sir. We'll do our very best. May our service meet your satisfaction," the clerk said brightly.
Offering a nod of thanks, Charles stepped out feeling a measure of relief, as if a burden had lifted. Now all he could do was wait for Joseph's response.
He turned his steps toward the guild, mentally preparing for the combat training session. The crisp morning air and the promise of a new day left him feeling unexpectedly invigorated—ready to devote himself fully to both training…and to hunting down the elusive shadows of his past.