The sea was quiet.
Almost unnaturally so.
Justus stood at the bow of the small ship, resting one hand on Gryphon’s hilt.
The morning wind moved through his dark hair, carrying the sharp scent of salt and spray.
Behind him came heavy, rhythmically deliberate footsteps.
Daemon stopped beside him, leaning his massive frame against the wooden railing while staring at the horizon.
“So,” Daemon grunted.
“Where are we dropping anchor?”
“North,” Justus replied.
“A port town called Blackridge.”
Daemon grunted, pulling out a heavy rifle and wiping salt spray off the dark steel barrel with a oil rag.
“Blackridge.
Cold, miserable, and full of bounty hunters.
What’s in Blackridge?”
“It’s the entrance to the North,” Justus said, pulling out a faded parchment map and spreading it over the rail.
“From Blackridge, the trade routes go deeper inland—toward Frostfall and Frostmere.
If I’m going to find information on Queen, that’s where I start.”
Daemon glanced at the parchment, then racked the bolt of his rifle with a metallic clack before looking sideways at Justus.
“You’ve been out here three months, kid.
You nearly died three times.”
“Three times,” Justus agreed, folding the map back up.
“I’m keeping track.”
Daemon scoffed, resting the stock of his rifle against the deck.
“You’re a weird one.
Ragnar was loud, arrogant, and burned down towns just to hear people scream.
But you?
You barely say ten words, you don’t brag, and carrying an eighty-million bounty doesn’t even make you flinch.”
Justus looked at him.
“You miss serving him?”
“Hell no,” Daemon grunted, resting his arms on the railing.
“Ragnar was a monster.
I stayed with him because in the Lower World, a guy my size either works for a warlord or fights off an army every morning.
But when you dropped him and then ordered the villagers to patch me up…
that was new.”
Daemon looked out toward the grey water.
“Just know what you’re walking into,” Daemon added low.
“Ragnar was a wild fire.
But the Four Lords?
Dragon controls the West.
King owns the South.
Darius Eamon has the East.
And Queen rules the North.”
“What about Queen?” Justus asked.
“She’s a Mystic,” Daemon replied.
“Nobody knows her limits, and nobody who fights her comes back to talk about it.”
Justus’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“Interesting.”
Daemon let out a short, rough laugh.
“You hear that and think ‘interesting’?
Most men start writing wills.”
Justus looked back to the sea. Read this novel at g.com for the best experience.
“Dying sounds inconvenient.”
Daemon shook his head, a faint grin tugging at his jaw.
“You’re out of your mind.”
For the next two days, the vessel cut smoothly through the waves toward Blackridge.
Justus spent most of his time practicing with Gryphon or sitting cross-legged at the bow, staring at his palms.
He was trying to recreate that instant against Ragnar where Light and Darkness had flared together.
He focused his energy inward.
Nothing.
He pushed harder, forcing the power into his hands.
A faint spark of white light flickered across his knuckles, then collapsed instantly.
“You’re forcing it,” Daemon said from behind, sitting on a crate as he adjusted the sight on his rifle.
“Spiritual energy doesn’t work like a door you can kick down.
The more you tense up, the more it sputters.”
Justus looked down at his bare palm, taking in the advice, then unclasped his fist.
“Fair point.”
On the third morning, a freezing fog rolled over the ocean, signaling their approach to Northern waters.
Daemon stood up abruptly, shouldering his rifle as his jaw tightened through the mist.
“Ship.”
Justus stood up beside him.
“Guardians?”
“A black steel warship,” Daemon grunted, his forearms hardening with a subtle iron sheen.
“And three smaller vessels closing in.”
Daemon chambered a heavy round.
“Want me to blow out their main steering wheel?”
“No,” Justus said calmly.
“Let me see what they want.”
The Guardian fleet glided to a stop two hundred meters away.
A single man stepped to the bow of the main warship.
He was tall, lean, wearing an immaculate white Guardian Captain’s coat over dark armor.
A black-steel saber hung at his waist, and a thin scar ran across his jaw.
The compressed pressure around him made the deck beneath Justus vibrate.
“A Master,” Daemon muttered low.
The Captain drew his saber in a single, silent motion.
“My name is Caelum Voss,” he announced clearly across the water.
“Captain of the Guardian 4th Fleet.
Justus Xavier Tempest…
you are under arrest.”
Justus sighed softly.
“Why does every Guardian say that?”
Caelum ignored the comment.
“By order of the Council, you are charged with the destruction of the Eldermere command post and the defeat of Ragnar Veil.
Disarm yourself.”
“They attacked me first,” Justus said plainly.
“That will be discussed in a cell,” Caelum replied coldly.
Daemon smirked, tightening his grip on his rifle stock.
“I like this guy.
Straight to the point.”
Justus shot Daemon a sideways look.
“You’re supposed to be on my side.”
“Doesn’t mean I can’t respect the enemy.”
Caelum took a single step forward.
Instantly, his spiritual energy wrapped tightly around his saber, compressing until the metal took on a dark, mirror-like gloss.
BOOM!
The deck beneath Caelum cracked!
Before Justus could blink, Caelum vanished!
CLANG!
A shockwave ripped across the deck, spraying water outward!
Justus was driven back three paces, Gryphon vibrating violently as Caelum’s heavy saber slammed down against his guard!
Caelum twisted his wrist, driving his blade downward.
Justus parried, metal screeching, but Caelum was already stepping inside his guard with lethal precision.
CLANG!
CLANG!
CLANG!
Every blow carried immaculate weight.
Justus was pushed continuously backward.
“He isn’t using a special technique,” Daemon called out, watching closely.
“It’s pure reinforcement!”
Caelum stepped in, driving an energy-packed boot into Justus’s stomach!
BOOM!
Justus was launched across the deck, tumbling through a wooden supply crate before coming to a stop.
He spat a line of blood, pushing himself up off the splintered boards.
Caelum lowered his saber, watching him.
“You’re smiling.”
Justus looked down at Gryphon, his crimson eyes locking onto the Captain.
“Because I just realized something.”
“What?”
“I’m still weak.”
Caelum allowed a brief, respectful nod.
“A good realization.”
Both fighters lowered their stances, ready to clash again—
HOOOOOOOORN!
A heavy war horn blasted from the main warship, freezing Caelum mid-stance.
A second horn answered from the fog, then a third.
Daemon turned his glare toward the ocean, resting his rifle over his shoulder.
“What now?”
“CAPTAIN!” a lookout shouted from Caelum’s mast.
“MULTIPLE MASSIVE CONTACTS RISING FROM THE DEEP!”
Caelum sheathed his sword with a sharp click.
“All ships!
Battle formation!”
The water around both vessels began to boil.
Massive bubbles erupted across the surface as a colossal, shadowed mass rose from the abyssal trench below them.
BOOOOOOOOOOM!
The ocean erupted!
A fifty-foot wall of water surged upward, shaking every ship in the fleet as a dark shadow emerged from the deep.
Justus gripped Gryphon tightly, staring directly into the rising tide.
Caelum stood at his ship’s prow, his hand clamped on his hilt as the wind whipped his coat.
“All hands…” Caelum called out grimly.
“…prepare for war.”
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