The damp cobblestones of the lower river docks were slick with brackish water and fish oil.
A thick river fog hung low over the warehouse district, muffling the distant toll of the midnight cathedral bells.
In the shadowed alleyway between two rotting timber depots, Master Balthazar pulled his wool hood low over his brow, his fingers trembling inside his leather gloves as he clutched a reinforced iron lockbox.
Beside him stood three Ashbourne private guards, their armor covered in uncrested black cloaks, crossbows loaded beneath their armpits.
“You’re late, Ashbourne,” a raspy voice rasped from the gloom.
A burly smuggler wearing a grease-stained apron stepped out from behind a stack of tarpaulin-covered crates.
Behind him, two large mercenaries held iron lanterns with dimmed shutters.
“The capital watch was running unannounced patrols along the eastern gate,” Balthazar said, his voice taut, trying to mimic the icy authority of his mistress.
“Do you have the manifests?”
“Everything the lady ordered,” the smuggler grunted, kicking open a wooden crate.
Inside lay tightly packed jars of silver-grade burn salve, vials of refined moon-lily essence, and bundles of sterilized, alchemically treated linen.
“Three entire shipments diverted directly from the Southern Alchemical Guild before they reached the municipal markets. Four thousand platinum sovereigns, as agreed.”
Balthazar opened the lockbox, revealing the gleaming rows of platinum coin.
Before the smuggler could reach for the metal, the rhythmic clatter of iron-shod boots echoed from the far end of the wharf.
“Hold,” Balthazar hissed, his guards instantly raising their crossbows.
Through the drifting fog, four figures emerged.
They wore heavy charcoal greatcoats lined with thick fur, completely devoid of house crests—yet moving with the terrifying, silent precision of veterans who had fought in northern blizzards.
At their head was a tall, scarred officer with steel-gray eyes.
Commander Keith.
The smuggler paled, stepping back toward his crates.
“W-Who the hell are they? I thought you said this was a private exchange!”
Keith didn’t spare the smuggler a glance. You are reading on g.com, the official source.
His eyes locked directly onto Balthazar and the open crate of medical supplies.
“Those alchemical salves and trauma linen were contracted to the Iron River Trading Company three days ago,” Keith said, his northern accent thick and clipped.
“You’re trespassing on House Ravenshade’s supply lines.”
Balthazar’s breath caught in his throat.
Ravenshade.
The memory of Seraphina’s sharp, violet eyes flashed in his mind.
“If a single merchant guild catches wind of our purchases… you will answer for the difference with your private estates.”
Desperation overtook his terror.
Balthazar snapped the iron lockbox shut with a loud CLANG.
“The Iron River company filed no formal monopoly with the Imperial Trade Board,” Balthazar declared, stepping forward with his guards flanking him.
“House Ashbourne holds the municipal distribution rights for this quarter. We hold the coin, and we take the shipment.”
The northern soldiers didn’t shout.
In unison, their hands dropped to the hilts of their concealed short swords, the steel clicking softly against leather scabbards.
“You don’t understand what you’re buying, old man,” Keith said calmly, stepping into the lantern light.
“The North needs those burn tonics. If you take them for vanity salons in the upper district, men will bleed on the border.”
“Men bleed everywhere, Commander,” Balthazar retorted, echoing the ruthless pragmatism Seraphina had drilled into him.
“And in the capital, coin speaks louder than northern iron.”
Keith stared at him for a long, suffocating moment.
Just as his knuckles tightened on his hilt, Keith paused.
He remembered the direct orders Duke Lucien had delivered in his study barely an hour prior: “Cancel our secondary orders for the lower district apothecaries. Let House Ashbourne hold the medical warehouses. Redirect our capital to the northern steel foundries instead.”
Keith let out a slow, controlled breath, his fingers releasing the pommel.
“Take the crates,” Keith murmured, his voice laced with cold intrigue.
“The Duke sends his regards to Lady Ashbourne. Tell her… the North hopes her warehouses are large enough for the storm she’s building.”
The four northern soldiers melted back into the river fog, leaving no trace behind save for the faint scent of frost and ozone.
Balthazar stood on the wet wharf, his knees shaking so violently he nearly dropped the lockbox.
“Load the wagons!” he shouted to his guards, wiping cold sweat from his forehead.
“Move every jar to the secure cellar under warehouse four before dawn!”
Across the city, high above the sleeping streets, Seraphina stood on the grand balcony of Ashbourne Manor.
The midnight wind whipped her golden hair across her shoulders as she looked toward the northern horizon.
In her hand, she held a fresh dispatch Captain Vane had just delivered—a report confirming that House Ravenshade had abruptly conceded their bids on all capital medical supplies, shifting their massive fortunes toward purchasing raw iron and siege steel instead.
He yielded the medicine, the main villain.
Interesting.
Seraphina thought.
She knew that Lucien hadn’t backed down out of fear or lack of coin.
He had recognized her maneuver.
He was letting her monopolize the capital’s trauma resources because he knew that when the narrative snapped, bandages would be needed in the streets, while he prepared the northern foundries for the violence that would follow.
They were miles apart, bound to opposing scripts, yet their shadow moves were locking into place like interlocking gears.
But all Seraphina was anxious was about how he understood that and her situation.
TICK.
The phantom sound hummed faintly at the base of her skull.
A sudden spark flared on the distant palace skyline—the royal pyrotechnicians testing the grand fireworks for the upcoming Solstice Royal Banquet.
The countdown was nearly over.
“The medicine is mine, Lucien,” Seraphina whispered into the cold night breeze.
“Now let us see what steel you bring to the banquet.”