Marialis has changed hands six times in its recorded history. It has been sacked twice, besieged four times, and occupied for a total of thirty-one years by three different foreign powers. Each time, the harbor continued to function. The city's allegiances have shifted with the decades. The harbor's have not. It has always served whoever controlled it. It always will.
— The Annals of Marialis, Volume I: Founding and Early History.
Marialis’s docks never truly fell asleep. Even at this hour, when the sun had only just risen above the rooftops, the harbor had already been swallowed by noise, thick with the mingled stench of fish innards, salt, and old timber that had spent far too many years soaked in water. Fishing boats were returning from catches made at what could still be called night, their decks heavy with haul, while the first merchant vessels of the day had already begun loading—dockworkers forming long human chains as they passed crates and barrels from hand to hand, calling out to one another in rough abbreviations that were barely distinguishable from curses, the kind used by men who had worked the same docks for years.
Marialis had always lived off its harbor. The city had grown outward from it like ripples on water—first the dock districts, then the merchant quarters, and from there everything stretching toward the walls. In the last thirty years, it had even spilled beyond those walls, small outer neighborhoods forming where newcomers settled, pushing the city’s borders further outward. Half of the city’s income came from these docks in one way or another, which meant that the harbor administration, the merchant guilds, and the Ledger all kept their eyes fixed firmly on it. Officials moved between ships with their documents and seals in hand; no one appeared hurried, yet the entire harbor seemed to carry a sense of urgency.
The tallest structure visible from the docks was the royal building, but it wasn’t the one that caught the eye. The buildings that drew attention stood elsewhere. Within walking distance of the shoreline, the Red Lantern owned two large establishments—one a luxurious brothel, the other a vast gambling hall whose upper floors contained cheaper rooms, though still staffed by women. Both buildings shone in red beneath the sun during the day, and at night they drew even more attention under the glow of red lights, managing to cast every other structure into shadow. As in many port cities.
The crowd was growing thicker—sailors, merchants, fisherwomen selling their morning catch the moment they stepped off their boats, children hired to carry the luggage of arriving travelers—and in that kind of crowd, disappearing was easy.
But that also meant there were plenty of places for the Wardens’ eyes to hide.
The Anchorage stood one block back from the harbor, set on a corner. It was close enough that the docks could be seen from its upper floor, yet far enough to avoid the worst of the smell. A wide, two-story stone building, older than most of its neighbors, its thick walls kept it cool in summer and warm in winter. It was the kind of place that remained unchanged while the city around it had transformed three or four times over.
The ground floor was made entirely of dark wood and long tables—practical, somewhat crowded, always in motion. Merchants made deals there over midday meals, ship captains settled their accounts, and harbor officials took their lunches. The food was not refined, but it was good; the portions were large; the wine was decent. No one came to the ground floor of The Anchorage for its atmosphere.
The upper floor was different. The tables were smaller, spaced further apart. The people who came here were usually alone or in pairs, staying longer, sipping their drinks slowly while conducting the sort of business that benefited from not being overheard. A balcony stretched along the entire wall facing the harbor, open to the air but shaded by a wide wooden overhang that kept both sun and rain at bay. From there, the entire working expanse of the harbor could be seen—every ship, every pier, every group of men moving cargo.
Standing at the corner of that balcony, Tarr’en watched the harbor while sipping his tea, searching for what he needed among the tangled web of movements where each thread seemed to follow its own logic. He could easily pick out all of his men, uniformed and not, moving through the port, while those of higher rank already knew where he was and occasionally glanced in his direction from a distance, checking whether he was giving orders. He looked calm as he drank, but his foot tapped constantly against the floor, as though something inside him was out of rhythm—either urgency, or something closer to tension, which did not suit him.
When he had returned the previous night to deliver his report, Ithran Veylor had simply told him to set his net and wait—from a distance. *“If the girl is truly who we think she is, getting close to her would put all of us at risk,”* he had said, the implication clear. And supposedly, the “Hunter” had already been dispatched from Karthul.
“Cowards,” Tarr’en muttered under his breath. “Waiting for someone from the center to deal with a threat right under their noses.” Finishing his tea in a single motion, he turned and looked back toward the city behind him. *This ends today. One way or another, the threat disappears*. There was no fear or hesitation on his face. And yet, as he continued scanning the harbor, his foot never stopped tapping against the ground, betraying something even he refused to name.
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By the time Kaelin reached the lower streets, the morning crowd had already thickened into something dense enough to swallow a person whole if they let it. Keeping her hood low, she walked without looking at anyone’s face, trying to disappear into the current.
The sharp smell of fish began to overpower the scent of fresh bread that lingered along the streets, telling her she was nearing the harbor even before she saw it. The roads leading down were narrow and steep, channeling people into long, uneven streams that seemed almost deliberately guided toward the docks. It might be difficult to go anywhere other than the harbor from here, but from anywhere in the city, reaching the harbor required nothing more than blending into the crowd. Merchants hurried along with ledgers and manifests in hand, women balanced baskets of bread on their heads as they sold to passersby, children darted through the crowd, and shopkeepers argued in tones that made it impossible to tell whether they were bargaining or fighting.
As she drew closer, her eyes began searching for the others almost without her realizing it. She spotted Darian first.
He was easy to miss—which was the point. A robed figure walking with his head lowered, moving along the edge of the street with the unhurried patience of someone who had begun walking before sunrise and expected to keep walking long after sunset. Besides, everyone knew that bothering a dwarf trying to do business in the trade districts was rarely a good idea. If she hadn’t been looking for him, she would have passed by without giving him a second glance, just like everyone else did.
She saw Tivver next, standing beside a spice vendor. The merchant was speaking to him with the enthusiasm of someone convinced he was about to make a sale, while Tivver examined a small jar with intense focus. From his posture alone, it was obvious he wasn’t listening to a word. His eyes were scanning the street slowly, checking the crowd and the mouths of nearby alleys. When the merchant paused for breath, Tivver said something that made him laugh, then moved on without buying anything, leaving the man smiling after him. She wished she could blend into the background as naturally as he did.
Ravah, on the other hand, was much harder to miss. She moved through the crowd like a ship cutting through shallow waters—without forcing anything, without pushing people aside, yet everything still shifted out of her way. The crowd parted around her with an instinct no one could quite name. A woman of that size, that build, with that particular calm on her face, drew attention for a moment—then lost it just as quickly, the way people instinctively looked away from something that unsettled them. She walked straight ahead, never looking at the crowd. She didn’t need to.
At first, Kaelin couldn’t find Vaelra, which was actually a good sign—but still, there was a part of her that wanted to be sure she was there. After scanning the street twice, she caught a glimpse of a deep crimson flicker between two porters standing beside a fruit stall, followed by laughter—warm, unhurried, the laughter of a woman who had nothing to worry about. Then the crowd shifted, closed in, and she vanished again.
A moment later, Kaelin saw her once more, further ahead, closer to the docks. She moved through people like water, flowing without leaving gaps behind. People saw a beautiful woman, but no one remembered her face, or her voice. She wore charisma like a mask, and no one ever saw what lay beneath it. Kaelin didn’t like her in that way. But she couldn’t deny how charming she is.
She didn’t see Veylith anywhere. She would have liked to know where she was, but it didn’t make her uneasy. She had a quiet belief that Veylith could remain calm in almost any situation and find a way through it. Even though she hadn’t spent much time with her, she felt a strange sense of trust. For a brief moment, the memory of that rooftop flashed before her eyes—the instant Veylith had grabbed her and jumped down with her. But the deep sound of a ship horn scattered her thoughts and pulled her back to reality. She knew she was getting close to where she needed to go.
When she reached the end of the street, the buildings gave way to a wide area filled with workshops and market spaces. It felt like a transition zone where trade flowed between the city and the docks. This strip, stretching parallel to the harbor, was the most crowded part. It almost looked like a miniature district with its stalls and hut-like structures, yet it was incredibly easy to get lost inside it. Kaelin knew the place she needed to reach was somewhere near the western end, but she wasn’t sure she could find it exactly. She looked around again, trying to determine which direction the others were moving in. Vaelra was hard to see as she flowed through the crowd. Tivver and Darian were impossible to spot from a distance on this flat stretch without elevation. Fortunately, Ravah was easier to identify, and she caught sight of her. She was twenty or thirty steps ahead, moving along the side near the buildings. Kaelin noticed she was deliberately staying under the shade of the awnings stretched over the stalls and structures. She adjusted her path to remain diagonally aligned with her and kept walking.
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Tarr’en had been standing on that balcony for hours, and he was starting to grow restless. His patience was thinning. He looked down at the crowd almost with irritation, tapping his fingers against the railing in a sharp rhythm. The sun had risen higher, and the heat was beginning to press in. He had started to question whether he was wasting his time here. The possibility that there might be another escape route he hadn’t considered lingered in the back of his mind, and at moments like this it scratched insistently, irritating him further. As he tried to clear his mind to see the order, the pattern he was searching for within the crowd, it only made things worse.
While wiping the sweat from his forehead, something caught his eye. It wasn’t one of the people he was looking for, but what stood out was the hood—in this heat. He scanned the crowd again, this time focusing only on those wearing hoods. He couldn’t find any obvious pattern or identify any of the fugitives, but the idea seemed solid enough that he kept watching. For a brief moment, he thought he saw a pattern, but it disappeared immediately. Then again. And again. It was as if a group of people were moving toward the same destination according to some structure, but constantly shifting their paths and postures to remain invisible within the crowd. When he finally looked at the right place at the right time, he saw the tall, muscular woman moving between the awnings. He was surprised by how well she could remain hidden despite her height, because even while watching her he lost sight of her several times.
He signaled a few of his men, one by one, to move west without gathering together, only observing. Even though he occasionally lost sight of Ravah, he had understood the direction she was heading. He thought he caught glimpses of Vaelra once or twice as well. But the dwarf and the gnome were nowhere to be seen. The same was true for the gunslinger woman—and his real target. He had no intention of making a move until he saw her. The others didn’t matter much to him. The documents they had taken from the Ledger were at the very bottom of his priorities for now.
For the briefest instant, he thought he saw her at the edge of his vision, but she vanished immediately. He cursed under his breath, yet he was almost certain they would try to escape from somewhere here. It wouldn’t take long for him to find her. Now that he had a general sense of their direction, he stepped away from the balcony and disappeared.
◈◈◈
When the sharp smell from the fish stalls hit her, Kaelin instinctively moved away from them and stepped toward the middle of the street, only to be suddenly grabbed by the arm and pulled toward the other side, where crates of vegetables were stacked. She only reacted after she had already been pulled, reaching for the hand gripping her arm to shake it off, but the moment she touched it she froze. She hadn’t seen her, but somehow she knew—it was Veylith. “If you keep making sudden movements like that, you’ll give yourself away,” she whispered. She wasn’t looking at Kaelin; her eyes were scanning the crowd. “Come on, we’re almost there,” she added, pulling her along by the wrist. Kaelin didn’t say anything the entire time. She couldn’t explain the strange sense of embarrassment and tension she felt around her, yet she wasn’t bothered by it either.
After dragging her along for a short while, they stopped at one of the docks, looking toward a fishing boat that wasn’t particularly large. Its sails were down, and the deck was covered with nets prepared for fishing. Two young boys and a girl, dressed similarly, were working to arrange the nets. They didn’t look older than fourteen or fifteen, and from their resemblance it was clear they were siblings or cousins. At the back of the boat was a small cabin-like structure, and in the middle of the deck there was a wide hatch that suggested an empty space below. The moment Kaelin noticed the hatch, she more or less guessed where they would be hiding. Then she noticed a middle-aged man with slightly graying hair stepping out of the cabin and walking toward them.
He stopped at the edge of the boat without stepping onto the dock. “How much longer are you going to stand there drawing attention?” he said sharply. This time Veylith took Kaelin’s hand and stepped onto the boat, then helped her up. As they approached the cabin, the man continued speaking. “I’m doing this because I owe Harrik a favor. I don’t want to know what you’re running from or what you’re running to. And the moment I feel my children are in danger, I won’t hesitate to report stowaways.”
“Understood,” Veylith replied. There was nothing else they could do but trust him. He pointed toward the cabin.
“Go down through the hatch in the corner and don’t move unless I say so.”
Veylith lifted the well-hidden hatch in the corner of the cabin and climbed down, then helped Kaelin after her. The compartment they descended into was quite small, connected by a narrow door to the larger hold meant for fish. Anyone inspecting the boat would see the main hold but wouldn’t notice this smaller one. A good method for smuggling, Veylith thought. Then she noticed a sliding panel built into the wooden hull. When she pulled it, she realized it opened into a small observation slit facing the dock at eye level. From the outside, it wasn’t visible when closed, making it an ideal place to watch outside occasionally.
Looking through it, she saw Tivver and Darian approaching. “Good,” she murmured to herself. As she watched them board, she continued scanning for the others. When the hatch opened and they climbed down, Kaelin let out a quiet breath, but she wouldn’t fully relax until the others arrived as well.
“One left,” Veylith whispered when she saw Ravah approaching the boat. A few minutes later, the wooden ceiling above creaked, and the hatch opened again. Ravah descended with some difficulty through the narrow opening, and once she was inside the space felt much tighter. Tivver, examining the structure of the boat, thought there wouldn’t be much room left once Vaelra arrived. Kaelin and Darian immediately moved toward her to check her wounds.
“Fuck.”
Veylith’s voice cut sharply through the space. “Wardens,” she whispered while continuing to watch outside. “Four… five of them. They’re coming this way.”
“Vaelra?” Kaelin asked quickly, leaning forward to look past her shoulder. Veylith turned slightly and shook her head. The disappointment on her face was clear. When she looked back outside, even more color drained from her already pale face. “And trouble has caught up with us.” Tarr’en appeared among the crowd, moving quickly behind the Wardens.
“Search these boats carefully,” he told his men, gesturing toward several vessels lined up at the dock, including theirs. Then he turned back toward the crowd and began scanning the people coming from that direction.
Vaelra, blending into the crowd as if selecting apples at a stall, was watching Tarr’en and his men from behind the stand, searching for an opening. But there wasn’t one. She couldn’t get past them. She considered turning back, hiding again, and rejoining the others later—but then she saw the men begin searching the very boat the others were on. At that moment, she stopped thinking. She dropped the apples onto the stall and moved. What she needed to do was simple, yet just as difficult.
“No sorry, no thank you,” she murmured to herself as she pulled back her hood and began walking toward them.