The next day bled into evening, the sky turning from gold to embers as the flagship approached the Velis coastline. Unlike the primal forest that rose like wild teeth from earth, the League shoreline was jagged with stone piers and the silhouettes of towering forges. Columns of pale smoke and mana steam drifted upward, glowing faintly orange where they caught dying sunlight. Even from the water, the scent of heated metal and damp cobblestone reached them, heavy, foreign, industrial.

Ludger watched from the bow, cloak snapping in sea wind. The beastmen scouts stood behind him, Ragan’s mane dark against evening glow, Harkun’s fur shifting like quicksilver, Sivra perched on rigging with her feathers rustling restlessly.

As the sun dipped lower, painting waves black and orange, Ludger turned to the group.

“We’ll enter at night,” he said, tone quiet but carrying across deck. “If slavers or handlers are watching ports, which they will be, they’ll notice beastmen the moment you step off this ship.”

Ragan clicked his tongue once, low and thoughtful. “Most Velis folk have never seen a lion up close. They’ll look twice, maybe thrice.”

“And word would spread before we even reached a tavern,” Maurien added, eyes reflecting dusk like polished amethyst.

Kaela leaned her elbows on the railing. “So we ghost in instead. Hide until we’re already inside the city.”

Sivra nodded, wings shifting slightly. “Night air hides scent better. Fewer eyes. Fewer tongues.”

Ludger looked out toward the distance again, studying the glow of smog clouds tinted violet by mana-lamps, the iron cranes like skeletal guardians, the faint hiss of steamwork drifting over water.

Silence followed, not fearful, but charged. A shared understanding passing between warriors ready for a hunt that crossed borders and laws.

High above, Sivra spread her wings like silent parchment sheets.

Night settled over like ink poured across the sky. Lanterns flickered along the distant harbor, staining the mist orange, and the rhythmic clang of forges slowly died into scattered embers of sound. This port town did not sleep easily, but it slowed, and slowing was enough.

Ludger moved to the starboard side and placed his palm on the deck. Mana pulsed, brown and deep, threading through wood and water alike. A rough slab of earth rose from beneath the waves, stone collecting itself from the seabed, shaping into a floating platform the size of a wagon. Smooth enough to stand on, sturdy enough to carry nine bodies and gear.

Ragan stepped onto it first, testing balance with a warrior’s instinct. It held. Harkun followed without hesitation. Sivra landed lightly on the edge, claws gripping stone without sound. Kaela hopped on like she was boarding a carnival ride; Renvar followed less gracefully, swearing under his breath as he nearly slipped. Maurien walked last, cloak shifting in the night breeze.

Before Ludger stepped off, he turned toward Rathen, who remained aboard with half the Ironhand crew.

“Take care with your route home,” Ludger said, voice low but laced with dry humor. “If pirates hit you again and get my ship, I’ll raid Ironhand coffers myself to pay for the stupidity.”

Rathen pointed at him, tired eyes narrowing like a man lecturing a child who could also break pirates in half with bare hands. “You should worry more about yourself. You have enough enemies already, and you are about to make more.”

Ludger shrugged, stepping onto the stone platform as if gravity answered to him. “Then don’t die.”

Rathen paused, stared, and finally let out a half-laugh, half-groan. “Twelve years old and I already report to you. My life is a tragedy.”

The ship drifted back, sails catching a faint offshore breeze. Ironhand lanterns dimmed until only scattered light reflected on the water’s black mirror.

Ludger raised his hand. The platform began to glide, slow at first, then cutting across the surface like a silent raft pushed by invisible current. No oars. No sound. Only wet stone kissing waves in the dark.

Behind them, Rathen lifted his hand in farewell.

Ahead, the shadowed harbor waited, with alleys of steam, watchful guards. The night swallowed the Lionsguard and their beastmen allies whole, and the hunt officially entered the Velis League.

The earth platform skimmed over the water, gliding like a flat stone refusing to sink. Mana hummed beneath their feet, a low vibration through the soles of their boots as Ludger guided the slab with casual hand movements. The closer they drew to Velis territory, the brighter the city lamps became, flickering through fog like eyes in the dark.

Kaela had been silent for a while, watching the massive cranes and smokestacks rise like metal skeletons beyond the port. But silence never held her very long.

“So,” she said, leaning back with her hands behind her head, “why exactly didn’t we always travel like this?” She gestured at the platform speeding over waves. “You could’ve ferried shipments to Velis this way. No pirates, no tunnels, no pitch-black days underground. I could’ve been drinking wine on deck instead of babysitting crates in the dark. Easy money.”

Maurien shook his head with something dangerously close to amusement. “Kaela, you are complaining about luxury travel instead of walking through tunnels while being paid for it..”

Kaela shrugged. “I like being alive and comfortable. Sue me.”

Ludger didn’t even look back, eyes locked toward the port lights, concentration smooth, unbroken. His tone came out dry and unbothered.

“Because your comfort while escorting goods isn’t something I plan strategies around.”

Kaela blinked at him. “Wow. Rude.”

“I was busy training or hunting trouble,” Ludger continued flatly. “And I’m not using my mana like a taxi every time you want to avoid dirt. So shut up and enjoy the view.”

Kaela grinned, unoffended, if anything, delighted. “There it is. The warmth. The compassion. Truly the heart of the Lionsguard.”

Renvar snorted into his sleeve. Sivra watched the exchange with an unreadable tilt of her head, as if trying to decide if this was disrespect or pack familiarity. Ragan only rumbled in amusement, arms crossed as wind whipped through his mane.

Harkun stared out over the water, a faint smirk tugging his mouth. “Your pack speaks sharply,” he said. “But not as enemies. That is good. Wolves bite hardest when they trust teeth beside them.”

Kaela nudged Ludger lightly with her elbow. “See? Beastmen think I add character.”

Ludger didn’t break focus.

“You add noise.”

Kaela laughed, loud and fearless. The trackers looked between them with new understanding, this was not a wolf pack led by fear, but by spine and sharp honesty. A group where someone could insult the leader and still be trusted to guard his back. It made them more dangerous, not less.

The shoreline loomed closer, industrial architecture rising like iron cliffs. Steam hissed. Machinery clanked. The smell of hot metal and oil filled the air.

The platform slid onto wet sand without a sound, mana dissipating into the earth like a sigh. They were far enough from the port that no lamps reached them, just pale moonlight shining off black waves. Behind them, the captured flagship dwindled to a silhouette, already turning back to sea under Rathen’s command.

Ahead lay a stretch of rocky coastline, then forests shaped by industry more than nature. Coria, their main destination, sat three days north by road, deeper into Velis territory where academies and workshops thrummed with inventions and politics. But before that, here, was the port town of Sarnwick, known for freight, trading vessels, and the kind of warehouses where goods might disappear without paperwork, or so Ludger was thinking thanks to the darkness of the night.

Ludger stood first, eyes adjusting to faint light. Ragan sniffed the air, mane shifting. Sivra crouched low, feathers pressed close, studying the horizon like a raptor sizing prey. Harkun tested the soil with boot and claw, checking for recent travel routes.

Ludger turned to them, voice low so the waves swallowed anything sensitive.

“Coria is three days north,” he said. “Big city, big web. We’ll get answers there, but ports like this are where people vanish before reaching markets.”

Maurien nodded quietly. “Traffickers move cargo, not captives, through cities. Hidden work happens at the edges.”

Kaela rolled her shoulder, eyes scanning the distant town. “Ports see new faces every day. Beastmen wandering in at night won’t be subtle.”

Ludger looked to the three trackers directly.

“You choose our first step. Do we investigate the port tonight, quietly, or head north under low profile and approach Coria first? If Primal-born slaves passed through recently, scent or rumor may still cling to these docks.”

Ragan inhaled deeply again, brow tightening. “Salt, oil, fish guts. Hard to pick details from here. But cargo ports hide routes more easily than gilded academies.”

Harkun crossed his arms. “A port is where prey is loaded. A city is where it’s sold. We should scent both, but ports first often show the teeth.”

Ludger weighed that. Ports were opportunity and trap alike. Entering under moon and fog meant stealth, less scrutiny, but more danger if spotted. But waiting three days to reach Coria without checking here meant losing potential leads. He looked to Maurien and Kaela.

“Thoughts?”

Maurien closed his eyes briefly, sensing wind mana like threads through the trees. She opened them with cool clarity. “Forges make noise. Ports reveal truths in whispers. I say we scan Sarnwick tonight. No open confrontation.”

Kaela grinned slowly. “Shadow work? My favorite.”

Renvar swallowed. “We’re going in quietly, right? Like… quietly quietly?”

Ludger ignored that. He turned to the trackers again, authority falling into place like armor.

“If we go in, no posturing. No announcing yourselves. We move fast, small, and silent. If we catch a scent or rumor, we take it. If not, we continue north before dawn.”

Ragan nodded, sharp and firm. “Agreed.”

Harkun rested a hand on his axe. “A short night hunt then.”

Sivra spread her wings just enough to catch moonlight. “I can scout roofs and smoke vents. You ground-walkers cover the streets.”

Ludger drew a slow breath, tension turning to purpose.

“Good.”

He stepped forward, cloak brushing sand as the group fell into formation behind him, Lionsguard and beastmen side by side under night sky.

The port lights flickered in the distance. Somewhere within them, answers hid. And if slavers worked here… Tonight, they would feel a predator’s breath on their neck.

Ludger kept pace at the front, eyes scanning for patrol routes, listening to the wind for shifts. With silence stretching comfortably among the group, he decided it was time to ask a question that had been hovering since the council hall.

Not a light one. Not a polite one. But a necessary one.

He slowed slightly until Harkun matched his stride, the silver-furred wolf walking just a step behind but close enough to speak low.

“Harkun,” Ludger murmured, gaze forward, “these disappearances, are they random? Children, hunters, elders? Or was someone… chosen?”

Harkun’s steps didn’t stop, but his shoulders stiffened. The kind of reaction a warrior gives when a blade touches an old scar.

For the first time since meeting him, the wolfman didn’t answer immediately. His gaze flicked to the side, away from Ludger, jaw tightening beneath fur. Moonlight caught in his yellow eyes, reflecting something heavy. Sadness? Anger? Shame?

He didn’t need to speak for Ludger to understand. It was enough. Not random. Not a handful of villagers. Not chance kidnappings.

Something, or someone, had been taking specific beastmen. Targets.

Sivra slowed her pace above them, feathers rustling faintly. She didn’t look back, but her voice cut through the quiet like a thin blade.

“Elders avoided saying details. Pride keeps wounds hidden.” Her tone held neither judgment nor softness; it was simply truth. “But those who vanished were not weak. Not old. They were young hunters, apprentices, sometimes prodigies.”

Ragan’s mane rippled with a frustrated exhale. “Not children stolen by accident, hands chosen for their strength. Those who could become warriors, scouts, mages.”

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