The salt air of the Northern Sea bit at Damurah's skin. As the Shadow Kraken glided toward the piers of Havenport, the town he once called home looked like a fractured mirror of his memories.
As the ship drew closer, the horizon behind the waterfront told a story of destruction. The heart of Havenport was a jagged silhouette of ruin.
Damurah glanced at the man standing beside him. Maurzer Espada was a formidable presence with a tall, muscular frame. On his back, the stolen gravity staff was wrapped in burlap, its power humming like a low, warning growl.
Behind them stood Maurzer's elite circle, the specialists who had become Damurah's allies. There was Chayne, a giant of a man, even taller than Maurzer. He stood like a siege tower at the edge of the deck, his massive arms crossed. Strapped to his back were twin, broad-bladed axes that looked heavy enough to cleave a Fenhoof in a single swing.
Then there was Tylus, a powerful warrior with a thick, impressive afro of dark hair. He carried a brutal combination of weapons. In one hand was a heavy war-hammer and a thick, iron-banded club hanging from his belt.
Finally there was Westleh, a lean, focused man who moved with the silent grace of a predator. He carried a specialized, heavy-duty crossbow fitted with a polished glass scope. It was a weapon designed for silent, long-range lethality. He was already adjusting the dials on the scope while tracking movement in the town square.
"This wasn't just my brother," Damurah whispered, his eyes tracking a lightning strike that had sheared the corner off the town's clock tower. "Someone else was here.
"Chayne, keep the crew alert," Maurzer commanded, his voice a gravelly rumble. "Tylus, you're with us. Westleh, find a perch and keep our path clear. We aren't here for a fight, but I won't have us caught in a tight spot."
Damurah led the way. He knew Havenport. If Doren had been involved in a fight of this magnitude, the survivors would be huddling where the walls were thickest.
"The Hearthlight Inn," Damurah said, pointing toward a sturdy stone building just past the stables. It was the only inn in town, a place that usually smelled of roasted mutton and ale. Now, it stood as one of the few large structures near the center that hadn't been completely leveled.
The walk was a tour of devastation. They passed a house where the roof had been perfectly punctured by a bolt of lightning, leaving a glass-edged hole leading straight into the cellar.
When they reached the Hearthlight, the doors were barred from within. Damurah signaled Tylus, who stepped forward and shoved the heavy oak doors open with a single, jarring heave of his massive shoulder. The wood groaned and gave way with a splintering crack.
The interior was dim, lit only by the dying embers of the hearth. A dozen townsfolk were huddled at the tables, their faces pale and etched with shell-shock. At the bar stood a woman with her hair pulled back in a frantic knot, her hands shaking as she wiped a glass.
"We're closed," she rasped, not looking up. "The militia took the last of the ale. Go away."
"I don't want your ale," Damurah said, stepping into the light of the hearth.
The woman froze. She looked up, her eyes widening as they traveled over Damurah's face. He had the same jawline, the same haunting intensity in the eyes as the boy who had brought danger to her home. The same danger she accidentally unleashed.
"You..." she breathed, the glass slipping from her hand and shattering on the floor. "You're a Mercer." Her eyes squinted and she recognized him further. "You're the oldest."
Maurzer stepped up behind Damurah, his eyes gleaming in the firelight. "Then you know why we're here. Tell us where his brother went."
Mara's hands continued to shake as she set the rag down on the scarred mahogany of the bar. She looked at Damurah, her fear slowly curdling into a weary, sharp-tongued resentment. "That boy brought nothing but trouble, Damurah," she sighed, her voice cracking. "He's nothing like your father. Your father was a legend in this town. When he used his water abilities, it felt like the sea itself was protecting us. Doren? Doren just needed a spark to start a fire."
Damurah's jaw tightened at the mention of his father, but he remained silent, letting the woman speak.
"I don't have much for you," Mara continued, leaning heavily on the bar. "He left with Meko and that woman, Katarina. They headed south in a hurry. Varen, she's such a sweet girl, she got caught right in the middle of that mess. She left shortly after to go back to her family. Can't say I blame her."
She gestured vaguely toward the window, toward the ruined square. "That was tenish days ago. We've been picking up the pieces of the catastrophe they unleashed ever since. But pieces are all we have. You didn't see the bodies, Damurah. Farmers who just came for the market, children who were in the wrong alley when the darkness opened up or when the fire turned the street into a furnace. They didn't stand a chance."
Maurzer stepped forward, the floorboards groaning under his boots. "And the militia? The streets looked like a war zone."
Mara let out a bitter, hollow laugh. "A war zone? It was an uprising. When the smoke cleared and the people realized that the very officials meant to lead them and heal them were actually the ones tearing the town apart... well, the fuse was lit. The militia didn't just take up arms, they took over. They're furious. They feel betrayed by the crown and by the 'gifted' alike. They've spent the last week hunting down anyone who even looks like they might have helped those two."
Tylus shifted his weight, his iron-banded club catching the dim light of the hearth. "Sounds like the town's in a mood to hang someone."
"Exactly," Mara whispered, looking directly at Damurah. "So if you're looking for your brother, you'd best move fast."
Damurah, Maurzer, and Tylus stepped back out into the northern air, the heavy oak doors of the Hearthlight clattering shut behind them. The devastation was even more apparent now.
As they began to navigate the debris-strewn street, Damurah caught sight of two familiar faces working among the wreckage. He stopped mid stride as if he was staring at ghosts.
Daria was knee-deep in a pile of shattered masonry, her hands glowing with a faint amber light as she coerced a collapsed wall back into a stable pile. Beside her, Jemsie moved with a frantic, exhausted energy, handing out clean bandages to those limping past.
The moment Daria's eyes drifted toward the shadows of the stables, she froze. The amber light flickered and died. Recognition hit her like a physical blow, followed immediately by a heat that wasn't magical, but purely human.
She didn't hesitate. She didn't cry. She stomped over the rubble, her heavy boots kicking up clouds of gray ash, and marched straight into Damurah's personal space.
"How dare you!" she snapped, getting right in his face. Her head barely reached his chin, but she seemed to tower over him in her fury. "How dare you leave mother like that! Without a single word! Do you have any idea what you've done?"
Damurah opened his mouth to speak, but Daria wasn't finished. She began poking him hard in the chest, each jab punctuating her words.
"You know she worries about you! You're her eldest, Damurah Mercer! You need to go see her, right now!" Daria demanded, her foot stomping into the ground with such force that her element activated and created a small crater underneath the sole.
Damurah took a half-step back, his usual icy composure wavering under the assault of a younger sister who had clearly reached her breaking point. Behind him, Tylus chuckled low in his throat, while Maurzer watched the exchange with a raised eyebrow, fascinated by the sight of the cold Damurah Mercer being scolded like a wayward stable boy.
Seeing the tension reaching a boiling point, Maurzer decided to intervene. He stepped forward and offered a graceful, courtly bow that looked entirely out of place amidst the ruins.
"My lady," Maurzer said, his voice dropping into a smooth, resonant baritone that carried a practiced charm. He gently caught Daria's hand just as she was about to deliver another jab to Damurah's ribs. "While I admire the fire in your spirit, and believe me, it is a rare and beautiful thing to witness, I must ask you to spare my friend's chest. We have a great deal of business to attend to, and I'd prefer he wasn't bruised before we begin."
He flashed a charismatic, knowing smile, the kind honed in the high courts of the south. "I am Maurzer Espada. And you must be the sister Damurah spoke of. He didn't mention that the earth-mover of the family was also the most formidable." He glanced at her and his charisma faded. "He also goes by Damurah Mortar now. Your name may be fine in some spaces here, but outside of your little village, it's a death sentence."
Daria pulled her hand back, blinking in surprise at the sudden appearance of the charismatic man in front of her. Jemsie stood a few paces back, her mouth slightly agape as she looked between the terrifyingly large Tylus and the charming Maurzer.
"I don't care who you are or what your business is," Daria said, though the edge in her voice had softened slightly under Maurzer's flattery. She looked back at Damurah, her eyes still sharp. "Mother is at the cottage. If you have any soul left in you, you'll go there before you chase whatever it is you're looking for."
Damurah shifted his weight, his usual poise momentarily shattered by his sister's fury. He cleared his throat, the sound caught somewhere between a grunt and a sigh.
"I... if I have time, Daria," he stuttered, the words feeling clumsy on his tongue. He looked away from her piercing gaze, toward the scorched remains of the town square. "I'm looking for Doren. He's out there somewhere, and he's in over his head. I need to find him."
Daria crossed her arms tightly over her chest, her jaw set like the stone she spent her days shaping. "I'm sure he can take care of himself," she snapped, her voice still thick with resentment. "He's always been the one who stayed, Damurah. He's the one who didn't run away to play pirate."
As the tension hummed between the siblings, Jemsie finally found her feet. She stepped up behind Daria, her medical bag clutched so tightly her knuckles were white. When she caught a full look at Damurah, she let out a sharp, audible gasp. Her eyes darted from Damurah to the massive, imposing figure of Tylus and finally settled on Maurzer.
Maurzer, ever the opportunist and a man who appreciated grace even in a disaster zone, felt his attention shift. He turned his gaze toward Jemsie, his predatory intensity softening into something more intrigued.
"And who might this be?" Maurzer asked, his voice low and smooth. He stepped slightly away from Daria, inclining his head toward Jemsie with a look of genuine curiosity. "Damurah, you neglected to mention your sister was traveling with a healer. A dangerous oversight, considering our line of work."
Jemsie shrank back slightly, her face flushing a deep crimson despite the soot. Maurzer's presence was overwhelming from the sheer confidence he radiated.
Tylus let out a low whistle, leaning on his iron-banded club. "Careful, Maurzer. The girl looks like she's seen enough for one week. Don't go adding yourself to the list of things she's trying to forget."
Maurzer chuckled, running a hand through his hair. He shot Tylus a wounded look, though his eyes danced with amusement. "I'll have you know, Tylus, I am a very wanted man with the ladies. My reputation precedes me from the southern courts to the northern isles. I offer nothing but comfort, unparalleled charm, and an unforgettable presence. I'm practically a walking public service." He offered Jemsie a respectful, sweeping bow and took a deliberate step back. "I assure you, my dear, I am the very picture of perfect restraint."
His expression then smoothed into something far more practical. "Very well, Mr. Mortar. We leave soon as we find steers. We're not making a journey like that on foot if we expect to catch him soon." Maurzer looked at Tylus. "Let's head back to the ship, grab some gold and weapons, and grab Chayne and Westleh." Tylus gave a nod and the two turned around and headed back towards the docks.
Damurah stepped forward, the coastal wind whipping his black hair across his face. He looked past his sisters, his posture rigidly tense beneath his open vest. "If he headed south, that's where we are headed."
Daria's eyes narrowed, the ambient heat of her anger radiating against the chill of the wind. The cracked beneath her boots groaned in response to her shifting emotions. "You're leaving? You just got here! Mother is at the cottage right now, Damurah. She's sick. She sits there every single day, staring at the door, praying you boys will come back. And you're just going to turn around and walk away again without even seeing her?"
A muscle tightened in Damurah's jaw. The weight of her words hit him, but he forced the guilt down, burying it under the crushing reality of what was actually happening.
"I can't just stop when the world is at stake," Damurah replied, his tone hardening into something cold and absolute. He finally met his sister's furious gaze, his eyes entirely devoid of the older brother she remembered. "Doren could destroy the entire world if he's pushed hard enough."
Daria stared at him, her amber-lit hands trembling slightly. Even Jemsie peeked out from behind her, looking at Damurah as if he were a complete stranger.
"Destroy the world?" Daria whispered, the words feeling foreign. She shook her head slowly, refusing to accept the icy conviction in his voice. "He's twenty years old, Damurah. He's our brother, not some walking natural disaster. Whatever the militia or the crown has told you..."
"No one told me anything, Daria. I know what he is," Damurah interrupted, his voice a low, gravelly rasp against the wind. He hated the lie of omission, but he couldn't risk explaining the ancient prophecy of the Powerhart or the looming, apocalyptic threat of the Sunless. It was infinitely safer for his sisters to think he had simply become a ruthless, paranoid pirate. "Keep mother safe. Don't follow me, and don't try to find him. I will make sure that he doesn't destroy the entire world."
Without waiting for a response, Damurah turned his back on his sisters. He ignored the biting chill of the Northern Sea wind, his boots falling heavily on the scorched dirt streets as he marched toward the docks to meet up with the rest of his crew.
Before he got too far away, his heavy footsteps suddenly ceased. The silence that followed was broken only by the sharp howl of the coastal wind tearing through the skeletal remains of the buildings. Damurah stood still for a long moment, the muscles in his back tense under the biting cold.
Slowly, he turned around. The absolute certainty that had just frozen his sisters in place fractured slightly, revealing a sliver of desperate confusion.
"Why did he even leave in the first place?" Damurah asked, his voice carrying over the wind, stripped of its pirate bravado.
Daria wiped a streak of gray ash from her cheek, her amber eyes softening with a heavy, exhausted sorrow. "To find Father," she answered, her voice cracking under the weight of the confession.
Damurah froze. Sophron had vanished in the war against Frozetria, leaving nothing but an agonizing silence behind. With an angry frill of his brow, he scoffed.
"He couldn't just sit here anymore," Daria continued, gesturing weakly to the ruined square. "According to the locals, he and his group of friends were attacked. Yeah, he made friends too.." she sighed looking around. "Then there was damage done. Doren even saved a woman and her child." Her choked words began to falter. "He can't destroy the world… He just wanted to find father…"
Damurah stared at the destruction with fresh eyes. A twenty-year-old man, desperate to find their missing father, carrying a ticking time bomb in his chest. Doren was out there in the wilds of Erenia, emotionally raw and wielding an incredibly unstable energy. If he pushed himself too hard, or if The Sunless caught him while he was distracted by this search, the apocalyptic prophecy wouldn't just be a warning, it would be reality.
Damurah's jaw tightened once more, burying his fear beneath his cold, pragmatic mask once more. "Bar the doors to the cottage whenever you leave." Damurah ordered flatly, his dark eyes locking onto Daria one last time. "Don't let anyone you don't know in."
He didn't wait to see if she agreed. He turned on his heel and strode purposefully toward the docks to meet his crew, the weight of the ticking clock in Doren's chest pressing down on him with every step.