Tarry Port, which should have been at its most bustling, was now terrifyingly quiet.
Caroline stood at the main berths of the Third Fleet, the sea breeze blowing through her long hair. Behind her was the chief alchemist, Valerius.
Velin stood slightly behind her, clad in a hooded cloak and a black mask that left only his wine-red eyes visible.
His gaze passed over the crowd, falling upon the flagship moored in the center of the berths.
The *Strong Alcohol*.
This three-deck warship was like a floating mountain, casting a shadow large enough to cover nearly half the docks. The roaring lion figurehead at its bow was so exquisitely carved that every strand of its mane seemed real, the wood itself shimmering with a deep luster from its magical enchantment.
Her captain, a stout, middle-aged man, was wiping sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief. He had been a sailor on the *Strong Alcohol* in his youth and had once polished this proud lion with his own hands.
