Chapter 33: Stone Walls and Shifting Sands
The great cedar doors opened again with a groan that echoed down the length of the audience hall. Sunlight spilled across the polished floors, casting long shadows ahead of the returning group. Mariko walked in with even steps, her chin raised, her expression neutral, though her eyes burned with a cautious fire.
Keru followed at her side, his face unreadable. Gan Ye entered last, arms at ease, yet his steps purposeful. The guards and attendants lining the room stiffened again, unsure what to make of the reappearance.
At the far end, Lord Jian Ye sat in the same throne-like chair, but now with his shoulders back, his eyes harder, the scrolls from earlier scattered across the table before him. His jaw was tight, as if he had been grinding his teeth since they left.
The moment the group was within speaking distance, Jian Ye rose to his feet.
"You return quickly," he said. "I assumed you had the sense to leave before more nonsense could be spoken."
Mariko bowed again, but there was less grace in it now.
"I came back," she said, "because someone who still respects this kingdom asked me to."
Gan Ye stepped forward.
"Father, please. We need to speak."
Jian Ye's gaze flicked to his son, sharp as glass.
"You brought her back?" he said.
"I did."
The Lord exhaled slowly through his nose, eyes narrowing. "I should have known. You always were your mother's child."
Gan Ye didn't flinch. "Then you know why I'm here."
"I know you're wasting breath," Jian Ye snapped. "This city has bled for decades under that bloated regime in the north. We send tribute, we send goods, we pay fees and tolls and bow our heads, and what do we receive in return?"
Keru began to speak, but Jian Ye cut him off.
"Silence. I have no interest in hearing apologies from a uniform. Especially not one who arrived with a child dressed in silk, talking about honor and partnership."
Mariko's eyes flared. Keru stepped forward with a hand raised.
"Lord Jian Ye, I ask only that we speak calmly…"
"Calmly?" Jian Ye barked. "My docks are half-ash from pirate raids. My people are rationing rice while the royal court drowns in fruit wine and poetry. You call for calm, and all I hear are more soft words from cowards who have never held the hands of mothers crying over their burned homes."
Gan Ye took a step closer.
"Enough," he said, quieter than his father, but firm. "If you want to talk about betrayal, then let's talk about how this city joined the Zhen Kingdom in the first place."
Jian Ye turned to him, face darkening.
"We joined because we had no choice," he said. "Because my father was offered protection in exchange for fealty."
"And we got that protection," Gan Ye said. "For years. The only reason Shuihan has ports to defend is because the kingdom built those docks. Without the trade routes they helped secure, we would still be a fishing village rotting under bandit rule."
"We would be free," Jian Ye said.
"We'd be dead," Gan Ye shot back. "Just like Daiyo nearly was."
That name made the room still.
Jian Ye's face twitched.
"That was an accident," he said. "Their politics failed them. Their arrogance drew ruin."
"Arrogance did not burn that city," Gan Ye said. "A man with power did. One stronger than anyone could have expected. And without anyone to call for help, Daiyo was alone when he came. Look what happened. One man turned a quarter of the city into rubble."
Jian Ye raised a hand, cutting the air between them. "Enough."
"Father," Gan Ye said. "You want to leave the kingdom, go back to being an independent city-state? What happens when the next Big Boss comes through? Or someone worse? Will we be strong enough to stand alone again?"
Jian Ye didn't answer at first.
He turned his eyes to Mariko, and for a moment, there was only the sound of the koi pond outside and the faint rustle of banners in the wind above.
"I will not speak to her," he said. "She looks too much like her father. Stiff-backed, proud, blind to everything below his throne. I see Raiko in her face, and it makes me sick."
Mariko didn't blink. "Then speak to someone else."
Jian Ye nodded to Gan Ye.
"Fine. My son will speak with you. I will not waste my breath on a girl who has no idea what real suffering is."
Gan Ye turned to Mariko and gave the faintest nod.
"Father," he said, slowly, "if this meeting fails, what then?"
Jian Ye stepped back to his throne and sat, but there was no grace in it now, only the weight of years.
"If nothing changes," he said, voice cold and low, "then Shuihan will withdraw from the Zhen Kingdom. We will reclaim independence. And let the King come see what that means."
Gan Ye's shoulders straightened.
Mariko said nothing.
Keru's fists slowly curled behind his back.
And the wind outside, once gentle, began to stir.
The wind moved gently through the trees now.
The stone path twisted beneath a canopy of green and gold, the last of autumn clinging to the upper branches in rust-red slivers. Carp lilies drifted across the garden ponds in lazy spirals, and wooden bridges arched gracefully over narrow rivulets fed by carved fountains. It was quieter here. Removed from the judgment of the audience hall. Removed from the echo of politics.
Gan Ye walked a few steps ahead, hands clasped behind his back. His movements were relaxed, but his brow was furrowed, his thoughts still tangled in the room they had left behind.
Mariko followed in silence, arms crossed over her chest, her silk robes whispering against the stone.
"You know," Gan Ye said without turning, "when I was younger, I used to think those meetings were where real power happened. Grand halls, declarations, scrolls signed in wax."
She didn't respond right away. The wind rustled through a nearby maple.
"But it's never about the words," he said. "It's about who controls the tone."
She stopped walking. "And you think he controls the tone?"
Gan Ye turned back to face her. "He controls the room. Has for years. There's no voice louder than his behind these walls."
"He called me a brat," Mariko said, her voice dry.
"He's called me worse," Gan Ye replied.
Mariko allowed herself a small, bitter smile and walked forward again, stopping beside a low stone wall overlooking a sunken garden bed filled with wildflowers. The breeze carried the faintest scent of jasmine and pine needles.
"You've changed," she said after a moment.
"So have you."
"I didn't expect you to stand up to him," she said.
"I didn't expect you to walk back through those doors."
"That makes two of us."
He joined her at the edge of the wall, resting his hands on the stone.
"He wasn't always like this," Gan Ye said. "When I was younger, he was strict, sure, but fair. Even kind. Then the droughts came. The pirate raids. Every year more tariffs, more taxes. His back bent lower and his fists clenched tighter. Now, all he sees are thieves and traitors in every letter that arrives from the capital."
"And you?" she asked. "What do you see?"
Gan Ye's eyes traced the curve of the garden path, the branches swaying above.
"I see a city that's too proud to beg for help and too tired to fight alone. I see people caught between two worlds, loyalty to a crown that sends them parchment, and fear of what happens if they stand alone."
"You're not him," Mariko said.
"No," he said softly. "But I am his son. And he still signs the orders."
There was a long pause.
The wind died down again. A pair of butterflies drifted between flowers.
"You were a fool back then," Mariko said.
"I still am," he answered with a grin.
"You tripped over your own feet in sword class."
"And you lectured me for thirty minutes straight because I tracked mud into the palace kitchen."
"I did, didn't I," she said, smiling faintly now.
"I never forgot," he said. "That look on your face. Like I'd murdered a diplomat."
Mariko turned to face him, more somber now.
"Do you think he'll listen to you?"
"No," Gan Ye said. "Not yet. But if I can keep the door open, that's something. If Shuihan pulls out now, it won't just be trade we lose. It'll be security. Stability. Trust."
She lowered her voice. "Then let me help."
He looked at her, thoughtful.
"I've changed, yes," he said. "But you're the one who came back."
"I didn't come to be a princess," she said. "I came to prove I wasn't just one."
For a moment, neither spoke. A bird chirped in the distance. Water trickled gently through a nearby stream.
"I'll arrange another meeting," Gan Ye said quietly. "Without the throne. Just us. Talking like people. No parchment, no scribes."
She nodded.
He turned to walk again, then paused and glanced back.
"Do me a favor though," he added.
"What?"
"Try not to call him a blowhard next time. At least not in public."
"I make no promises," she said.
They walked the rest of the path in silence, the garden slowly pulling its calm over the tension they had carried in.
***
The streets of Shuihan were still soaked in that cool, golden light of early morning. Vendors were only just lifting the shutters of their stalls and laying out their goods. The scent of frying dumplings and spiced broth mingled with wet stone and the earthy aroma of steam rising off the canals.
Kenshiro adjusted the strap of the satchel over his shoulder and glanced toward the alley mouth for the third time.
"She's not coming back here," Haru said, standing with his arms folded and eyes fixed on the cobbled street.
"I know," Kenshiro replied. "But I keep hoping she'll realize how ridiculous it is to go alone."
Haru said nothing. He barely moved, except for a twitch of the jaw.
A moment later, the sound of booted feet came from the edge of the plaza. Kenshiro looked up sharply. A figure was striding toward them through a light mist still hugging the street corners.
"Yogan?" Kenshiro called.
The man lifted a hand in greeting. He was dressed in a lighter tunic now, a traveling pack across his back and his hair tied in a tighter knot than the day before.
"Well now," Yogan said as he reached them, stopping just short of the sunlit corner. "I didn't expect to run into the both of you again so soon. Thought it be harder without to find you."
Kenshiro smiled faintly. "We would've been. Found another inn last night after things fell apart."
"Ah," Yogan said, his brow lifting slightly. "So she left you."
Kenshiro gave a quiet laugh, but there was no humor in it. "Not in the way you're thinking."
"She's gone," Haru said, voice low. "Took all that frustration of what we did and just stormed off last night."
Yogan's expression turned grim. "You know where?"
"She said something about the Water Tribes," Kenshiro answered. "Some healer she'd heard of. One of those wandering ones who used to train at the old Southern Water Tribes. She left before we could press her for any details."
"Didn't have the chance to," Haru said.
There was a long pause between them. A hawker shouted in the distance, advertising morning rice buns. Somewhere further off, bells rang faintly as a ferry crossed one of the western canals.
Kenshiro looked at Yogan, eyes searching. "She's not well. Not just physically. She's been, different. Since we last saw her."
Yogan's face darkened, but he nodded. "I figured as much. After seeing yesterday. What happened there was bad. It appears to be worse than I initially thought."
"She nearly died," Kenshiro said.
"And we weren't there," Haru added quietly.
The silence that followed was heavier this time. Yogan looked between them and then pulled the strap of his pack tighter.
"Then let's go find her," he said simply.
Kenshiro blinked. "You'll help us?"
"Wouldn't be much of a friend if I didn't," Yogan replied. "Besides, I don't like the thought of her out there alone either. Not with the way things are according to what I can see of you guys."
"We appreciate it," Kenshiro said, his voice quieter now.
Haru looked up finally. His eyes were shadowed.
"She didn't even look back," he said. "She just… left. After everything."
"She probably didn't think you'd come after her," Yogan said.
"She shouldn't have to think," Haru muttered. "We should've been there. We should've stayed."
"Guilt's a heavy coat to wear in this heat," Yogan replied. "But you've got time to take it off. Let's not waste it."
The three of them turned, stepping into the morning flow of the waking city. They moved together, not as warriors this time, or diplomats, or even outlaws. Just three friends trying to right a wrong, one step at a time.
The sun was still climbing, its light spreading steadily across the rooftops.
The road ahead was long. But at least they weren't walking it alone.
As they made their way along a narrow path behind a row of terraced gardens, Yogan slowed his pace and glanced sideways at the pair beside him.
"All right," he said, voice quiet but firm. "What's really going on? You're both skirting on the actual details."
Kenshiro looked at Haru, who kept walking, jaw clenched.
A few minutes passed. The narrow alley opened into a shaded corridor of trees along a quiet channel, and there, in hushed tones, they told him. Not the finer details, they didn't need repeating, but the big moments. What happened back with Talia. What they'd done. What they hadn't.
Yogan walked silently through most of it. He didn't interrupt. When they finished, he stood with his arms crossed, staring out across the green waters.
"So let me get this straight," Yogan said slowly. "You left her at the altar… and you," he turned to Haru, "ran off entirely, leaving her to take care of an entire village by herself?"
Kenshiro shifted uncomfortably. "Well, if you say it like that, it kinda makes us sound like horrible people."
"We are horrible people," Haru said flatly.
Yogan sighed, not unkindly. "Yeah… I'm afraid you two really are."
Neither of them spoke.
"I mean, how could you be that selfish? No wonder she tried to kill you last night."
Kenshiro winced. "You're one to talk. Didn't you leave the temple too?"
"Not really," Yogan replied, calm but clear. "For me, it's actually the opposite."
Kenshiro frowned. "What do you mean?"
"My destiny isn't at the temple. If I stayed, that would've been the selfish thing. That would be like you running off and pretending the world doesn't exist. But I had to let go of what I wanted, and instead do what I had to do. Not what I dreamed of, but what was required."
He looked at them, and for a second, he seemed older than he was.
"You both wanted to run. So you ran. But I had to leave what I loved to do what was needed. That's the difference."
The silence that followed was total.
Kenshiro looked away, unsure of what to say. Haru didn't speak at all.
Yogan watched them both, his expression unreadable. Sometimes, to them, he seemed like an aimless fool—awkward, overly earnest, even naive. But then there were moments like this. Moments when his words landed with the weight of someone who understood far more than he let on.
It was hard to tell which side of him was the real one.
"So," Yogan said, breaking the silence, "you said Talia's looking for a healer in the Water Tribes, right?"
They both nodded.
"Well, that works out. Rilo and I are headed that way. He's already at the docks now, looking for a boat."
"You think she's gone to the harbor too?" Kenshiro asked.
"She might be," Yogan said. "If she's serious about finding that healer, it'd make sense for her to go there first. Rilo might even know the one she's looking for."
"You're right," Haru said. His voice had some life in it again. "I was so caught up in guilt I forgot we already know someone from the Water Tribes."
"Exactly," Yogan said. "Even if he doesn't know the healer, Rilo's powerful. He healed himself the other day just by standing in the water."
"That was insane," Kenshiro added. "Never seen anyone do that before."
"Let's head to the piers," Haru said.
Kenshiro nodded. "No time to waste."
Without another word, the three turned in unison, boots hitting the stone path with new resolve. The sun was beginning to climb higher now, edging toward its peak. Light shimmered across the canal waters as they quickened their pace through the winding alleys of Shuihan.
They didn't know if they'd find Talia waiting at the docks.
But they were going to try.
And this time, they weren't going to run.
***
The morning sun sat low on the horizon, casting a warm amber hue across the docks of Shuihan's harbor. Though still at least two hours from noon, the pier was alive with clamor and movement. Ships creaked in rhythm with the tide. Dock workers barked orders and grunted as they hoisted crates of salted fish and smoked meats onto carts. Vendors cried out the freshness of their sea cucumbers and shellfish, while a few Fishmen lumbered from the water, dripping and glistening, hauling nets brimming with silver-scaled bounty. The air was thick with brine and seagull cries, and the creaking of rope and wood told stories of long voyages and loaded holds.
Rilo strolled calmly along the edge of the pier, boots tapping against sun-warmed wood. His coat fluttered faintly with the breeze as he moved, slow, deliberate, yet alert. His eyes scanned the length of the harbor, never staying still for long. He moved like a wolf among sheep, head swiveling with cautious curiosity, taking in everything: the posture of a hurried porter, the tension in a sailor's grip, the scent of fish blood on the breeze.
And then he saw it.
A small shack, almost pressed between two larger warehouse huts, weathered and half-sunken into its foundation as if grown from the wood of the pier itself. Inside, beneath a fluttering blue-and-white tarp, was a short figure working a slab of tuna like it was a canvas. The man's hands moved like a master calligrapher, every slice of the knife precise, every movement a dance of instinct and discipline. The little artist didn't so much cut the fish as reveal its perfect lines, layer by layer. He barely reached Rilo's waist in height, but his presence within the shack loomed as if he were a titan.
Rilo approached the shack, stopping just short of its open frame.
"Long time, Moi," he said evenly.
The little man, Moi, froze. The next second unfurled in one clean, violent stroke. Without turning, Moi pivoted at the waist and flung the knife he'd just used like a spear. It sliced through the air toward Rilo's chest.
Rilo didn't flinch.
His right arm flicked, and from the harbor behind him, a slender cord of seawater surged upward in a sharp arc. It coiled in front of him just as the blade reached its target—and hardened. Ice cracked into form in an instant, the knife embedding into the frozen wall with a dull thunk. The entire action, water whip, arc, and freeze, took less than a second. His expression hadn't changed.
Moi's brows lifted. Stunned, yes, but not disarmed. In one fluid motion, he reached behind his back, drawing a pair of crescent-shaped daggers and hurled them at Rilo with an audible snap of muscle and fury.
"What the fuck, Moi?" Rilo muttered, raising his left hand now.
The frozen wall liquefied, sloughing down like a waterfall. In the next heartbeat, Rilo surged forward, overtaking the daggers with a swirl of water drawn from the sea. Another flick, another freeze. The second shield of ice sang into existence, catching both blades mid-air. They quivered in place like pinned butterflies.
"Come on, Moi. I thought you were over this already," Rilo said, voice tinged with both weariness and warning.
"Get the fuck out!" Moi screamed, teeth bared.
"I can't," Rilo said softly. "I need your help."
Moi stepped out from behind his counter, eyes blazing. His feet slid into position, spaced shoulder-width apart, one foot slightly ahead, knees bent like springs. His arms arched forward, fingers splayed. The stance was fluid, almost ceremonial, like an aggressive bow frozen in motion. His body shifted like water itself, ready to strike with grace and force. The daggers and knife still embedded in ice trembled, the water around it melted. Streams of water flew from their points, swirling around Moi's hands and arms before forming three sharp tentacles, shimmering like coiled serpents in the air.
With a cry, he snapped his arms forward.
The dagger filled water spears launched toward Rilo with terrifying speed, spiraling with deadly purpose.
Gasps rose from the nearby crowd. A few dock workers stopped their hauling, while others instinctively stepped back. Mothers held their children close. Fishmongers ducked behind crates.
"That's enough out of you lot," a feminine voice rang out with cutting clarity.
From the sand at the end of the pier, the earth itself groaned. A wall of rock shot upward in a controlled burst, rising between Rilo and the projectiles just in time. The watery weapons struck the stone, splashing harmlessly, the blades clinking and falling to the planks.
Moi wheeled toward the sound, arms still raised.
Two women stood nearby. One of them, the one who had summoned the wall, was striking, long, flowing brown hair, sun-kissed skin, and a rich green-and-red dress that fluttered like flower petals in the sea breeze. In one hand she casually held a massive bucket of fish like it weighed nothing. With the other, she motioned gracefully, and the wall of earth sank back into the beach as if it had never been there.
The other woman was dressed for travel, shorter, broader in the shoulders, with her hair tied back and a sword sheathed at her hip. Her stance was relaxed but ready, like a coiled spring.
"Are you trying to drown us all, you little idiot?" the first woman scolded, voice sharp and scolding.
"He slept with my wife!" Moi shouted, stabbing a finger at Rilo. Rilo had raised another wall of ice before the stone wall came, but now let it melt.
"We didn't even know each other back then, Moi," the woman snapped.
"Besides, it was a drunken mistake," she added.
Rilo let the ice sink away and returned the water to the sea with a lazy sweep of his hand. He dusted himself off and gave Moi a long look.
"I'm not here to sleep with your wife, Moi. I came because we were friends," he said.
"Friends don't sleep with their friend's wife!" Moi barked.
"We weren't married then," the woman reminded, again.
"I get it," Moi grumbled. He walked over and picked up his daggers and the fish knife, inspecting the edges before sliding them away into hidden holsters.
"I was the one who introduced you to each other," Rilo added, his tone just shy of a growl.
"I said I get it already!" Moi barked again, turning away. Then he paused, gesturing at the second woman, the quiet one with the sword.
"Lian," he addressed his wife, "Who's this?"
"This is Talia," Lian said, stepping forward. "She's the girl I told you about. The one looking for a boat to the South Pole."
Rilo narrowed his eyes as he took a step closer to Talia. "Aren't you the sister of Haru? From last night?"
Talia didn't flinch. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said, voice cold and even.
"Come on," Rilo pressed. "The sun was setting, sure, but that was clearly you. You nearly killed Haru and Kenshiro."
Lian's brow arched as she looked at Talia. "You met Haru and Kenshiro?"
Talia sighed. "Fine..." She relented with an annoyed breath. "I ran into them yesterday."
"Ran into them?" Rilo echoed.
"Bunch of idiots hanging around like nothing's wrong," Talia continued bitterly. "As if the world hasn't gone to shit."
"Did you tell them about your father?" Lian asked, tone cautious.
"Yes. I did," Talia admitted.
Lian stared, waiting for more. Talia didn't make her wait long.
"I left those traitors," she said with venom.
"Wait... so you two know each other?" Rilo asked, gesturing between them.
"Of course," Lian replied. "We grew up in the same village. My parents still live there. I left about a year before I met you and Shen."
"Speaking of Shen," Mio finally interjected, calmer now but still watching them with a simmering curiosity, "did you hear what happened in Daiyo?"
"Yes," Rilo said, folding his arms. "I saw him. Wasn't exactly thrilled to see me, kind of like you, apparently."
"Well," Lian cut in, "you do remember what happened."
"It wasn't my fault she did that," Rilo snapped. "But that didn't give him the right to throw me in his dungeon and torture me for four days."
"He could've at least invited me to join in the fun," Mio said with a smirk, walking over to his wife. He took the basket of fish from her, then turned and strolled back inside the shack, laughing under his breath.
Rilo scowled. "Well, some people helped me escape. Friends, you know. Unlike others."
"Yeah, well, my kind of friends torture each other for fun," Mio called out. "So I guess we're not friends."
"Come on, Mio," Rilo said, following him. "You've got to let this go. It was years ago."
"I know, dammit," Mio snapped, his voice cracking with sudden emotion as he cleaned the fish over the table.
"Anyway," he added, quieter now, "what do you want?"
"I need a ride home. And some information about a... friend of ours," Rilo said, careful with his words.
"A friend of yours?" Lian repeated.
"I hope not the kind who tortures you for fun," she added dryly.
Mio froze mid-cut. He stared down at the fish as if seeing something far away.
"I see..." he muttered. "So that's why he was in a hurry."
"You saw him?" Rilo asked.
"I thought it was strange," Mio said. "He's always calm. Collected. But that day he was in a rush."
"Who are you talking about?" Lian asked, frowning as they all stepped inside the shack.
Mio didn't look up. His hands moved with practiced ease as he gutted the fish, but his voice carried weight.
"My former master," he said. "The man who taught me everything I know back in the Black Whale Cove—waterbending, knife work, all of it."
He raised his eyes to meet Rilo's.
"The son of the tribal chief," he said. "Kezin."
Before Rilo could press for more details, his gaze drifted to the window, catching movement on the pier. Three familiar figures were making their way down the dock.
"…Yogan?" he said, stepping outside the shack. "Over here!"
Yogan, Kenshiro, and Haru looked up and quickly jogged over.
"So you found them," Rilo said with a nod toward Kenshiro and Haru.
"Morning," both greeted.
"Come inside," Rilo beckoned. "I think it's best you hear this."
But as they stepped closer, he added more cautiously, "I'm not sure you two should be here."
"What do you mean? Why?" Haru asked, puzzled.
"Because I am here," came a cold voice from within the shack.
Talia stepped out, arms folded, eyes fixed on the boys like a hawk spotting prey. "He's right. I don't want you here."
"Talia, please…" Haru pleaded, stepping forward. "We're so sorry…"
"I'm afraid sorry isn't enough," came another voice, quieter but no less dangerous.
Lian stepped out and moved to stand beside Talia. Her face was unreadable, but her fists clenched at her sides.
"Lian?" Haru and Kenshiro both blinked, recognizing her instantly.
"After what you two did," she said, her voice low and shaking with anger, "it's a miracle I haven't crushed your skulls with a boulder already."
The air grew thick with tension, so heavy it was hard to breathe.
"Everyone, please, calm down," Yogan said, stepping in between them with both hands raised. "We don't need to escalate this."
Talia's eyes narrowed. "You again."
"If you interfere again," she hissed, "I swear your little airbending won't save you."
"That's not a good idea, Talia," Haru warned. "You don't know what he can do."
"He's an airbender?" Lian asked, glancing between them.
"Look at the robes," Mio muttered from inside, not even glancing up from his fish. "But he's not bald. I thought monks were supposed to be bald."
"Lian, Talia," Kenshiro said firmly. "You two might be strong, but you're no match for him."
"Please," Yogan said again, eyes flicking between them. "We came to the harbor for peace, not a fight."
"You don't seem like much to me," Talia said, eyes full of challenge. "That little airbending trick from yesterday? Pathetic."
"Talia. Lian. Don't even think about it," Rilo cut in at last, voice steely.
Even Mio finally looked up from his fish, surprised.
"You?" Lian asked, disbelief flickering in her voice. "You're defending him?"
Rilo stepped forward, gaze unwavering. "You've heard the stories from Daiyo, right? A quarter of the city destroyed. People still whisper about what happened."
Everyone quieted. The tension shifted.
"This is the one who stood against Shen," Rilo said slowly. "And against Mun Lao, the one they call the Big Boss of Daiyo."
Silence fell like a heavy curtain.
But then…
A scream tore through the air from the docks.
"Pirates!" a voice cried.
Another followed, panicked and raw: "They're attacking!"
Feet pounded the wooden planks outside. Chaos erupted beyond the shack.
Everyone turned toward the noise, instincts kicking in
.
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