The twin iron broadswords vibrated as Elder Sterling drove their tips two inches into the cedar deck.
Through the salt mist, twenty miles out, the dark sails of the Three Sanctuary fleets crept closer across the gray water. Their formation resembled three open jaws ready to snap shut. Void Lotus Isle sat squarely in the center of their approach.
Twenty hours passed while the Sanctuary ships waited offshore for their support vessels. Kaelen held his alchemy track at 400 while the other tracks continued to accumulate.
Behind the wooden screen, Kaelen Vance adjusted his woven straw hat and sighed.
“You have thirty seconds before I charge you for noise pollution, Elder,” Kaelen called out from the wicker couch. “Swords in floorboards make a terrible grinding sound.”
“Then do not listen,” Sterling replied without looking back, his hands resting on the iron pommels. “I promised your mother. No enemy breaches this porch while you rest.”
Footsteps clicked on the stone path leading up from the harbor.
Sera Thorne marched up the steps, her battered armor clinking with every stride. Across her back was the scarred star-iron haft of Storm-Pike, its spearhead wrapped in oiled calfskin. Behind her came Mina Vance, holding a pale blue ribbon of frost-silk that trailed cold white vapor across the floor.
