For sixty hours the vanguard fleet held beyond the blockade, waiting for a safe approach and a dark tidal window while Kaelen rested. Then the black iron prow of the vanguard flagship sliced through the evening mist, leading one hundred and seventy-two warships silently into northern waters.
No drums sounded across the decks. No signal lanterns flared along the yardarms.
Every hull had been muffled by thick felt wraps and coated in low-grade jade lacquer. At the head of the formation, Mina Vance stood on the bowsprit, trailing her fingertips across the dark swells.
A ribbon of pale azure frost spread across the sea, flattening the waves into glassy calm.
Beside her, Claire Vance checked a brass navigation sextant. “Wind is holding from the south-southwest. If we maintain six knots, we will enter the caldera shoals an hour before dawn.”
Sera Thorne leaned against the forward catapult, methodically tightening the leather wraps on her knuckles. Across her back rested the Tier 8 Storm-Pike, its spearhead wrapped in oiled sheepskin to suppress its crackling purple lightning.
In her waist pouch rested four Cloud-Veined Supreme Pills, each pill radiating the chilled, soothing fragrance of pure medicinal jade.
“The elders will expect a merchant convoy or a timid relief flotilla,” Sera said. “They do not expect the entire southern armada.”
