The sea was cold, black, and endless, swallowing the rising sun's reflection as the cargo ship carved its silent path toward Virellan's hidden port.
The moment Mackiah and Alric stepped onto the massive Virellan shipment vessel, the metallic clang of the ramp echoed like a war drum announcing their silent rebellion. The salt-heavy breeze cut across their cheeks as they entered, blending into the restless hum of engines and radio crackle. Above them, armored guards patrolled the catwalks, their masked faces scanning crates marked with Virellan's sigil.
Inside the lower deck, two Virellan guards walked their rounds, rifles in hand, boots clanging against grated steel. A flicker of movement. Too fast.
Thud.
Crack.
A muffled groan.
Mackiah's knee connected with the first guard's stomach, sending him wheezing to the floor as Alric disarmed him.
Mackiah's hand snapped around the wrist of the other man, twisting, disarming, and a precise strike to the neck dropped him in silence.
The only sounds were the hum of engines and the guards' labored breathing as they were dragged into the shadows.
Mackiah and Alric moved quickly, unstrapping the guards' body armor, pulling on the dark uniforms and masks. The fabric was heavy, warm with the fear-sweat of the men they had just replaced.
Click.
ID tags and name patches were pinned in place. In the dull yellow lights of the hallway, they became two ghosts wearing other men's skin.
Alric kneeled, checking the guards' IDs:
**-Lt. K. Ryse -
Cpl. T. Velden -**
The clang of boots against the grated walkway echoed as Mackiah tightened the strap of the stolen helmet under his chin. The heavy air smelled of salt and old iron, the dim corridor of the cargo ship humming with engines below.
Behind him, Alric adjusted the cuffs of the oversized black uniform, the name tag reading Cpl. T. Velden swinging lightly as he clipped it in place.
"Ready?" Alric whispered.
"Like I have a choice?" Mackiah shot back, double-checking the small tranquilizer gun hidden inside his boot.
They exchanged a brief glance—fear, tension, unspoken determination—and moved.
The real guards lay sedated in a cramped chamber near the lower wing, the metal door bolted tight. Alric spared them a glance before sliding the lock home, tightening his grip on the stolen ID card.
"Think they'll be out for long?" Alric muttered, trying to adjust the stiff collar of the guard uniform.
"They'll wake up wondering if it was all a dream." Mackiah's tone was sharp, though his fingers trembled as he slid the stolen keycard into the scanner by the lower corridor hatch.
As they emerged onto the main deck corridor, the world outside was a blur of dark waters. They moved with practiced calm, each step blending into the quiet rhythm of the patrolling guards.
"Status?" Mackiah whispered, pressing the hidden mic near his collar.
Eron's voice crackled in their earpieces, relaxed, a soft hum of fingers on a keyboard behind him.
"You're clear. I've jammed their comms at the port and scrambled the surveillance feeds. The guards are ghosts until I say otherwise."
Mackiah exhaled, leaning against the cool metal wall. "There were three patrol troops at the dock. They might have—"
"Already taken care of."
Eron's casual tone was jarring. "Took them in. Sending them to one of our black sites for interrogation."
Alric's lips curved in faint amusement.
"You sound like an actual cop for the first time ever. I've always wondered how you made it into criminal intelligenceotherwise."
"Whoa. Did Mackiah just appreciate me? Mark the day."
Mackiah rolled his eyes, a sharp scoff echoing down the metal corridor. "Shut up."
Eron laughed.
But suddenly, the call cut off.Static crackled, then nothing.
Alric immediately tapped his earpiece again. "Eron? Eron, respond."
Silence.
Mackiah's hand slid into his pocket, retrieving the small device showing the ship's tracking status. It was blank. He pulled out his phone, pressing the power button—no response.
Alric's phone was the same.
They exchanged a look, eyes reflecting the dim emergency lights above.
"We're on our own now." Mackiah's voice was quiet, measured.
Alric's jaw tightened, but he nodded.
"I knew this would happen." Mackiah sighed. "The most confidential and confined cargo containing the Seal, wouldn't be stupid enough to let any communications in."
"To make sure there's no contact with the outerworld." Alric completed.
They moved down the narrow corridors, the hum of engines and clank of cargo containers shifting masking their steps. Occasionally, other guards—masked, uniformed—would pass them, offering crisp salutes.
They saluted back, never speaking, never breaking the rhythm.
No one knew anyone's face under the masks. That was the rule. No names, no attachments, no witnesses.
That rule was their advantage now.
They passed crates of ordinary goods—grain sacks, medical crates, mechanical parts—tucked neatly and strategically to give the illusion of a mundane cargo haul.
Deep down, they both knew it was a lie.
Every step deeper into the ship's heart felt like stepping into a tomb of secrets.
When they reached the checkpoint near the cargo hold core, a pair of guards raised a hand.
"Lieutenant Ryse. Corporal Velden." One guard's voice was muffled under the mask but respectful.
Mackiah gave a sharp nod, feeling the tension in Alric's posture next to him.
"Orders?" Mackiah asked, low.
"Escort and guard the shipment in the core chamber. Captain's orders."
They fell in line, following the two guards down another flight of metallic stairs until they reached a heavy reinforced door. The guards scanned their keycards, the door hissing open.
Inside, the hidden chamber was dimly lit, vast, cold.In the center, a long, coffin-like black container sat on reinforced rails, surrounded by high-voltage barriers. Smaller boxes with strange sigils lined the walls.
Mackiah's eyes narrowed beneath the helmet, scanning every detail.
"Guard well, boys. If you don't want to be stripped out of your badges or even worse." One of the guards chuckled as he left.
They reached a reinforced door stamped with Aetherion Kronos mark. The guard at the door, clad in heavy black armor with the Auralhym Citadel insignia, glanced at their badges, then stepped aside without a word.
Inside, the room was cramped, the ceiling low enough that Alric ducked slightly. Cargo crates lined the walls, marked with innocuous codes, but the large, coffin-like shipment in the center bore a black wax seal, crimson veins threading through it—the unmistakable Lucifer's Seal.
Three guards were already stationed inside:
One, broad-shouldered with steely eyes, bore the Valemire crest.
The second, wiry with sharp features, wore the Zephyros insignia.
The third, silent and watchful, wore a faded patch with a Swenmere Citadel insignia.
All three turned, saluting sharply. Mackiah and Alric returned the salute, their gloved fists crossing their chests.
Alric had his doubts. He'd seen every guard salute them as they passed by. "Have they found out? his tone low, almost a whisper. "Why is everyone stepping away from us?"
"It's because our uniforms bear an insignia different than theirs. The Drakhal Citadel. The second most powerful after Ashreign. We got lucky to find the Drakhal Marine Corps officers. It's only normal to be treated this way." Mackiah casually explained.
Silence pulsed in the room, heavy and uncomfortable, broken only by the distant groan of the ship's hull against the waves.
Mackiah cleared his throat, attempting a casual tone.
"What's the route looking like?"
No one answered. The Valemire guard only glanced away, hand resting on the hilt of his blade. Mackiah's eyes flicked to Alric, then stepped forward with a carefully crafted smirk.
"Hope they feed us better than the last run. I'm still tasting that slop."
A beat of silence, then the Zephyros guard snorted softly.
"Good luck with that. We're headed to Ravenport first. The most crowded and busy ports to exist and then Grimharbor. Nothing changes."
The Valemire guard spoke, voice gravelly:
"Grimharbor's cursed. Don't touch the water there."
Alric tilted his head.
"Why's that?"
"Once known to be most popular and busiest ports. GrimHarbor was the heart of the waters flowing around the lands, a lively place until the fire breakout. Years back, a cargo spill, then a spark—whole port turned to ashes with people still screaming on it. Now Virellan owns the ashes."
Mackiah kept his face neutral, though the information crackled through him like lightning. Ravenport was a front, Grimharbor was the shadow port.
The Swenmere guard finally spoke, voice calm but hollow:
"Don't ask too many questions. The seal's here for a reason. Orders are to guard it, not to know what it is."
"Lucifer's Seal…" Alric said lowly, testing the waters.
The Zephyros guard's head snapped up, his eyes darkening.
"Don't say that name here."
"Orders?"
"Oaths. It's death, or worse, if you speak of it. There are names which are forbidden to be uttered. Watch out, even if you let it slip by mistake, it can cost you your life."
A silence fell again, thicker this time, as if even the ship itself held its breath. Mackiah's eyes drifted to the seal, its dark wax glinting under the flickering lights, an ominous pulse of power leaking from it.
They didn't know what was inside, but they could feel it watching them.
Suddenly, the intercom crackled:
"Prepare for docking at Ravenport. All units remain on high alert."
The guards adjusted their weapons, masks hiding their unease. Ravenport was the first checkpoint. Three days of journey with two stops to reach Virellan grounds.
Mackiah and Alric exchanged a silent glance under their helmets.
The cargo ship RVZ-1E015 pulled into Ravenport under a sky so clear it almost felt wrong. The air should have been thick with smoke and salt, the clang of metal cranes and shouting dockworkers ringing off the steel walls of the port.
Instead, silence.
From the deck, Mackiah, hidden beneath the visor of Lt. K. Ryse, scanned the empty port. Cranes hung still, cables swaying slightly in the breeze. Cargo containers lined up in neat rows, untouched.
Not a single ship docked nearby.
"They said this port is the busiest, didn't they?" Mackiah's voice crackled in Alric's earpiece.
"Always. Twenty-four, seven, year-round." Alric, spoke in Cpl. T. Velden's disguise, shifted his stance, eyes narrowing beneath his helmet. "Doesn't look like it."
The ship's engines rumbled beneath them, drowning out the soft lap of waves against the hull. Uniformed guards moved along the dock in silence, like shadows, their rifles slung with casual readiness. None spoke. None laughed. None even looked at each other.
"Something's off," Mackiah muttered, glancing at the crates being lifted off the ship, only to be replaced by seemingly mundane goods: textiles, grains, medical crates. But beneath them, deep in the cargo hold, the shipment sealed with Lucifer's Mark remained untouched.
They were commanded to remain stationed on the ship during the docking. Orders were orders.
Hours passed. The only communication was the occasional crackle on the walkie-talkie:
"Unit 5, report.""All clear.""Unit 6, report.""All clear."
All clear. Always clear. It was too clear.
Two Days at Sea
The ship left Ravenport as quietly as it had arrived.
Two days passed in tense monotony, the vast sea stretching endlessly, the sun rising and falling like a mechanical clock. Mackiah and Alric kept to their patrols, moving through the steel corridors, pretending to check crates while listening, watching, waiting.
They learned snippets of whispers among the guards:
Ashreign Citadel's restrictions, banning discussions about Lucifer, Leviathan, and the Blackthorn Bastions.
A rumor that Joker has returned, though no one dares speak details.
That Virellan has been tightening control over "all ports, all movements, all people."
The Zephyros guard who had spoken earlier whispered once when they were alone:
"They're saying Joker's the only one who ever escaped the Citadel's shadow alive."
Mackiah listened, concentrated. "Whose this 'Joker'?" he questioned the guard who flinched at Mackiah's sudden sharp voice. "I'm new to the battalion, I've been stationed in Drakhal most of the time and I've never heard of this name before."
"He's Virellan's worst enemy. He stepped onto Virellan's lands to trade but he turned out to be a sly fox. Zeus had him exiled which made him start a cold war with Virellan. He was undefeatable and the BTBT was created to go against him, but the only one who stopped him and put and end to his mayhem was... L". A long silence followed.
"And that if he's back, it means the clans are about to burn everything again. L is the only one who can stop him."
The guard fell silent as others approached, returning to the cold, blank mask of duty.
On the third morning, Grimharbor appeared like a corpse on the horizon.
The once-renowned port, burned to ash and rebuilt under Virellan's ownership, was now a ghost town of metal skeletons and abandoned cranes that rose from the fog like the arms of the drowned.
The water near the port was dark, almost black, the ripples swallowing the early light. The ship's engines quieted to a hum as they neared the dock.
"We're here." Alric's voice was calm, but Mackiah heard the tension beneath.
Guards lined up, their boots thudding on steel, forming columns as the ramps lowered. The captain's voice echoed over the intercom:
"Prepare for offloading. Security at maximum. No errors."
They were moved to guard the shipment again, stationed near the ramp as Virellan's operatives and more black-armored Citadel troops began moving crates under the foggy, dead sky.
The smell of ash still clung to Grimharbor, even after all these years.
Mackiah's gut twisted. This calm, this silence—it was too perfect.
"Alric, keep your eyes open. This reeks of a setup."
Alric nodded, eyes scanning the cranes, the rooftops, the water. His hand hovered near his hidden blade.
The guards fell into formation, weapons ready, masks hiding their true faces.
The fog thickened around Grimharbor, swallowing the dock, creeping onto the ship like a phantom.
That was when Mackiah felt it—
A change in the air, as if the sea itself was holding its breath.
Shadows dropped from the cranes above, landing with barely a sound before unleashing crackling stun blades and suppressed gunfire. The first line of Virellan guards fell before they could even react, weapons clattering onto the steel floor.
"We're under attack!"
The comms exploded with static and shouting, the dock lighting flickering as energy surges snapped through the ship's systems.
The attackers reformed ranks, pressing the assault, forcing Mackiah and Alric to retreat closer to the crate, fighting with calculated, lethal efficiency.
Mackiah caught the red glow reflected in the fog, feeling the cold sweat along his spine.
"Who the hell is that?"
Far away, within the fortified steel walls of Ashreign Citadel, alarms began flashing on the command center's monitors.
A cadet, breathless, boots squeaking against the polished floor, burst into the control room where Zayden and Darian stood overseeing the security screens.
"Captain! C-Captain Z!" the cadet panted, holding out a shaking datapad.
Darian turned, frowning, confusion flickering in his normally unshakable composure.
"What is it now?"
Zayden stood still, eyes darkening, his gloved hand tightening around the edge of the console. His sharp gaze seemed to pierce through the cadet's panic as if he had already sensed what had happened.
"W-we...We've got a problem!"
The control room lights flickered, a rumble shaking the steel walls of Ashreign.
Darian glanced at Zayden, who remained quiet, jaw clenched, his mind already racing through the scenarios.
Something had gone wrong.