The chamber was quiet. Stone walls boxed in the space, unadorned and without windows. At the center, a shallow bowl smoldered with ash, sending slow streams of smoke curling low across the floor.
Nivak sat cross-legged in silence. His eyes were closed, arms resting loosely on his knees. His twin blades were set aside behind him, untouched. He had entered his sea of mind.
Within, there was no sound. Just open water stretching endlessly, broken only by dense fog that clung to the surface and blurred the horizon.
Two shapes stirred within the haze.
The first, crawling low along the waterline, was a carrion beetle. Its shell was cracked and dull, a faded black pitted with the marks of age and struggle. It moved without hurry, its legs steady and deliberate. Each step sent ripples outward in clean circles, silent and unfazed by the stillness around it.
The second descended from above, a war-moth with wings like blades. Its movement was swift and angular, never flying in straight lines. It darted through the mist in erratic arcs, fading and flashing between glimpses of silver light. Where it passed, it left narrow trails of qi like torn silk behind it.
Nivak didn't look at them with eyes. He watched them with focus, letting his breath fall into rhythm with their presence. His heartbeat slowed as he tried to hold both creatures in awareness. But they didn't draw closer. The beetle ignored the moth, continuing forward at the same pace. The moth veered once in a quick dive but twisted away again, rising back into the fog above.
Their movements were in opposition: one grounded, the other volatile.
The pressure within the sea thickened. Fog grew denser. A deep hum pulsed just beneath the surface of the water. Nivak's shoulders tensed. His spine locked in place, and tremors began to course through his arms and legs. But he didn't speak. He didn't try to force them under control.
He adjusted his breathing. Steady, even, without depth or haste. The pain across his shoulders eased. The tension in his chest faded into something cool and centered.
Then he shifted.
Rather than pulling the spirits toward him, he let them remain where they were, untouched and unchallenged. The beetle paused in its crawl. The moth slowed, hovering above without spinning.
Both held still.
They sensed the shift in him. He had stopped reaching. He no longer tried to control the sea. He accepted it.
Time passed, measured only by breath. Then, slowly, the fog began to clear. The moth arced in a wide, deliberate circle and descended, vanishing below the surface. The beetle followed, sinking with it into the deep.
Neither presence was gone. They had receded, still there, still reachable, but no longer in conflict.
Nivak opened his eyes.
The smoke in the chamber had stopped rising. It hung in place, motionless and cold, as if waiting for something.
He stood. His movements were quiet and fluid. No words.
Then came a knock. Two soft taps on the door.
A Qorjin-Ke agent stepped inside, head lowered, robes plain and sleeveless.
"Warden Stormwake and Commander Altan have summoned you to the war hall."
Nivak gave a nod, already reaching for his blades.
He strapped them across his back and walked out without a word.
In the stonework meeting hall beneath the Bastion's second tier, the lanterns burned low. Altan stood by the carved window slit, watching fog drift over the southern sea. His cloak was folded back, arms resting behind him. He had already seen the new trireme and tested the first of the Blacktide formations. Now came the quieter war.
Stormwake arrived first, silent as ever. His face was mostly concealed under the grey-black veil of the Whispershell clan. Only the pale blue of his eyes glimmered under the hood. He bowed low before taking his place.
"Commander," Stormwake said, voice rough as sanded stone. "Nivak is on his way."
"Then we wait," Altan replied.
Moments later, the door opened and Nivak entered, armored but unarmed, the mark of his intelligence rank stitched into the front flap of his coat. He greeted both men with a nod.
"Five," he said. "All former Dazum agents. They entered posing as freedmen laborers. The cover story is holding for now."
Altan stepped away from the window. "You're sure they are Dazum?"
"Confirmed through sigil traces on their belongings. The patterns match ink used by the Emberroot Directorate," Nivak said. "Our teams intercepted their signal threads yesterday. They've started establishing passive surveillance points."
Stormwake added, "They've split into two groups. Three stayed near the out-town labor wards. Two entered the southern district under new trade names. Their communication uses mesh-thread signals. Crude work. Easily mirrored."
Altan nodded once. "And the base?"
Nivak shook his head. "They've made inquiries. But entry has proven difficult. The Stormtide naval base is sealed to all non-personnel. Workers live inside. No foot traffic in or out."
"As it should be," Altan said.
Across the out-town shanties near the coastal road, inside a low-walled ruin lit by a single oil lantern, the five Dazum spies gathered.
Their leader, a gaunt woman called Veilrix, traced lines on a map with a burnt twig.
"Stormguard logistics operate differently now. There is a new internal system. Too many runes, too many checkpoints. We can't approach the Bastion directly," she muttered.
A younger agent leaned in. "There must be a gap. A supply route or a ferry line. Something."
"Not yet. The naval base walls are taller than they used to be. The builders sleep inside. We've seen no one exit in days," said another, gritting his teeth. "They're sealing everything."
"Then we work wider," Veilrix said. "We establish new listening webs. Get closer to their training yards. The older base to the east may still have external posts."
The fifth agent frowned. "We're low on mesh-thread. The signal strands will start failing in three days unless we refresh their anchor points."
"I know," Veilrix replied. "That's why we spread quiet. No direct watching. Let the signal webs do their work. Focus on names. Materials. We chart movement, not walls."
"We need a deeper entry," another agent said. "A reason to move closer. Something that doesn't raise questions."
Veilrix looked toward the open slit in the ruin's stone wall. "We may have one soon. Word is spreading of a martial arts event in six weeks. The Eastern Realm Games. If that's real, they'll send competitors. Maybe more agents. That's our entry."
Back in the Bastion, Stormwake laid several intercept maps on the polished obsidian table. Blue ink marked the Dazum web layout. Red threads marked where Nivak's agents had inserted false information.
"They still think the naval base is housing a floating weapons lab," Stormwake said.
"Good. That rumor will keep them distracted," Nivak added. "We're also showing increased movement in the training courtyards, suggesting new recruits."
Altan walked around the table, eyeing each line. "Let them chase shadows. Keep every signal they steal buried in fog."
Nivak nodded. "We'll continue mirroring their threads. They won't know what's real."
Stormwake added, "The moment they reach for something solid, we'll see it."
Altan paused, then looked between the two. "Keep them monitored. When we announce the Eastern Realm Games six weeks from now, the Dazhum will contact them. They'll try to slip new agents in through the martial contest. That's when we begin Phase One."
"And the current spies?" Stormwake asked.
Altan's gaze lingered on the table of red lines and blue threads.
"We let them see what we want. Feed them just enough truth to believe the fiction. Let them think they're uncovering something real." His fingers tapped the map, a quiet rhythm beneath his words. "It's not just counterintelligence. It's theatre. And they're the audience."
"A performance?"
"A war played in shadows. Costumes. Cast. Lines rehearsed. When the new spies arrive, they'll walk straight into the act. And we'll be watching to see who they reach for."
The hall was quiet. Fog pressed against the narrow window. No one moved.
Altan spoke again, softer now. "Let them believe they're the hunters. Let them taste the thrill of discovery. Because by the time the curtain falls, they'll realize it was never real. Just the first act."
He looked across the room, past Stormwake, toward the third figure standing near the wall.
"And Nivak will be our lead."
Nivak didn't speak. He met Altan's eyes and gave a slight nod, measured and rehearsed.
Altan turned back to the table.
"Then let the curtain rise."