For hours the city had shaken under the Herjard bombardment: buildings collapsing like paper, streets drowned in ash. But now the guns had gone quiet. As night swallowed the sea, there was only the cracking of cooling fires and the slow, hollow hiss of a breeze.

  Ivy emerged from the cellar last. Her boots sank into a thin layer of black mud that had once been a market square. The air stank of burning. Above her, the sky was a bruise, starless and thick with smoke.

  Adan crouched near a cracked wall, checking a broken rifle. “We need to move fast,” he said. “At first light, they’ll start again.”

  “Maybe they won’t,” someone whispered behind him. "Look at this… it's over."

  Ahlong turned, the lamplight carving lines into his tired face. “They finish when we all dead. Only then is over.”

  No one argued.

  They moved north through the wreckage, a thin column of survivors: Blue soldiers, pirates from Uwe, a handful of Indri men and even fewer from the Ray. The war had burned all the names out of them; all the banners and alliances. Now they were just living. The survivors. All allies under a common enemy and a shared goal.

  The northern piers were half-submerged, the old wooden decks tilted and broken. Out beyond, the dark silhouettes of a couple of ships waited on the horizon, no lanterns dimmed, yet Ivy could see them well. Beyond, fires burning the rest of Uwe's navy.

  When they reached the waterline, Adan knelt beside a dead sailor tangled in netting. “Only two ships…” he whispered, then straightened. “Not enough to fit all these people.”

  The Uwe captain beside him spat into the tide. “There were more. Maybe they made the crossing.”

  “Where the boats?” Ahlong said.

  The captain pointed at two pitiful, small boats barely hidden under canvas.

  They stood in silence, listening to the sea and staring at the boats. Ivy signed what everyone was wishing to say. "By the time we bring everyone to the ships with these, it will be morning."

  From the far end of the bay, a column of smoke rose. One of the anchored ships turned into a ball of fire, and then, soon after, the other. No cannon blasts; just fire bursting from nowhere.

  The Uwe captain cursed and stumbled forward, shouting for his men to take the boats.

  “Wait,” Adan said. “Where do you plan to go? Didn't you see the ships burning? That must be a Kraken boarding raid, or worse.”

  Ivy touched his arm. “We must move east. To the fortress crossing.”

  He hesitated. “Are there any boats there? How are we reaching the other ships?”

  “We swim.”

  "I can't swim!" Adan reached to his side. "Neither many of this men."

  Behind her, someone pointed toward the bay, where dark shapes glided across the water.Bit boats approaching. Filled with shapes shining to the tune of the surrounding fires.

  Herjard's metal soldiers.

  A sharp hiss cut through the air, startling everyone. Then, before any time to proses what had happened, another hiss sent a man into the water.

  “Move!” Adan roared. “All of you! East, now!”

  The crowd surged. Gunfire cracked in the distance, following a tide of hissing bullets reaching first.

  Men fall all around as they run for their lives. Adan pushed Ivy, then fell too. She crouched and pulled him up. But he didn't react. He didn't move.

  "Go!" AhLong pulled her shirt. She watend to stay, but her legs didn't. At Long's orders, she ran and didn’t look back.

  They reached a sanctuary in the form of a narrow street. Rushing boots thudded awhile shrieks and gunshots rattled behind them.

  "Ye must go first," AhLong said between gasps. "Ye swim fast... Go ships, ask for boats. Go, go!"

  She dashed between collapsed facades, each step crushing brittle plaster and shattered glass beneath her boots; smoke curled like ghosts overhead while distant gunfire echoed through the alleys. No moment for breath, not a single rest to think it through.

  She arrived the shallows at a sprint, jumped boots first into the black tide, and let the cold swallow her. The flooring underneath unfolded treacherously and unevenly. At some points, too deep to find footing. In others shallow enough to walk. The water fought her at every step, making her advance slow and cumbersome. Every time the sea opened up deep enough to swim, it only let her take a couple of strokes before becoming shallow again.

  Frustration overwhelmed her, but she kept going.

  She had forced herself far into the shallows when, behind her, the shouts of the others rose, voices thin with panic. She kept pushing, her muscles burning with each effort.

  The city and its sounds faded behind her. In front; darkness. Her eyes, though, adjusted to the night as they used to do to the depths, foresaw a cluster of ships hidden in the dark.

  Please, she thought. Let them still be ours.

  She reached deeper grounds and darted forward. Her arms now taking the toll her legs had endured.

  Riko woke to the groan of wood and steps rushing around him. For a moment, he didn’t know where he was. Pain hit deep. Ribs broken, skin burned. Cuts and bruises bit on his muscles as he sat up.

  “Finally,” said a voice.

  He didn't turn. Instead, he checked the bandages he was covered with. The aid over him was deficient. Dirty rags in clumsy bandages.

  Timo kneeled beside him. He chewed a dried piece of meat and offered the rest. “Thought you’d decided to nap through the rest of your life.”

  Riko shook his head at the food offer. “How long?”

  “Almost all night. We drifted for hours until they picked us up. Is it true what you mumbled in the water?”

  “What did I say?”

  “You don't know how to swim.”

  Riko's shoulders lifted.

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  Timo grinned.

  The deck beneath them creaked with a passing sailor. Riko trailed him, then inspected the ship's deck. They were aboard a small vessel. Only eight guns on the main. Adobe, the colors of the Harpy. An auxiliary ship. An enemy.

  Riko narrowed his eyes but continued his scouting. Around them drifted a dozen more ships, lashed together, all battered beyond recognition. Some carrying the colors of his own fleet, others, the colors of the Uwe.

  On the deck,not only men of the Fist of Piracy worked the ropes, but his own too.

  Riko pushed himself upright. The motion sent fire through his side. “So, the enemy of my enemy… I suppose.”

  “Correct!” Timo said. “A few survivors from Male, too. All are welcome to our new fleet! Well…. calling this a fleet is as ridiculous as a captain who can't swim but… well, what do I know?”

  Through the haze, Riko saw the faint glow of the ruined city. Fires still burned along the waterfront. The air tasted of death. Below, a group of boats reached and men climbed the side nets to board.

  “Any word from Ivy?”

  Timo nodded toward the bow. “All those and the ones boarding are their men. A good mix of scoundrels, I must say. With them, we have enough to sail all the remaining ships.”

  Riko’s breath caught. “How many?”

  “Fourteen. But mostly tenders. The biggest is this brig and a topsail schooner with ten guns. The rest are weaponless or have very little kick. But we don't need that to put wind between us and the Herjard. Because we are retreating, right?”

  Riko managed a weak smile. “Are we?”

  Timo snapped his teeth. “The queen of the idiots says we fight. But that's what her men say… I don't speak fluent hand flailing, so I was waiting for your orders.”

  “She's in charge, idiot.” Riko staggered to his feet, gripping the railing for balance. "Whatever she says, we do. I told you many times."

  "Just because you repeat something stupid doesn't make it less stupid." Timo leaned at his side, eyeing him without losing his grin. "Listen, our guys know escape is not a real option. They know what its coming and are ready to face it. But they won't jump to certain death because the girl says so. You must tell them."

  Riko couldn’t help but grin. He angled his shoulders against the railing, letting the horizon wash over his mind. In the line where the sky touched the sea, the black of night turned to a gentle wash of blue. "call for—"

  "Done it."

  "Then prepare the—"

  "Done it."

  Riko looked askance. This time, Timo was the one who shrugged.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Riko realized someone waited for them, watching. Someone he didn't need to see to recognize.

  Timo noticed it a little later, and as he did, he slipped away to disappear between crewmen.

  Ivy crept forward, taking the quartermaster's place.

  A surge of relief pulsed beneath Riko’s ribs; a tide of emotions he was not used to handling overflowed him. But hesitation kept him hushed behind a clenched jaw and a held breath.

  With a shaking hand, he lifted one arm high enough for a formal handshake between mates. The gesture was simple and constrained. As his life had been.

  Ivy closed in on him, wrapping arms around his shoulders in a hug both fragile and firm. It still hurt, but he didn't complain.

  The embrace lingered long enough for something to settle within him. He didn't know exactly what. He knew how to sail ships. How to command men, how to kill enemies. Nothing else.

  Ivy let him free to sign. "You were late."

  He had fought her countless times, and she had always lost. But with a simple gesture, she had defeated him. He was grateful, though. And even more grateful the moment didn't last long enough to break him completely. He answered, pretending to be upset.

  "Give me a break, girl." He paused to release a subtle smirk. "So… last charge?"

  She nodded.

  "Are we going to die trying to break the blockade, or to destroy the Adamant?"

  "Chief… uh… captain." A sailor stepped in to delay the answer. "More drafts floating in the west. They seem to be approaching."

  "Iron soldiers?"

  "Nay, cap'n. Men. Though we don't know whose."

  "I'll deal with them." Ivy followed the sailor, though she turned around before disappearing into the crowd. "We're doing both."

  The sea had flattened during the night. A mirror reflecting the lights of a new day in where the navy of Herjard moved to close gaps.

  Macha sat at the back of the raft, watching the line of dreadnoughts preparing to destroy them. Dawn was rising beyond the smoke of the broken navies. The distant sounds of engines finally cracked the silence of a long night.

  Rob sat cross-legged beside him, eyes glowing dimly. “Their planes will take off shortly. Anything left will burn.”

  “Then we row faster.” Macha said, looking at the approaching ships. The vessels flying the colors of former enemies were only a bit more than a dozen. At most. None that could even dream of facing the smallest enemy, and even less defeat it.

  Sandree moved uncomfortably at Macha's side and groaned with eyes closed. "Tell this idiot to shut his mechanical mouth. I want to die in silence."

  Macha complied, and so did Rob. His mind didn't rest, though. It never did. He remembered another endless drift, long ago. One that led him to the best people he ever met and the best times of his life. All thanks to a prayer. The goddess replied by bestowing upon him the 'Ballerina' in exchange for promises. Would she be happy? He didn't even remember what he had offered. Had he fulfilled his oath? Did he failed to please the go? Maybe that was the reason he was again on a draft and lost in the sea. Whatever it was, he would not speak to the goddess to ask for help. Never again. If he'd do it again, it would be to give thanks.

  They continued their drifting, the only sound left, the tired splashes of the oars. The first rays slipped through the ash?clouded horizon, turning every weathered survivor around them into a pitiful sight. Tired all. Injured, broken.

  "Something is coming," Uri said, her hands reaching for her swords.

  A ripple of foam broke the surface, darting towards them.

  Someone shouted. “Shark!”

  Half the men jolted upright, clutching paddles.

  Macha frowned. The wake slicing toward them was too straight. And he had seen it once before. His hand rested on Uri's, halting her intent to draw iron.

  Then the foam vanished under the planks. Just as it had happened before, Macha thought. Did the goddess bring her again to rescue him? Was he worth saving for a second time?

  The water exploded beside them. A dark figure burst from the sea and landed on the raft, spear in hand, balanced perfectly despite the rocking boards.

  Gasps rippled through the survivors.

  Macha stared, breath caught in his throat. His hand gripped tightly on Uri's, who tensed for a fight. At their side, Sandree awoke and rubbed her eyes. "Ivy?" she mumbled.

  Ivy straightened, water cascading off hair and clothes. Upon seeing them, her mouth opened, and her hand rushed to cover it. As her eyes met Ced's, her second hand reached up as well, as if the first one could not contain a gasp any longer. She took a step closer to him, hesitated, turned and took one towards Macha. Then she fell on her knees, her shoulders shaking with suppressed sobbing. Her eyes shut, repressing tears.

  Ced dragged to reach her. He pulled and embraced her. "Mon'Lads… my…my…" he said, voice cracking.

  Macha crawled to join them. He squeezed tight, unable to hold his joy.

  They pressed their shoulders together for a time that felt eternal. For a heartbeat, the world narrowed to the circle of their arms, and nothing else around them mattered; not the ally ships almost reaching, nor the Herjard planes taking off.

  When the grip loosened, Ivy wiped her face, and her hands moved. Nothing made sense of her signs.

  Ced gripped her forearm gently. "We will talk later. Now is time to board."

  Ivy nodded as shouts from the closest ship broke.

  Ropes felt and arms pulled. Rob stood and rocked the draft. "Let's go, scallywags! It's time."

  Ivy fixed in awe over the man?machine as its metal limbs moved swiftly to secure drafts together. Her astonishment broke with a glimpse on Macha's metallic arm.

  “Long story, but we'll have time to explain; we need to move now.” Macha said, trying to smile.

  Afar, a swarm of planes filled the sky, and cannons burst. Explosions broke on the remaining wrecks still floating between them and the survivors.

  Macha's fake smile faded. "Well…maybe we won't."