Meanwhile, back at the estate, Marcellus and the crew waited in the knights' training grounds, watching as their cargo—several crates of exotic artefacts, paintings and Gold, the nature of which only Captain Crowe knew—was being unloaded.
The atmosphere was tense, and Marcellus found himself constantly scanning the area. He was interrupted by Hawkins, who approached him quietly.
"Your thoughts, Marcellus?"
"I'm thinking that Mythralis is a city of many faces, and no man can be trusted."
"A wise assessment," Hawkins said, staring into the horizon as the sun dipped below it.
"And yet, here we are—in a city of mistrust, conducting one of the most sensitive transactions in our line of work."
Marcellus paused. "I suppose you are no different than Mythralis in that regard."
"Ah, but there is one difference," Crowe said, leaning in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper.
"In this city, power is always shifting—here today, gone tomorrow. But the sea," he looked out towards the ocean, "she's eternal. And she doesn't care for the trappings of power, only the skill of the sailor. Remember that, Marcellus. It might just save your life one day."
As darkness enveloped the sky, torches were lit across the training ground, casting an eerie glow on the mansion guards in chainmail.
The atmosphere was heavy with anticipation, every man lost in his own world of thoughts, contemplating what would unfold next. As Marcellus took a seat on a wooden crate, he strained his ears to catch the faint strains of music filtering out from the opulent mansion behind them.
It was a haunting melody—soft strings punctuated by the gentle plucking of a harp, overlaid with voices that carried both beauty and sorrow. It was at once disarming and unsettling, like the call of a siren.
The music had an ethereal quality that seemed out of place in the atmosphere of tension and raw masculinity that pervaded the training ground.
It was a discordant harmony, much like the city of Mythralis itself—a blending of elements so distinct and contradictory that they somehow formed a unified whole.
Suddenly, the training ground's side door swung open with a flourish, revealing a young man flanked by a small entourage of knights. These were no ordinary knights in training, there were genuine knights; their armour was impeccably polished, the metal catching the firelight in a display of opulence that even the chainmail-clad mansion guards could not match.
Unlike the guards who had been silently maintaining their vigil outside, these knights carried an air of arrogance, their postures relaxed yet clearly disciplined.
The young man at the centre of this group was strikingly handsome, with a lean build and angular features that were both elegant and youthful. His eyes, however, were what drew Marcellus's attention; they were a sharp blue, piercing in their intensity, giving away an intelligence that his youthful demeanour might otherwise have hidden. His garments were equally remarkable—tailored garments of remarkable quality, embroidered with elaborate gold patterns that seemed to shimmer as he moved.
"You must be the traders my uncle has spoken so highly of," he said, his voice smooth but carrying a hint of condescension. "I am Edwin, the Governor's nephew."
Marcellus stood up, taking measure of the man before him. Edwin's youthful appearance belied a keen sense of awareness. This was not a man to be underestimated.
"A pleasure," Captain Crowe replied cautiously, opting for diplomacy. "Our reputation precedes us, it seems."
"Indeed, it does," Edwin said with a smirk in his eyes, casting a sideways glance at Master Dobbs, who was engaged in conversation with one of the mansion guards. "My uncle has always had an affinity for those who can navigate the treacherous waters of Mythralis's markets. And the sea, of course."
At this, Marcellus felt Hawkin's earlier words resonate within him—the sea didn't care for the trappings of power, only the skill of the sailor. He wondered how much of that ethos had been lost on young Edwin, and what the consequences might be for mistaking the two.
"The sea teaches us many things," Crowe said carefully, locking eyes with Edwin, "but perhaps its most important lesson is necessity. It's a lesson your uncle seems to understand well."
Edwin smirked, the air of arrogance dissipating momentarily. "Perhaps. But here on land, there are other lessons to be learned. Lessons that require a different kind of skill set."
It was a veiled threat, Marcellus understood, a reminder that while they may have command of the sea, it was Edwin and his uncle who ruled this island. The younger man's eyes darted to the cargo being unloaded, and then back to Marcellus.
"We'll see how well you've learned those lessons, won't we?" Edwin said, a final note of challenge hanging in the air as he turned to rejoin his knights.
...
Finn took a step forward, urgency breaking through his usually composed demeanour. "Tommy, wait. I need to talk to you. It's important, and I'm willing to pay."
Tommy Bones paused, not turning around but indicating with his posture that he was at least willing to hear Finn out. "What is it? Spit it out. Time's not a luxury in this city."
Finn reached into his coat and produced a small, neatly folded piece of parchment. "I need you to escort me to meet someone—no questions asked. I'll pay you double the usual rate."
Tommy shook his head without even glancing at the parchment. "Not interested. My relationship with Crowe's intricate enough without adding whatever mess you're involved in."
Finn's eyes widened, a rare hint of desperation creeping into his voice. "I'll triple the rate, and throw in a favour, on any terms you want."
Tommy Bones finally turned to look at him, eyes narrowing. "Finn, you're one of the most tight-fisted blokes on this ship. What's got you so rattled that you're throwing coin and favours around like a desperate gambler?"
The question hung in the air, thickening the tension between them. They were men of the sea, bound by common goals but also secrets—lots of secrets.
In Mythralis, secrets had a way of festering, becoming more perilous than a room full of gunpowder.
Finn looked as if he was about to say something, then stopped himself. "You don't need to know, Tommy. Just—please, think about it. The offer's not gonna be open forever."
Tommy stared at Finn for a long moment before finally shaking his head. "Keep your secret, Finn. I have enough to carry."
With that, Tommy Bones turned and merged with the crowd on the bustling streets of Mythralis. It was a city of thieves and nobles, merchants and mercenaries, scholars and scoundrels. But in that moment, he felt strangely unburdened.
Finn watched him go, his face an unreadable mask. Then, tucking the parchment back into his coat, he also turned to disappear into the labyrinthine corridors of Mythralis, both men swallowed by a city that thrived on secrets and complexities.