The karnen scuttled back into the mist, its scaled, chitinous body disappearing as though it were nothing more than an extension of the Lunar Storms themselves. Mirak's gaze lingered on the spot where the creature had been, unease knotting in his stomach. Its hundreds of tiny legs, segmented tail, and clattering clicks were etched into his memory. He had seen them before. The mines had been crawling with them.
The familiar weight of the Publici shackles around his wrists brought him back to the present. He squeezed his gloved hands, trying to dispel the feeling that he was still deep underground, surrounded by resin and death.
"Fascinating, isn't it?" Czenth said, breaking the silence. His voice was calm, analytical, as if they were discussing a rare artifact instead of a predator that could end their lives in moments. "What makes it so unbothered by the Lunar Storms? The mist clings to it, yet it thrives."
"It's a karnen," Mirak said, his voice low. His eyes darted to the shadows, half-expecting another to emerge. "Another one must have burst out from the crypts. They don't care about the storms—or anything else. That thing would run you through with its tail before you even had the chance to study it."
"I'd still like to know why it's unaffected," Czenth mused, ignoring the warning. His metallic arm shifted beneath his cloak with a faint whir, fingers curling thoughtfully. "None of the lesser creatures survive prolonged exposure to the Lunar Storms. Yet the karnen endure. What separates them from us? From the other intelligent races?"
Mirak's lips thinned. "I don't think I have an answer to that."
"Perhaps not. But someone does." Czenth glanced at him, pale eyes gleaming faintly in the dim light. "I suppose only those who truly understand the anatomy of every living thing would be able to solve the mystery."
Mirak shook his head. "Nor do I find myself wanting to. Especially not when those things are skulking in the alleys."
Czenth turned back to where the karnen had disappeared. "A shame," he said, more to himself than to Mirak. "You're not a scholar, then."
"I agree with that," Mirak replied dryly. "Scholars trap themselves in disciplines, boxed in by their own focus. I find it grating to think of myself as one."
"And yet, you consume every book laid out before you." Czenth's tone was half-teasing, though his expression remained impassive.
Mirak shrugged. "If I'm going to do something, I need all the information at hand. That doesn't make me a scholar—it makes me thorough."
"That's something we can agree on."
Mirak's gaze flicked to Czenth, the older Revenant's silhouette barely visible through the shifting mist. The man was an enigma—a Sorcerer of the Revenant, meticulous in his studies yet completely pragmatic in his actions. They shared a drive for knowledge, but beyond that, Mirak couldn't pinpoint why Czenth unsettled him. Perhaps it was the calm, detached way he approached everything, or the fact that he seemed entirely unfazed by things that should terrify him.
It was best to change the subject. "I'd like to study the stars," Mirak said, his voice quieter now.
Czenth gave a soft huff of laughter. "Stories, nothing more," he said. "The myriad lights gleaming in the night sky are impossible to see now. The Lunar Storms have seen to that."
Mirak bit the inside of his cheek. "You have your studies, and I have mine. Don't think I haven't noticed you poring over texts about the evolution of machines."
"It's logical to understand inventions and their applications," Czenth said matter-of-factly. "Adaptation is survival."
"And yet you mock me for wanting to study fables and stories?" Mirak countered. "You plunge into human accounts of dwarves and neph—stories passed down just as mine are."
Before Czenth could respond, the karnen clicked its tail against the ground, then vanished deeper into the mist. Both men froze, their eyes scanning the shadows until they were certain it was gone.
Mirak exhaled slowly, his hand brushing the cold metal of his shackles beneath his gloves. "They're in Koona," he muttered, more to himself than to Czenth. "The karnen..."
The Lunar Storms swirled around them, their eerie glow seeping through the mist. Mirak closed his eyes, letting the cool dampness settle his nerves. It tingled against his skin, grounding him as the memories of the mines threatened to resurface.
"Perhaps it's the wrath of the Lady of Flesh," Mirak said, testing the waters with a half-hearted joke.
Czenth snorted. "If you think this is her doing, you're as daft as her followers."
"Not a man of the cloth, Czenth? I took you for one of deep thought."
"I care not for pitiful gods that prey on their subjects," Czenth replied sharply. "There is only one thing that speaks the truth: information. Facts. Gods and their wills do not define me—no matter how much the Sorcerer's Lodge tries to cast a cloak of darkness over our vision."
"Those are words that could create many enemies," Mirak said.
"The truth angers those who are wrong," Czenth retorted. "I would rather be an enemy to all than a witless fool shrouded in ignorance."
They fell into silence as the sound of creaking wood and lapping waves grew louder. The docks loomed ahead, their dark shapes barely distinguishable from the mist. Lanterns swayed from posts, casting faint, flickering light across the cobblestone paths.
Czenth raised his metallic arm, the faint whir of its servos breaking the stillness. "The plan is simple," he said. "We sabotage the ships while acting as inspectors bearing the emblem of House Mallum."
Mirak nodded, adjusting the white cloak draped over his shoulders. "I understand," he said. His gaze flicked to the prosthetic. "How does the arm feel?"
"It reacts just like my flesh," Czenth said, flexing the metal fingers into a fist. "You could've had one even better if you hadn't turned down Lancelot's offer."
Mirak snorted. "I don't need two hands to use Atta."
"You're a fool to turn down the gift," Czenth said flatly.
"And you wouldn't understand."
"Nor do I wish to," Czenth replied, turning toward the dock gates. "But it is ironic, isn't it? Lancelot sends Harmony users like us to destroy ships. How poetic."
The gates loomed ahead, guarded by two men holding torches. Their faint outlines shifted in the mist, their voices muffled but growing louder.
"Who's there?" one called out, squinting into the haze.
Czenth leaned close to Mirak, his voice barely a whisper. "Keep them busy. I'll handle the sabotage."
"I'd rather sabotage," Mirak muttered, but Czenth was already stepping forward, raising the seal of House Mallum.
The guards straightened as the light caught the shimmering mooneye silk of the seal. One of them squinted harder. "Inspectors? Haven't seen one of you in months."
"Eight months," the other corrected, his voice gruff.
The seal changed hands, examined closely before they were waved through. "Make it quick," one guard barked, stepping aside. "And don't touch anything you're not supposed to."
As they passed through the gate, Czenth leaned toward Mirak. "Distract them," he murmured. "Keep them talking."
Mirak's jaw tightened, but he nodded. He turned to the workers ahead, forcing a polite smile. "So," he said, his voice light, "what makes Koona's ships better than the rest?"
The workers puffed up, pride evident in their stances. "Finest ships on the seas," one said. "Triangle sails—faster than the Sunreachers."
Mirak nodded, feigning interest as the workers launched into detailed explanations. Behind him, Czenth slipped into the shadows, his metallic arm gleaming faintly in the mist.