The morning fog was so thick that Herzl couldn't see the bow of the Elandra from the dock. Kael was loading supplies into the ship when the sound of boots echoed through the mist.
From the whiteness emerged masked figures—ten, maybe more—each carrying long, thin muskets with polished barrels. The same crimson spiral was painted across their wooden masks.
"Guess we overstayed our welcome," Kael muttered, hand drifting to his revolver.
The leader stepped forward, cloak billowing.
"You looked into the Shattered Mirror," the voice rasped.
Herzl's jaw tightened. "I didn't touch it."
"That doesn't matter. The Mirror touched you."
Without another word, the masked warriors raised their weapons.
The crack of the first musket shot split the air. Herzl yanked Kael to cover behind a stack of fish crates as splinters exploded around them.
"Guess diplomacy's off the table!" Kael shouted, drawing both pistols. He fired twice, dropping a masked attacker with shots so quick they almost blended into one.
Herzl drew his own firearm—a compact naval pistol—while keeping his sword in his other hand. He leaned out and returned fire, his bullet catching one assailant in the shoulder, spinning them into the fog.
The air reeked of black powder and brine as more masked men charged forward, brandishing short sabers. One lunged at Herzl. He sidestepped, parried with his blade, and fired point-blank into the man's mask. The wood shattered, revealing nothing but a smooth, featureless face beneath.
"That's… not right," Herzl muttered, stepping back.
Kael vaulted over the crates, moving like a man born for chaos. He rolled across the dock, firing into the fog with perfect precision. Each shot was followed by a grunt or a body hitting the planks.
"More coming!" Kael yelled.
Through the mist, Herzl saw shapes moving on the upper walkways of the cliff. Snipers. He aimed high, squeezed the trigger, and one dropped, tumbling over the railing into the sea. But a second gunman took the shot for him, the musket ball whistling past Herzl's ear close enough to feel the heat.
Herzl ducked behind a barrel, reloading quickly. His mind was calm, movements deliberate. War taught him chaos, but this—this was precision survival.
The leader of the masked figures advanced, pulling two long pistols from their cloak. The guns were etched with the same spiral designs.
"You don't leave Crownsplit alive."
Herzl stepped forward, meeting the figure's advance with his sword. Shots rang out—Kael keeping the other attackers at bay—while Herzl closed the distance. The leader fired twice, but Herzl moved like a shadow, weaving between bullets until he was within striking range.
With a single, controlled motion, he knocked the pistols aside and slammed the pommel of his sword into the mask. The wood cracked, revealing just a glint of golden light where the eyes should be.
The leader staggered back, clutching their face.
"This isn't the end, Herzl," the voice hissed, distorted and layered.
Herzl kicked them into the fog, their body vanishing as if swallowed whole.
The remaining attackers melted into the mist, retreating as quickly as they'd appeared. The only sound left was the creak of the dock and Kael reloading one last time.
"Next time," Kael said, "we pick a port where the locals don't try to kill us."
Herzl just looked at the fog where the leader had vanished.
"They weren't trying to kill us. They were trying to stop us."