The rain had been falling since dusk, a fine mist turning the air into a haze of silver beneath the waterfront lamps. Seattle's docks were quieter than usual—no merchant convoys, no late-night unloading crews—just the slow lap of black water against pilings and the creak of moored ships. The air carried the faint tang of salt and oil, blending with the distant hum of the mag-rail that ran along the shoreline.
Even so, Aftan kept his hood up and his eyes moving. Night patrol wasn't glamorous, but tonight's orders were different. Sensors had picked up a brief spike—energy readings consistent with a minor rift event. And minor didn't always mean safe.
Ahmar led from the front, boots silent on the wet planks, his rifle slung low but ready. "Wisp, on overwatch," he murmured into comms. "Forge, Bulwark, set perimeter at Pier Twelve. Aftan, you're with me."
They split into the shadows, movements purposeful, confident. The sea breeze caught at the edges of their cloaks, carrying the scent of rain and brine. Aftan matched Ahmar's pace, studying the man's quiet precision. Ahmar scanned without wasted motion, the mark of someone who could see a threat in the smallest shift of shadow.
The docks seemed empty, but there was a weight to the air—a subtle thrum under his skin, like the hum of a live wire.
"Readings?" Ahmar asked.
"Faint spike, holding steady," Quill's voice crackled from HQ. "No visual yet. If it's a rift, it's small—unstable. You'll have to get close to see anything."
They advanced between two storage hangars, the narrow alley pooling with shadow. Somewhere deeper in, a chain swayed against a metal wall with a rhythmic clink, though the wind had died. Aftan's half-Genshi senses prickled, and the hair at the nape of his neck stood on end. Something shimmered, faint and pale, before fading.
He slowed, letting his instincts stretch toward it. A whisper, too soft to be sound, brushed the edge of his thoughts.
You are not ready.
The voice wasn't human. It resonated in his chest like a low chord, and with it came an image—white scales catching moonlight, eyes molten gold. The same presence from the Space Needle reports.
"Aftan," Ahmar's voice cut sharp. "Talk to me."
"Movement. Maybe residual energy," Aftan said, careful to keep his voice even.
They approached together, weapons raised. The shimmer returned, stronger now—a ripple in the air, like heat haze edged in pale light. For a moment, the shape of a wing sliced across the glow.
"Quill, mark this," Ahmar ordered. "Forge, I want containment drones here yesterday."
Forge's reply came as the hum of a drone deploying from Pier Twelve. The containment field's blue lattice began to unfurl in the rain, rippling like a living net.
Before it could lock down, the ripple twisted, collapsing in on itself with a sound like a sucked-in breath. The dock was empty again, save for the rain.
"Rift's gone," Quill confirmed. "No exit trace. Closed clean."
Ahmar's eyes scanned the darkness. "This was no random spike. Someone—or something—tested the perimeter."
The team regrouped. Wisp dropped from her overwatch perch, landing light as a cat. "No hostiles. Just that… thing," she said, glancing toward the empty air where the shimmer had been.
Kay approached from the south pier, water dripping from her braid. "No sign on my side," she said, eyes flicking to Aftan. "But you look like you saw a ghost."
He met her gaze evenly. "Maybe I did."
On the walk back, the silence between Aftan and Ahmar felt heavier than the rain. In the debrief room, Forge's scans confirmed faint draconic mana signatures, matching the white dragon profile from the Space Needle. Officially, the report would read: minor rift anomaly. Unofficially, Ahmar dismissed the others and pulled Aftan aside.
"If you felt something out there, I need to know. All of it."
Aftan hesitated. "Not yet. I'm still trying to understand it."
Ahmar studied him for a long moment, the rainwater on his jacket dripping into the quiet. "Then figure it out fast. I don't like the idea of something watching us from the other side."
That night, in his bunk, Aftan listened to the rain drumming on the HQ roof. The whisper still echoed. You are not ready. It wasn't a threat. It was a promise—and one that was waiting for him to answer.