"We’re helping with the rescue efforts in the Aurifex. There are survivors holed up in the higher floors of buildings and on the outskirts of the district. It’s a special commission, pays real well," Rick said.

  Rowan raised a skeptical brow. "They’re hiring dreg crews to rescue folks in their market?"

  "Not just any crew, us. It’s our job. We’ll be working with some Onorion soldiers, teaching them how we handle Mires and the like. We’ve got the experience, after all."

  Calhan shifted in the booth he didn’t want to interrupt if he could help it, but he was growing curious about the job. "When are we going?"

  "Should’ve left hours ago," Rick sighed, rubbing his forehead. "But the men are scattered, so I’m rounding them up as fast as I can. The captain’s already got a good bunch getting things ready, but he’s adamant, we need all hands on deck."

  Rick looked winded, like he’d been sprinting from one end of the Dregs to the other. "This job is more than just about our pockets, boys. The Onorions are rightly pissed about the attack. Those in charge? Seeing red every time they look at us. I don’t think Ollie’s pyre is gonna ease their hearts, but maybe, if we save enough lives, the Dregs won’t be the next thing burning."

  Calhan was confused at first. "A pyre for Ollie?" he asked. "Are they giving him a public funeral or something?"

  Rick let out a forced, uncomfortable ugh, trying to soften what he was about to say. "Oh, I’m sure he wishes it was just a funeral. No, he’d be lucky to be dead. They’re making an example out of him. Gonna burn him alive as a spectacle. The Host announced it in the Auracantheum this morning."

  "Burnin’ death ain't a pretty way to go," Rowan muttered.

  "If he’s lucky, he’ll die quick," Rick said. "But Onorions, especially the ones in charge? They’re real good at keeping a man alive. Considering how many people he killed, I doubt they’ll get bored of his suffering anytime soon."

  A heavy silence settled over the booth. Ollie had never been the friendliest, never one to talk much, but he was still part of the crew. For Calhan, it was harder to ignore. He couldn’t forget that it was Ollie who pulled him out of the Mire on Bimos, who saved his life. But then—there were all those people. The families, the merchants, the civilian Onorions who had no say in any war. They didn’t deserve to die.

  Calhan felt conflicted. If he could have stopped Ollie, stopped him before he made that choice, maybe things would have pyed out differently. Maybe he, Rowan, and Nyve could have found a way out of the city before all of this. But that didn’t happen. And now, through his own choices, regardless of whatever had influenced him, Ollie might be getting exactly what he deserved.

  “Can’t they just kill him? What’s the point in making a show of it?” Calhan muttered. The thought of a crowd gathered to watch, of screams cutting through the air, of flesh bckening and curling in the heat, it made his stomach twist.

  “He’ll get as much suffering as he gave,” Rick said matter-of-factly. “Might seem cruel, but that’s just how it is.” He pushed himself up from the booth. “You two should get moving. We’ve already wasted too much daylight, and the captain’s on edge.”

  “Right,” the brothers answered in tandem.

  “We’ll see ya there, Rick,” Rowan added with a wave before they stepped out of the bar and into the streets. Rick vanished into the deeper parts of the Dregs, still hunting down missing crew members, while Calhan and Rowan made their way toward the gate. The city around them hummed with uneasy energy—tensions thick in the air, people murmuring in alleyways, casting wary gnces toward Onorion patrols.

  “So… you good?” Rowan asked, breaking the silence. His tone was light, teasing, but there was real concern underneath. “Ain’t gonna run off on your own again, are ya?”

  “No. No, that was a mistake,” Calhan admitted. He still felt the dull ache from his scuffle in the alleys. He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Not like there’s anything we could do anyway. Can’t fight an army in its own capital.” He scoffed.

  Rowan slung an arm around Calhan’s shoulder and jostled him slightly, a lopsided grin on his face. “Did you not see what I did to those Wailers? I’m not sayin’ it’d be a good idea, but together, we could give ‘em quite a fight.” His voice was confident, but deep down he knew they’d lose.

  “What do you think they’d call you, Rowan? The Dread of the Dregs? The Monster of the Mire? Oh, I bet your head would make for the finest mantle piece,” Nyve’s voice curled into Rowan’s ear, teasing and dramatic. She was still wary of how Calhan would react if she butted in, but Rowan never minded her antics. Being tangled up in his hair for so long was getting downright dreadful and she needed to do something to keep her from breaking the one golden rule. Rowan gave his head a small shake to settle her, though Calhan barely acknowledged it. Whether he noticed Nyve at all, he didn’t let on.

  “I saw how burned up you got when my bind broke through your gear. We should be more careful, especially if I still can’t fully transform you yet.” Calhan tried to keep the mood light, whatever was about to come certainly wouldn’t be. As impressive as his ability was, it was at the mercy of his emotions, his frantic mind killed his focus when pressure was at its highest.

  “It might be pretty scary when you figure out how to do that on command,” Rowan joked. “I don’t wanna end up as an actual slug next time I go a little overboard.”

  “Ah…” Calhan sighed, a slight smirk tugging at his face. “Only if you really deserve it.”

  “You’ll regret it, Cal. I’ll crawl into your ear and never come out.” Rowan wet his finger and jabbed it straight into Calhan’s ear.

  “You won’t be fast enough, and if you try, you’re getting salted!” Calhan retaliated with a pyful punch to Rowan’s ribs.

  “You’re gonna have to put more weight into it than that if you wanna do more than make my fat jiggle.” Rowan smirked, nudging him back with a hearty shove.

  The brothers kept poking and jostling each other as they walked, their ughter mixing with the distant noise of the city. Nyve, still hidden, watched them with growing impatience. Her fingers fidgeted, her wings twitched, and she let out an exaggerated groan only Rowan could hear. She wanted to tease, to py, to get in the middle of their game. For now, she stayed put, but how much longer could her instincts be smothered?

  ?? ?? ??

  Assembling at the gate to the Aurifex was a chaotic mess of men. On one side stood the Kraken Callers, half-dressed, reeking of liquor, their loose formation barely resembling anything organized. Galvos led them, thumbs buried in his belt, watching as his crew slouched against crates or mingled amongst themselves. They were seasoned, hardened by experience, but they were rowdy.

  Opposite them stood the Onorion soldiers—polished, disciplined, and eerily silent. Their armor gleamed under the midday sun, every weapon in perfect pce, every man standing at attention like a statue. At their head stood a strange fellow, not robed in the usual fixings of war or adventure, but instead draped in exquisite silks with puffy flourishes. He carried himself fmboyantly, a stark contrast to the hardened men around him. Of all those gathered, he was undoubtedly the most out of pce.

  "Ahhh! You must be Captain Galvos! Marcurio Saphirius, at your most humble service!" He bowed with an exaggerated flourish, his arms sweeping out dramatically as if greeting royalty.

  Galvos eyed him, unimpressed. "Who the hell are you supposed to be? You don’t look like you should be leading children to a picnic, let alone men into a battle."

  "Haha! Yes, I imagine this is quite a shock! Truth be told, I’m rather surprised myself!" Marcurio straightened in a fsh, pinching at the ends of his mustache with evident pride. "My cousin, a Finger to the Grand Auric Argentum, believes I have yet to rightly earn my pce. A test, he called it! A noble trial to prove my worth! And what better test of leadership than guiding our brave countrymen into danger?" He grinned widely, beaming as if he had just delivered an inspiring speech.

  Galvos just stared at him, half-convinced this was some kind of eborate joke. Of the two—Argentum or Aurelio—he wondered who had decided to saddle him with this absurd man. Either way, it was beginning to feel more like a punishment than a mission.

  "I see you enjoy a spice of variety in your crew, Captain! How do you ever manage to stop them from trying to kill each other all the time?" Marcurio excimed with genuine astonishment, his eyes sweeping over Galvos' men like a schor examining a rare specimen. He looked as if he were mentally cataloging each and every one of them.

  Galvos sighed, rubbing his temple. "Not sure if I should take that as a compliment or an insult. Just get your men ready—we’ll be addressing everyone soon, then heading out."

  "Ah, of course! Well, I cannot wait to work alongside you, Captain!" Marcurio fshed a wide grin before promptly striding off—though not in the direction of his soldiers. Instead, his path took him toward a peculiar, cloth-draped cart that had been wheeled in alongside the rest of the Onorion supplies.

  Galvos furrowed his brow as the nobleman reached the cart and, with great theatricality, whipped away the decorative tarp. Beneath it, a massive green worm wriggled zily, its segmented body shifting and pulsing with an unsettling, organic rhythm. Its porous skin released strands of silk with every sluggish undution.

  Marcurio cpped his hands together, beaming. "Ahh, there she is! Be careful with her now! Putress is delicate! I won’t tolerate a single hair on her body being harmed!"

  Not much ter Calhan and Rowan had finally arrived. They sought out Galvos hoping to make themselves useful if they could but it looked like a lot of what needed to be done had already been so, "Captain! You look terrible!" Rowan greeted him with a grin.

  Galvos didn’t look amused. It was a familiar expression, the only one Calhan had ever really seen on the Captain.

  "It’s a mess in there," he muttered, tossing each of them a set of wraps, simir to the ones they had worn on Bimos. "The mire is the least of our problems. It’s low, so keep your legs and feet covered. Got masks, too, if you’re feeling extra cautious, but trust me—what’s waiting for us inside is worse than the damn fog."

  Rowan twirled the wraps between his fingers before shrugging. "Aye, Captain. Anything else?"

  "Just be ready when called. We’re still missing a few stragglers." With a nod, Galvos dismissed them, turning back to his preparations.

  The brothers would have blended in with the rest of the Callers, but as they turned, something caught Calhan’s eye.

  "Rowan, do you see that thing?" His voice carried a note of fascination as he nudged his brother.

  Rowan followed his gaze, nding on the massive, pulsating green worm coiled near the carts, He stared at it for a moment, but it didn’t inspire the same appeal that Calhan had taken from it "...Yeah. It’s somethin’."

  "Let’s go check it out." Calhan was already off, his rare interest in something in Onoria pulling him forward before Rowan could object.

  "Oh, is our little giant a fan of bugs?" Nyve’s voice jingled in his ear like a mischievous bell.

  "Eh…" Rowan grimaced. "More like weird creatures in general."

  "What’s with the face, Rowan? Do the wiggly ones make you squeamish?"

  "I’m not exactly in love with creepy crawlies. And them being that big doesn’t help."

  Nyve giggled. "What could such a harmless armless thing possibly do to you, Rowan?"

  "I’m not afraid of them doing anything to me," he huffed, trailing after his brother. "I just don’t want them near me, is all."

  As they neared the gigantic worm, Calhan stood just a step away, eyes fixated on its smooth, glistening surface his fascination heighted as he watched silk jet out of its body. He’d never seen anything quite like it, at least, nothing this massive. His fingers twitched at his sides, barely holding back the urge to reach out and touch it.

  "Ah, ah, ah!"

  Before Calhan could y a hand on the beast, a sharp voice stopped him in his tracks.

  "What do you think you’re doing? Putress is very sensitive! I can’t just let you put your dirty hands all over her! You need to clean them first!"

  Calhan hesitated, stepping back as the finely dressed man strode toward him, brandishing a gss bottle of familiar-looking soap—Harmonia’s signature floral blend.

  "Oh… sorry, I just wanted to pet her," Calhan muttered.

  "No harm in that, dear boy! I encourage affection! But one must take proper care to ensure no disgusting germs taint her pristine form!"

  Without waiting for permission, the man squirted two generous pumps of fragrant gel into Calhan’s hands, then turned to Rowan expectantly, bottle poised.

  Rowan raised both hands and took a step back. "Nah, I’m good."

  When Calhan’s fingers were sparkling to Marcurio’s liking, he finally id his hand on Putress, who unduted softly at his touch.

  “There’s nothing quite like the tender touch of a new friend. I think she likes you!” Marcurio beamed, delighted that his beloved pet was pleased.

  “May I ask your name? It’s quite a shock to see someone so put together, considering what you are!”

  Rowan shot him a strange look, unsure if he should be offended. Calhan, however, didn’t pay the words much mind.

  “I’m Calhan, that’s my brother Rowan.”

  “Ah, Calhan and Rowan. No surname, though…” Marcurio gave them both an appraising gnce. “That red hair is quite distinct. You’re both rather pale too. Hmm.” He tilted his head, studying them as if they were artifacts on dispy. “You must be from the Rye, correct?”

  Rowan’s expression tightened, his brows drawing together at the unexpected guess. “Good guess.”

  “Of course it was! I am Marcurio Saphirius, Grand Curator of Ethnological Studies! I could narrow it down to the exact isnd for you if you wish!”

  Before either of them could react, Marcurio suddenly leaned in close, taking several exaggerated sniffs. Calhan stiffened, instinctively pulling back as Marcurio hummed in thought. He cast a gnce at Rowan, unsure whether to be impressed or deeply unsettled.

  “Hmmm… yes, yes, you definitely have that aroma about you.” Marcurio tapped his chin, then snapped his fingers. “You’re from Rindle, aren’t you?”

  The brothers exchanged looks, wondering if they should be offended.

  “That’s a… weird talent you got there,” Rowan muttered.

  “Haha! I’ve always had a deep fascination with the differences between all the peoples of this world we share! In fact, I’m writing a book about them right now! Perhaps you’ve heard of it? I’m sure a few volumes have trickled their way down to these wretched quarters!”

  “Not much of a reader myself.” Rowan gnced at Calhan and shrugged. “You know what he’s talking about?”

  Calhan shook his head, his attention shifting back to Putress. He still wanted to pet her, but it seemed Marcurio was far more interested in rambling about his book.

  “I think I’ve heard your name before,” Calhan admitted, “but I only read books on bindings animals and folklore.”

  Marcurio’s smile widened. “Well, if you really think about it, what are the Garruhm or the Yth but beasts with a voice?”

  Rowan crossed his arms, his patience thinning. “The hell is that supposed to mean?”

  Calhan tensed, worried that their personalities were about to csh in the worst way.

  “Oh, don’t take offense! I meant none by it. Just stating the obvious!”

  “Hey… uh, so are you actually helping us or what?” Calhan cut in, hoping to steer the conversation before Rowan said something that got them both into trouble. “You don’t really seem like you belong here.”

  “Oh, well, I’m supposed to ensure things run smoothly, I suppose. But since you’re here! I’d love to get your opinion on a title for a chapter in my next volume! It’s about you people, of course! I was thinking… The Ghastly Forsaken of the Rye! Or maybe… The Sickly Sea People of the Rye! Hmm, no, perhaps—”

  Marcurio trailed off, tapping his chin as he mulled over even more absurd titles.

  Rowan exhaled sharply and turned away. “This guy’s a bumbling idiot. I hope he gets eaten by whatever’s in there.”

  Calhan let out a quiet breath of relief, grateful that Rowan had decided to walk off rather than start a scene. He lingered for just a moment, reaching out to give Putress one st pet before following after his brother.

  "Leaving already? Well, it was nice talking with you!" Marcurio waved them off, but neither brother bothered to return the gesture, not even a spiritless wave.

  "Huh. I suppose they don't teach manners in the Amalgamate," he mused, stroking his chin.

  Putress unduted again, letting out a sound somewhere between a sigh and a purr.

  "You liked him, didn’t you, girl?" Marcurio chuckled, giving her a hearty pat. "Well, that’s all that matters!"

  With that, he straightened his silks and made his way to his podium, mirroring Galvos as he prepared to address his men. If nothing else, Marcurio intended to look like he belonged in command.

  "All right, boys!" Galvos, ever a sve to ceremony, fired his arquebus into the air. The shot rang through the already quiet gathering, drawing every wayward eye to him.

  "We’re on a rescue mission. We’ve got a few important pces to check—the Vocarium, Harmonia, the Metalworks—but we’re not stopping there. Keep your eyes peeled for survivors holed up in backstreets, listen sharp for any calls for help." He named a few more key locations before his voice turned more severe.

  "It ain’t just Mire fog in there, though. Scouts spotted something moving inside. Couldn’t identify it, but with how young this Mire is, odds are we’re dealing with Mired Men. Keep your distance, and for the love of the gods, don’t let them touch you!"

  The Kraken Callers roared, waiting for their captain to give them the signal.

  "Now, men, who are we?"

  "THE KRAKEN CALLERS!" they bellowed in unison.

  "You’re damn right! Now let’s go save some lives!" Galvos fired another shot into the air, and the crew surged forward, the energy electric.

  On the Onorion side, Marcurio stood at his podium, struck with awe—but speechless. He looked out over his silent, disciplined soldiers, who remained unmoved by the rowdy dispy of the Callers.

  "Yes… well… who are we, exactly?" He hesitated, gncing between them, trying to summon the same presence as Galvos. The soldiers stayed silent. Some looked unimpressed. Others outright annoyed at being led by such a fmboyant fool.

  Marcurio cleared his throat. "Let’s, ah… do a good job! And… don’t make me look bad!"

  The Onorions remained quiet as they marched in perfect order, trailing behind the Kraken Callers as they entered the Mired Aurifex. The mission had begun.