When they successfully made it to the cliffside port nestled somewhere along the northern coast, the sharp scent of sea salt stung Lothar's senses, bringing him to an abrupt halt.

He lifted a hand, immediately commanding silence and stillness from those who followed behind him. Before them stretched the boundless sea, vast and brooding beneath the pale morning sky. The surface churned in shades of silver and slate, as though reflecting the mood of the land they were temporarily leaving behind.

The waves rolled in steady, deliberate pulses, crashing against the wooden pier with a ceaseless rhythm that echoed like a summons.

The port itself was buzzing with activities. Sailors shouted over the blistering wind as they hurried to secure thick ropes to mooring posts. Canvas sails flared open with deafening snaps, catching the breeze like thunderclaps. Amidst the organized chaos stood their ship, which was a towering silhouette of timber and iron, it's dark hull looming above the dock and casting long, unwavering shadows.

Its hull was etched with ancient protective sigils. Althea's gaze lingered on the fearsome figurehead that loomed at the prowl. It was a snarling wolf carved purely from dark wood, its eyes twin gems of polished onyx that seemed to follow her as she stared back in reverent silence.

The supply crew had arrived earlier before them, already hauling crates and barrels aboard with the fluid rhythm of men long accustomed to such tasks. The final touches of preparation were now nearly complete.

Althea was the first to dismount, her boots hitting the ground with a soft, resolute thud. Tilting her head back, she gazed up at the ship with renewed excitement bubbling inside her chest, her hands clasped in front of her. "Maybe this journey won't be so bad after all," she said brightly, brushing the windblown strands of hair from her face.

The others followed her lead.

Cora slid down from the horse she'd been sharing with Leonardo, landing with less enthusiasm. She had really looked forward to this voyage, until Leonardo decided to punish her with his silence all through the way.

All she had done was happily offer Donovan and Esme some cookies before they left the estate, along with a few harmless seafaring tips– things like how to read the winds or which paths to avoid during a storm. It had been Donovan who insisted she come along, praising her knowledge as useful. It was just out of pure coincidence (lies) that she had gathered some of her stuff for the trip too.

Knowledge had always been her gift afterall, her very own armor.

However, when it came to Leonardo, none of that seemed to matter. He was an unreadable page, bound tight with pride and a brooding moodiness that deflected reason. With that solemn expression and self-imposed distance, anyone would assume he was truly a priest.

Still, Cora refused to shrink from a challenge. If he wanted to be mute and cold, so be it. She would match his silence with her own. Lifting her chin, she adjusted the hem of her traveling dress with deliberate grace and walked ahead, leaving him in her wake without a backward glance.

Althea greeted her the moment she joined the dock, looping an arm through hers like an old friend. They were already laughing before they even reached the gangplank, chattering on about the stars, sails and something altogether whimsical. Cora soon found herself being swept toward Revana, who was busy overseeing the last of the supplies being hauled into the ship.

Leonardo watched them go from a distance, his jaw tight, whilst his eyes narrowed slightly as Cora disappeared into a flurry of movement. He couldn't bring himself to understand why her presence here irritated him so deeply– only that it did. His gaze lingered on her longer than he meant it to, that was until Acheron approached and broke the moment with a sharp comment that snapped him out of it.

"Everything alright with you? You seem unusually tense today," Acheron murmured as he moved away from his horse to stand next to Leonardo. His eyes soon narrowed with mock realization when it finally hit him. "Ah… I think I see what this is… your lover decided to tag along on a mission as volatile as Mariana. You worried she might get herself hurt?"

Leonardo let out a sharp, mirthless laugh. The mere thought of that woman being his lover was laughable. "Why would I ever choose to bind myself to that woman of all people? If she winds up in trouble over there? That's on her. I won't be the one answering to her recklessness this time."

Acheron hummed thoughtfully, tapping a gloved finger against his crossed arm, his gesture casual. "Perhaps she's just curious. She's spent her entire life locked away in the icy halls of the world— can we really blame her for wanting to see what else the world holds? Or…" A teasing smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, "...maybe you're afraid some charming mage will win over your northern enchantress."

Leonardo scoffed and shifted his attention toward the supply crews, deliberately avoiding Acheron's eyes. "Afraid? I'm hoping someone actually does. Let some other fool play knight to her stubborn damsel. Maybe then I'll finally be rid of her. All this is happening because I saved her life once- it should have ended there, but no, she had to go and return the favor. That aphrodisiac nonsense caused everything, and I blame Don for my current predicament."

Acheron chuckled, clearly amused– and mildly surprised. This was the first time he's ever seen Leonardo unsettled, and for a woman at that too. "Your brother does have a knack for tormenting you in ways that are technically within the law."

His laughter grew, but when he turned and caught the hard, humorless line of Leonardo's jaw, he quickly raised both hands in surrender. "Alright, Alright– I know I'm not being much of a help right now, so I'll shut up."

"Thank you," Leonardo muttered, his voice dry as flint.

Meanwhile, Esme and Donovan had already stepped down from their own private carriage, the ornate door quietly closing behind them. The wind from the nearby sea tugged at the hem of their cloaks, and Esme could smell the scent of salt that clung to the air. Being here felt refreshing for some inexplicable reason.

"For now," Donovan uttered quietly as he glanced at Esme. "How about we keep that power of yours contained. You still have trouble controlling it. Once we're aboard and things settle, we'll reveal it to the others. Agreed?"

Esme gave a silent nod in response, her expression unreadable beneath the shadow of her hood. Donovan lingered a moment longer to ensure she was truly onboard with this before he turned and strode toward the dockhands.

His cloak trailed behind him.

Esme watched him move with quiet confidence, and she admired how he gave orders without raising his voice, unless of course, it was necessary. But that hardly happened, since his people listened whenever he spoke.

What struck her most was the effortless trust the crew seemed to have for one another. Lothar oversaw most of the supplies without question, and Donovan seldom intervened. He relied on Lothar's judgment, and rightly so. Everything was always in place and accounted for.

Esme, on the other hand, often felt as though her task was to simply stand still and look pretty. With little to contribute and Donovan refusing to let her strain herself, she hovered at the edges– feeling present but not needed. The others really respected her being here, true, but they followed Donovan without pause, shielding him with a loyalty she admired and envied at the same time.

She pulled back the hood of her cloak, letting the sea breeze brush her cheeks. Determined not to simply linger like a statue, she made her way toward Donovan, who appeared to be in deep conversation with a broad-shouldered sailor at the end of the dock.

"The black rivers are spreading," the sailor was saying, his voice low and grim. "The last time anyone bothered about the black river was when it first showed up many years back, during the end of the war that stopped the spreading of the curse, but it was harmless at that time. But lately there are reports of fishes dying. Whole swaths of sea life going still. Whatever's beneath those waters– it's turning deadly."

Donovan's brow furrowed as he listened to what the sailor had to say, and he asked, "Could it be tied to the rain? The timing isn't exactly a coincidence."

"There's evidence to suggest it," the sailor replied, casting a wary glance at the horizon. "But the way the water's rising, spreading so fast– it's unnatural, even for me and I'm telling yah. It's as if something stirred it up from below. Sounds mad, I know, but… as a sailor expert, the sea doesn't just rise without a reason."

Esme had begun to step toward Donovan when a sudden grip seized her arm, halting her in place. The touch wasn't harsh, but it was firm, unexpected enough to steal the breath from her throat.

She turned sharply, her heart already climbing in her throat. She was ready to pull it strike if needed, but then her eyes met his.

Those green, vivid and unmistakable eyes she hadn't seen in what felt like a lifetime. The world around her seemed to blur for a moment, the sea breeze and dockside noise fading beneath the weight of recognition.

"Alpha… Alpha Rhyne?" She whispered, barely able to believe it.

He stood before her, his gaze pinned to her face, not with anger or arrogance as she remembered the night he rejected her, but with something entirely. Something almost fragile.

Yearning.

Donovan, who had been listening to the sailor, felt his mind freeze when he spotted another alpha holding onto his Esme.