Whoosh!
The storm lashed the Danube, tossing the battered river-steamer as if it were a child's toy. Rain and wind battered the deck, and the city lights of Helmsgart flickered dimly on the horizon.
The crimson shimmer faded from Viktor's eyes. He found himself standing on the slick deck, the memory of the mist and the Covenant Circle already receding like a half-remembered dream.
Almost at once, the glass ampoule in his hand shattered, the frost inside vanishing into the rain. Only a faint, hexagonal mark lingered on his palm before it, too, dissolved into his skin. Viktor nodded to himself, lost in thought, and stood motionless for several minutes.
He turned and headed below deck. As he reached the corridor, a man in a rain-slicked coat, embroidered with silver runes, emerged from a cabin.
The blond man paused, saluted with a fist over his heart. "May the River's Will guide you."
Viktor returned the gesture, face unreadable. He continued to the captain's quarters, the echo of his boots swallowed by the hush—no crew in sight, only the low hum of the engines and the storm outside.
Inside, the captain waited behind a desk cluttered with navigational charts, a brass sextant, and a battered bottle of schnapps. The man's eyes were wild, his cap askew.
"I won't surrender!" the captain spat.
"I know," Viktor replied, voice calm as still water.
The captain blinked, caught off guard. Viktor stepped forward, swift as a shadow, and seized him by the throat. For a moment, the faint outline of scales shimmered on Viktor's hand—then he squeezed, and the captain's resistance ended with a crack.
Without ceremony, Viktor flung the body through the cabin wall, out into the raging river. Rain and wind howled through the breach as Viktor wiped his hand with a white cloth and tossed it after the corpse.
Moments later, the blond man burst in. "What happened?"
"The captain fled," Viktor said, feigning annoyance. "He must have had help from the city's hidden ones."
The blond man cursed, peering into the storm. "No matter. The real prize is this ghost-ship itself—an artifact from the old Empire."
Viktor nodded, watching as the wood of the wall slowly knit itself back together, shutting out the storm. He glanced at the wheel and the empty deck—no crew, yet the ship moved as if guided by invisible hands.
He thought of the Veiled Arbiter, shrouded in mist, and felt a shiver of anticipation.
"A new era is beginning…" he murmured, eyes on the storm.
Helmsgart, Noble Quarter
Elsewhere, Livia von Hall pressed her fingers to her cheek, still disbelieving the events she'd just witnessed.
On her dressing table, the old silver mirror had shattered, shards glinting with the last traces of crimson light. On the back of her hand, a faint star-shaped mark faded into her skin.
"It wasn't a dream," she whispered, a smile spreading across her face.
She stood and spun, her green skirts swirling as she danced the "Old Court Waltz"—the latest craze among the city's elite.
A sharp knock interrupted her reverie.
"Who is it?" Livia called, smoothing her dress.
"Miss, may I come in? The carriages are ready for the parade," her maid, Anna, replied.
Livia checked her reflection, tucking away her excitement. "Come in."
Anna entered, immediately noticing the broken mirror. "Oh, dear… Did the dog get in again?"
Livia nodded with a practiced smile. "Yes, I think so."
Anna tutted and began gathering the shards. "Which gown will you wear today?"
Livia hesitated. "The blue one, from my birthday?"
Anna shook her head. "Not for a parade. The new silver one, I think."
Livia sighed, but relented. Soon, the household was a flurry of activity—dresses, hats, gloves, and jewelry all prepared for the day's spectacle.
Her father, Baron von Hall, appeared at the door in his best frock coat, mustache waxed, eyes bright with pride.
"My little star, it's time to dazzle the city," he said, offering his arm.
Livia rolled her eyes but smiled, taking his arm as they descended to the waiting carriage.
The Parade of Progress
The city's grand boulevard was packed with carriages and onlookers. Livia and her father stepped out just as a hush fell over the crowd.
At the river docks, a colossal vessel gleamed—a warship of steel, its hull bristling with cannons, its smokestacks belching clouds into the sky. The city's old wooden ships looked like toys beside it.
"By the Founders…" someone gasped.
"It's the Iron Leviathan!" another whispered.
The crowd was still marveling when a shadow swept across the avenue. Overhead, a massive airship—sleek, blue, and humming with arcane engines—descended, bearing the city's royal crest: twin swords crossed beneath a crown.
The royal family had arrived.
Livia watched, awestruck, as the airship touched down and the king, queen, and their retinue emerged, flanked by black-armored knights whose presence radiated authority and menace.
The Prime Minister, Lord Nagl, took the stage. He was a thin, sharp-eyed man, his voice carrying over the crowd.
"Citizens of Helmsgart, today you witness the dawn of a new age! Our Iron Leviathan measures 100 meters, with armor thicker than any fortress wall. She carries a dozen cannons, machine guns, and torpedo launchers. No pirate or enemy fleet can stand against her!"
The crowd erupted in applause.
The king stepped forward, beaming. "She shall be named the Helmsgart!"
"Helmsgart!" the officials and sailors echoed, and the name rippled through the crowd.
With a blast of horns and a thunder of cannons, the Iron Leviathan steamed out into the river, her guns firing a salute.
Lord Nagl raised his arms. "From this day forward, the age of pirates and shadows ends! Only the Iron Leviathan will rule these waters. This is the dawn of iron and progress!"
The crowd cheered, but in the shadows, Viktor and others like him knew:
Every new era brings new secrets—and new dangers.