Zevekhan was not built for strangers. The island sat like a dagger off the southeastern coast of the Dazhum continent, closest to the Eastern Realm coast, shaped by storms and centuries of siege. Its harbors were cut deep into volcanic stone, and its soldiers trained with discipline sharpened by ritual and control. This was the largest of the coastal island chains, and the closest to the mainland. It was also the heart of the southern defense grid.
When Devri (Nivak) arrived with his group, there were no greetings. Their passage from the northern mountains had been quiet and cold, and the sea crossing had done little to change that. The silence between them had grown since the failed operation. It was heavy, unspoken, and laced with blame no one dared voice. Vaeyra stayed silent except when scouting. Nask walked stiffly. The two Dazhum agents that accompanied them said little. All of them showed their sigils at the outer gate of the Hall of Spears. The guards studied the marks without expression before allowing them through.
The citadel was carved into the side of a mountain. Stone steps ran sharp and steep. Tiered arenas overlooked training yards where recruits sparred under close supervision. The air smelled of metal, ash, and old oil.
They met the base commander in a low chamber near the center. He stood beside a map board. A long burn scar cut down the side of his face and disappeared under his collar. His voice was damaged, mechanical.
"All triremes have been deployed north. Capital orders," the commander said. His voice was like stone dragged over stone, low, cracked, and cold. "There's a buildup along the Khalodan Isthmus. Reports say the Eastern Realm is massing infantry and mobile siege units near the border. Tensions have been rising for weeks. Border skirmishes, blocked trade routes, and missing patrols have all contributed. The high command expects a breach, and they want the northern coast fortified before the first strike comes."
Devri (Nivak) explained their purpose. They needed to cross to the Dazhum mainland. There was little time. They carried priority intelligence.
The commander listened, but his response did not change.
"Even if I had a vessel, your captain wouldn't be allowed to board. Records show he's from the Freedmen Realm. That's flagged."
Devri (Nivak) didn't press the matter. The commander gave a final option.
"There's a dock town southeast of here. Some private traders operate out of it. If you can find a ship and crew, it's on you. You'll have exit clearance from here, but nothing else."
That afternoon, they left the citadel. Devri (Nivak) told the others to wait near the harbor road. He would go alone.
The coastal town was small, utilitarian. Salt air soaked the buildings. Most signs were painted in chipped black ink. The tavern stood near the fishyard. Devri (Nivak) stepped inside and found it dim. Uneven tables. Two servers behind the bar. He ordered food, sat near the wall.
He scanned the room without turning his head. One man sat alone in the back. His coat was stained but newer than his boots. His posture was too square for a tradesman. When Devri (Nivak) entered, the man adjusted slightly. Not obvious, but practiced.
Devri (Nivak) did not speak. He used breath, scent, and minor vibration, scent-silent relay. A command embedded in chemical strands, directed at the man's lower senses. One-way. Wrapped in Hiveborne signature.
The man tensed. His jaw shifted. He couldn't track the source. That was intentional. Devri (Nivak)'s signal carried senior coding.
Message was short:
"Find a ship, choose five you trust, blend into the docks as captain and crew, and come back here in five days."
The man left his drink untouched. Devri (Nivak) waited, finished his food, and walked out an hour later.
Five days passed. They went to the town. A ship waited at the far dock. The design was standard. Weather-worn. Not built for speed. Dazhum sigils marked the sides.
The crew was already aboard, carrying out their roles with quiet discipline. They moved with the steady rhythm of people who had done this many times before. Instructions were passed in brief glances and muttered words. No one lingered. No one asked questions.
The captain stood near the helm, a lean man with sun-darkened skin and a trimmed beard gone mostly gray. He studied the tide without looking at the agents boarding his ship. Their arrival had been expected. His job was to sail, not to ask who he was carrying.
Vaeyra said nothing as she stepped onto the deck, eyes flicking over the crew. Everything was in place. Nask stood beside her, still and quiet, showing nothing on his face.
The other Dazhum agents followed without hesitation. They walked up the plank, one after another, with the calm of people on assignment. None of them spoke. To them, the vessel was a transport with a paid crew. Ordinary. Unremarkable.
They took their places across the deck, some leaning against the rails, others disappearing below. The crew paid them no mind.
Once the last of them was aboard, the captain gave a sharp nod. Moorings were pulled. Sails unfurled. The cutter eased away from the dock with the creak of rope and the low shift of the hull.
No one spoke as the harbor fell behind them. The crossing to the Dazhum mainland would take the better part of a day, provided the weather held. The ship cut through calm water, wind firm in the sails, as the coastline slipped slowly out of sight. The crew kept to their stations. The agents kept to their silence.
The sea did the rest.
But Devri (Nivak) had chosen them for a reason. Every one of them was Veilguard, pulled from the deeper layers of the order where training went beyond blades and silence. No outsiders. No risks. No variables he could not control.
They were all swarm compatible, conditioned to move as one when signaled. Each one trained in relay paths, able to receive and transmit silent cues across distance. Their responses were instinctive, rehearsed until thought was no longer needed. Even their discipline had been refined, shaped through scent encoding, ritual exposure, and layered response drills.
This was not a team built for noise or show. They were meant to move cleanly through the gaps, speak only when required, and obey without hesitation. Devri (Nivak) had no need to look back once they were chosen. They would hold.
They always had.
They sailed before dusk. For the first day, the ship hugged the coast. On the second, they cut into deeper water toward the mainland.
That night, Devri (Nivak) stood at the stern. He exhaled a thin cloud of pheromones. It drifted backward, found the captain, and delivered the next phase.
"At Dalrim City, break contact. Two-week scatter. Enter the city under separate covers. One establishes a front. Use a tavern. Others embed close. Poses: patron, supplier, labor.
Construct access beneath. Cell-grade. No links on surface. No visible ties. Speak only through drops. Keep your cover clean.
Recruit local assets. Prioritize deniable talent with reach into markets, guilds, and street routes. No names logged. No direct ties to the core cell.
Funds are placed. Ballast compartment, forward hold. Marked with double rope knot. Shared use only.
Initiate network build. Mine will operate independently.
Once stable, filter intel upstream. Priority targets: thieves' rings, contract guilds, red quarter routines, names and faces of local heads.
I will contact you.
Stay in shadow. Full stealth protocol."
No confirmation came. None was needed.
Below deck, Devri (Nivak) crouched near the ballast storage and found the marked panel. A faint scent trigger lingered in the seam. He pressed two fingers to the edge and slid it aside, revealing a narrow cavity.
His spatial ring pulsed once. A dull shimmer passed over his palm. The iron lockbox appeared, already prepared.
From beneath his skin, just below the wrist, the carrion beetle pushed free. It unfolded silently, legs twitching, antennae already reading the air. It crawled inside the box and left a faint, unique scent trail. This bio-signature would allow other Veilguard agents to locate the cache without leaving any visible mark.
Once the task was complete, the beetle crept back to the incision at his wrist and slipped inside without a trace.
He sealed the panel. Nothing remained visible.
Devri (Nivak) led the original group north. The roads were patrolled. Statues marked every gate. Every stone had been scrubbed of foreign scent.
By the end of the week, the towers of Zhiyuan came into view. The capital rose in flat tiers. Defensive walls ringed the city in three layers.
The outer gate bore the Dazhum crest. A serpent wrapped around a vertical spear.
Devri (Nivak) adjusted his cloak. Vaeyra stepped beside him. Nask shifted his weight. None of them spoke.
The guards checked their sigils, stamped the slate, and let them pass.
They entered the city of Zhiyuan. The others followed, unaware of what had been seeded behind them.
Back at the coastal dock, the ship rested quietly beneath a low morning haze. The Veilguard cell lingered in the shadows, their eyes fixed on the ridge beyond where Devri's group disappeared from sight. The leader, still dressed in the worn captain's attire, surveyed the small team one last time. When he gave the signal, the cell moved with practiced efficiency.
There was no hesitation. Heavy gear was stripped from the vessel, secured away or discarded with quiet care. Logs and manifests were rewritten to erase any trace of the recent activity. Names vanished from the ship's registry as if they had never been there.
Within the hour, a trade agent arrived without fanfare. The buyer had already been arranged, a minor freight consortium known for running inland supply routes with minimal oversight. No questions were asked. No records scrutinized. The handover was clean and swift.
The captain exchanged a few quiet words with the buyer as they stood near the gangplank, the ship's wooden boards creaking softly beneath their feet.
"I'm done with the sea." the captain said, voice low but steady. "Planning to buy land inland, somewhere quiet. Raise crops, maybe a family."
He handed over the folded documents.
The buyer gave a small nod, taking the papers without comment.
The vessel changed hands for a fair sum, enough to fund their next phase. Paperwork was folded carefully into three layers, signed under a different name.
The leader divided the proceeds without ceremony. Coins exchanged hands, and cipher tags were pocketed. No contact would be made until the second crescent moon, their only marker for the timing of the next operation.
As the ship sailed away under a new flag, the cell dispersed across the harbor, blending into the rhythms of the coast. Their true work had begun.