The Grey Anchor, which was usually a quiet place, was suddenly in a state of controlled chaos. Under my mother's strict orders, cloaked Ashworth guards moved quickly through the narrow hallways. Their presence was a sharp, jarring note of military efficiency in the heart of Port Varrick's crumbling waterfront. They packed their bags, got horses from Kael's fortified stables, and made plans for a quick, secret exit from the city. My mother was in charge of everything, like a seasoned general planning a tactical retreat. Her earlier panic turned into a strong, steady focus on getting her injured son out of enemy territory.
I was in a daze as I got ready, letting Seraphina help me put on new travel clothes. My mind was still spinning from the failed mission and the weight of the Inheritor's Burden. The black ring on my finger felt cool and heavy, like a promise of knowledge I hadn't yet begun to understand. It was a map to a war I now had to fight inside my own soul. Rolan stayed with Leo in his room, where he was cautious but dutiful. Garrick, looking serious, worked with my mother's guards to make sure that our departure would be as quick and quiet as possible.
In the middle of all this action, the world seemed to stop once more. A new presence came without warning, but you could feel it right away. The boarding house's frantic energy calmed down. Guards stood up straight. Servants stopped in their tracks. The air became heavy, filled with an authority that was even stronger than my mother's strong will.
Count Theron Ashworth was standing in the doorway to the common room. He wore plain, dark travel leathers that were dusty from the road. His face was a granite mask that couldn't be read. He must have ridden even harder than my mother, since he got there only a few hours after her. His cold, gray eyes took in the scene: his upset wife, his pale, bandaged son, the guards who were on edge, the lingering smell of Seraphina's healing herbs mixed with the faint, bad smell of Void energy that I could still feel in the room, and finally, the closed door behind which the cynical Master assassin was recovering. He took it all in without changing his face, but I could feel the huge power coiled beneath his calm surface, judging, analyzing, and judging.
"Theron!" my mother shouted as she ran to him, her face full of relief. "Thank the ancestors that you are here! This city is a death trap. Lancelot..."
"I know," he said, his voice a low rumble that cut through her frantic words and calmed the storm with its sheer, unmovable presence. He put a heavy hand on her shoulder for a short time, which was a rare sign of comfort. "You did a good job, Eleonora. You were right about your gut feeling. Here, he is not safe." His eyes turned to me, sharp and piercing. He saw the bandages, but he also saw how still I was, how much energy was buzzing under my skin, and how haunted my eyes looked. He saw the change, the growth, and the risk.
He didn't say anything else as he walked past me and stopped in front of Leo's door. He didn't knock. He just stood there for a moment, his Grandmaster's senses looking around the room and judging the man inside. After that, he pushed the door open, stepped inside, and shut it tightly behind him.
My mother looked at the closed door with a look of suspicion and disapproval on her face. Garrick stood still and looked straight ahead. Rolan moved around nervously. Seraphina was the only one who seemed calm. She went back to organizing her herbs and the potted Silverwood cutting for the trip.
I probably won't ever know what happened between my dad and Leo in that room. There were no loud voices. There were no signs of conflict. The door opened again after what felt like five long, tense minutes. My dad came out, and his face was as unreadable as ever. Leo stood behind him in the doorway, leaning heavily on the frame. His face was pale, but his cynical eyes held a glimmer of something new—maybe not respect, but a grudging acknowledgment. It seemed like the two strong, cautious men had come to an unspoken agreement. The predator had looked at the viper and decided that, for now at least, he was a useful but dangerous tool. Our troubled group accepted Leo without saying a word.
"We're leaving in an hour," the Count said, his voice full of authority. He looked at me and held my gaze. "Your recovery and training need the resources of home. This city is full of danger." He didn't ask about the berserk state, the Huntsman, the winged woman, or the ring. He could probably feel the chaotic energy inside me and the brokenness of my soul. He knew that this wasn't something to question, but to keep an eye on and keep an eye on. He wasn't treating me like a bad son; he was treating me like a dangerous, valuable weapon that needed to be brought back under control. He made his choice seem like a strategic necessity, which was nice of him because it let me keep my scary secrets for now.
The extraction was quick, effective, and private. Kael, the owner of The Grey Anchor, showed his loyalty by arranging for passage not on a public ship, but on a fast, unmarked smuggling ship headed north, whose captain owed him a lot of money. We snuck out of the boarding house through a back door and made our way through empty warehouses and foggy alleys in the late afternoon, avoiding the City Watch and anyone else who might have seen us.
As our little ship pulled away from the rotting piers of Port Varrick, I stood at the railing and felt the cold sea spray on my face. The city was a mess and full of crime, and it disappeared into the grey, swirling fog. Relief and anger fought with each other. Yes, I was safe. My team was still alive. Leo was now committed to our cause. But the Void Cult was still there, and their ritual was probably almost done in the Sunken District. The Huntsman was dead, but the Ashen Hand would surely send another. I felt like my mission had failed and left a dangerous loose end hanging.
I looked at the black ring on my finger and felt the Inheritor's Burden in my mind. The trip home wasn't just a break; it was something that had to be done. I now understood that the real battle was not in the dark alleys of a corrupt city, but in the landscape of my own soul. And that was a war I could only fight with my father, the Warden, watching me closely and not letting me win. Going back to Ashworth wasn't the end; it was the start of a much more dangerous and personal kind of training.