The mist still clung to the Raven's Bay as dawn broke over Ravenscroft Harbour, where the tide ebbed and flowed beneath the wooden docks. The city, ever alive with trade, was already bustling—merchants shouting prices over the din of dockworkers, sailors tightening ropes and shouting orders as goods were hauled from distant lands. The scent of salt, fish, and burning oil mingled in the cool morning air.
Oliver van Devaan stood near the gangplank of a flat-bottomed river barge, adjusting the gloves on his hands as he gazed across the waterway. He had spent his last night in the city of spies and merchants finishing preparations for his return to Diosmaris.
His escort—a mix of Devaan knights, attendants, and a handful of veteran soldiers—stood at attention nearby, their armor catching the first light of morning.
"There's no honor in leaving by barge," muttered Ser Aldric Velkyn, an older knight with a thick scar running across his brow. "A proper Devaan lord should ride into Diosmaris on horseback."
Oliver smirked slightly but did not look away from the water. "And spend two weeks on the road? I think not."
"It would make a statement," Aldric pressed.
"A statement of stubbornness," Ser Armin Hastrel interjected, a younger knight who had once been Oliver's sparring partner in his youth. "Besides, it's not as if we'll be floating the entire way."
Indeed, their journey would be a blend of travel by canal, river, and land. The network of waterways crisscrossing the continent had been the lifeblood of trade for centuries, maintained by House Ravenscroft and Silvermoon. From Ravenscroft Harbour, they would take the canals inland, where the Imperial roads would meet them in Silvermoon's domain.
The barge master, a wiry man with a permanent squint from years of staring against the sun, approached with a respectful bow.
"We'll be off soon, my lord. By the end of the day, we'll reach the first canal gate. There, you and your escort can take horses if you wish."
Oliver nodded, but his attention flickered to the city behind him. He had spent nights in Ravenscroft before, but this departure felt different. There were too many whispers in the streets, too many sidelong glances from merchants who usually had no interest in politics.
Ser Aldric, ever perceptive, followed his gaze. "Rumors travel faster than we do. The Emperor's summons is no small thing."
Oliver sighed. "Nor is my father's silence."
That part unsettled him more than anything else. His father was many things—cold, distant, calculating—but never unresponsive. The fact that he had not received a single letter from Devaan's court since the rebellion ended gnawed at him like a blade twisting in his gut.
"We'll know soon enough," said Ser Willem Dorne, a cavalry officer who had served House Devaan for two decades. "Until then, we do what we've always done. We ride and we fight if we must."
"And we drink," added Armin, ever the one to lighten the mood. "Ravenscroft's wine doesn't travel well, after all."
The barge's gangplank creaked, signaling final boarding. Oliver exhaled, pushing aside his unease. Whatever awaited him in Diosmaris, he would face it on his own terms.
With a final glance at the harbor, the towering spires of Ravenscroft's trade halls, and the shadowed alleyways where deals were struck in whispers, Oliver stepped onto the vessel.
As the barge pulled away from the docks, leaving the city behind, he did not yet realize this was the last time he would see Ravenscroft as a free man.
The barge glided smoothly along the canal, carried by the steady current as the great Harbour City faded into the distance. The air was crisp that morning, tinged with the salt of the sea, though it gradually gave way to the earthy fragrance of river reeds and damp soil.
The canal system of Ravenscroft was one of the wonders of the Central Continent, a feat of engineering that had turned an otherwise fragmented land into a thriving trade empire. Stone embankments lined the waterways, their surfaces smooth from centuries of wear, and bridges arched over them at regular intervals, connecting roads lined with merchant outposts and watchtowers.
Along the banks, plumes of lavender-blue mistbloom flowers swayed in the morning breeze, releasing a faint, sweet fragrance. The waxy leaves of silvercress vines clung to the stone walls of the canal, their tendrils dipping into the water like lazy fingers. Here and there, great willows stood with their long, whispering branches grazing the surface of the river, dappling the water with shifting patterns of gold and green.
"If you stare any harder at those trees, Oliver, we'll have to start calling you a druid," Ser Armin Hastrel quipped, leaning back against the barge railing.
Oliver smirked, his gaze still fixed on the passing scenery. "You mean to tell me you don't appreciate the view?"
"I appreciate solid ground under my feet," Armin countered. "And a proper tavern within walking distance. This business of floating across the continent like a lily on a pond is unnatural."
"Then by all means," Ser Aldric Velkyn drawled, adjusting his belt, "you can swim to Diosmaris."
The men chuckled as Armin made a show of clutching his chest as if mortally wounded. "You wound me, Ser Aldric. Have I ever given you reason to doubt my loyalty?"
"Every time you order a second round of ale before a battle."
"That's called morale-building," Armin shot back. "Which is sorely lacking right now. Why are we all so quiet? We're on one of the most beautiful trade routes in the world, and none of you are even trying to pretend to enjoy it."
Ser Willem Dorne, who had been sitting near the stern, finally spoke. "Because we've all traveled this route before. Unlike you, we're not overly sentimental about trees."
Oliver let their banter wash over him, half-listening as he took in more of Ravenscroft's beauty. The canal boats they passed carried everything from barrels of wine to silken goods, spices, and even crates of exotic birds from the Southern Isles, their iridescent feathers shimmering in the morning sun. Ravenscroft had built its wealth on trade, and these waterways were the veins that pumped gold through its heart.
At one point, the barge passed under an old stone bridge, where a flock of dawnkites—pale yellow birds with forked tails—nested in the eaves. As the barge approached, the birds took flight, their wings catching the light like fragments of the sun itself.
"Superstition says it's good luck if dawnkites fly overhead," Aldric mused. "They say they only travel in places where the world is changing."
Armin snorted. "And they also say drinking out of a cracked cup is bad luck, but I've been doing it for years and I'm still standing."
"Barely."
The conversation shifted as the barge reached a set of locks, massive stone gates controlling the water flow between levels of the canal. Workers stood at their posts, signaling the bargemen as gears groaned and the water levels shifted.
Oliver watched as a group of Silvermoon merchants on a neighboring boat haggled over the price of a rare pelt, their Lunarian accents clipped and elegant. Silvermoon was always well-represented along the trade routes—their noble families didn't just own ships, they owned entire industries.
"Silvermoons always find a way to make a profit," Willem muttered as he watched them. "If there's a coin to be made, they'll sniff it out before anyone else even knows it exists."
Oliver hummed in agreement. "That's why they rule half the continent through commerce alone."
"That and their ridiculous hair," Armin added. "I swear, no one in that family has ever been born without silver locks. It's unnatural."
"Careful," Aldric warned with mock seriousness. "It's said the Lunarians are blessed by the moon, and those who mock them will be cursed to go bald."
Armin gasped and clutched his head. "If I wake up without hair tomorrow, I'll kill you all before I throw myself into the canal."
Oliver chuckled, shaking his head. The conversation was a welcome distraction, though part of him remained lost in thought.
The journey to Diosmaris had barely begun, yet the world already felt different. Maybe it was the silence from Devaan, or maybe it was something more—a shift in the air, a feeling he couldn't quite name.
For now, he let the feeling pass.
The barge continued its journey, slipping deeper into the heart of the continent, where roads and rivers wove together like the threads of a grand tapestry, guiding them toward the Empire's waiting embrace.