Chapter
One
RION
The harbor came into view as dawn broke over Eletheria’s cliffs.
I stood at the prow of theIron Resolve, watching the pale stone docks emerge from the morning mist. Eight months. That’s how long we’d been gone, chasing raiders through the outer channels, cutting them off from trade routes they had no right to claim. Eight months of salt spray and blood and the kind of clarity that only came when your choices were simple: fight or die.
Now we were home.
The crew moved with practiced efficiency around me, securing lines and preparing for dock. I didn’t need to give orders. These men knew their work. I’d made sure of that.
“Feels different, doesn’t it?”
Captain Thane Voss appeared beside me, golden hair catching the early light. Ritual scars traced his left temple—three parallel lines marking successfulcampaigns, victories that had earned him his rank before thirty. He was everything the militant Orders valued: strong, disciplined, unmarked by doubt.
“Different how?” I asked.
“Coming back.” He gestured toward the harbor, where dockhands were already gathering to receive us. “Out there, we know what we are. Here...”
He didn’t finish, but I understood. Here, we were ornaments as much as warriors. The temple demanded beauty alongside strength, grace alongside skill. Every militant was expected to embody Korrath’s dual nature—the god of sacred combat who was also the god of physical perfection.
The gangplank struck the dock with a hollow thud.
I moved down the line of my men, checking faces, cataloguing changes. Jorik had new scars across his knuckles—knife work, probably from the skirmish at Korvan’s Bay. His eyes were steadier than when we’d left. Gael looked older, thinner. He’d lost weight after taking a spear to the shoulder. Some wounds healed crooked.
Talis caught my eye and nodded. Good. He’d kept the younger soldiers together during the worst of it. But even he looked worn at the edges, like a blade that had been sharpened too many times.
“They’ll need time,” I told Thane as we watched the men disembark. “Some of them.”
“They’ll adapt. They always do.” His voice carried the confidence of experience. “The temple has ways of smoothing rough edges.”
I wasn’t sure that was what they needed.
The dockhands worked around us with careful efficiency. They knew better than to get in the way of returning militants, but they showed the proper respect—bows when we passed, eyes lowered, space given without being asked. A few junior acolytes from the temple had come to observe. They kept their distance too.
That was fine. I’d earned that distance.
“Lieutenant Rion.” One of the acolytes approached, young enough that his voice still cracked. “Captain Thane. The temple awaits your report.”
“In due time,” Thane replied. “See that the men are fed first. And housed in the outer barracks until they’ve had proper baths.”
The boy bowed deeper and hurried off.
I continued my inspection, noting things that mattered. Ren walked with a slight limp now—would need to see the temple healers. Alyon had developed a nervous habit of checking his blade every few minutes. Battle-focus was useful at sea. Here, it would mark him as unstable.
“You’re cataloguing them like inventory,” Thane observed.
“They’re my responsibility.”
“They were. Now they’re the temple’s again.” He placed a hand on my shoulder. “You can’t carry them all, Rion. Part of coming home is learning to set the burden down.”
I watched Jorik laugh at something Talis said. The sound was forced, too loud. He was trying toremember how to be the person he’d been before. Some of them would manage it. Others would spend their days walking the training grounds with distant eyes, seeing threats that weren’t there, hearing battle-calls in temple bells.
The morning sun climbed higher, warming the stone beneath our feet. Around us, Eletheria stirred to life. Merchants called to each other across the docks. The scent of baking bread drifted down from the city above. Temple chimes began their dawn chorus.
Beautiful. Peaceful. Safe.
