On the southern beach of Hellington, seagulls cried above the sea, slicing through the gray air of dawn. The waves broke slowly against the shore, leaving on the sand a heavy smell of salt, iron, and tar. The morning air stung the skin, cold as a blade.

Captain Sharlok stood motionless before the tide line.

The footprints on the sand had already been erased by the rising tide.

Nothing remained.

The cigar between his lips burned slowly, and the smoke rose straight into the steel-colored sky, marking time like a metronome. A perfect line the wind did not dare break.

Before him, the sound of the sea swallowed everything.

But not enough to cover a mistake.

“Captain! I'm here.”

Commander Surez approached with a firm stride, a folder tucked under his arm.

“Have you completed the report?”

“Yes, sir. And the commander of Hellington has requested a meeting with you.”

Sharlok did not take his eyes off the sea. The cigar tilted slightly between his lips.

“He requested… a meeting with me?”

“Yes, Captain.”

For a moment, the wind seemed to stop.

“Who is this commander?”

Surez hesitated for half a second.

“Rione, sir.”

The name hung in the salty air.

Sharlok finally turned.

“The captain of Hellington should be that idiot Benjamin.”

“From what I was told, Captain Benjamin is on a mission in the north. No further details were provided.”

Silence settled between them again.

“I see.”

Sharlok stared at the horizon, his gaze hard.

“Have the families of the fugitives been questioned?”

“Yes. Commander Abram spoke with Sky’s aunt. She blames us for her nephew’s escape… and hopes we never find him.”

A faint smile, cold and surgical, cut across the captain’s lips.

“Of course.”

“Shark’s mother, on the other hand… fainted when she heard the news. She didn’t say anything useful.”

Surez lowered his gaze to the documents. The pages rustled softly in the salty wind.

“I found an interesting detail in the Imperial archives.”

Sharlok did not move.

“Shark’s grandfather was Captain Fish Barron. Imperial Navy. Active during the campaign of the Islands of Water and Fire.”

The name seemed to change the temperature of the air.

For a moment, the sea made no sound.

Sharlok dropped the cigar onto the sand and slowly crushed it out, his gaze still fixed on the sea.

When he spoke, his voice was flat. But something beneath it was alive.

“The apple fell very far from the tree.”

Surez understood that the name had left an invisible shadow in the air, but he did not comment.

“Fish Barron was killed by Merser Fearwather the night the Imperial city of Watermill burned.

At the time, that demon had not yet formed his clan.”

For a moment, Sharlok’s gaze drifted toward the horizon.

Memories resurfaced like the blast of a cannon.

“It happened thirty years ago.”

His voice was calm, distant.

“I was a first-year recruit at the training base on the Tropical Continent. In the middle of the night, the bells started ringing.”

The sea wind passed between them, heavy with salt.

“Watermill had been attacked.”

Sharlok remained still.

“Our orders were simple: support the operational units and evacuate civilians.”

Surez studied him carefully.

“So you saw him, Captain?”

Sharlok did not answer immediately.

The waves rolled slowly against the shore.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low.

“That night…”

He paused briefly.

“No one who saw him survived to tell the story.”

There was no reaction on the captain’s face. No unnecessary movement. Only the calm that did not belong to ordinary men.

“Merser has been dead for a long time. And Shark has never shown any sign of vengeance. Strange that he feels no hatred. It would have made more sense for him to serve the Empire.”

Surez inhaled slowly.

“That may be true, but… what worries me is Sky. He’s a Light. We don’t know if he enjoys the same protection as his aunt. If we arrest him and send him to Nova Aquila… would the matter truly end there?”

Sharlok looked at him. In that gaze there was a verdict, not an opinion.

“First we capture them. Then the Imperial Court will decide their fate.”

Surez nodded.

“I assume that if we’re here, you already have a plan in mind, Captain.”

“Last night I questioned two beggars in the alleys of Purple Street. They saw them at Grey Wall. Three of them. The third… kept his distance. And the idiots were no longer wearing eolite shackles.”

“But if he was the one who freed them… why follow them from afar?” Surez asked.

“So he wouldn’t be associated with them. Or to protect them. Either way, we start here,” Sharlok replied.

He pointed to a spot on the beach.

“That’s where the boat was found. Right there. The most obvious route is the South Gate. It leads to the Lower City.”

“So not Middle Town. They entered from the south. Grey Wall is just steps away from the port warehouses.”

“And they avoided the harbor,” Sharlok said with a sharp look.

“It was too heavily guarded. They took the alleys toward Grey Wall.”

“Or they followed the shoreline to the drainage outlets. From there they wouldn’t have encountered any checkpoints,” said Surez.

“Those two are far too stupid to act that cleverly.”

Sharlok watched the line of water advancing and retreating.

“Let’s review the points: landing in the south. No harbor. Entry through the Lower City. Sighted at Grey Wall. And there were three of them.”

Surez nodded slowly.

“Why not leave Hellington immediately? They were looking for someone. Or waiting for something.”

“A clean route north without drawing attention?” Sharlok added, gesturing toward the sea.

“We follow the beach east. To the drains. From there we trace the alleys. Sand. Salt. Broken eolite. Every trace.”

Surez stiffened.

“Immediately, Captain.”

A metallic wind heavy with rust and tar rose from the distant docks.

Sharlok began to walk.

The hunt was changing shape.

They walked along the shoreline, their steps marked by the whisper of wet sand, until the mouth of a sewage outlet opened before them like a black maw.

The tide had left irregular marks on the shore. Disturbed sand. Broken shells. Debris dragged by the water.

Sharlok stopped.

Something reflected faintly in the gray dawn light.

Surez crouched and brushed away the sand with the tip of his boot.

A blackened metal fragment emerged.

A little farther away, almost completely buried, another piece lay snapped cleanly in two.

The eolite shackles.

“There they are.”

Commander Surez’s voice broke the silence, precise as a gunshot.

Sharlok knelt without haste, studying the fragments with surgical attention.

“Strange. One seems to have been cut, the other broken by force. Why?”

Surez turned the possibilities over in his mind.

“If the third man helped them, why not open both the same way?”

Sharlok raised his eyes to the horizon, as if searching for the answer in the dead reflection of the sea.

“To break eolite shackles by force requires considerable physical power. That third accomplice isn’t a Level One. He’s higher.”

“But what doesn’t add up is the difference in method.”

Surez pointed at the clean edge on the metal.

Sharlok answered without hesitation.

“Not Shark. He uses fire. He would have melted them, not cut them. Sky, with wind, could shatter them like glass. The third man… we know nothing about him.”

They turned toward the drain.

“If they had followed the conduit, they would have reached the Lower City. It’s the most logical path.”

Sharlok pointed in the opposite direction of the harbor.

“I need to speak with Commander Rione. I want full access to the surveillance cameras.”

“Excellent idea, Captain.”

Surez took note, already anticipating the results.

Sharlok added coldly:

“I want the soldiers ordered to leave only one detachment at Grey Wall. If those bastards are still there, they won’t show themselves if the place is crowded with recruits. With a single garrison… they might come out.”

“I’ll proceed immediately.”

Surez nodded, determination carved into his face.

Sharlok stared at the mouth of the drain, then turned.

“You patrol Grey Wall. Talk to the soldiers. Gather information. I’ll go see the commander.”

They split their tasks without ceremony. The wind lifted dust and salt.

As Surez headed toward the city, Sharlok remained for a moment watching the gray ribbon of the sea.

Then he walked away calmly.

In Hellington, someone believed they had calculated every move.

But they had forgotten one variable.

Sharlok.

—

Next Episode — Two Days of Darkness