An eerie chill crept through the ranks of Ranok's men as they sailed out from Lucent Port.

They'd been on the waters for around five hours, bound towards Griffon's Watch and the demon that dwelled there, a few of them hoping that perhaps Dr Haylock had been able to deal with the monster and his fiendlike allies.

But from the looks of them, Ranok knew they were beginning to have doubts.

Even the Greycloaks among them shifted uncomfortably with each passing minute, barking orders to the sailors to ready the cannons and ballistae, arm themselves with proper steel, and stop vomiting so much over the side of the ships.

Ranok, however, had been keeping quiet. His eyes had been trained on the skies above the mist-wreathed castle in the far distance.

One hour into their journey, those skies had been full of lightning, a focused storm whipping up around the entire Island where the Dr conducted his grisly experiments. Ranok flinched even thinking about them. Two monsters squaring off against each other was generally a good thing. But even so…he wasn't sure what he preferred. The idea of fighting the Archon on these open shores, or the idea of arriving on Griffon's Watch and finding the beast already slaying, with the good Doctor wearing the little hat like a trophy.

These thoughts had been swirling round Ranok's head for the past few hours. But presently, they were interrupted.

The vanguard ships signaled to the rest of the fleet – and the rumor went up among the men that the skies had suddenly and inexplicably cleared up around the castle. Stranger still, the Grey Mages on each boat, who had been continuously scrying the surrounding area while keeping up their mist-illusion, reported that they detected no signs of life. No one sallying forth to meet them, even though it would be obvious to anyone in the castle that the fleet was approaching. The magi's mist was potent at covering up their armaments and their precise force composition, but Ranok was certain that if someone was looking down at their little moving cloudcover right now, they'd understand that it was no natural occurrence.

But there was no movement. No resistance as the fleet approached within striking distance of the onyx castle.

Nothing except the same grim silence that had been following them for hours.

Well, little Jonah, Ranok thought with a sigh. This is what yer missing, lad. No honorable battle here. Nothin' but a leisurely little cruise towards nothing. Archon's probably already gone by now.

"Sir Ranok!" one of the gunmen to his left shouted. "Should we commence bombardment?"

Ranok's reply was swift, but thoughtful. "No. Somethings off."

His eyes scanned the cold horizon before them. Above, the arc of the morning sun was just visible through the haze of the fleet's camouflage.

"I don't like this."

"We will prevail, Sir Ranok."

That voice – subdued and yet confident – came from the Greycloak Magi that had formed up beside him. The man was old for one of the Order, and that told you just how fearsome he was in battle. Elderly Greys like the two of them had made it to their advanced age for a reason.

"Brother Fenrik," Ranok said. "Can you feel anything? Anything…unusual?"

Fenrik closed his wrinkled lids and for a moment his face was hidden beneath his grey cowl.

"There is no movement on the winds," he said. "It is as though they dare not speak."

"A bad omen."

"No – it is a sign that Kaedmon is with us. Unworthy travelers on quests for foolhardy pride are dashed against the seas of the Lord. But our fleet has sailed straight and true. We sail the Lord's path."

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Ranok sighed. "I hope you're right, Brother."

"Not me," came Fenrik's chill reply. "Kaedmon himself has shown us victory. He granted me a vision before we set out this morning – one of a great change that shall sweep through this world with us as its heralds. The change shall be the end of the line. The end of the cycle of Archon and Lightborn for good."

Ranok glanced sidelong at his old Brother's devoted smile.

"You've always believed in him, haven't you?"

The Magi case a quizzical look in his brother's direction.

"What do we have without him?"

Ranok decided to chuckle at this, half amused by the question, and half perturbed by his comrade's seriousness as he said it.

"You've got me there, Brother."

"CONTACT!"

The word was bellowed from the vanguard ships – the Magi at their bows transmitting the message through the air in a combined Thaumaturgy. Immediately, the mood on the boats changed. Now, with battle upon them, the soldiers fell in line.

"Man the cannons, ready the ballistae!" old Fenrik yelped through his own Thaumaturgy magic.

"Slow and steady as she goes!" Ranok commanded the ship captain, nodding to the other vessels rocking beside his own. "We don't know what we're dealing with ye-"

"He…he is here."

The eyes of every warrior in the fleet, from Greycloak to deck hand, from Magi to mariner, flew at once to the front of the fleet.

And there, a single shadow was walking towards the mist.

"Ready cannon!" Fenrik yelped. "Archers, knock your arrows!"

As the troops hurried to obey the old magi's commands, Ranok found himself squinting at the thing that emerged through their cover.

It was a thin, twig-like being that walked upon the surface of the ocean without a care in the world, whistling a tune as it went.

A Drytchling…

Ranok had seen their kind before, but never one that stood so tall, and so unafraid. They were creatures that normally moved in packs, and always within their forest realms. But the prescence of the monster confirmed the reports they'd heard from the men and women who had fled Sentinel – this was the Host the Archon was using.

And there, sitting atop the Drytchling's spiky head, was the hat.

The Archon.

A silence deeper than the one that had followed them here descended immediately upon the fleet. Every captain of every ship simply stared at the single figure that walked casually up to them and then stopped a few meters from the ship at the front of their procession.

He stopped, and waited, taking in the sight of all the human eyes that were staring him down.

And then he smiled.

"You know, this is a pretty rough and ready neighborhood, know what I mean?"

Ranok narrowed his eyes as the creature spoke, the little navy-blue hat wiggling around as it did so. He almost wanted to laugh in the face of the creature's confidence. And he would have, if that feeling that something was very, very wrong here had left him.

"I think you boys have sailed into the wrong part of town," the creature said – loud enough so that every warrior could hear it. "I'm gonna give you a few seconds to think about what you're doing, and then head home to your shining towers back there. Believe me, you'd be better off. These waters can be pretty treacherous this time of year."

The Greys looked to their leaders – Fenrik and Ranok – who didn't move a muscle. Both of them were sizing up the creature, trying to understand what the hell it thought it was doing.

Appraisal, Ranok thought, trying to focus his eyes on the form of the beast. If I can just…

He tried to get his mind to focus on the form of the creature, but he just couldn't get his ability to activate. It was as though it was…blocked somehow.

"I'll give you one chance," the Archon said. "Turn around and hurry home before something bad happens to y-"

"FIRE!"

The command came from Fenrik – who had bellowed the order with such intensity that every single gunner across the fleet had practically been compelled to obey.

Ranok's eyes widened in horror.

"No, wai-!"

"FIRE! KILL THE DEMON!"

Fenrik's brash command drowned out his Brother's words, and the entire fleet opened fire on the Archon.

A storm of blackpowder erupted on the sea, strong enough that all major cities of Westerweald could hear it. The cannons roared, lurched, and delivered their payload directly at the smiling beast above the surface of the water. The volley had enough strength to knock out Lucent castle itself, toppling the great walls and leaving nothing but dust behind. Ranok was forced to watch, helpless, as the fleet hammered the Archon with everything they had. After the cannons, the archer units in the rearguard let their arrows fly, blocking out the grey sun above. Their projectiles fell upon the spot where the Archon stood with absolute precision.

At the end of what was a solid two minutes of constant firing, the sea of Sentinel Bay was left covered in a plume of dark smoke. The deck-hands grunted in approval. The Greycloak warriors nodded with certainty – nothing could survive a direct assault of that magnitude.

And yet, when the smoke finally cleared, they saw him still standing there.

Totally unscathed.

"Impossible…" Fenrik stuttered. "I – unless…"

He was seeing the same thing Ranok was – looking past the form of the Archon himself to the floating text that their Appraisals had finally allowed them to see:

Summon Illusion (Grade A)

The 'Archon' brushed his shoulders, a tight smirk tugging at his oaken lips.

And from above came a roar unlike anything the people of this world had ever heard before.

"My turn," Ethan said.

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