The Heist of the Drifting Star

Part 1

---

The fog hung low over the harbor, curling in thick tendrils around moored ships and masking the distant lights of the town. It was a night for shadows, where lanterns cast more doubt than clarity and every sound was muffled by the heavy air. From the edge of the docks, Major Razer stood silently, his sharp eyes fixed on the Drifting Star anchored at the dock in the harbor. Even through the haze, the ship’s dark silhouette was unmistakable: its black sails stretched like wings against the sky, and its reinforced hull loomed like a fortress over the smaller vessels scattered along the shoreline.

The ship bore no markings, no allegiance, and no name other than what Razer had learned through whispers: the Drifting Star. A ghost on the water. Everything about it was deliberate, designed to be unnoticed and unseen, even as it exuded power.

Razer’s gaze narrowed. He had no doubt that whatever lay in the ship’s hull was worth every ounce of secrecy and security. For the Drifting Star’s crew, it was a treasure to be guarded at all costs. For Razer and the Burning Hand, it was an opportunity waiting to be seized.

The faint shuffling of boots broke through the fog behind him, and a figure emerged from the shadows. A grunt from the Burning Hand, clad in worn leathers and dripping from the misty air, stopped a few paces away and offered a folded scrap of paper.

“Watched their patrols,” he said in a low voice, glancing over his shoulder as he spoke. “Guards are moving in pairs. No set pattern, but they’re focused on the docks closest to the ship. Rest of the crew’s probably drinking.”

Razer unfolded the paper, scanning the rough notes scribbled on its surface. The grunt had marked the patrol routes, the timing between rotations, and the blind spots along the waterfront. It was crude, but it was enough.

“Anything else?” Razer asked.

“They’re jumpy,” the grunt said. “The Drifting Star’s crew… always looking over their shoulders, like they’re guarding something they don’t want anyone to see. One of our guys overheard the word ‘magic.’ Whatever’s in that hull, it’s got them scared. And the locals are drunk on that blue rum they drink down here, Deadmen. Some say it makes magic burn hotter, while others just sing sea shanties and forget who they’re working for.”

Razer nodded once. “Good work. Fall back and stay out of sight.”

The grunt gave a quick nod and disappeared into the fog as silently as he’d come. Razer tucked the paper into his coat and turned to face his two lieutenants. Jett, tall and broad, stood with his arms crossed, his calm presence steady as ever. Althia, by contrast, leaned casually against a crate, her expression alive with curiosity and excitement.

“What’s the word?” Jett asked, his deep voice carrying the weight of experience.

“They’re scared of their own shadow,” Razer said, his voice even. “Which means whatever’s in that hull is worth more than we imagined.”

Althia grinned, a sharp gleam in her eyes. “That just makes it more fun.”

Jett frowned, glancing toward the shadowed ship. “Or more dangerous.”

As the three of them began to move along the edge of the docks, Razer paused, his attention drawn to a figure stepping out of the mist. A harbor guard, his uniform frayed at the edges, approached with cautious steps, his hand brushing the hilt of his sword out of habit. There was tension in his posture, but he stopped just short of Razer, his dark eyes meeting the major’s with a flicker of familiarity.

“You owe me for this,” the guard said quietly, his voice low enough that it wouldn’t carry.

“You’ll get your coin,” Razer replied.

The guard hesitated, glancing toward the Drifting Star before leaning closer. “It came in two nights ago,” he murmured. “Black sails, quiet crew. Captain’s got a reputation, keeps his people in line, doesn’t take chances. Cargo’s been stirring up rumors. Magic, they’re saying. Big stuff. I’ve heard it’s volatile. And they’re under the protection of Empress Carly, Crimson Armada. This isn’t some backwater drop-off.”

“Let her watch the skies,” Razer said. “She’s not the one guarding the hold.”

Razer stayed silent, absorbing the information. Behind him, Althia straightened, her interest unmistakable.

“Magic caches?” she asked, her tone full of wonder.

The guard ignored her, keeping his focus on Razer. “Guards are doubling their routes near the docks. If you’re planning something, make it quick. And don’t drag me into it.”

“You won’t be involved,” Razer said. He reached into his coat, pulled out a small pouch of coins, and tossed it to the guard. “We’ll handle the rest.”

Razer watched the guard vanish into the fog, his footsteps swallowed by the hush of the harbor.

He turned to his lieutenants. “Positions,” he said quietly.

Althia’s grin flickered as she stepped away, vanishing between the stacked crates without a backward glance. The fog took her, like a curtain drawn over a stage.

Jett adjusted the strap across his shoulder and moved in the opposite direction, silent as a seasoned predator. His heavy coat brushed against coiled rope and rusted hooks as he passed a row of abandoned fishing nets. He never looked back.

Razer waited alone, crouched low behind a wall of barrels slick with mist. The harbor stretched before him in silence, broken only by the soft creak of mooring lines and the distant clatter of chains. He watched the Drifting Star and the two smaller escort vessels with patient intensity. No movement. No alarm.

A shape emerged briefly from the haze—a grunt of the Burning Hand, approaching on quiet feet. He leaned close.

“Team’s ready. In the water, waiting for your word.”

Razer nodded. The grunt slipped back into the fog, gone as quickly as he’d come.

For a long moment, the only sound was the slow, uneven lapping of the tide against the dock. Razer’s hand closed around the edge of the pier.

Then the night shattered.

The first escort ship erupted into flames, the explosion ripping through the hull with a deafening roar. Althia’s charges had done their job spectacularly, sending fire and debris spiraling into the night sky. Shouts erupted from the harbor as guards and sailors scrambled to respond, their attention drawn entirely to the burning wreckage.

The second escort ship, its rudder sabotaged, veered wildly out of control. Jett’s work was precise, and the ship’s crew could do nothing as it crashed into the wooden docks, splintering beams and toppling lanterns. Fires spread rapidly, casting an eerie glow over the chaos.

Through the confusion, Razer signaled to the rest of the Burning Hand’s boarding party—seven grunts who had slipped into the water alongside him. Together they swam toward the Drifting Star, the fog and fire masking their movements.

Razer gripped the anchor chain and hauled himself upward, his movements steady and deliberate. He reached the deck first, crouching low as he scanned for guards. The skeleton crew left aboard was sparse, only sailors, no fighters.

The Drifting Star creaked beneath his boots with a sound that felt... wrong. The grain of the wood seemed too smooth, almost waxy. Along the inner railing, just beneath the varnish, strange sigils had been carved, barely visible without the glow from the lanterns. Spirals, triangles, marks with no origin in known seafaring tradition.

One of the grunts brushed a hand against them and flinched. “The hell kind of ship is this?”

Razer’s team moved quickly, subduing the sailors with brutal efficiency. Some surrendered outright, raising their hands in fear as Razer’s grunts secured the deck. One panicked, yelling incoherently, and threw himself overboard into the fog. Razer didn’t stop him.

Althia rolled one of the surrendered sailors with her boot, crouched beside him.

“You’re too clean to be cargo crew,” she said with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “What’s your job, sweetheart?”

The sailor muttered something unintelligible.

She straightened. “He’s guarding something personal. The captain’s quarters?”

Meanwhile, Jett moved to the stern, checking the helm. He yanked open a lower panel and grunted.

“They wired a fuse to the wheel.”

“A trap?” Razer asked.

“A last resort.” Jett tore it free and tossed it overboard. “Not anymore.”

Below deck, the air hummed with energy. The moment Razer descended into the hold, a sharp chill wrapped around him, unnatural and biting. The air felt charged, like the breath before a lightning strike. The blue glow of the magic caches pulsed against the wooden walls in slow, eerie rhythms. A fine mist clung to the ceiling beams, unmoving, untouched by their presence.

Althia paused at the threshold, her grin fading. “I can hear them humming. That’s not normal, right?”

Jett reached out cautiously but stopped inches from the nearest cache, eyes narrowing at the fine threads of energy webbing across its surface, like cracks in crystal but moving.

The caches floated in their wooden frames, their emerald-like surfaces shimmering as they gently rotated.

Razer brushed a hand against the corner of one frame, just enough to feel it. For a moment, a pressure filled his ears, like he’d plunged into deep water. It passed just as quickly.

Two mage guards stood near the crates, their hands raised defensively.

“Don’t touch them,” one of the mages said, his voice tight with warning. “If these caches are disturbed, they’ll explode and take all of us with them.”

Razer studied the mages for a long moment, then nodded. “Keep them stable. We’re not here to die.”

As the Drifting Star’s anchor rose, the ship began to move, cutting through the fog and leaving the chaos of the harbor behind. Razer stood at the wheel, his grip firm as the fires in the distance faded from view. The stolen vessel responded smoothly to his touch, its rigging groaning under unfamiliar hands.

Althia leaned against the railing, her grin still wide, her eyes on the glow behind them.

“So we’re taking the whole ship now?”

Razer gave a curt nod. “It’s the only way out. We cannot transport those caches through the city. They’re too unstable, too visible. Getting them out by sea buys us time.”

Jett joined them, his brow furrowed. “So we ditch her after?”

“We offload the cargo, then decide what to do with the ship. Scuttling her’s one option. We could also abandon her somewhere quiet. Whatever keeps them guessing.”

Althia gave a low whistle. “That’s bold. I like it.”

Razer’s gaze stayed forward, steady. “We find somewhere to offload. Somewhere quiet. Then we make her disappear.”

A cold breeze curled over the water. For a moment, the sea stirred as if something alive moved beneath them, but Razer said nothing. He kept his eyes on the dark.

He glanced once over his shoulder at the burning harbor, then back to the sea. The horizon was dark, the stars shrouded by fog. Still, the ship moved forward, cutting a path no one could see.

Entered by: 0x6424…79B4