Chapter 27: The Shattered Anchor

The fast timber cutter from Cavite docked at the South Quay at 7:00 PM, cutting through the dense, low-hanging harbor fog. The heavy rope thudded against the oak pilings, and the gangplank rattled into place.

Old Man Rashid stepped off the boat, his silver-headed walking stick tapping against the wet timber deck. He looked exhausted. The trip to Cavite had been long, his shoulders were slightly bowed under his heavy wool coat, and the cold spray from the bay had left white salt traces across his collar.

Standing at the edge of the lamp light, his hands resting in his dark canvas coat pockets, was Hunza.

Rashid paused, his sharp grey eyes catching sight of his young protégé. A soft, weary smile touched the old man’s face. "Hunza. You shouldn't be standing out in the harbor draft. Farooq told me you cleared the morning shipment early."

"Master Rashid," Hunza said, stepping forward. His voice was low, devoid of pleasantries. "We need to step into the watchhouse office. Now."

Rashid’s smile faded. He looked closely at Hunza’s unyielding face, recognizing the flat, dangerous stone in the young man's eyes. Without a word, Rashid nodded, following Hunza up the timber stairs into the quiet, second-floor office.

Hunza pulled the thick oak door shut and turned the iron latch. He did not sit down. Instead, he reached into his inner pocket, pulled out the heavy, unbleached parchment envelope, and placed it flat on the desk under the glowing oil lamp.

The dark red-and-black wax seal face up—the coiled serpent wrapped around a broken anchor.

The moment Rashid’s eyes fell upon the wax, the air in the room seemed to freeze.

The old man did not move. He did not reach for the envelope. His right hand, holding the silver head of his cane, began to tremble violently—a faint, metallic rattling sound filling the quiet room as the cane hit the wooden floorboards.

All the color drained from Rashid’s weathered face, leaving him a ghastly, hollow grey.

"Where..." Rashid’s voice cracked, dropping into an unnatural, raspy whisper he had never used before. "Where did you get this?"

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"A man dropped it in my pocket in the central market yesterday," Hunza said, leaning over the desk, his dark eyes searching Rashid's pale face. "He was terrified. He ran toward the lower docks before I could catch him. I went to Farooq. We did not break your seal."

Rashid slowly sank into the wooden armchair behind the desk, as if his knees had suddenly surrendered. His fingers were shaking as he reached out, touching the cold red wax of the serpent.

"The broken anchor..." Rashid breathed, his eyes wide, staring at the wax as if a ghost had stepped out of the wood. "He’s alive."

"Who is he, Master Rashid?" Hunza demanded gently, placing his broad hands flat on the desk. "Who uses that mark?"

Rashid didn't answer. He picked up a small brass letter opener, his hand shaking so badly he nearly dropped it, and sliced through the top edge of the parchment, leaving the serpent seal intact. He pulled out a single sheet of heavy black paper, written in thin, sharp white ink.

There were only two lines:

The harbor you stole still smells of salt and ash, Rashid.

I am in the water beneath your feet.

Rashid let the paper fall from his fingers. He buried his face in his trembling, calloused hands, letting out a long, shuddering breath that sounded like a groan of ancient agony.

"Master Rashid," Hunza pressed, his chest tightening at the sight of his mentor breaking down. "Talk to me. Is it Garin's men? Is it someone from across the border?"

Rashid slammed his palm onto the desk, snapping his head up. His eyes were bloodshot, filled with a raw, dark terror Hunza had never seen in him—not during the border raids, not during Barlas's threats, not ever.

"Get out, Hunza," Rashid rasped bitterly.

Hunza blinked, stunned. "What?"

"I said get out!" Rashid commanded, his voice rising into a harsh, desperate bark. "Take your wage, go home to Ayesha, and lock your door! Do not ask about this mark! Do not speak this name to Farooq, and do not step onto the harbor watch after dark!"

Hunza stood his ground, his broad shoulders squared, refusing to bow to the old man's sudden panic. "I am the supervisor of Farooq’s yard. If there is a threat to the district—"

"This is not a threat to the district!" Rashid yelled, standing up, his chest heaving as he leaned across the desk. "This is a debt! An old, black debt that belongs to me alone! You have a clean house, Hunza. You have a daughter whose hands have never touched blood! Do not let my past drag your boots into the mud!"

Hunza looked deeply into Rashid’s panic-stricken eyes, realizing that arguing right now would yield nothing. The old man was shielding something dark, wrapping himself in isolation out of desperate protection.

"I will go home tonight," Hunza said softly, his voice firm and unwavering. "But I will not leave you to fight in the dark, Master Rashid. Whatever you are running from, it is already here."

Hunza turned, unlatched the door, and walked down into the cool night air.