Beli moved where no eyes followed.
Not as a towering shape of bone and glass, not with cloak or mantle trailing behind him. He moved silent and unseen, slipping between the air and the walls like mist folding through seams in the hull. It was the way he had learned to move long before he wore a body again. A way of observing. Of learning.
He followed the veins of magic that pulsed through the Typhoon like blood through arteries, traveling deeper with each step into the ship's hollowed layers. Past barracks and ballast, past reinforcement struts and reinforced bulkheads, deeper than any crew shift rotated or supply quarter reached. Few ever came this far, and none uninvited.
Down here, silence ruled.
