"Much obliged, Doctor," Sol said, flashing his trademark confident smile as he backed toward the door, brown paper bag clutched in his hand.

Doctor Gregory leaned forward in his chair, adjusting his spectacles with a warning finger. "Don't forget—twice daily with meals. And that's non-negotiable."

"Crystal clear." Sol turned to leave, silver hair catching the light as he moved.

"One more thing!" the doctor called sharply. "Whoever placed those stitches needs to remove them the moment that internal bleeding stops. I cannot emphasize this enough."

Sol tapped the doorframe, winking over his shoulder. "Trust me, it's handled. Thanks again for the help."

Once outside, Sol's pace quickened, a private smile playing across his lips. "Regenwater," he whispered to himself, the excitement impossible to contain. "Worth every overpriced lumen in this town."

Back at the inn, he sprawled across the bed, unwrapping a bread roll while simultaneously smoothing out the mysterious note on the blanket beside him. The paper crinkled under his fingers, its secrets waiting to be unraveled.

"Let's see what you're hiding," he murmured, holding the paper up to the nearby lamp. The light shone through, revealing... absolutely nothing. "Well, that was anticlimactic. Guess detective novels exaggerate after all."

Sol flopped back, chewing thoughtfully as he reread the first line aloud: "'The Heart beats still beneath shadows cast by those who stole its light.'" He tapped his fingers against his chest, feeling the energy patch through his shirt. "The Heart of Geovale. Classic hook—giving me just enough to bite."

He sat upright suddenly, silver hair falling across his forehead. "Wait a minute... whoever wrote this knows exactly what I'm after." His eyes narrowed, mind racing through possibilities. "If the Cliffhangers were behind that heist and knew I was investigating, they'd have already paid me a visit with those fancy nooses of theirs."

Sol paced the small room, moving with restless energy. "Unless this is a trap..." His eyes drifted to the final line of the riddle.

"'When the port sleeps but before the dawn breaks. No guardians,'" he read, rolling the words in his mouth like wine. "Meeting time... 'no guardians' screams 'come alone.'" He paused mid-step, realization dawning. "They don't want the Cliffhangers to know about this meeting either!"

A grin spread across his face as he grabbed the Regenwater, taking a long swig. "If the first line's the hook and the last is the meeting time, everything in between must be directions!"

Sol burst from the inn, confident stride carrying him through winding streets as the first clue looped in his mind. "'The answer you seek lies where broken time points to stolen wealth.'" His pace slowed as he worked through it. "Broken time... what points... stolen wealth is rather broad... maybe the markets?" He quickly picked up his pace toward the market district.

A few minutes later, the market district sprawled before him, bustling despite the recent chaos. Sol scanned storefronts, alleyways, and merchant stalls, finding nothing that connected to the riddle.

"Okay, yeah, stolen wealth was too broad. Come on, think!" he muttered, running a hand through his silver hair. "Broken time... broken time..."

A memory surfaced like a bubble breaking water's surface.

"Is that new, Dad?" Young Sol tugged at his father's sleeve, eyes wide with childish wonder. "It looks awesome on you!"

David's laugh rumbled warm and familiar. "Not even close, kiddo. Police department gave it to me after that smuggling case five years back. Before you were old enough to remember."

"But why does it jump like that?" Sol's small finger pointed at the erratic movement of the watch hands.

David quickly pulled his arm, with Sol still clinging to it. His father's face fell slightly. "Ah—seems it's broken. What a shame..."

"Broken... time... A clock!" Present-day Sol snapped his fingers.

He grabbed the nearest passerby, an elderly woman clutching a shopping bag. "Excuse me! Is there a broken clock somewhere around here?"

She blinked owlishly at his intensity. "Why, yes. Two blocks north—hasn't worked in years, that old thing."

"You're a lifesaver!" Sol called over his shoulder, already sprinting toward the location.

The clock towered over the roofs, its face weathered by years of salt air. One hand missing entirely, the other frozen at eleven o'clock, pointing upward like an accusing finger. Sol followed its direction, his gaze climbing until it landed on the cliff mines looming above the town.

"Stolen wealth," he breathed, understanding clicking into place. "The mines. Of course."

His trademark smirk returned as he set off toward the next clue, the thrill of the chase humming through his veins like electricity.

On the beach a different scene was taking place when Neiva landed face first into the sand with a muffled thud, her body crumbled to an awkward position. Sand sprayed in all directions, some of it settling in her bright red hair.

Red was behind her, bouncing on his heels with his trademark wild grin. "Not bad! If I actually were biological, I'd be enjoying this view way too much." He cackled, glancing toward Angelo's distant figure. "Bet Angie's getting an eyeful because of me, huh?"

Though Angelo made no audible response, the murderous energy radiating from him was practically visible, like heat waves off hot pavement.

Neiva yanked her head from the sand like a startled ostrich, shaking violently and sending grains flying everywhere. Her hands flew to her scalp, scratching frantically.

"Ugh! It's in my ears, my nose—everywhere!" She whipped around toward Blue, who stood with perfect posture despite the beach wind tousling his hair. "You call this teaching? I'm never going to get this right!"

Blue remained unruffled, adjusting his non-existent tie with practiced precision. "Your assessment lacks factual basis, I'm afraid. Initial difficulty with enhanced mobility is entirely within expected parameters for newly manifested Aurons." He stepped forward, sand barely shifting beneath his calculated movements. "Allow me to demonstrate the proper technique once more. Please observe with heightened attention."

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With fluid grace, Blue bent his knees slightly before launching upward. His body twisted in midair, executing a perfect backflip before landing with military precision, not a grain of sand displaced.

Red materialized a glowing crimson forged energy sign with the number 10 etched into it, waving it enthusiastically above his head.

Blue ignored the theatrics, turning back to Neiva with an expectant gaze. "The fundamental principle is proper distribution of mass to maintain equilibrium throughout the maneuver. Your appendages and torso must rotate in synchronized harmony." He traced the motion with one precise hand. "Master this foundation, and more complex maneuvers will become accessible to you."

Neiva planted her fists on her hips, blowing a strand of red hair from her face. "Do I seriously need Olympic-level gymnastics just to throw a decent punch? This feels like grinding skills for a class I didn't even pick!" She looked to Red for support, desperation evident in her eyes.

Red's manic grin faltered as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Look, sugar-tits, it physically pains me to admit this—like, I'd rather gargle bleach—but Blueberry over here knows his martial arts shit. If he says you need the flippy-flips, you probably do." He shrugged dramatically. "Guy's boring as watching paint dry, but he's the martial arts expert in our little freak show."

Blue's expression remained unchanged, though he stood a fraction straighter, chin lifted slightly higher.

"Fine," Neiva sighed, shoulders slumping in defeat. She shot Red a suspicious glare. "And quit standing behind me, you perv!"

Red's grin widened impossibly. "Sweetheart, I don't have the functions to care. You could strip naked and do the hula, and I'd be about as excited as watching a documentary on paint drying." He spread his arms. "Not biological, remember?"

"Right, I forgot what a freak you are," Neiva muttered, turning away to position herself for another attempt.

The air around them seemed to freeze. Red's usual chaotic energy hardened into something dangerous, his crimson aura flaring around him like angry flames.

"Hey." His voice dropped to something flat and deadly. "Don't ever call me that. Ever."

Neiva's eyes widened, genuine fear creeping across her face as pressure built in her chest. "B-but you just said it yourself!"

Red's jaw tightened, the glow in his eyes dimming slightly. "Yeah, well, I'm allowed. You're not."

Neiva glanced toward Blue, seeking guidance.

Blue cleared his throat softly. "It's a particularly sensitive subject for us. We would be most appreciative if you could refrain from employing such terminology."

"I'm sorry, Red," Neiva said softly, looking down at her cupped hands. "I really didn't mean anything by it."

Red studied her for a moment, sensing her genuine remorse. The wild energy suddenly returned to his face, like clouds parting after a storm. "Forget it! Time to smooch the sand again! Try not to eat too much this time!"

Neiva's eyes drifted toward Angelo, still training intensely at the cliff face. Determination hardened her features as she sucked in a deep breath. She bent her knees and exploded upward, her body twisting—not quite a backflip, but at least landing on her behind rather than her face.

"Progress!" she wheezed, managing a smile despite the pain.

Meanwhile, Sol climbed the rocky path to the mines where they'd first encountered Rorck. His silver aura flickered around him like moonlight as he pulled himself over the final ledge, scanning the empty area with narrowed eyes.

"Strange," he murmured, brushing dust from his jacket. "Expected to see miners coming and going, maybe even Josef. Must be working deeper inside."

He pulled out the crumpled riddle, smoothing it against his thigh. "'Look where the eagle's shadow falls at midday - five jagged teeth marks the prey.'" The words rolled off his tongue as his eyes scanned the cliff face. "Plenty of jagged edges that could pass for teeth, but which ones?"

Sol paced the area, fingers drumming against his thigh as he studied his surroundings. "Eagle, eagle... are we talking about an actual bird? A carving? Some weirdly-shaped rock formation?"

His gaze swept over the panoramic view—the town nestled against the cliffs, the forest they'd traveled through, and the beach where tiny figures that must be his companions trained below.

"Worth checking the other side," he decided, silver aura igniting around him like a cloak.

He scaled the cliff with athletic grace, muscles burning pleasantly as he pulled himself higher. Reaching the summit, Sol found even more tooth-like formations jutting from the mountainside.

"Great," he sighed, raking a hand through his silver-white hair. "That narrows it down to... absolutely everywhere." He kicked a small stone, watching it tumble into the void. "What would the others do here?"

A flash of memory—Angelo's eyes blazing orange as he scanned for energy signatures. Sol snapped his fingers.

"Decay vision isn't as useful as energy vision, but... Worth a shot," he muttered, concentrating until his vision shifted. The world bled into shades of black and white, decay levels visible as different intensities of light. His eyes caught a faint silver glow several yards away.

Deactivating his special vision, Sol approached the object—a weathered nest perched on a rocky outcropping, long abandoned by its builder.

"An eagle's nest," he breathed, excitement building. "But which direction...?" He studied the spiked edge supporting the nest, noticing how it cast a distinct shadow across the cliff face. "shadow falls at midday..." He whispered.

Sol glanced at the sun's position. "Past midday now, but if I trace back the shadow's path..." His finger traced an arc across the landscape. "It would have pointed... there!"

His eyes locked on a formation of five tooth-like spikes jutting from the cliff, their points aimed toward the forest beyond the town limits.

"Of course!" Sol slapped his forehead, laughing at his own oversight. "Why meet in town where every Cliffhanger could spot us?"

His silver aura flared to life once more as he descended the cliff, racing toward where the stone teeth pointed, the thrill of the hunt quickening his pulse with each step.

A growl rumbled from Neiva's stomach, loud enough to be heard over the crashing waves. Red's eyes lit up with mischief as he pointed at her midsection.

"Sounds like you've got a tiny monster in there demanding tribute," he cackled.

Neiva wrapped her arms around her belly, cheeks flushing pink. "We've been at this all day with barely a water break. A video game character would have starved to death by now."

Red's voice slipped into their shared mental connection, the words meant only for Angelo. "Hey, Mr. Broody-pants, even I can feel you need to refuel. Ready to call it a day?"

Angelo's response came back sharp and final. "Take her to the inn. I'll rest elsewhere."

"Seriously? You're still hung up on the metal thing?" Red pushed back. "It's not like she—"

Angelo's glare cut across the beach like a laser, fierce enough that Red could practically feel the heat from where he stood. It effectively silenced his protest.

"Fine, have it your way, you overgrown baby," Red grumbled internally before turning to Neiva with his usual wild grin. "Alright, kiddo, let's get some grub back at our room. Your stomach's complaints are giving me a headache."

Neiva's eyes darted to Angelo's distant figure. "What about him? Isn't he joining us?"

Red waved dismissively, the movement exaggerated like everything else he did. "Nah, we're ditching Mr. Serious. Apparently training is more important than basic nutrition."

His crimson aura burst to life around him like a bonfire, forged energy swirling and solidifying into elaborate glider wings and boosters on his back. A glowing red tether shot from his hand, wrapping securely around Neiva's waist.

"Going up!" he shouted, yanking her skyward without warning.

Neiva's startled yelp faded as they rocketed toward the cliff top. Blue glanced once at Angelo, his azure aura flowing around him with controlled precision as gloves and boots materialized from pure energy. With silent efficiency, he shot upward in controlled bursts, leaving small clouds of displaced sand in his wake.

Angelo watched them disappear over the cliff edge before releasing a heavy sigh. His own orange wings unfurled from his back like sheets of captured flame. With a powerful downward thrust, he launched into the air—but veered away from the inn's direction.

Banking sharply, he soared toward the market district closest to the edge of the cliff. As his boots touched down on the worn cobblestones, his eyes widened with genuine shock.

Rorck sat at a small wrought-iron table outside a coffee shop, looking bizarrely ordinary. Steam curled from the cup cradled in his weathered hands, his face a picture of tranquility—despite being surrounded by a ring of Cliffhangers standing at attention like sentries. At their center loomed Hugo, his massive frame making the chair beneath him look like children's furniture.

The gang leader leaned forward, one meaty finger jabbing the table to emphasize whatever point he was making, while Rorck simply sipped his coffee as if discussing the weather rather than facing down the most dangerous man in Thunderclap Port.

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