With a gesture, the dwarf ushered them to follow.

Ryn followed. A lead had been placed directly in front of them—it would've been stranger not to.

The dwarf didn't lead them to an office.

That alone told Ryn more than any banner or guard ever could.

Instead, they were brought into a low coastal house built of dark stone and reinforced timber, its interior warm and faintly scented with herbs and salt.

Thick beams crossed the ceiling, and every piece of furniture looked like it had been built from the last generation, seemingly passed down.

"Please," the dwarf said, gesturing toward a heavy table already set with steaming cups. "Tea first. Business goes better when everyone's awake."

Ryn didn't refuse. Neither did the others.

The tea was strong. Bitter in the way dwarves preferred it.

The dwarf watched them over the rim of his cup, eyes sharp despite the casual posture.

Then his gaze lingered on Taylor.

"Ah."

He set his cup down with a soft clink.

"Large manalite expenditure," he said casually. "Only one reason a human party would need that much fuel."

No one spoke.

His eyes flicked back to Taylor, and his lips curled faintly.

"And if I'm not mistaken," he continued, "that seems to be young missus Gremory in the flesh."

He leaned back in his chair.

"So," the dwarf concluded, "that makes you the Gremory Hero Party."

There it was.

Ryn exhaled softly and set his cup down.

"So much for subtlety," Amelia muttered under her breath.

The dwarf chuckled. "Don't take it personally, just my habit."

Since the cat was already out of the bag, Ryn didn't bother dancing around the issue.

"We're headed for Khaz Vordun," he said. "But before that, we need fuel. A lot of it."

The dwarf nodded slowly. "And you already know something's wrong."

Taylor spoke up smoothly.

"From what we could've gathered from trades," she continued. "Manalite trades have been decreasing, and Khaz Vordun is the main supplier."

The dwarf raised a brow. "Compiled already?"

She nodded once. "Before we set course."

That earned her a longer look.

"Well," the dwarf said after a moment, "then allow me to save us all some time."

He stood, straightening just slightly.

"Name's Borin," he said. "Mayor of Pearlreach."

He reached a hand out, and Taylor shook it.

"You're correct," Borin continued.

"Manalite supplies have been dwindling. What remains is priced so high most ships can't afford it—and what can be bought is controlled by a handful of merchants with long arms and deeper pockets."

Ryn's eyes narrowed. "Why?"

Borin shook his head. "If I knew that, I wouldn't still be sitting here pouring tea."

He folded his arms.

"All I know is this—whatever's happening, it's not starting here. Pearlreach only feels the aftershocks."

"Then where?" Fritz asked.

Borin didn't hesitate. "Khaz Vordun."

Silence settled briefly over the table.

Ryn leaned back in his chair, mind already moving.

"Can we get a boat tonight?" he asked.

Borin grimaced. "Unlikely. Most departures are scheduled. Earliest one you'll find one heading inward is tomorrow."

Another delay.

Ryn nodded once. "Understood."

There was no point pressing further. Borin had already given them everything he had, and more importantly, everything he didn't.

They took their leave shortly after, the warmth of the house fading as the coastal air rolled in. The sounds of Pearlreach returned immediately—distant seagulls, creaking planks, and waves lapping against stone.

Ryn slowed at the edge of the pier.

He stared out at the water.

Sea.

That much, at least, was undeniable.

His brow furrowed slightly.

Khaz Vordun being coastal wasn't something he'd ever verified. It was something he'd accepted, intelligence Taylor had compiled back when the Hero Candidates were chosen.

He'd just assumed it was true.

Since…Ryn'd never been there in his past life.

Khaz Vordun had fallen too early. By the time information about the Evernight ever happened, the city was already gone.

All he'd ever known was the result.

And the reason.

His gaze darkened as the thought surfaced.

Leviathan.

The first Calamity-Class Beast to awaken in that region. The event that erased Khaz Vordun from the map before anyone truly understood what was happening.

At the time, Ryn had accepted it as another consequence of the Evernight's spread.

Now, standing here, with manalite supplies failing and the sea behaving strangely, it no longer felt distant.

He exhaled slowly.

How did that even happen?

The Rhean Church preached of three guardian beasts, the first creations shaped by Rhea herself and molded with care.

The Progenitor of Dragons, protector of the skies.

The Behemoth, protector of the land.

The thought made him shudder. His hand went instinctively to his stomach, the very same beast that had killed him.

And finally—

The Leviathan.

Guardian of the seas.

The fact that one of them had turned its back on humanity wasn't something Ryn could ignore—not anymore.

"…Ryn?"

He blinked and turned.

Amelia was standing a few steps away, arms loosely crossed, watching him with that familiar look.

"You've been staring at the water for a while," she said. "You hungry?"

The question caught him off guard.

He glanced back at the sea once more, then shook his head lightly.

"…Maybe," he admitted.

She nodded, already turning toward the street. "Good. There's a place near the docks. Nothing fancy, but it smells decent."

That was enough. He decided just thinking wasn't going to do him any good, and an empty stomach wouldn't either.

Ryn followed without comment, boots thudding softly against wood as they left the pier behind.

For all his thoughts about guardians and calamities, the world kept moving.

They found the place easily. A small eatery wedged between two warehouses, its windows fogged from heat and steam. Inside, it was crowded but warm, filled with sailors hunched over bowls of what looked like fish stew and rough-cut bread.

Amelia ordered for both of them without asking.

Ryn watched her do it, then glanced down at the rough table and the mismatched cutlery.

"For a noble, you chose a really…mundane place," he continued. "Not that I mind, of course."

She shot him a flat look. "If this is your way of complaining, I'll eat both portions."

"I'm not complaining," Ryn replied. "I'm impressed."

"The once-picky Amelia," he continued, "who wouldn't eat bread unless the crust was cut off… has finally grown up."

She didn't answer right away.

Instead, she turned back toward the counter just as the bowls were set down, her movements a little more deliberate than necessary. Steam rose between them, filling the brief silence.

"…That was a long time ago, okay!" she said at last, reaching for her spoon.

Ryn noticed the faint pink at the tips of her ears.

"Alright, alright," he finally eased off.

They ate.

The stew was hot and simple, the kind of meal meant to fill rather than impress. Ryn took a spoonful, then another, feeling some of the tension in his shoulders finally ease.

Amelia focused on her bowl a little too intently.

"…I'm just hungry," she added after a moment. "That's all."

"Of course," Ryn said mildly.

She glanced at him, caught the hint of amusement in his eyes, and immediately looked away again.

They ate in silence for a while.

The clatter of cutlery and low conversation filled the space between them, the warmth of the eatery settling back in as if nothing in the world were wrong.

Ryn had just finished his bowl when a sharp voice carried from the back of the shop.

"…I'm tellin' you, this isn't what I ordered."

Both of them paused.

The owner had stepped away from the counter, sleeves rolled up as two dockhands stood near the rear entrance, a crate between them. The lid was half-pried open.

One of the dockhands shrugged. "That's today's catch. Take it or don't."

The owner crouched and reached inside.

Ryn watched him pull out a fish by the gills. It was pale and still slick with seawater.

It twitched once, then went still.

The owner frowned.

"…Feels wrong," he muttered.

He grabbed a knife from the prep table and sliced it open from the stomach.

The smell hit first.

Then the color.

A thick, dark fluid spilled onto the cutting board, pooling where it shouldn't.

The shop went quiet.

"That's not blood," someone said from the corner.

The owner stared at it, jaw tightening. He poked at the flesh with the knife, as if expecting it to change.

"…I've been cutting fish my whole life," he said slowly. "They don't bleed like that."

Amelia's spoon stilled halfway to her mouth.

Ryn didn't move.

The dockhands shifted uncomfortably.

"Probably sick," one of them said, not sounding convinced.

The owner straightened. "Sick doesn't do that."

He looked down at the crate again, then at the two men.

"…How many more like this?"

The dockhands didn't answer right away.

"…Most of them," one finally said.

A murmur rippled through the room.

The owner clicked his tongue and waved them off. "Take it back. I'm not serving this."

As the crate was dragged away, the warmth in the room didn't return.

Ryn felt Amelia glance at him.

He met her eyes, just briefly.

Neither of them said it out loud.

They didn't need to.

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