CHAPTER 34: HOLD MY BEER, OCEAN
FIELD NOTE:
If the sea tries to eat you and you end up riding it, you should probably reconsider your life choices.
I do not reconsider. I optimize.
I pick Lyra.
Not because it feels good.
Because it feels practical.
She is closest.
She has Pyon.
She is fire.
Fire solves a lot of problems, including morale, monsters, and my own tendency to spiral.
So I point the leviathan toward the Ash Coast and pretend I am not sitting on a natural disaster with opinions.
The bond tugs like a rope around my ribs.
The leviathan moves, slow and resentful.
It is not cooperating.
It is complying.
We cut through dark water under a thin moon. The coastline is a jagged silhouette of cliffs and steam plumes, like the land is breathing anger into the sky.
The Mirror Core in my inventory hums faintly, like a compass that refuses to give me a map but still enjoys the drama.
Lyra’s direction is clear in my gut.
Hot.
Sharp.
Like a coal.
I adjust the harness, check my salt packets, and start farming.
Because if I show up to Lyra underleveled she will roast me and I will deserve it.
---
The ocean is never empty.
It just hides its teeth.
A ripple.
A shadow.
A fin.
The first thing to jump us is a Brinejaw Shark, bigger than a horse, with algae armor like it has been grinding on reefs for fun.
I stand on leviathan back, katana in hand, and my brain flips into combat log mode.
The leviathan does not help.
It refuses to.
It wants me to struggle.
Fine.
I like struggling.
The shark lunges.
I sidestep, slash, Watercut arcs.
The water flashes.
[ENEMY DEFEATED]
Brinejaw Shark (Lv 41)
EXP +1,240 (Solo Bonus Applied)
Loot: Brinejaw Tooth x4, Saltfin Meat x6
Two Rift Gulls dive next, screaming like broken metal.
I throw a Lanternflash Ofuda dart midair.
Pop.
Dazzle.
They crash into the water like idiots.
[ENEMY DEFEATED]
Rift Gull x2 (Lv 39)
EXP +620 each (Solo Bonus)
Loot: Rift Feather x2, Prism Beak x1
A Vein Eel pack swarms the underside of the leviathan like parasites.
The leviathan shudders with disgust.
I cut them off like I am trimming weeds.
[ENEMY DEFEATED]
Vein Eel (Saltwater) x5 (Lv 40)
EXP +540 each (Solo Bonus)
Loot: Vein Spine x5, Shock Sac x1
Then a Reefcrawler Crab the size of a cart hauls itself onto a rock shelf and starts clacking its claws like it wants attention.
It gets attention.
I leap, Athletics SS letting my body move like the word “gravity” is optional.
One clean cut at the joint.
Crack.
The claw drops.
The crab panics, which is hilarious.
[ENEMY DEFEATED]
Reefcrawler Crab (Lv 42)
EXP +1,480 (Solo Bonus)
Loot: Reef Shell Plate x3, Claw Core x1
Another shark.
Another gull.
Another eel.
The ocean keeps feeding me XP like it is trying to bribe me into staying.
My system keeps chiming like it is proud of my terrible decisions.
[LEVEL UP]
Kenta: 44 -> 45
The leviathan’s mind presses into mine, cold.
You are loud.
“Thank you,” I whisper. “I learned it from a sword.”
The leviathan doesn’t know Valeblade.
It doesn’t care.
It does know contempt.
You will die anyway.
I grin, saltwater on my teeth.
“Yeah,” I say. “Eventually. Not tonight.”
The leviathan makes a low vibration that feels like an eye roll.
We keep moving.
---
The Ash Coast gets closer.
The water warms slightly.
Steam vents appear along the cliff line, exhaling white breath.
The black sand beaches glow faintly under moonlight, like crushed obsidian catching stars.
And then the sea tries to punish me for being hopeful.
A blue-threaded net rises from below.
Not rope.
Not weed.
A lattice.
Thin strands of shimmering blue that look like spider silk made from stolen mana.
It snaps around the leviathan’s midsection.
The leviathan thrashes instantly.
The bond spikes.
I feel its rage like a wave in my skull.
The net tightens.
The upstream leash tugs.
Hard.
Violent.
The leviathan’s body jerks toward open water, away from the coast, like something is trying to drag it back to its assigned route.
Tool.
Leash.
My teeth grind.
“No.”
The water bulges beside us and something surfaces.
A creature that looks like a barnacle-covered manta ray with too many eyes and a mouth full of grinding plates.
It isn’t as big as the leviathan.
It is still enormous.
It pulses blue.
My system flashes.
[ENEMY DETECTED]
Tidebinder Manta
Level: 49
Traits: Siphon Net, Leash Pulse, Pressure Slam
Status: Blue-Threaded
Warning: Companion may be reclaimed
“Miniboss,” I whisper.
The manta’s net tightens again.
The leviathan roars, a sound that vibrates through my bones.
It tries to dive.
The net holds.
It can’t.
It is trapped.
The leviathan’s mind slams into mine, raw and furious.
Release me.
“I’m working on it,” I snap.
The manta rolls, and a second net shoots out like a whip, aiming for my legs.
I jump.
Athletics SS.
Clean.
Fast.
The net misses by a breath and snaps onto the harness strap instead.
The strap smokes.
Blue thread bites into my gear like acid.
My crafting brain screams.
My survival brain screams louder.
I yank a Purify Salt Packet and slam it into the net line.
White powder bursts.
The blue thread hisses.
The bite weakens.
Two seconds.
That’s my window.
I pull Anchor Seal Paper.
Mirror Prism powder.
Lacquer.
Salt.
My hands move like they are possessed.
I craft in mid-crisis because of course I do.
[CRAFTING SUCCESS]
Rift Salt Cutter Ofuda (Rare)
Effect: Blue Thread Sever (Minor)
Duration: 1 second
Note: single use, high disruption
I slap the ofuda onto the net wrapped around the leviathan.
Flash.
The net line snaps like a violin string.
The leviathan surges, but it is still half-bound.
The manta slams the water with its fin and a pressure wave hits me like a punch.
[HP -1,620]
My vision flashes.
My body tries to panic.
Panic Suppression tells it to shut up.
I slap a Snap Mend Ofuda onto my ribs without looking.
Warm stitch.
HP climbs.
The manta opens its mouth and the water around it starts climbing, forming a funnel.
Suction.
It is trying to pull the leviathan into a deeper bind.
The leviathan strains.
The leash tugs.
The net tightens.
I grit my teeth and do the only thing I can.
I get mean.
I sprint along the leviathan’s back, leap, and land on the manta’s fin ridge.
It feels like standing on wet stone that wants to throw you.
I stab my katana into a barnacle seam and hang on.
The manta thrashes.
I ride the thrash like a bull rider with no dignity.
Then I throw Lanternflash darts directly into its eye cluster.
Pop.
Pop.
Pop.
Dazzle.
Shock interrupt.
The manta’s suction stutters.
That’s my opening.
Watercut Technique.
Full swing.
Not a pretty slash.
A severing slash.
The wave arc hits the manta’s net glands along its underside.
The blue-thread output flickers.
The net on the leviathan loosens for half a heartbeat.
“NOW,” I snarl.
I rip another Rift Salt Cutter Ofuda and slap it onto the remaining net line.
Flash.
Snap.
The leviathan is free.
The manta screams, pressure rippling.
And the leviathan, finally unbound, does not flee.
It turns.
It looks at the manta.
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
Then it does something I did not expect.
It bites.
Not a swallow.
Not a tool mouth.
A real bite.
A furious, personal bite.
The manta convulses, blue thread sputtering out like dying lightning.
I push off, leap back onto the leviathan, and slash down into the manta’s exposed core seam.
The core cracks.
The manta sinks.
The water goes suddenly calm like the ocean is stunned by what just happened.
Then the system detonates dopamine in my skull.
[ENEMY DEFEATED]
Tidebinder Manta (Lv 49)
EXP +18,400 (Threat Differential High)
Loot: Tidebinder Net Gland x2 (Rare), Blue Thread Spool x1 (Hazard), Pressure Pearl x1 (Rare)
[LEVEL UP]
Kenta: 45 -> 46
The leviathan’s mind presses into mine again.
Not warm.
Not friendly.
But different.
Less contempt.
More… acknowledgement.
You cut the leash.
“I’m good at cutting things,” I pant.
The leviathan’s thought is sharp.
Do not mistake necessity for gratitude.
“Yeah,” I say. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve said all night.”
The leviathan does not deny it.
We keep moving.
---
We reach shore before dawn.
A small village clings to a sheltered cove, built of dark wood and stone, smoke rising from chimneys even this early.
Fishing boats sit on black sand like sleeping beasts.
Steam vents hiss in the distance.
The leviathan glides into the cove like a nightmare arriving politely.
The water level rises as it approaches.
Not a tide.
A command.
The village wakes up instantly.
Lanterns flare.
People shout.
Someone rings a bell that sounds like panic.
I sigh.
“Okay,” I whisper. “This is going to be annoying.”
I ride the leviathan all the way in because subtlety is already dead.
The leviathan lifts its head.
The villagers see the eye.
They drop to their knees.
Someone screams a prayer.
Someone else screams a different prayer.
They both sound terrified.
I hop off the leviathan’s back onto wet sand.
My boots squelch.
Steam curls around my ankles.
A fisherman with a spear points at me with shaking hands.
“Sea Lord,” he whispers in the local tongue.
Then he switches to broken Japanese, because of course he does.
“Kami,” he says. “Sea kami.”
I freeze.
Then I shake my head.
“No,” I say quickly. “Not a god. Just a guy. Please stand up. I’m not collecting offerings.”
They do not stand up.
They kneel harder.
Great.
I turn back to the leviathan, annoyed.
“Wait here,” I say. “Do not cause any trouble. Do not swallow a boat. Do not breathe a tide. Just… float.”
The leviathan’s mind presses into mine like cold laughter.
You think you can order me.
“Yes,” I say. “Because I did. It’s literally in the contract.”
The leviathan’s contempt is almost amused.
You will not escape me so easily.
“Escape you,” I repeat. “I’m trying to go into a village. You do not fit.”
The leviathan rises another foot out of the water, and the village collectively whimpers.
Then the leviathan does something insane.
Its body liquefies.
Not dissolves.
Transforms.
Scale becomes water.
Water becomes shape.
Shape becomes flesh.
A woman steps out of the sea like the ocean decided to cosplay.
Blue hair, long and glossy, dripping sea light.
Skin too perfect, like it was sculpted by moonlight.
Eyes pale and deep, the kind that make you forget your name for half a second.
She looks like the “water goddess” NPC you meet before the betrayal arc.
Except her stare is pure contempt.
She is not divine.
She is annoyed.
I stand there with my mouth open like a village idiot.
The villagers gasp.
Then kneel harder.
Of course they do.
The woman flicks water off her shoulder like it is nothing.
“I will walk,” she says, voice calm, cold, and too human.
I blink.
“You can do that,” I manage.
She tilts her head, blue hair swaying.
“I am the sea,” she says. “I can do what I want.”
I stare at her.
Then at the ocean.
Then back at her.
My brain supplies the worst possible association.
Levi.
Attack on Titan.
My soul leaves my body for half a second.
“Okay,” I blurt. “No. Not Levi. Anything but Levi.”
She raises an eyebrow.
“What is Levi,” she asks.
“Nothing,” I say quickly. “Forget it.”
I swallow, point at her, and try to pick a name that does not ruin my sanity.
“You’re… Livi,” I say.
Close.
Too close.
I hate it.
She smiles without warmth.
“Livi,” she repeats. “Pathetic.”
“Thanks,” I say. “You’re welcome.”
Livi lifts a hand and the water in the air pulls toward her like obedient silk.
It wraps around her body, forming a cloak.
Then the cloak dries into something like fabric made of mist.
Water magic.
Real water magic.
My system does not wait.
[NEW SKILL ACQUIRED]
Water Magic (Rank F)
Acquired via Companion Osmosis: Leviathan
[SKILL EXP]
Water Magic +38%
[SKILL RANK UP]
Water Magic: F -> D
I stare at the invisible window like it insulted me.
Livi notices my face.
“You steal,” she says.
“Learn,” I correct. “I learn.”
She steps closer, her presence making the air feel damp and heavy.
“Call it what you want,” she says. “It changes nothing.”
She looks at the villagers, still kneeling, eyes wide.
“Stand,” she says.
Her voice is not loud.
The villagers stand anyway, like the sea itself pulled them upright.
Then she looks back at me.
“Now,” she says, “where are you going.”
I blink, then remember I have a job.
“Lyra,” I whisper. “I’m looking for my mage.”
Livi’s eyes narrow slightly.
“Fire,” she says.
I freeze.
Detective brain lights up.
She knows.
Or the region knows.
Or both.
I turn, scanning the village.
Charms on doors.
Lantern patterns.
A notch-star carved into the tavern sign like decoration.
This place is not ignorant.
It is pretending.
My Detective skill pulses like a bruise.
Information will not be free.
Respect will be required.
The locals will not tell a wet stranger anything.
They will tell a legend.
And right now, thanks to the sea deciding to become a woman, they think I am a legend.
I exhale.
“Town,” I say, “where’s your tavern.”
A fisherman points shakily.
“The Keg of Cinders,” he whispers.
Lyra would love that name.
I start walking.
Livi follows like a shadow made of tide.
---
The Keg of Cinders is not a cozy inn.
It is a war zone with mugs.
The moment I step inside, the smell hits me.
Ash ale.
Sweat.
Meat.
Salt.
And the sharp tang of people who fight for a living.
A rowdy local adventurers guild is basically welded onto the tavern.
Quest board on the wall.
Bounty chalk.
Weapon racks.
A ring in the center where you can settle arguments with fists instead of words.
Every head turns to look at me.
Then every head turns to look at Livi.
Then every head turns back to me with the exact expression that says:
Who the hell are you and why did you bring a goddess.
I grit my teeth.
“No,” I whisper. “Not a goddess.”
Livi smiles faintly.
It makes me want to drown.
A big man with scars on his knuckles leans back in his chair and calls out.
“Sea-boy,” he says. “You lost.”
The room laughs.
Not cruel.
Testing.
I let my Tell Reading skill do its thing.
They aren’t trying to kill me.
They’re trying to see if I fold.
They want entertainment.
They want certainty.
They want proof.
I can work with that.
I walk to the bar.
I put one copper on the counter.
The bartender looks at it like it is an insult.
I look him in the eyes.
Haggling S.
Gambling S.
Alehouse vibe.
“I want a drink,” I say. “And information.”
The bartender snorts.
“Information costs respect,” he says.
I nod.
“Okay,” I say. “How do you want it.”
A silence.
Then laughter.
The scar-knuckle man stands.
“Drink,” he says. “Arm wrestle. Then we talk.”
I nod again.
“Deal.”
The bartender slams down a mug the size of my head.
The ale inside is thick, dark, and smells like something that could strip paint.
The room chants.
A rhythm.
A tradition.
“DOWN. DOWN. DOWN.”
My system chirps like it cannot believe what I’m doing.
[NEW SKILL ACQUIRED]
Alcohol Tolerance (Rank F)
I lift the mug.
Livi watches with a look of deep disgust.
“You poison yourself,” she says.
“I socialize,” I say.
I drink.
The ale hits my throat like fire and mud had a baby.
I swallow anyway.
Then again.
Then again.
My stomach protests.
My body adapts.
Alcohol Tolerance ticks up like a meter.
The room roars as I slam the mug down.
My vision swims for half a second.
Then Mental Resistance and Panic Suppression catch the wobble and turn it into stubborn steadiness.
[SKILL RANK UP]
Alcohol Tolerance: F -> D
The scar-knuckle man grins and shoves a second mug at me.
“Again,” he says.
I grin back.
“No,” I say. “Arm wrestle first. I’m not wasting time.”
The room laughs again, louder now.
They like that.
A table gets cleared.
Elbows down.
Hands clasped.
Scar-knuckle man’s forearm is thick as rope.
He smells like smoke and confidence.
I clasp his hand.
It is like grabbing a warm boulder.
He leans in.
“Who are you,” he asks.
“Kenta,” I say.
He snorts.
“Never heard.”
“Good,” I say. “Less baggage.”
He laughs.
Then he pushes.
The table creaks.
My arm strains.
Then Strength and Athletics and pure stubbornness lock in.
My system chirps again.
[NEW SKILL ACQUIRED]
Arm Wrestling (Rank F)
I push back.
The man’s grin widens.
He pushes harder.
I breathe out.
Battle Focus tightens.
Damage Mitigation and Threat Grip make my body stable even in a stupid contest like this.
My arm moves.
Slow.
Steady.
His grin fades into surprise.
Then into respect.
Then his hand hits the table.
Thunk.
The room explodes.
Cheers.
Slaps on my back.
Someone shouts that I am cheating.
They are not wrong.
My system rewards me anyway.
[SKILL RANK UP]
Arm Wrestling: F -> D
[NEW SKILL ACQUIRED]
Alehouse Rapport (Rank F)
[NEW SKILL ACQUIRED]
Bro Code (Rank F)
Effect: improves acceptance among warrior groups
Note: you hate that this is a skill
I wipe sweat off my forehead.
The bartender pours me a normal drink now, which is their version of kindness.
The scar-knuckle man sits back down, rubbing his wrist.
“Alright,” he says. “Sea-boy’s got bones.”
I nod toward the quest board.
“Now,” I say. “Information.”
He jerks his chin toward the board.
“You want info,” he says. “You take work.”
Of course.
I walk to the board.
Paper scraps.
Charcoal writing.
Threat rankings.
Some are normal.
Crab nests.
Eel swarms.
Bandit boats.
Then one stands out.
A big red notice with heavy black letters.
OGRE OF THE STEAM GORGE
Reward: 12 gold
Status: UNSOLVED
Warning: Multiple parties failed
The room watches me.
Testing again.
I can feel it.
They want a show.
I point at the ogre notice.
“I’ll take this,” I say.
The room goes quiet for half a breath.
Then laughter.
A harsh voice from the corner calls out.
“You’ll die.”
I turn, smile, and pick the dumbest possible phrase because the moment demands it.
“Hold my beer,” I say.
The room roars.
The bartender actually slides a mug toward me like it is ceremonial.
I take one sip.
Set it down.
Point at it.
“Witness,” I say.
Then I leave.
Livi follows without asking.
Outside, the dawn is just starting to bleed gray over the sea.
The village is still tense.
People peek from windows like they expect me to explode into miracles.
I walk toward the steam gorge path.
My Detective skill hums.
It is a trap.
It is also a truth.
Ogre means territory.
Territory means resources.
Resources means local power.
If I kill it, they talk.
If I fail, they forget me.
Livi walks beside me, barefoot on black sand like it is nothing.
“You seek respect,” she says.
“I seek information,” I correct.
She glances at me, contempt curious.
“You think they will give you truth,” she says.
“I think they will give me clues,” I say. “Truth is rare.”
We reach the steam gorge.
A crack in the earth where hot vapor pours out, turning the air into a wet haze.
Red rock walls.
Sharp edges.
Sulfur smell.
And then I hear it.
Heavy footsteps.
Rock grinding.
A low, wet laugh.
The ogre steps out of the steam like the gorge is birthing it.
Nine feet tall.
Skin like cracked clay.
A club made from a tree trunk wrapped in iron bands.
Blue veins crawl under its skin.
Not fully.
Not everywhere.
But enough.
The siphon is here too.
My system flashes.
[ENEMY DETECTED]
Steam Gorge Ogre
Level: 50
Traits: Club Smash, Steam Blind, Rage Surge
Status: Blue-Threaded (Minor)
“Okay,” I whisper.
Solo kit.
Tank.
Heal.
Ranged.
Now add new thing.
Water Magic D.
I inhale, focus, and push mana into the concept of water.
It is clumsy.
It is new.
It feels like trying to move a limb I never had.
A thin ribbon of water forms around my hand.
It wobbles.
The ogre charges.
I do not panic.
I move.
Athletics SS.
Footwork.
Dodge.
The club slams where I was.
The ground cracks.
Steam explodes upward.
The ogre laughs like it loves the sound.
I throw a Lanternflash dart into the steam cloud.
Pop.
Dazzle.
The ogre flinches, blinking.
I sprint in and slash the ogre’s knee seam.
Subdual Intent keeps the cut shallow but painful.
The ogre roars.
Swings again.
I block with my buckler.
Reinforced wood and rune takes the hit.
My arm goes numb anyway.
[HP -1,440]
Snap Mend Ofuda.
Warm stitch.
The ogre’s rage surges.
It starts moving faster.
Unfair for something that big.
I grin because I love unfair.
I shove water magic into my palm again, harder.
“Water Jet,” I whisper, not because I know a spell, but because naming things makes my brain behave.
A thin burst shoots out.
Not powerful.
But it hits the ogre’s face right as it inhales steam.
The ogre coughs.
Its breath stutters.
Steam blind fails for half a second.
That half second is enough.
I leap.
Iaijutsu fundamentals.
Clean draw-cut motion.
My katana arcs across the ogre’s throat ridge.
Not a decapitation.
A deep cut.
The ogre staggers, hand going to its neck like it just realized it can bleed.
It roars and swings the club down with both hands.
I do not block.
I am not that stupid.
I dodge, slide, and the club hits rock.
The club sticks.
For one heartbeat, the ogre’s weapon is trapped.
For one heartbeat, the ogre’s eyes widen.
I take that heartbeat and spend it like money.
Watercut.
Full.
A-rank wave slash.
It hits the ogre’s elbow joint.
Crack.
The ogre screams.
I follow with Lanternflash dart to the eyes.
Pop.
Dazzle.
Then I cut the Achilles.
The ogre drops to one knee.
Its rage tries to surge again, blue veins pulsing.
It tries to stand.
I slap a Purify Salt Packet onto its chest.
The salt bursts.
The blue thread flinches.
The rage stutters.
The ogre’s eyes clear for one horrifying second.
Like a person is looking out.
Then it snarls and tries to crush me anyway.
Fine.
Mercy later.
I step in, buckler up, and drive my katana into the ogre’s heart line.
Deep.
Clean.
The ogre freezes.
Shudders.
Then collapses into the steam with a sound like a tree falling.
Silence.
My breathing is loud.
My hands shake.
Then my system detonates the reward.
[ENEMY DEFEATED]
Steam Gorge Ogre (Lv 50)
EXP +24,600 (Solo Bonus, Threat Differential High)
Loot: Ogre Core x1 (Rare), Steam Club Ironband x3 (Uncommon), Blue Thread Trace x1 (Hazard)
[LEVEL UP]
Kenta: 46 -> 47
[SKILL RANK UP]
Water Magic: D -> C
Arm Wrestling: D -> C
Alehouse Rapport: F -> D
Bro Code: F -> D
Alcohol Tolerance: D -> C
[NEW SKILL ACQUIRED]
Hold My Beer (Rank F)
Effect: increases intimidation when undertaking ridiculous tasks publicly
Note: this is not funny. it is funny.
I stare at the last window.
“You are joking,” I whisper.
The system does not answer.
I walk to the ogre’s corpse and touch it.
Inventory.
[ITEM STORED]
Steam Gorge Ogre Corpse (Very Large)
Compression: High
Warning: may leak smell
I nod.
“Perfect,” I say.
Livi watches me with narrowed eyes.
“You put it in nothing,” she says.
“I put it in inventory,” I correct.
“Nothing,” she repeats.
I shrug.
“Welcome to hero nonsense.”
We walk back to the tavern.
I push the door open.
The room goes quiet.
Everyone stares at my clean return.
My blood.
My calm.
I walk to the center of the floor.
I point at the ceremonial beer mug.
“Witness,” I say again.
Then I release the ogre.
[ITEM RELEASED]
Steam Gorge Ogre Corpse
It hits the floor with a meaty thud that shakes mugs.
Steam still curls off its skin.
Someone screams.
Someone cheers.
Someone vomits a little and then cheers anyway.
The scar-knuckle man stands slowly, eyes wide.
“You,” he says, voice hoarse, “are the real deal.”
I nod because nodding is cheaper than talking.
The bartender slides my beer back to me with two hands like it is sacred.
I pick it up.
Take one sip.
Then I look around the room.
“Now,” I say. “Information.”
They don’t argue now.
They pull chairs.
They lean in.
They talk fast.
A dozen voices.
A dozen half-truths.
A dozen rumors.
My Detective skill clicks.
Most of it is noise.
One thread is real.
A fisherman speaks, eyes still wide from the ogre corpse.
“A fire god,” he whispers.
The room quiets.
I freeze.
“A fire god,” I repeat.
The fisherman nods hard.
“Born recently,” he says. “Inland. Past the steam ridges. Past the ash fields. A girl walking in flame. Red hair. Angry sky.”
My heart punches my ribs.
Lyra.
My brain supplies the image from the Fellowship Echo.
Black sand.
Red cliff.
Steam vents.
Fire in both hands.
Fire god rumor.
Born recently.
That is not a god.
That is my mage, furious and stranded, scaring locals into inventing mythology.
I exhale.
I look at the fisherman.
“Where,” I say, voice low.
He points inland.
“Toward the Ember Shrine,” he says. “They say she burned a demon and the ground learned her name.”
I grin, sharp and relieved.
“That’s her,” I whisper.
Livi’s voice slides in beside my ear, calm and contemptuous.
“So you chase fire.”
I glance at her.
“Yes,” I say. “Because fire is my friend.”
Livi’s eyes narrow.
“Friend,” she repeats like it is a strange word.
I ignore the tone.
I turn back to the room.
“You’ve been helpful,” I say.
The bartender snorts.
“We’ve been entertained,” he corrects.
Fair.
I set coins down.
More than necessary.
Haggling S twitches, but I ignore it.
Today I pay.
Today I am grateful.
I step outside into gray dawn with ash smell in the air.
Lyra is inland.
Close.
Real.
And now the question shifts.
Not who first.
That is decided.
The question is what comes after I get her.
Roth in the far north, holding survivors together like a wall.
Mina under authority lock, attempt logged, watching eyes.
I grip the katana hilt.
I look inland, where the steam rises like smoke from a hidden furnace.
I look at Livi, blue-haired sea in human skin, pretending she isn’t a problem.
Then I look back at the road.
Lyra first.
Then we decide how much trouble we can afford.
Then we decide how much trouble we are willing to cause.
