Adlet followed Niccolo through the crowded streets, saying little as he tried to keep pace beside him.

  Atlantis moved differently from any city he had known. Movement never truly stopped. People flowed around them in constant streams — merchants balancing crates on their shoulders, sailors hauling coiled ropes, messengers weaving between carts with practiced urgency. Voices overlapped endlessly, traders shouting prices that echoed against white stone walls polished smooth by generations of footsteps.

  Color surrounded him on every side.

  Market stalls overflowed with unfamiliar goods — glass bottles filled with shimmering liquids, woven fabrics dyed in deep blues and burning reds, baskets piled high with fruits whose scents were sharp, sweet, or strangely bitter. The air carried salt from the sea, mingling with spices and smoke from nearby kitchens.

  It was overwhelming.

  Adlet’s gaze shifted constantly, trying to take everything in at once, yet never managing to grasp the whole of it. Every street opened onto another, every corner revealing new crowds, new sounds, new languages blending into a restless murmur.

  The city felt endless.

  For the first time since arriving, he became acutely aware of how small he was within it — just another figure moving through a place that had existed long before him and would continue long after.

  Niccolo, meanwhile, walked with easy familiarity, nodding occasionally to passing workers or stepping aside without breaking stride. He seemed perfectly at home in the chaos.

  They passed beneath a series of wide stone arches that opened the view toward the harbor below. Ships filled the water — dozens of them — their masts rising like a forest of wood and rope, sails snapping softly in the sea wind.

  “Over there,” Niccolo said, gesturing toward a hill overlooking the port. “That’s the Lord’s Palace. And beyond those arches are the western quarters — craftsmen, shipbuilders, merchant guilds. Most of the city’s lifeblood passes through these streets.”

  Adlet followed his gaze, silently absorbing the scale of it all. Even the stone beneath his boots felt different here — pale, smooth, shaped by centuries of movement. Everything carried a sense of permanence and motion at once.

  Despite the energy surrounding him, a faint unease lingered in his chest. The crowds, the noise, the sheer vastness of Atlantis reminded him how far he had traveled from the quiet rhythms of his village — and how little place he yet occupied in this enormous world.

  Eventually, the streets grew calmer as they moved away from the busiest districts. The shouting faded into distant background noise, replaced by quieter conversations and the steady whisper of sea wind moving between buildings.

  Niccolo slowed and stopped before a modest structure set slightly back from the street.

  Compared to the grand merchant halls they had passed earlier, it seemed almost humble — a two-story building of pale wood and stone, its tiled roof weathered by salt air. Above the door hung a simple sign carved with a stylized wave.

  Niccolo smiled faintly.

  “This is my company,” he said. “Not the biggest in Atlantis… but it’s home.”

  He pushed the door open and gestured inside.

  “Come in.”

  The noise of the city faded the moment Adlet stepped inside.

  The door closed behind him with a muted thud, cutting off the roar of traders and gulls as if a curtain had fallen. The air changed instantly — cooler, calmer — carrying the familiar scent of ink, parchment, and aged wood. Shelves lined the walls from floor to ceiling, crowded with rolled maps, ledgers bound in leather, and glass containers filled with labeled samples: fragments of shell, mineral shards, preserved insect wings.

  It felt less like a merchant office and more like a place where curiosity lived.

  Behind a wide wooden table, a young man slightly older than Adlet leaned over a spread of documents, quill moving quickly across parchment. He didn’t notice them at first, absorbed in careful calculations. His blond curls fell forward as he worked, and when he finally looked up, Adlet immediately caught the resemblance — the same bright, attentive eyes as Niccolo’s, sharpened by youth.

  “Polo,” Niccolo called lightly, shrugging off his coat, “I’ve got someone I want you to meet.”

  The young man straightened, curiosity replacing concentration.

  “Adlet,” Niccolo continued, gesturing between them, “this is my son. Polo — the boy I told you about when we met at Villa-Sylva.”

  Recognition sparked instantly in Polo’s expression. He rose from his chair and stepped forward, extending his hand with easy confidence.

  “Nice to meet you,” he said with a friendly grin. “You made quite an impression on my father.”

  His gaze dropped briefly to the bronze insignia fastened to Adlet’s chest.

  “…Looks like he wasn’t exaggerating.”

  Adlet accepted the handshake, surprised by the firm, energetic grip.

  “Your father left quite an impression on me too,” he replied with a faint smile. “I’ve never met anyone who knew that much about Apexes.”

  Niccolo snorted softly, leaning his hip against the table.

  “My knowledge isn’t that impressive,” he said. “You’ve just met too few scholars.”

  He folded his arms, expression shifting slightly — less researcher now, more businessman.

  “Still, since you’re here, there’s something you should understand. The Neraid region works differently from what you’re used to.”

  Adlet listened closely.

  “Protectors here don’t stay tied to guild halls,” Niccolo continued. “Most of them contract themselves to merchant companies. Expeditions leave constantly — ships crossing between hundreds of islands scattered across the sea. They’ve all been mapped… but mapping doesn’t mean empty.”

  He gestured toward a large chart pinned to the wall — a sprawling sea dotted with countless inked islands.

  “Hidden resources. Apex habitats. Ruins no one’s fully explored. That’s where fortune is found.”

  “And danger,” Polo added, leaning back against the table, arms crossed with quiet enthusiasm.

  Adlet’s eyes lingered on the map, imagination already racing.

  “Across the sea…” he murmured. “So that’s how Protectors work here. How do you get hired?”

  Niccolo and Polo exchanged a brief glance — equal parts amusement and sympathy.

  “It’s not that simple,” Niccolo said. “The strongest companies already have established Protectors. Those positions aren’t given easily. Without a recommendation or reputation, most newcomers end up taking small coastal guard jobs.”

  Adlet frowned slightly, thinking.

  “Then how do you know which companies are worth joining?”

  Polo perked up immediately, clearly happy to explain.

  “There are three company ranks — Bronze, Silver, and Gold,” he said, counting on his fingers. “Bronze companies operate between nearby islands. Silver companies travel farther, where routes are less secure. Gold companies…” His grin widened. “They go where almost no one else dares.”

  He nodded toward the shelves filled with strange materials.

  “The higher the rank, the greater the risk — but also the rewards. Rare minerals. Apex materials. Discoveries that make reputations overnight.”

  A spark lit behind his eyes.

  “We’re Bronze for now,” he admitted. “But not forever. That’s why I became a Protector. Someone has to push us upward.”

  Adlet recognized the feeling instantly — that same restless ambition he carried himself.

  He smiled.

  “I understand.”

  For a moment, he looked between father and son — the researcher who had helped him when he needed guidance, and the young Protector chasing something bigger than himself.

  “Maybe fate really did bring us back together,” Adlet said. “If you’ll have me… I’d like to help.”

  Niccolo laughed warmly, the tension in the room dissolving at once.

  “I’d be a fool to refuse.”

  He stepped forward and clapped Adlet lightly on the shoulder.

  “Welcome aboard, Adlet.”

  Outside, the distant noise of Atlantis continued without pause — but inside, for the first time since arriving in the vast city, Adlet felt something steady forming beneath his feet.

  A beginning.

  The days slipped into one another with a quiet regularity Adlet had never known before.

  He remained in Atlantis alongside Niccolo and Polo, gradually finding his place within their routine. Mornings began early, often before the markets fully awakened. The harbor breathed with constant motion — ropes creaking, sails snapping in the wind, gulls crying overhead as waves rolled endlessly against the stone docks.

  Adlet helped where he could. Carrying crates. Assisting with supply checks. Running messages between warehouses. Simple work, far removed from combat, yet strangely grounding. Between tasks, he trained along the waterfront, practicing footwork on uneven planks, refining the flow of his Aura while the tide rose and fell beside him.

  The sea became a constant presence.

  Each morning, the crash of waves against the distant cliffs filled him with something unfamiliar — a quiet anticipation. The horizon never ended here. It stretched endlessly, untouched by walls or forests, promising places no map could fully contain.

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  Freedom.

  Yet that same vastness reminded him how far he had come from everything he once knew. Atlantis was alive in a way no city had ever been to him, and beyond it lay an even larger world — one he was only beginning to understand.

  Then came the day of departure.

  The harbor buzzed with early activity as Polo stood at the head of a modest crew, posture straight despite the excitement barely hidden in his expression. Their ship was not large, but it was sturdy — reinforced hull, well-kept sails, and the marks of careful maintenance earned through years of honest voyages.

  Several Confirmed Protectors boarded alongside them, each carrying their own equipment and quiet confidence. Experienced enough to be reliable, but not yet veterans of the deeper seas.

  Niccolo remained on the dock, arms folded, watching with an approving smile.

  “Bring the ship back in one piece,” he called lightly. “Preferably with something worth studying.”

  Polo laughed, offering a confident wave before giving the order to cast off.

  Ropes were loosened. Sails unfurled. The ship pulled away from Atlantis under a gentle breeze, the city slowly shrinking behind them as the vast Neraid Sea opened ahead.

  The journey began.

  Life at sea settled into rhythm quickly.

  Days were measured by wind and light rather than bells or schedules. Adlet learned to move with the sway of the deck, to read the subtle shifts in current and weather, to sleep through the groan of timber and the endless whisper of water against the hull.

  For two months, they explored every island permitted by their Bronze license.

  Some were little more than jagged rocks rising from the sea. Others held dense pockets of jungle where humidity clung to the skin like a second layer. Coral coves shimmered beneath clear waters, hiding vibrant ecosystems beneath their calm surfaces.

  Few discoveries proved valuable.

  Most islands offered only common materials or signs that earlier expeditions had already passed through. The Apexes they encountered were often low-ranked — territorial creatures that fled once confronted by an organized group of Protectors.

  Still, Adlet loved it.

  The wind against his face. The endless horizon shifting colors with each passing day. The constant sense that the next island might hold something unknown. It reminded him of the first time he understood what it meant to be a Protector — not survival, but exploration. Movement. Growth.

  Out here, the world felt open.

  Alive.

  But slowly, almost imperceptibly, something changed.

  The islands grew quieter.

  Vegetation thinned in strange patterns, as if life itself hesitated to take root. Birds became scarce. Even the waves seemed heavier, their rhythm slower, more deliberate.

  Adlet began waking before dawn without knowing why.

  A tension lingered beneath the calm routine — not danger exactly, but anticipation. The further south they sailed, the more unfamiliar everything felt. The air carried a faint weight he couldn’t explain, pressing subtly against his senses.

  It felt like entering a place that did not welcome visitors.

  He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was watching… or waiting.

  Then, one morning, the silence broke.

  From high above, the lookout’s voice rang across the deck.

  “Island ahead!”

  Boots thudded as crew members turned toward the horizon.

  “Bigger than the rest!”

  Adlet stepped forward instinctively, eyes narrowing as a dark shape slowly emerged through the morning haze — larger, higher, rising from the sea with a presence that felt different from every island they had passed before.

  And for reasons he couldn’t yet explain, a chill ran down his spine.

  The crew disembarked cautiously, boots sinking slightly into warm sand as the ship’s anchor settled behind them. The island rose steeply from the shoreline, dense vegetation pressing close as if reluctant to reveal what lay within.

  Polo organized the team quickly, assigning small groups to scout different directions while keeping visual contact with the beach.

  “Standard exploration,” he said, adjusting the strap of his weapon. “We stay alert and regroup before night.”

  Adlet nodded, falling into step beside him as they moved inland.

  At first, the island felt almost welcoming.

  Tall palm trees arched overhead, their leaves whispering softly in the sea breeze. Light filtered through shifting layers of green, painting the ground in restless patterns. The air smelled of salt and damp earth, heavier than on the smaller islands they had visited before.

  But the deeper they went, the more the atmosphere changed.

  The sounds came first.

  Distant cries echoed somewhere far within the jungle — not birdsong, but something harsher. Something predatory. Branches snapped intermittently, too heavy to be caused by wind alone. Once, Adlet caught the faint tremor of movement through the ground itself, subtle but unmistakable.

  An Apex.

  A large one.

  He slowed slightly, scanning the canopy.

  “Do you feel that?” he murmured.

  Polo gave a small nod. “Yeah. This island’s… louder than it looks.”

  They continued forward, pushing through thick undergrowth. Vines brushed against their legs, leaves slick with humidity clinging to their clothes. Sweat formed quickly along Adlet’s back despite the shade.

  The air felt wrong.

  Too dense.

  Even the insects seemed hesitant, their buzzing irregular, fading whenever the distant calls sounded again.

  Then a shadow crossed the ground.

  Both boys froze instinctively.

  Adlet looked up just in time to glimpse something enormous gliding far above the canopy — a massive winged silhouette cutting silently across the filtered light before disappearing beyond the treetops.

  Not hunting them.

  Just passing.

  But its size alone made Adlet’s stomach tighten.

  “This island isn’t Bronze-level,” he muttered.

  Polo didn’t answer immediately.

  “…Let’s just finish the survey quickly.”

  They pressed on, more cautious now. Conversation faded. Every step became deliberate, controlled. The jungle seemed to watch them, leaves shifting long after the wind had stopped.

  And then—

  Silence.

  Complete.

  The distant Apex cries vanished.

  The insects stopped.

  Even the wind seemed to withdraw.

  Adlet felt it instantly — that instinctive tightening deep in his chest, the same warning that had saved him countless times before.

  Something had noticed them.

  He opened his mouth to speak—

  The air hissed.

  A violent whistling tore through the canopy above.

  “MOVE!”

  They threw themselves aside as the ground exploded around them. Sand and leaves burst upward in violent sprays. Adlet rolled across the dirt, Aura flaring instinctively as impacts struck all around them with brutal force.

  Thunk.

  Thunk.

  Thunk.

  He skidded to a stop beside a tree and glanced toward one of the projectiles embedded in the earth.

  Not arrows.

  Feathers.

  Enormous white feathers, longer than his arm, buried deep in the soil — their edges gleaming with a metallic sheen sharp enough to slice stone.

  Both boys ignited their Aura fully now.

  A powerful gust of wind crashed down over the clearing.

  From above, a massive white bird descended in a sweeping arc, wings cutting through the air with lethal precision. Each feather shimmered like a drawn blade, perfectly aligned, perfectly controlled.

  Adlet’s pulse spiked.

  The pressure rolling off the creature was unmistakable.

  Polo’s voice remained steady — but tension sharpened every word.

  “A Javeline Seagull,” he said quietly.

  “Apex. Rank 3.”

  Adlet’s heart slammed against his ribs, breath caught somewhere between panic and instinct. The air itself felt heavy, charged with danger. Every sense screamed at him to move.

  This wasn’t training.

  This wasn’t a controlled hunt.

  They were prey.

  His body reacted before thought could form. He launched forward, Aura flaring along his limbs as he bounded from trunk to trunk, using the trees as stepping stones the way Lathandre had drilled into him countless times.

  For a fleeting instant, it worked.

  He gained height. Angle. Momentum.

  Then the bird moved.

  It didn’t dodge — it flowed. Its massive wings tilted with effortless precision, cutting through the air as if the wind itself obeyed it. Adlet’s strike met nothing but empty space, the creature already gone, a flash of white slipping beyond reach.

  A sharp whistle split the air.

  Feathers rained down.

  Adlet twisted midair, barely avoiding the first volley. One feather struck a nearby trunk and buried itself deep into solid wood with a violent crack. Another grazed his shoulder, slicing cloth and skin alike before embedding into the ground behind him.

  He landed hard, rolling, forcing himself upright—

  —and the bird was already above again.

  Watching.

  Waiting.

  It wasn’t attacking to kill.

  It was measuring them.

  Another barrage followed, faster this time. Adlet moved on instinct alone — ducking, sliding, throwing himself aside as the forest floor erupted around him. Each dodge came a fraction slower than the last. His breathing grew ragged, muscles tightening under accumulating strain.

  It’s not even trying to hit me…

  The realization struck colder than fear.

  It was herding them. Testing reactions. Learning their limits.

  The white wings flashed again overhead, impossibly fast.

  Why can’t I touch it?

  His Aura burned through his body, but every opening vanished before he could exploit it. Every movement he made felt anticipated, countered before it even began.

  Frustration crept in.

  Then doubt.

  His training had always promised adaptation — that every opponent revealed a path to victory.

  But this creature offered nothing.

  Only distance.

  Only superiority.

  A shadow swept across him again, close enough that the wind of its passage staggered him backward. The bird’s cry rang out — sharp, piercing, almost mocking.

  It was playing.

  Breaking them down before the kill.

  “Adlet, fall back!”

  Polo’s voice cut through the chaos.

  Adlet turned sharply. Polo was already retreating deeper into the trees, abandoning open ground for the dense jungle interior.

  For a split second, pride resisted.

  Then survival won.

  Adlet pivoted and ran.

  Branches whipped past his face as they sprinted beneath the canopy. The dense foliage disrupted the bird’s angles of attack, forcing it higher. Feathers still fell occasionally, but blindly now, striking leaves and trunks instead of flesh.

  The forest swallowed them.

  Their footsteps pounded through damp soil, breath tearing from their lungs. Adlet didn’t stop thinking about the bird above — the constant pressure of its presence lingering like a blade hovering over his neck.

  Only when the sounds of wings faded did they slow.

  Both bent forward, gasping.

  Sweat mixed with salt and dirt on Adlet’s skin. His arms trembled faintly, adrenaline draining away and leaving exhaustion behind.

  The silence that followed felt wrong.

  Too sudden.

  Too complete.

  The jungle no longer sounded alive — it sounded as if everything had gone still to listen.

  Adlet straightened slowly.

  “…It let us go,” he murmured, unease tightening his chest.

  Polo didn’t answer.

  The ground trembled.

  At first, Adlet thought it was his pulse echoing through his legs.

  Then it came again.

  A low vibration rolled beneath the soil, deep and heavy, followed by a grinding sound — like stone dragging against stone somewhere beyond the trees.

  Leaves shook loose from the branches above.

  Something enormous was moving.

  Polo’s expression changed instantly, all color draining from his face as realization struck.

  “…Not just the bird,” he said quietly.

  Another tremor hit, stronger this time. The jungle ahead parted slightly as something massive forced its way through vegetation, branches snapping like dry twigs.

  “A Crusher Crab,” Polo whispered, tension cutting through every word. “Rank 3… once again.”

  Adlet exhaled slowly, exhaustion weighing on every muscle as dread settled in his stomach.

  “…This island just keeps getting better.”

  The ground shook again.

  And whatever was coming… was getting closer.

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