The wind off the Solne Inner Sea was nothing like the mountain air. The smell of salt. The stench of fish. Mixed in with it—the scent of spices, leather, and sweat. After days of descending the southern foothills of the Karnadoom Range, Aldric Ironheart and Kael Brightblade passed through the south gate of Trevan, the Free Trade City, and the murky air rushed toward them all at once. Kael came to an abrupt halt. What spread out beyond the gate was chaos. Dock workers shouting at each other, peddlers calling out their wares in shrill voices, smoke from fried food drifting from some stall somewhere, foreign languages layered upon each other in waves—a turbid flood of sound that made it impossible to understand anything no matter where you listened from. The South Wind Market—the massive open-air bazaar that Trevan, the Free Trade City facing the Solne Inner Sea on the southern coast of the continent, took pride in—was hitting its morning peak. "This is... amazing..." Kael breathed. His amber eyes darted left and right. Half-swallowed by the tide of people, Kael tried to take in the full scope of the market. Stalls lined with goods from all across the continent, carts piled high with dried fish, merchants spreading out colorful fabrics, women calling out to draw customers. For someone who knew only the quiet mountain paths of the Karnadoom Range, this was a kind of flood. Aldric did not stop. The old man moved through the crowd with the gait of someone who already knew the way. No hesitation. He read the gaps between stall rows, the spaces between carts, the momentary voids where people shifted—and cut through them with his iron staff, taking the shortest path. The same pace as when he'd walked through the abandoned village. The mountain road's rhythm and the port town's rhythm came from the same body, the same movements. Kael hurried after him, watching his back once more. This man knows this place. That was the feeling. Not from a first visit, not from having seen a map. It was as if his body remembered it. He didn't voice it. He already knew the answer wouldn't come even if he asked. ——— Deep in the commercial district, past Honey Street from the south gate, stood the tavern "The Red Stag's Horn Cup." The antler decoration hung above the entrance in place of a sign, blackened by soot until its original color was lost. When the door opened, the smell of ale filled the air from morning onward. A simple interior with wooden tables arranged on a stone floor. Mercenary-looking men occupied a corner, speaking in low voices, while a large man behind the counter wiped dishes with a cloth. Georg Mein was a man in his early fifties, a former mercenary. Arms like logs, several scars etched around his eyes, yet his mouth held a casual charm that drew people in. His distance with regular customers was familiar, but his gaze toward newcomers was appraising. The moment he saw Aldric, something in that gaze shifted. "It's been a while," Georg said. It was a short statement. He didn't use a name, didn't say how long they'd known each other. A simple nod from Aldric was enough for conversation to pass between them. Kael watched from the side, about to ask something, then decided against it. Before three mugs of ale arrived, Kael pulled a quill and paper from his leather bag. He was trying to jot down information. It was a habit born of his meticulous nature, something his mentor had drilled into him at Volga Outpost—but the moment he drew out the quill, his elbow caught the mug. Splash. Ale spilled everywhere. The edge of the paper turned brown. The inkwell tipped, leaving a black streak across the wood grain of the table. Kael froze. Georg raised an eyebrow. Then his mouth curved in amusement. "Like a puppy," Georg said. Kael's ears turned red. "I'm sorry..." he said quietly, beginning to wipe the table with a cloth. He heard the mercenaries in the corner laugh softly. Aldric said nothing. He simply pulled his ale mug closer and took a single sip. Whether a wry smile crossed his weathered profile—Kael couldn't confirm it. The information came from Georg in fragments. The Void Ivy—an invisible decay phenomenon that gnawed at living things' time, causing rapid aging—rumors of it had reached not just the abandoned villages on the mountain paths, but this trade city as well. Stories brought by traveling merchants: wood rotting in a single night, livestock becoming corpses by morning. The Regent Council—the deliberative body of seven noble families that seized power after the royal line of the Kingdom of Grione ended—seemed to be suppressing that information. Checkpoints had increased at key points along the roads, and those who spread suspicious rumors disappeared, the rumors said. Aldric listened to Georg's words without drinking his ale. He simply faced forward. When Georg spoke the word "shadow-walker," Aldric's gaze paused for just a beat. Shadow-walker—the colloquial term in this city for those in the underground trade of information gathering and infiltration—one of them was being pursued by agents of the Regent faction, according to rumors flowing through the tavern for the past two days. Apparently, they'd gotten hold of something and were trying to make off with it. Aldric returned his gaze forward. Without touching his ale, he stood. "Thanks," Aldric said. That was all. He left payment on the counter and headed for the door. Kael crumpled the ink-stained paper and followed. ——— When they turned into the back of the South Wind Market, the chaos receded into the distance. If the front was a flood of light, sound, and color, the back was the shadowed depths of silence. The narrow alley with its stone paving for hauling cargo was barely wide enough for a single cart. The dimly lit passage, hemmed in by stone walls, saw only the occasional laborer carrying goods pass through; otherwise, it was deserted. Kael followed Aldric's back through the alley, and the moment they turned a corner— A voice. Multiple, low voices. And—the sound of something striking the stone pavement. Aldric stopped. In the alley ahead, in a dead-end alcove, a single girl stood with her back against the wall. Long jet-black hair with crimson streaks mixed in. Golden eyes scanning all directions. Her height was around one hundred sixty centimeters, dressed in light, mobile clothing, with a single thin short sword at her waist. Four men surrounded her. The men's equipment was mismatched, but their movements were coordinated. If one gave an order, the rest would shift position in sync—the movements of trained soldiers. Private soldiers, Aldric judged. The kind of men who did work for the Regent Council that didn't go through official channels. The girl was completely cut off from the alley's exit. Aldric did not hesitate. The iron staff moved. The first man had no time to react. The staff's tip struck the side of his neck, and he collapsed to his knees. The same precise strike as when he'd hit the joints of a stone-armored beast—the thin parts of the joints, the places where force concentrated. Before the second man could turn around, the staff's shaft thrust into his solar plexus. The third man was reaching for his sword when the old man's weight shifted forward, and the staff struck his wrist. The sword clattered to the stone. There were few movements. Not a single wasted motion. Kael threw himself at the remaining man. It became a grapple, but when he pinned him against the wall and sealed his arms, the man stopped resisting. Silence returned to the alley. The girl stepped away from the wall. Her golden eyes looked at Aldric. Then at Kael. When they returned to Aldric—they stopped on the grip of the iron staff. A specific position on the hilt. The marks of long wear made by the joints of fingers. The way weight was distributed. The girl's eyes narrowed slightly. Aldric noticed that gaze. Their eyes met. The old man's deep grayish-purple eyes and the girl's golden eyes crossed for just a beat. Then Aldric looked away first. Four bodies lay in silence in the alley. The girl was the first to speak. "I appreciate the help, but," Mira said, glancing at the stone pavement, "if you'd come a little sooner, my shoes wouldn't be dirty." Kael let out an "Huh?" Aldric said nothing. ——— Mira knew of a nearby abandoned warehouse. A stone building, half-collapsed, two alleys over from the back of the South Wind Market. It had apparently been used for temporary storage of goods once, but now it had no lock, and one wall had crumbled, letting in the outside air. The three of them entered. Mira Shadowstep. Seventeen years old. Long jet-black hair with crimson streaks, thin eyebrows above golden eyes. Her mouth curved easily into a soft smile, but those eyes never smiled. Her light, mobile clothing was spotless—as if she hadn't just been surrounded by four men—and the short sword at her waist showed no signs of use. She was the type who chose to flee and hide before choosing to fight. Inside the warehouse, Kael spoke. "I thought I'd introduce myself. I'm Kael Brightblade. And this is my—" Kael began. "Honest as a dog," Mira interrupted. Her voice was light. It seemed like teasing, but wasn't—there was a precise temperature to it. Kael's words caught. "A dog...?" he repeated, tried to say something back, and came up with nothing. Mira was already facing Aldric. Her gaze moved to the bottom of his pack. A quick scan that took less than a second. Then it returned to the staff's hilt. "The wear on the staff's grip isn't from a blacksmith's hold," Mira said quietly, her tone confirmatory. "That hilt bears the shape of a hand that's gripped a weapon for years. And—the bottom of your pack is slightly heavier on the left side. About the weight of a single sword." Aldric said nothing. The fact that he didn't deny it was enough for Mira. One layer of initial wariness peeled away from the girl's eyes. Kael watched the exchange between them and felt as though he alone was being left behind. Something was passing between them. Something that had no words. He didn't understand what it was, and it made him slightly anxious. Mira began to speak. She stated simply why she was being pursued. The Regent Council's agents were after her because of the information she possessed. About the source of the Void Ivy—the decay phenomenon that consumed living things' time, aging everything it touched. "The source is in the depths of the royal castle," Mira said. Her voice grew slightly lower. "Beneath Cleavol Castle, deep underground, there's a place called the Forbidden Tower. A spiral tower, dug downward into the earth. It was built one hundred twenty years ago to imprison a certain man. The Void Ivy is crawling upward from there toward the surface." Kael's expression tightened. Aldric's breathing changed for just a beat. It was a small change. His chest seemed to stop moving for an instant. The old man's left arm—unconsciously—was pressed against his side through his sleeve. Kael missed that movement. Mira did not. The girl's golden eyes glanced at the hand on his left arm for a moment, then returned to Aldric's face. She said nothing. Mira paused in her narrative. The wind from the collapsed wall's gap blew through the warehouse. The smell of salt. "I have a proposal," Mira said. The girl's voice took on the quiet, composed tone of a merchant entering into a deal. "I'll provide you with an infiltration route to the Forbidden Tower and information about the roads to avoid the Regent's checkpoints. In exchange, I want you to let me travel with you." Kael started to open his mouth. "That—" Aldric's gaze turned toward Kael from the side. It was a wordless but unmistakable look. Don't rush to judgment. Kael immediately understood the meaning. That sensation he got when facing his mentor. The sense that he was still overlooking something. Kael closed his mouth. He swallowed his impat