I dropped into a fighting stance, fists raised, eyes darting between the scarred Beachstrider and the hulking, tattooed Tidewalker. On my shoulder, Gripjaw stirred with a drowsy clack. His chitin armor flared as he hissed.

  But something was off. Both men stood with an almost lazy casualness, their postures completely at odds with the tension thrumming through my body. They exchanged a knowing look before their eyes dropped to my palm—which chose that moment to flare with ethereal light.

  I clenched my fist, trying to dim the telltale glow as I studied them. My heart thundered, essence coursing through me like a wild current. The bigger man simply nodded, gesturing toward a nearby alley with a tilt of his head before ambling that direction, his long tail leaving serpentine patterns in the sand. The tattooed one followed in equal silence.

  Cronia's book materialized beside me, pages rustling as they opened:

  [Bond Quest: Xelmir]

  [Xelmir's allies have caught your scent, but rather than fight, they beckon you forward. What secrets await?]

  [New Objective: Follow Xelmir's allies]

  I let out a shaky breath, tension melting from my muscles. Thank the gods… As much as I wanted to train my melee skill, I wasn’t in the mood to face two enemies. I glanced at Cronia, who gave me a quick nod. Soon I was hurrying after them, though Gripjaw remained tense on my shoulders, a low growl rumbling in his throat. "Easy," I murmured, stroking his neck. "It's alright." He settled slightly at my touch, though his eyes remained fixed on our guides.

  The wide alley cut between grand homes adorned with oceanic murals. Wavehaven was many things, but unkempt wasn't one of them. Back in Dallas, an alley like this would have been choked with filth and refuse. But not here—and not in Nuku'alofa, my native city.

  Islands were special like that.

  Thinking of Tonga made my chest tight, memories of its pristine beauty bringing a sudden wave of homesickness. Soon, I told myself, taking a steadying breath. Once this is all over, I can go back.

  I let out a long exhale as we emerged onto another street, my eyes drawn to the strained expressions we passed. Rosamae's letter echoed in my mind as I noted the tension—a father's tense posture as he carried his child, the nervous darting of another's gaze. Not everyone showed such unease, but there was definitely something in the air, an undercurrent I hadn’t noticed my first week.

  Of course, I'd been too preoccupied then to notice, between carving the Tempest Mask and planning my escape. I might have remained just as blind if circumstances hadn't forced my eyes open.

  My guides led me into an empty building overlooking a plaza. The scarred one gestured me forward, and despite Gripjaw's warning hiss, I joined them at the window. What I saw made my blood run cold.

  There in the plaza's center stood a familiar figure—a well-dressed man with golden scales gleaming in the sunlight and whiskers drooping like a catfish's barbels. Him. It’s him! The same councilman I'd watched die at the hands of a cultist. Yet here he stood, vital as ever, striding amongst a crowd as if nothing had happened.

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  The councilman's voice rose, words indistinct but laden with fury as he berated a group of Beachstriders and Tidewalkers. My scarred companion pulled the window open a crack, letting the tirade spill in.

  "Unacceptable!" the councilman thundered, jabbing a finger at the nearest Beachstrider. "The laws are clear—all grievances go through the High Council!"

  My guide directed my attention to the plaza's far side, where market stalls lay in ruins, food scattered across the cobblestones. Several people lay unconscious, being tended by soldiers.

  "They were framed," the scarred Beachstrider growled. "Honest vendors, until some highborn brats showed up."

  Looking from one Beachstrider to a bowing Tidewalker, understanding dawned. It wasn’t just Beachstriders who were treated like crap. This wasn't just the simple prejudice between their peoples—this was about class, about the iron grip of privilege choking the life from those deemed lesser.

  A sharp crack split the air. My head whipped to see a female Beachstrider sprawled in the sand, clutching her face where the councilman had struck her. The sound of her cry seemed to echo endlessly, drowning out everything else as memories crashed over me.

  My mother's weeping in that backwater clinic near Tonga. The doctor's contempt as he refused to treat my sister, though a simple call could have saved her. His spittle flying as he screamed that she wasn't worth his time or money. The helplessness as I watched my sister suffer, all because we were poor, insignificant…ostracized, even by those who should have accepted us.

  "Get up!" the councilman snarled, yanking the woman's arm.

  She yelped, and something inside me snapped.

  Cronia's urgent whisper was lost beneath the roar of blood in my ears. I burst through the door and sprinted across the plaza, rage carrying me forward.

  "ENOUGH!" The word tore from my throat as I grabbed the councilman's wrist, shoving him away from his victim. He staggered back, mouth working soundlessly—probably the first time anyone had dared lay hands on him.

  "That is not how you treat people!" I jabbed a finger at his chest, seeing in his face every privileged tyrant who'd ever ground someone beneath their heel. "Just because we don’t have coin bulging in our pockets doesn't mean you can discard us!"

  I trembled with fury, my tattoos blazing like sunlight on storm-tossed waves. The councilman's face cycled through shades of outrage before settling on purple. He then swung his fist, but I ducked then punched him right in the face.

  He staggered back as everyone gasped.

  Eyes bulging, he clutched a bleeding nose, jaw working soundlessly. Then, a shriek. “Arrest him!”

  Guards approached, scale armor glinting beneath conch-shell helmets. Heart pounding, I spun to face them, to fight them—

  But Cronia's presence washed over me like a cool tide.

  "Zale," she said, her voice heavy with emotion. "Stop."

  That last word made me flinch, breaking through the growing haze of anger. I blinked, shaking my head and letting out a shuddered breath. I knew I was surrounded. Knew that resistance would only get me killed, costing me the precious days I needed. So I stood still as they chained my wrists, though I made sure to turn and spit at the councilman's feet. He squaked, staggering back, yelling. Let him rage—let him shout!Tonight, he'd meet the cultist's blade, and I no longer felt an ounce of guilt about it.

  They dragged me through the streets and into a cool, damp building. After hurrying down several halls, they shoved me into a lightless cell. The door clanged shut with a finality that echoed in my bones.

  [Updated Bond Quest: Xelmir]

  [Objective: Find a way out of prison.]

  [Reward: +20% Bond Progress]

  [Failure: ???]

  I slid down the wall until I hit sand, trying to process everything that had just happened—hell, that’d all happened so fast! That confrontation felt like a dream, played out on pure instinct. My heart still raced, adrenaline surging through veins, my muscles tense as springs waiting to release.

  A soft chuckle broke through my daze. I lifted my head, peering into the shadows—and my heart stopped as I spotted two gleaming eyes watching me from the darkness.

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