The guildmaster's tome of rare and uncommon masks proved frustrating—not a single recipe for enhancing attack power. But that didn't mean they were useless. After sitting on the beach for a while, munching on market-bought jerky, I found exactly what I needed.

  [Strong Defense Mask]

  [+45 Defense when worn]

  I got to work immediately. Wood formed the foundation, as always, but I needed other components—shells, essences, and more. My search led me to a sprawling coral reef that seemed to stretch for miles.

  The reef teemed with life: colorful slugs undulating through water, stone-shelled turtles, and sharp-toothed swiftgills that stalked me constantly, waiting for me to look away so they could snap off a piece. Thankfully, since the guildmaster himself had compiled this volume, most ingredients were readily available—though some required a trip to the market.

  It took time to scrape one section of the reef clean. By late afternoon, I emerged from the ocean and laid out my tools. Only Cronia's reminders made me pause to eat, and when my jerky ran out, Gripjaw kindly hunted for me. Being part Tidewalker had its advantages—I could drink seawater. Briny and disgusting, yes, but it did the job.

  The mask took shape by the eighth chime: a diamond shape with a long horn protruding from the forehead.

  [Active Skills]

  1. Mask Craft (Level 3) [+60 xp = 80/100]

  I stored it away, casting an uneasy glance toward Wavehaven. I'd chosen this stretch of beach specifically for its distance from the square. Part of me expected the guildmaster to appear any moment with guards in tow. Though if they did come…would I even be able to return the book?

  “Not likely,” Cronia said as I stood and stretched. “Instead of storing it, you, um…absorbed it… My apologies.”

  "No need to apologize," I said, rolling my shoulders and working out the stiffness in my muscles. "I'm the one who sucked it up. Should've thought to use my inventory—just didn't occur to me."

  I strolled along the beach, waves lapping at my feet. There was another reason I'd picked this spot: a dock stretching toward the floating structure of the Manta Moo. The sun was dipping, and out across the ocean, bioluminescent jellyfish created living constellations—something I wished existed on Earth: a natural light show with creatures that didn't sting.

  I considered swimming to warm up before meeting Rosamae, but decided against it. My feet carried me toward the dock instead.

  “I noticed,” the goddess said, raising one delicate finger, “that you continue to refer to this interaction as a 'meeting.’” She perched on my shoulder in her diminutive form, radiating serene calm. Gripjaw scuttled alongside, clutching a fish in his mouth as if saving it for later—or perhaps eager to join the meal ahead.

  "I don't like thinking of it as a date," I said, eyeing the dock. People stood chatting, most with those green-glowing orbs. "I barely even know her, and she never called it that. Maybe she's just friendly with everyone."

  “Or,” Cronia mused, “maybe she actually likes you.”

  I shrugged, refusing to answer. Dating hadn't been my thing back on Earth, and I wasn't about to start now, here in an entirely new world.

  “Count yourself lucky,” Cronia said. “Not everyone has a body and face that makes girls goggle.”

  I snorted but couldn't help smirking as I crossed the deck. Young adults filled the area, most in their mid-twenties with green and brown hair like Rosamae's. Gaians, I realized, with their glowing spirits hovering at their shoulders. Some permanent residents, most exchange students.

  “They come from the Windwhisper Wilds,” Cronia explained, pointing across the sea toward some invisible continent. “A region of this kingdom, once ruled by a good friend of mine…”

  "A good friend?" I asked. "Who?”

  “Gaia. A god these people were named after.”

  I nodded slowly, curiosity stirring. "Why don't you go to him, then? Why stick with me?"

  “Shattered,” Cronia said. “Remember?” I nearly slapped my forehead. Right—she'd mentioned this before, about the War of the Gods and the few survivors. It seemed way over my head. My brain was already beginning to ache, so I let it drop.

  That one colorful Skyborn lounged in his canoe, strumming a narrow-stringed instrument. I flicked him a coin, which he caught without looking up.

  "I have a friend coming," I said. "Rosamae. Brown hair, emerald streaks."

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  "Already talked to her," he sang, returning my coin. "She paid for a Beachstrider with black hair to hop on in. You seem to match the description."

  My eyebrows rose. "She’s…already here?"

  "Indeed," he strummed again. "And if you don't want to keep her waiting, I suggest immediate departure."

  I almost declined, but curiosity won out. Why was she an hour early? And how much did this guy know about her? What answers might he have?

  I settled onto a seat without comment. "Excellent," the Skyborn said, brushing the strings. The canoe lurched forward, cutting through the colorful jellyfish. I grabbed the sides, wide-eyed, peering over to see glowing, sinewy marks along the submerged painted wood. Each pluck of a string made the sigils glow and the canoe surge.

  Fascinating. I knew Masketeering magic, but clearly there was so much more to learn. But I wasn’t here to talk about different Classes.

  "What do you know about Rosamae?" I asked.

  The Skyborn smirked, cracking one eye open. "Good girl," he practically sang. "Left home recently, arrived just over a month ago. Most of us close to her know why."

  I leaned forward, hands clasped. Gripjaw curled beside me, still clutching his fish but alert. Cronia's dress and sleeves flowed as if in an underwater current.

  "Her brother's ill," the Skyborn continued. "Fever won't break. The Tidesong Isles has one of the world's grandest academies, but she wasn't accepted. Has friends who were, though."

  "She's searching for a cure," I whispered, narrowing my eyes. Perhaps her Masketeering served the same purpose—I remembered that heart-shaped mask she'd been crafting last week. A healing mask?

  "How long have you two known each other?" the man asked, still smirking.

  I shrugged. "Not long. Met when she first came to the guild."

  He let out a hooting laugh. "And she's already asked you to a meal? My, she moves fast!"

  My cheeks burned. I nearly blurted, It’s not a date! But rather than argue about feelings—mine or hers—I changed the subject. "What about you? Why are you here?"

  "Oh, many reasons." He strummed again, bringing us closer to the bar's laughing voices and sweet scents, glowing jellies all around us. "I collect songs, and some of the greatest are said to be hidden in the Misty Isles."

  His musical voice drew me in—I could almost see it: vast lands floating in the ocean, shrouded in mist.

  "But I wouldn't dare go alone," he chuckled. "Looking for a bodyguard, someone to bail me out if things get rough, you know?"

  "How's that going?"

  He shrugged. "Not well. Even the strongest won't set foot there. Think it's haunted."

  The canoe bumped against the Manta Moo. "Well, young Strider," he said, eyes twinkling, "I appreciate the conversation."

  "Likewise." I hopped out with a wave, which he returned before plucking another string and lurching away.

  [Bond Quest: Skyborn (Name Unknown)]

  [He's hesitant to visit the Misty Isles without companionship. Offer to join him and see what happens.]

  [Objective: Help him collect the song he seeks.]

  [Reward: 100% Bond]

  I dismissed the quest notification. One bond quest was enough for now—I needed to focus on combat training, on getting stronger, on preparing for the fight. Rosamae's quest would take enough time.

  Passing the bulletin board, I froze. That poster dominated it: the masked cultist in his polished white mask with its purple-navy swirl. Despite being just a picture, I shivered, feeling watched.

  I tore my gaze away, hurrying past that homeless man wrapped in blankets, silver beard spilling from his hood. His sign read "Anything Helps," an empty cup before him. Despite my usual distaste for panhandlers, pity moved me to flick in a coin.

  The man shot up to grab the cup, startling me into bumping someone. I apologized and hurried away, feeling his hidden face watching me. Hell, what was that? I quickly glanced back, his shrouded eyes seeming to glow.

  The main room buzzed with conversation, though not as crowded as last time—I was an hour early. I spotted Rosamae in a booth, her green orb hovering nearby as she concentrated on papers, marking notes with a quill pen.

  From my angle, I could only see her. As I drew closer, I noticed someone else: a Skyborn with golden feathers and perfect posture, speaking with raised chin like he was above her.

  My heart raced, phantom pain of feathery knives tearing flesh. Gripjaw noticed him too, dropping his fish and growling. The overlapping chitin shells along his back rose. I quickly scooped him up, reminding him that the young man didn't know me, that the fight hadn't occured, and that no matter what happened, I wouldn't let him get to me or—

  "Zale!" Rosamae's eyes went wide as she waved me over. The Skyborn—Flint—kept writing, not even glancing up.

  She winced, perhaps remembering my comment about Skyborn’s. "Flint, uh, could you go? We can talk about…this later, okay?"

  He sighed, finally looking at me. "Thought you said he wasn't coming until the ninth chime."

  She frowned, opening her mouth, but I raised a hand. "My apologies—"

  Gripjaw's growl cut me off. I stroked his head, but had to physically restrain him as he lunged, clacking his jaws. Flint gave him a distasteful look, sighing as he folded his papers.

  "Tomorrow," Rosamae said firmly, pointing at him.

  The Skyborn shouldered past me without a word. I watched him leave, letting out a shaky breath before sitting.

  "Sorry about that," I whispered. Gripjaw scrambled up the seat’s backboard, hissing as he watched Flint's departure.

  “No worries.” Rosamae waved over a waiter. After some small talk our food arrived, and she spoke through a mouthful of black noodles: "I was thinking about what you said earlier, about wanting a trainer, wanting to get better at fighting." She grimaced, looking down and taking another bite.

  I nodded, sipping the sweet soup I'd enjoyed last time, wondering if her grimace meant pity or something else.

  "I know a girl who knows a girl," she said, "though you're not going to like this…”

  "What?" I asked, curiosity peaked.

  "Well…” Rosamae scratched her chin. "The trainer I want to introduce you to lives in the Underbelly."

  I blinked. I'd heard that phrase before—someone shouting that I belonged there not long after I arrived. A submerged community beneath the island where the poor and underprivileged lived. Not that Rosamae was disparaging poverty—everyone knew it was a crime hotbed, dangerous especially at night, even with guard patrols.

  "How does your…uh, friend know this lady?" How many connections did Rosamae have? The arrogant Skyborn, and now this? I recalled the ferryman's words about her talking to everyone.

  "They've known each other a while.” Rosamae shrugged, smiling. “And I'm good friends with her because she visits the guild at least twice a week, and we’ve talked.” Her smile widened. "Honestly, I'd be surprised if she turned you away. Plus, she's expecting you."

  I flinched. "Wait, she already knows about me?"

  Rosamae nodded fast, cheeks coloring slightly.

  "When is she expecting me?"

  Her smile grew impossibly wider. "Tonight."

  [Bond Quest: Rosamae]

  [Interesting. I'm beginning to wonder if she knows these people by providence or actively seeks them out.]

  [Objective: Follow Rosamae to the Underbelly and meet her contact]

  [Reward: +15% Bond Progress]

  [Rosamae] [REPUTATION]

  [+10 reputation for dining out with her]

  [Total Reputation: 40/100]

  [Status: Friendly]