The island came into focus like a dream etched upon the horizon. Jagged cliffs rose from the sea, dotted with clusters of buildings that spilled over onto the water itself on creaky, stilted platforms. A mix of sprawling vegetation and decaying industrial sprawl covered the landscape, creating a jarring contrast that Erin couldn't stop staring at.
His heart raced as the details sharpened. Chastrow, Cidrin had called it—a place unlike anything Erin had ever seen.
"At least, that's the official name. It's a southern port known for its... colorful nature. Illegal trade flows here like a river, feeding those who can profit from it. If you haven't guessed, the legal kind doesn't do so well here. Some joke and call it the jewel of the inner islands" Cidrin explained
"The jewel of the Inner Islands?" he asked with eager curiosity, stepping beside Cidrin at the ship's railing.
Cidrin snorted, adjusting his glasses. "Hardly. Chastrow's a collection of greed and desperation held together by whoever has the biggest purse or sword. The city's splendor is only skin-deep. You'll see what I mean soon enough."
Erin didn't agree, but he didn't argue either. "It's different," he murmured, leaning over the ship's railing. "Bigger than Caldera... noisier, too." but Cidrin only shrugged.
Buildings with cracked stone walls and patched wooden roofs stacked upon each other, rising in uneven towers. The scent of brine and decay carried on the wind, underscored by faint whiffs of something metallic and sour. Tight-knit alleyways snaked into the distance like a labyrinth, threading between clusters of crumbling structures.
The people were just as jumbled as the buildings. Crowds shuffled in the streets below, some wrapped in threadbare cloaks, others in clean, polished uniforms with the mark of the Tideguard—the world's enforcers. Erin could see drug peddlers negotiating in the open, bartering without concern. Haggard faces stared back at him with hollow, judging eyes as children darted between them, their laughter piercing yet strained.
A group of people shambled past a gated yard, weighed down by chains connecting their wrists and necks. A woman's sunken gaze caught Erin's before her guard shoved her along with the butt of his spear.
"Where... what is this place?" Erin murmured, more to himself than to anyone else.
Thalor approached, giving Erin a quick, unreadable glance before nodding to the city below. "Our destination's Dunnhaven. Locals like to call it Slum City."
"Slum City?" Erin repeated under his breath.
"This was where I grew up," Fenrick said suddenly. His voice carried that usual cocky tilt, but when Erin glanced at him, he noticed something deeper. Fenrick had a smirk—almost as if he was proud to admit it—but his eyes carried something heavier. It was fleeting, buried under the bravado, but unmistakable.
Erin wanted to ask more, but the ship groaned to a halt, cutting off any further conversation.
Thalor turned to the crew. "We've got business here tonight," he announced, his tone sharp. "But for now, enjoy yourselves. Stretch your legs, eat something, whatever. Just don't get into trouble—or at least don't drag it back to me. Sunset, this spot. Erin"—he tossed a small pouch of money that landed in the boy's hands with a satisfying clink—"try not to waste those crowns. Narza, stick with him."
Narza offered no response, simply pulling her hood tighter over her face and stepping off the gangplank. Erin barely had time to secure his pouch before he followed.
The noise on the streets hit him like a storm as soon as Erin stepped into the maze of Dunnhaven. Everywhere he looked, the poverty and decay smothered what might have once been beauty. Piles of refuse clogged the gutters. Tattered cloth stretched across narrow streets, casting patchy shadows that danced across crooked walls. Erin's curiosity refused to wane, though. He peered into every shop, marveling at goods he'd never seen—strange coins, glowing stones, and fabrics shimmering with magic. He noticed, too, the other side of Dunnhaven. Fliers nailed to walls called for 'missing' individuals. A merchant openly cursed a customer for their foreign heritage, the slurs flying as freely as the spit from his mouth.
Voices rose from corners where Tideguard officers barked threats, dispersing beggars who dared to linger near storefronts. One street-side stall displayed strange, shimmering powders in glass jars; Erin paused until the hawker gave him a too-eager grin, and he quickly moved on.
He passed narrow stairways carved into rock walls that led into tenement buildings where cries and arguments spilled from half-shuttered windows. Men loitered in groups along the alleys, their gazes sharp and predatory. Every corner seemed to pulse with tension, ready to snap.
"How is this even allowed to exist?" Erin muttered, mostly to himself.
Narza, ahead of him, said nothing. Her footsteps didn't slow, nor did her attention shift from the path ahead. Erin suspected she wouldn't have answered even if he yelled.
But the city fascinated him. It was grim, yes, but also alive in a way he'd never seen before. Compared to Caldera's small, quiet world, this chaos held an energy that stirred something restless in his chest.
Despite the stifling heat and the oppressive stench wafting from nearby trash heaps, Erin couldn't help but marvel at the whirlwind of activity around him. Stalls lined both sides of the street, selling everything from questionable-looking fruit to rusted jewelry. A vendor loudly touted a miraculous elixir that could "purify your soul," while a pair of street performers twirled flaming batons to the applause of a distracted crowd.
It was nothing like Caldera—grander, yes, but also darker in ways that gnawed at him. He spotted two Tideguard officers questioning a bruised man slouched against a wall, their presence like wolves among the sheep. He glanced away, unease curling in his stomach, and turned his attention to a small street-side stand selling well-worn books.
The titles grabbed his interest. Tales of the Azure Comet, Legends of the Flameborn. The man behind the stall, an elderly merchant with one good eye, noticed his fascination.
"Good taste, young one. This one's got a hero who can stop time," he said, tapping one of the thicker volumes.
Before Erin could reply, he felt it—a sharp tug on his belt. The merchant's voice faded as realization struck him.
He spun around just in time to see a scrawny boy darting into the crowd, a familiar pouch of crowns clutched in his hand.
"Hey!" Erin shouted, taking off like a shot.
The boy moved like a snake, slipping through gaps in the bustling throng with ease. Erin pushed forward, barreling past startled shoppers and irate stallkeepers.
The chase twisted through narrow alleys and wider thoroughfares until the boy ducked into an alley shaded by torn awnings. Erin hesitated for a split second, but anger and adrenaline drove him forward. He entered the dim passage, his footsteps echoing as his vision adjusted to the shadows.
Halfway down the alley, the boy stopped abruptly and smirked. That's when Erin realized they weren't alone.
Figures emerged from the shadows—twelve of them, each as ragged and mean-looking as the alley they claimed. One leaned against a wall, sharpening a blade against a whetstone. Another adjusted a thick leather gauntlet that creaked ominously. They encircled him, effectively cutting off any escape.
The boy tossed the pouch to a man near the back, then looked at Erin with a taunting grin. "You've got good eyes, don't you?"
Erin's chest tightened. His pulse thundered in his ears, and his legs threatened to buckle beneath him. Twelve. Against him. Their grins made his skin crawl, and the knife one of them twirled looked like it had seen more blood than bread.
One of the bigger thugs stepped forward, arms crossed. "Look what we've got here. Seems like this one came to play hero. Let's show him what we do with heroes."
The others chuckled darkly, and Erin's breath caught. His instincts screamed for him to run, but there was nowhere to go. He clenched his fists, teeth gritted, trying to summon courage that felt far beyond his reach.
Fear wrapped around him like a vice, but then something hotter burned in his chest—defiance. No one else was going to step in and save him.
Glaring at the big thug, Erin raised his palm, and faint, crackling heat danced across his fingertips. A tiny, glowing ball of plasma formed, its faint hum barely audible above the pounding in his ears.
" give it back." he demanded angrily.
The ball shot forward, striking the big man's forearm. A sharp sizzle followed, and he yelped, clutching at the scorched sleeve.
There was a split second of stunned silence. Some of the thugs exchanged uneasy glances, their bravado wavering at the display of magic. Erin caught his breath, thinking he might have scared them off—
But then they surged forward all at once.
One tackled Erin to the ground, while another delivered a swift kick to his side. Hands grabbed at his arms and legs, holding him down as blows rained down on him. Pain exploded with every hit—his ribs, his back, his stomach. His mind blurred with panic, flashes of light erupting behind his eyelids.
Erin thrashed, trying desperately to summon more magic, but nothing came. He was outnumbered, overpowered.
And then, like a lightning bolt, she struck.
Narza moved like a shadow given form, her cloak billowing behind her. She grabbed the first thug by the collar and threw him into two others like they were bowling pins. Before anyone else could react, she drove her knee into another's stomach, dropping him to the ground with a pained grunt.
A man with a knife lunged at her, but she sidestepped effortlessly, catching his wrist and twisting it until the blade clattered to the ground. With fluid precision, she slammed his head into the wall, leaving him slumped and unconscious.
Another swung a pipe, but Narza ducked, grabbed the weapon mid-swing, and used it to sweep his legs out from under him. She planted a boot on his chest and pointed the pipe at his throat, daring him to move.
Within moments, the alley was quiet, save for the groans of the injured.
Narza turned to Erin, her breathing steady, her hood still pulled low. She stepped toward him and crouched, extending a hand.
For a moment, Erin thought she might chastise him. Instead, her voice was low but even, carrying a weight that silenced any protest he might have had.
"You're pathetic," she said, meeting his wide-eyed gaze.
Her words cut deeper than any blow. She rose without waiting for a response, her cloak swirling as she stepped over the scattered bodies and into the sunlight beyond.
Erin stayed where he was, catching his breath as he stared after her. His chest burned—not just from pain, but from humiliation. For all his efforts, for all his courage, he'd still been saved like a helpless child.
The glow of his magic still tingled faintly in his palm, and he clenched it tightly. Erin's eyes followed Narza as she moved to the alley's exit, her figure silhouetted in the sunlight spilling from beyond. Her calm, deliberate motions as she handled the group earlier played in his mind like a slow reel, and the words she left him with burned like embers against his bruised pride. But he wasn't angry—no, there was something else in the way his breath caught as her hood tilted ever so slightly back to glance over her shoulder at him.
" get up." Her voice carried the same even tone as before, but this time it lingered, pressing against his ears like a weight.
Erin blinked, scrambling to his feet despite the ache that sang through his ribs. As he approached her, Narza turned without a word, her footsteps retreating deeper into the labyrinth of Dunnhaven's narrow streets. For a moment, Erin hesitated, unsure whether he was meant to follow, but the memory of the ambush and his vulnerability quickly overruled his doubt. He hurried after her, careful not to stray too far behind. He followed her through the narrow streets of Dunnhaven, her brisk pace and purposeful silence leaving him to piece together the right words. Gratitude swirled in his chest, not just for her intervention but for the curiosity she unknowingly sparked within him. For all her walls, there was something behind them he couldn't quite place—a flicker of humanity he wanted to understand.
As they turned another corner, Erin's eyes caught a small vendor's stall displaying handcrafted wooden carvings: intricate figures of animals, ocean creatures, and other curiosities. Among them was a simple yet elegant carving of a bird, wings outstretched as if mid-flight. He froze in his tracks, recalling the time he had stumbled upon Narza in the early morning, whittling at a similar piece with practiced hands.
"Hold up a second!" he called out, darting toward the stall.
Narza stopped, turning just enough to glare at him. "What are you doing?"
"Just... wait a moment, okay?" Erin said, scrambling for the last of his remaining coins.
His fingers hesitated over the carving before handing over his money and carefully picking it up. He jogged back to where Narza stood, offering her the carving without meeting her gaze at first. When he finally looked up, he saw her brows furrowed, her stance rigid.
"It's... uh, for you," he began, holding it out with a sheepish smile. "I wanted to pay you back for helping me earlier. It reminded me of you—you know, sharp, fierce, always ready to strike." He chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. "And, well... I noticed you carving that one time. Figured you might like it."
Narza's gaze fell to the carving, and for a moment, her expression softened—or at least Erin thought it did. Her amber eyes flitted to his, and for a split second, he felt that strange sense again—Opia, like staring into the depths of something vast and unknowable.
She took the carving without a word, tucking it away into her cloak. Her fingers lingered for the briefest moment as if feeling its texture before she resumed walking. "You're still strange," she muttered over her shoulder, but Erin couldn't help but notice the faintest edge of warmth in her tone.
When they reached the docks, the crew turned at the sight of Erin's battered face. Ariya, who was perched on a barrel chatting with Fenrick, gasped, jumping to her feet.
"What the hell happened to you?" she demanded, rushing over to him. Her blonde hair gleamed in the fading sunlight, the cyan highlights catching like fire against the oranges of the evening.
"Disagreement with the locals," Erin replied with an awkward shrug, wincing as the movement tugged at his bruises. "Narza stepped in and handled it."
Fenrick snorted, striding up and giving Narza an exaggerated look. "Handled it? Yeah, I'll bet she did. Must've 'handled' you while she was at it, huh? Would explain the face."
Erin let out an exasperated sigh as Narza crossed her arms, glaring at Fenrick with unamused eyes. She went back to being quiet again.
The exchange earned a hearty laugh from Fenrick, but Ariya waved him off, gently taking Erin's chin to examine his injuries. "You're lucky these are just surface bruises. Good thing I'm an expert in these kinds of situations."
She stretched her hands out, palms hovering just above Erin's face. A soft glow emanated from her fingertips, light spilling onto his skin like liquid sunlight. Warmth radiated from the magic, soothing and tingling as it melted away the pain. The bruises faded, leaving his face as if untouched by conflict.
Erin blinked, astonished. "Healing magic?"
Ariya smiled, pulling her hands back. "Not everyone can wield it, but it's something I picked up along the way. Comes in handy with this lot."
"I resent that," Fenrick quipped, grinning.
"Quiet, you," Ariya shot back before turning to Erin. "You should rest soon, though. Even minor injuries can take a toll."
As the group began dispersing, Thalor's sharp gaze lingered on Erin and Narza. He didn't ask outright, but his look made it clear that whatever happened would need explaining sooner rather than later.
Narza hung back as the others returned to the ship, her expression as inscrutable as ever. Erin hesitated before stepping closer, nudging her arm lightly with his elbow. "Hey. Thanks again. For watching my back."
She glanced at him, amber eyes catching the reflection of the setting sun. "Just following orders," she said, her voice as flat as ever.
"Still," Erin said, "it meant something to me. So... thanks."
Narza didn't reply. Instead, she turned toward the docks, her cloak shifting in the gentle evening breeze. And yet, as she walked away, Erin thought he caught her slipping one hand into her cloak pocket, tracing the edge of the wooden bird he'd given her.