Sodor.
The southern chain of small islands. One of the smallest domains in all of Novara, and one of the few genuinely peaceful ones.
No grand military history. No famous sieges or legendary battles. Sodor was known for two things: scenery that made painters weep with gratitude, and weather that made everyone else weep for different reasons.
The weather could change at any moment, from sunshine to storm in the time it took to finish a sentence, clear skies to sideways rain between one step and the next.
The ferry between the port and Sodor's capital ran twice daily, a broad flat vessel that moved through the island chain with unhurried confidence.
I sat at the bow, watching the islands slide past on both sides—small, green, close together, like they were keeping each other company.
Fishing villages clung to the lower shores. A few merchant posts dotted the coastline. Children ran to the docks to watch the ferry pass, waving at shapes they couldn't quite see.
'It's quite peaceful here.'
Completely different from the open sea, where you never knew when a giant whale might surface to say hello. Or something worse.
'Can't believe it worked.'
After that bizarre conversation with Ruth, I hadn't waited around. Packed my things, got off at the port, and boarded the first ferry out.
The goodbye had been... cold.
Just a few polite words from the crew—good luck, stay safe, don't die—and away I went. It felt like everyone had anticipated this long ago.
But seeing how easily they let me go was kind of sad.
'No! Actually, it's for the best.'
I never belonged to the sea anyway.
Come to think of it, this was the first time I'd ever set foot on land. The Black Rose, as far as my memory reached, had never even brushed past a shoreline before this.
'Could it be they were already planning to drop me here?'
I glanced at my broken arm, still splinted and useless.
'I really did break this thing for nothing.'
I shook my head. The important thing was that I was free now.
But I did feel kind of... empty.
"We'll be reaching Eryn in a few minutes!"
The ferryman's voice rang out across the deck.
I turned my head and looked at the landmass in the distance.
"Whoa!"
One of the passengers beside me exclaimed.
I was just as astonished.
If the word gloomy had a physical form, it would look like this.
Dark clouds blanketed the entire city, rain pouring down in heavy sheets like arrows fired from the sky.
And all of it was contained within the city's territory, a localized storm confined to Eryn alone.
The rest of the islands basked in soft sunlight.
'What the hell kind of weather is this?'
I stood up and moved beneath the ferry's covered section. That's what the ferryman's announcement had been for.
Soon, the ferry crossed into Eryn's territory.
Tip! Tip! Tip!
The sound of raindrops colliding against the wooden shelter started to resonate, a rhythmic drumming that grew louder with each passing second.
Then, with a faint hum, a transparent shield flickered into existence around the ferry's perimeter, a shimmering dome of light that repelled the rain before it could touch the deck.
A force field enchantment. The kind that activated automatically upon sensing precipitation.
'Truly lavish.'
Such things cost a fortune to install, let alone maintain. Sodor might be small, but it clearly wasn't poor.
I watched the rain slide off the barrier in rippling sheets as the ferry glided toward the bay.
The city loomed ahead, some buildings with slanted roofs, narrow streets disappearing into mist, and lampposts already lit despite it being mid-morning. Everything looked wet, gray, and oddly romantic in that melancholic way cities do when they're drenched.
'This is where I'm starting over.'
I felt a flutter of nervousness in my chest.
I did have a plan.
The plan was Eryn. The capital island of Sodor. Famous, among people who knew what to look for, for its diviners and rune smiths, practitioners skilled enough to work with unusual configurations, rare enough to be worth the trip.
I wasn't lying in the office when I said I needed to get stronger. That part was genuine, underneath all the theatre of it.
In this world, where people could shatter mountains and shake coastlines just by showing up in a bad mood, it was foolish, genuinely foolish, to move through it without means to protect yourself.
The structure was straightforward enough.
Every mortal began as a Seeker, searching for a spirit, waiting for a contract.
Once the contract was made, you became a Walker, stepping onto the path your spirit defined.
Walkers who survived their trials and mastered their path became Bearers, the class where real power began, where a person stopped being someone who had a spirit and became someone the world took seriously.
Above the Bearers sat the Lords, domain rulers, one per domain, the ceiling of what a mortal could reach.
How a person became a Lord was information classified at a level I had never been anywhere near.
And above Lords?
The immortals.
I tried not to think too hard about that part. The gap between where I was standing and where the immortals lived was so vast that thinking about it felt less like ambition and more like a medical condition.
My goal, practical and achievable, was the Bearer class.
Eventually.
First things first.
I pulled a scroll from the side pocket of my jacket and unrolled it.
-------------------
Class: Seeker
Combat tier: Pale
Quirk: [Symphony]
Status: [Former seaman], [emotional instability]
Fragments: 180/180
-------------------
I stared at it for a moment, then let out a quiet sigh.
A class didn't define your combat level; that was determined by experience and the size of your core. The tier system was what actually mattered.
Pale, Verdant, Azure, Crimson, Obsidian, and Prismatic.
Six tiers that separated the weak from the strong, the living from the dead.
Most people started at Pale and died at Pale. The lucky ones made it to Verdant. The talented reached Azure. Crimson was where legends began, and Obsidian was where they ended.
As for Prismatic... well, those were the people you read about in history books and prayed you never met in person.
Even without upgrading your class, you could advance your combat tier with enough hard work, training, and frankly, luck.
There were examples, rare but real, of people reaching Crimson while still being a Seeker.
"Hmm."
I quietly rolled the scroll and tucked it back into my pocket.
The problem was, I had talent for none of it.
My quirk was a passive ability that let my body adjust to external conditions.
Heat, cold, pressure, poison, whatever. Useful for survival, sure.
I'd lived through deep-sea dives, storms, and sea monster attacks that would've killed most Seekers twice over.
But in actual combat?
Useless.
It didn't make me stronger. Didn't make me faster. Didn't give me flashy elemental attacks or enhanced reflexes.
It just kept me alive long enough to be nearly useful.
And that "nearly" was the problem.
I glanced down at my broken arm.
Case in point.
But I had a game-changer.
I looked at the small briefcase sitting beside me on the bench. Plain leather, scuffed at the edges, with a brass latch that had oxidized to a dull green.
Inside were a few changes of clothes, some rations, and, hidden beneath a false bottom I'd installed myself, a runestone.
The runestone.
I'd been carrying it since childhood. Since the day Ruth pulled me off that slave ship and found it clutched in my hand like I'd been ready to fight the world with it.
I didn't remember where I got it. Didn't remember if it had been mine or if I'd stolen it or if someone had given it to me before everything went to hell.
But I'd kept it.
And now, finally, I might actually be able to use it.
The ferry continued its slow glide through the island chain.
The rain was still hammering down on Eryn in the distance, a dark smudge against the otherwise clear horizon. It looked ominous. Unwelcoming.
Perfect.
I leaned back against the bench and let my gaze wander to the rain-streaked window beside me.
My reflection stared back.
A seventeen-year-old kid, probably, with messy black hair still damp from the morning spray.
Dark circles under my black eyes from a decade of inconsistent sleep schedules and too many night watches.
My right arm was still splinted and bandaged, a reminder of my most recent act of stupidity.
'Is this really me?'
I looked... like a wet dog.
No presence at all.
The kind of person you'd pass on the street and forget five seconds later.
'This needed to be fixed.'
"We are here."
The ferryman spoke.
I grabbed my briefcase and prepared to set foot in this gloomy land.
To a new life.