Noon sunlight pressed down on the harbor.
Sunlight spread across the water, sails drifting lazily as merchants shouted halfheartedly, unaware or pretending to be that something tense coiled beneath the calm.
The tracker in Liam Shaw's hand buzzed again, low and insistent, like an insect trapped under glass.
Ben noticed it immediately.
"It is still doing that?" he asked, adjusting the strap of his travel coat.
Liam didn't look up. "Hasn't stopped since morning."
The device pulsed once more. Its faint blue light stuttering irregularly. Not a clean signal. Not interference either. Something else.
Ben frowned. "Same feeling as last time?"
Liam's jaw tightened. "Worse."
They stood side by side near the edge of the dock, brothers shaped by the same years but worn in different places.
Ben carried restlessness, ambition, the pull of elsewhere. Liam's eyes were anchored on a man who stayed behind so others could move forward.
"You don't have to go." Liam said quietly.
Ben smiled, with stubbornness. "You know that's not how this works."
"I know how it ends." Liam replied. "You will go into Donlon, shake hands with men who smile too much and something that shouldn't be watching you."
Ben chuckled under his breath. "That is your job. Worrying."
"That is my job," Liam agreed, finally meeting his eyes. "Keeping you alive."
The tracker buzzed again, louder this time.
Albert stepped into the light then, coat still bearing the quiet violence of earlier hours. Harriet followed, chewing on something and squinting at the water like it personally offended him.
"That thing sounds angry." Harriet said. "You sure it's not just broken?"
"It's never wrong." Liam replied. "Just unclear."
Albert glanced at Ben, then at the tracker. "Mysterious aura?" he asked flatly.
Liam nodded. "Or influence. Something subtle might be already dosed into him."
Ben exhaled slowly. "But, you know, I have to leave."
Liam placed a firm hand on his brother's shoulder. "You will go by sail. No detours. They won't crowd you."
Ben hesitated. "You're not coming?"
"I can't."
Albert crossed his arms. "I'll stay here. Same with Harriet."
Harriet raised a finger. "Against my better judgment."
Ben looked between them, then back at Liam. The smile faded, replaced by something honest. "You always do this," he said. "Stand behind me like the world's about to fall."
Liam's grip tightened briefly. "Because sometimes it does."
They held each other's gaze—a lifetime of shared streets, shared silence, shared fear compressed into a moment.
"Come back soon." Liam said.
Ben nodded once. "Don't let anyone swallow you while I'm gone."
The sailboat horn sounded, sharp and final.
Ben stepped away, then paused. "Hey," he added, glancing back. "If that tracker goes wild…."
Liam's eyes hardened. "I will not wait."
Ben smiled, genuine this time and boarded the ship.
As the sail caught wind and pulled away from the dock, the tracker buzzed again but steady now.
Liam watched the horizon. Albert said nothing but the air had already begun to shift.
....
The chariot rattled as it pulled away from the harbor, wheels clacking over sun-warmed stone.
Noon traffic pressed in from every side as vendors shouted, horns blaring, a man arguing with a mule that clearly had opinions.
Liam sat up front, coat open, posture relaxed in a way that fooled nobody.
Albert and Harriet occupied the back.
"So." Harriet said, leaning out slightly to avoid a splintered seat.
"Albert almost died underground, again. Then watched a family drama by the sea. Productive day."
Liam didn't turn. "You are alive. That' is the metric."
Albert glanced at him. "You promised answers."
"I promised context." Liam replied. "Answers get people killed."
Harriet snorted. "Good thing we are already on that path."
The chariot turned sharply, city walls sliding past as Liam finally spoke again. "You asked earlier about Shards."
Albert's attention sharpened.
"They are not gems," Liam continued. "Not really. They are residues. When a spirit dies, properly dies—it leaves something behind if the conditions are right."
Harriet blinked. "That is…. comforting."
"One Shard" Liam went on evenly, "equals one dead spirit. Clean conversion. That's the exchange rate."
Albert frowned. "Gold?"
"Hundred," Liam said. "Minimum. Market fluctuates when cult activity spikes."
Harriet leaned forward. "Wait, wait. So every shiny upgrade, every fancy mutation, every 'chosen one' climbing the ladder—"
"is standing on a corpse," Liam finished.
Silence settled for half a second.
Harriet nodded. "Yep. That tracks."
Liam continued, unfazed. "Shards are used for ascension, armory upgrades, biological alterations, artificial miracles. You can reinforce steel with them. Rewrite nerves. Convince armor it doesn't need to obey physics."
Albert's jaw tightened. "Where were they first found?"
"Officially?" Liam said. "Ariana Coast. Union Hive District. Ramsis Region."
Harriet raised a finger. "Let me guess. Officially is bullshit."
Liam smirked. "Very good."
The chariot slowed briefly to avoid a herd of goats.
"They were first recorded in Ramsis." Liam corrected. "They were first used long before that. Old civilizations called them soul-anchors. Others called them sins that could be weighed."
Albert stared out at the passing streets. "So Ramsis just got caught first."
"It always do." Harriet muttered.
Liam glanced back at them. "That's why they collapsed so fast. Too many people thinking power was the same thing as control."
Harriet grinned. "Let me guess. It wasn't."
" It never is."
The chariot hit a pothole. Harriet bounced, cursed creatively, then laughed. "You know," he said, "for something worth a hundred gold, they really sound like emotional baggage with good resale value."
Albert didn't laugh.
"So," Albert said instead, "Ben's tracker reacting is Shards involved?"
Liam's expression darkened just a shade. "Possibly. Or something adjacent. Shards attract attention. Spirits. Entities. Things that don't like being reminded they can die."
Harriet whistled. "So they are haunted batteries."
"More like lures." Liam said. "And Donlon has been buying a lot lately."
Albert exhaled slowly. "You're sending guards."
"Yes."
"And you stayed behind."
"Yes."
Harriet leaned back. "Boss," he said, "with all due respect, which is very little. Are we about to be dragged into another 'secret economy of dead gods' situation?"
Liam didn't hesitate. "Yes."
Harriet laughed outright. "Fantastic. I was worried today might be normal."
Albert finally cracked a small smile. "You could have told us earlier."
Liam looked back at him, eyes sharp but not unkind. "I wanted to see if you would ask."
The chariot rolled on, city noise swallowing the moment. After a pause, Harriet tilted his head. "So if I kill a spirit accidentally, what then?"
"Unlikely," Liam said.
".... Hypothetically," Harriet continued, "do I get store credit?"
Liam allowed himself a thin smile. "Only if you survive long enough to collect."
Harriet sighed contentedly. "I love my job."
Albert stared ahead.
....
The river moved slow and heavy, sunlight breaking across its surface in long, trembling lines.
Boats drifted past like idle thoughts. Albert and Harriet stood on the stone embankment, coats off now, the city noise dulled into something distant and survivable.
Harriet flicked a pebble into the water. It skipped once, then sank.
"You know." he said, "people call it magic because they don't like complicated answers."
Albert leaned against the railing. "You are saying it's not magic."
"I am saying it is not just magic." Harriet replied. " This world's too big for one explanation, you know. "
He watched the river a moment, then continued. "Think of it like this. Magic isn't spells and sparks. It's perspective. A way to tell reality how to behave. Politely or violently."
Albert's eyes stayed on the water. "And it listens."
"Sometimes." Harriet said. "Sometimes it argues."
He knelt, dipped his fingers into the river. The water rippled, just acknowledging him.
"Every system does the same thing," Harriet went on. "Control surroundings. Nature. Elements. Doesn't matter if you call it sorcery, scripture, science or madness. Same logic. Different lens."
Albert glanced at his hand. "Then why so many mythologies in scriptures?"
Harriet smiled. "Because when someone ascends and they push their method far enough, it leaves fingerprints. Stories form around those fingerprints. Gods, demons, saints. People need shapes for things they can't argue with."
The river rippled outward, slow and calm.
"Magic here" Harriet said, "isn't snapping fingers and breaking laws. It's convincing reality. You conjure effects through methods like rituals, spells, equations, intelligence, discipline. The method changes. The result doesn't."
Albert thought of Olfasten. Of formless strikes, of inevitability.
"So when someone throws fire—"
"They are not creating fire." Harriet cut in. "They're accelerating heat. Reordering matter. Borrowing from what already exists."
He straightened. "Liam's Acid Magic? Same thing. He doesn't summon acid from nowhere. He persuades materials to decay faster than they should."
Albert frowned slightly. "That sounds worse when you say it like that."
"It is worse." Harriet agreed cheerfully. "He just makes it look clean."
Albert was quiet for a while. "What about you."
Harriet glanced at him. "Me?"
"Water Magic."
Harriet shrugged. "I listen. Water's already everywhere. In air. In blood. In stone, if you are patient. I don't command it—I will negotiate."
He lifted his wet hand. Droplets clung unnaturally, hovering before falling back into the river. "Flow, pressure, memory. Water remembers shapes. That's the trick."
Albert studied the movement. "So magic isn't power."
"No," Harriet said. "Magic is agreement. Power is what happens when reality runs out of objections."
The sun dipped slightly, glare softening.
"This world is vast." Harriet continued. "So vast that of course people will do anything. Invent anything. When survival's on the line, philosophy becomes a tool."
Albert exhaled. "How to do ascension?"
Harriet nodded. "Ascension is just taking one method far enough that it stops being optional. You don't use magic anymore. You are the concept of it."
Albert looked back at the river, expression unreadable.
"Careful." Harriet added lightly. "Once you see it this way, it's hard to unsee. You stop asking 'what can I do?' and start asking 'what will reality tolerate?'"
Albert gave a faint, humorless smile. "Sounds like a bad question to ask."
Harriet grinned. "All the good ones are."