It had been a struggle.
Hunter had never imagined she'd need help just to stand, to move, to exist without feeling the weight of her own frailty. At first, the healer had been there– gentle and patient as she helped her bathe, even going as far as fetching whatever she needed.
It felt strange to be cared for so tenderly by someone she barely knew. The kindness made her uncomfortable, as though she didn't quite deserve it.
But guilt had a way of clawing at her, and she couldn't bear to rely on the woman any longer. So she learned to balance herself on a wooden crutch. The pain had been severe, of course, but the healer fashioned a band of thick cloth for her– a brace, wound tightly around her abdomen to keep the pain from tearing her open again. With her single wooden crutch tucked beneath her arm, she forced herself to learn. Each movement was like making some kind of negotiation with pain, but she endured it. She always did.
The first time she made it out of her room and down the stairs, she nearly cried. Not out of pain, but from the absurd triumph it brought. Each step felt like a small victory she worked hard to achieve.
It made her think.
There were people in the world who lived like this every day, trapped inside bodies that no longer obeyed them. And yet they still lived. Still found ways to laugh and to keep moving forward.
The thought humbled her greatly.
For the first time, she realized how much she had taken her strength for granted– the ease of walking, running, and fighting. Things that once felt natural to Hunter now demanded everything she had.
And yet, despite the pain, despite the trembling in her limbs, a stubborn spark burned in her chest. She was still alive. She could still move. And that, in its own quiet way, was already enough.
Stepping outside, the scent of saltwater and burning oil filled her lungs. For the first time since her arrival, she saw the port for what it truly was.
She hesitated for a moment, steadying herself before moving forward. The air was cold and damp, but she welcomed it, feeling somewhat alive again.
The street was slick with rain, the stones glistening beneath lanterns that burned weakly in the fog. Their dim light stretched long across the cobblestones, blurring into the still water where ships rocked lazily at anchor. Masts loomed above her frame like silhouettes of sleeping giants, their rigging whispering against the wind.
She paused at the wharf, leaning lightly on her crutch. Reflections of the ship shimmered across the dark water. It was debatably beautiful in a quiet, lonely way, like a world that existed only between breaths.
Her gaze followed the faint movement of people in the distance, like dockhands carrying barrels, and sailors shouting orders muffled by the fog. The port felt alive yet subdued, as though the mist itself was trying to hush it into silence.
Hunter drew a slow breath, feeling the pull in her abdomen, but she didn't care. After being brutally confined in fear and torture, she was starting to remember what freedom felt like.
The wind swept her hair across her face, and when she brushed it aside, a familiar silhouette caught her attention. A tall man in a dark coat was striding ahead, confident and unhurried despite the uneven planks beneath his boot. The coat and the man's walking style made her realize it was Harlow. The man beside him was muttering something with a nervous smile, but Harlow only gave a short nod to whatever the suspicious-looking man beside him was saying.
They were moving towards the warm glow of a tavern at the far end of the pier.
'Is he a sailor too?'
Hunter wondered, quietly edging closer to the tavern as well. To her surprise, they didn't go inside and only stopped at the entrance. She hid well behind the corners of the Tavern, with Harlow's broad back shielding her from sight.
The man he was talking to was round-bellied, his silken robe marked with the insignia of a temple-licensed trader. A merchant, then. The sight made her skin crawl.
Was Harlow a follower of the serpent's temple as well?
The thought twisted uneasily in her gut. If that were true, she was lucky she hadn't told him her name yet. For all she knew, they might hand her back to those demons the moment they realize who she was.
She shook that awful image from her head.
"Captain Harlow, is it fair for me to say that I came here to see you specifically? I was told you could… move things quietly around here."
Harlow only tipped his hat lower, the brim shadowing his eyes.
"Depends. The question is… quietly for whom?"
The merchant swallowed.
"The administrators have raised tariffs again. Ten silver gleam for every shipment of grain. If I pay that, I'll lose half my stock before it even reaches the market.
Hunter pressed her lips into a thin line. She wasn't surprised to hear the tariffs had gone up again, and even though the bureaucratic ministries might have been the one managing Lemuris's daily affairs, she doubted they acted alone. Every office, every desk clerk, and perhaps every stamped ledger, all of it reeked of the clergy's influence.
How else could a man need a temple-issued license just to trade? She still remembered waiting days for her travel pass to be approved when she'd left for guild college. The memory soured her tongue in ways she didn't like.
She was certain the rise in tariffs had the serpent's priest written all over it.
"So you want to make the gods look the other way?"
Harlow's words made the merchant chuckle, a nervous thin sound.
"I'd prefer not to anger them at all."
"Then you're in the wrong city."
Harlow snapped his fingers, and a shadowed man Hunter hadn't noticed stepped forward from behind the merchant. Harlow returned his attention to the merchant. "What's the cargo?"
"Two crates of barley. One of spices. And a small shipment of silver trinkets."
The man Harlow had summoned raised a brow. "Like… real silver?"
The merchant hesitated. "...repurposed."
Harlow's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Then the price should be doubled."
"What?!"
The merchant's face flushed.
"You can't be serious! That's robbery!"
"You're asking me to risk my ship, my crew, and my neck," Harlow's indifference barely wavered. "The gods might forgive you. But the watchmen are a different kind of trouble. I charge for that."
From the conversation, Hunter was able to gather enough to realize Mr Harlow wasn't a captain, but he was a smuggler. She had no business eavesdropping on dealings like this.
She turned to leave, intending to make a quiet slip before anyone noticed. However, her path was blocked by someone.
The merchant looked from Harlow to the man holding a ledger, then back at his empty hands before his shoulders sagged in defeat.
"Fine. Half now, half when it reaches the mainland?"
As the deal finally reached a settlement, they exchanged a couple more words before the merchant handed a small pouch of money to the shadowed man. He looked at them one last time before taking his leave.
"Hey captain."
Harlow turned at the call. One of his men stood there, and the girl he had brought into his home was standing next to him.
"Caught her eavesdropping."
Harlow's brows lifted slightly, amusement and suspicion blending in his expression.
"So… we've got ourselves a rat?"