The gratitude of Seabreeze was a fleeting thing, a brief, warm fire quickly drowned by the cold wind of reality. Kaito stood on the damp planks of the main dock, the heavy purse of gold a dull weight in his hand. The fishermen, buoyed by Nerida's confirmation and the visibly clearing water, were already hauling tarred nets and debating the best fishing grounds.
He was already fading from their minds, the mysterious solver of a problem they were eager to put behind them. It was how he preferred it.
Nerida, however, did not forget. She found him as he was looking at the small, weathered skiffs tied to the dock.
"You intend to go to the city," she stated. It wasn't a question.
"The source isn't here," Kaito replied, his gaze fixed on the horizon where the water deepened to a forbidding grey-blue. "It's out there."
"You will need a guide. The channels above the city are treacherous, filled with old magic and older spite. A wrong turn will ground your boat on unseen spires or lead you into a current that never releases what it catches." She looked at the simple fishing boats with disdain. "And you will need more than that. The city is deep. No mortal can hold their breath long enough, and no simple water-breathing potion will protect you from the pressure... or from what lives there now."
"I can handle the depth," Kaito said. "I need a way to get to the location."
Nerida studied him for a long moment, her cerulean eyes seeing past his human form to the boundless potential beneath. She was making a calculation.
"There is a man," she said finally. "Old Man Hemlock. He does not fish. He hunts the deep-sea leviathans, or he did, before the corruption. His boat is iron-shod and warded with charms against the things that gnaw at wood and mind. He is... unmoved by the world's troubles. But he respects power, and he craves knowledge of the deep. Your quest will intrigue him."
She gave him directions to a secluded cove a mile north of town, a place where the cliffs offered no easy path, accessible only by sea.
The walk was rough, scrambling over slick, seaweed-covered rocks. The cove was a stark, gloomy slit in the coastline, shrouded in mist. Tied to a rickety pier was a vessel unlike any fishing boat Kaito had seen. It was long and low, its hull reinforced with strips of dark iron. Its single mast was bare, and strange, faded runes were carved along its gunwales. It looked less like a boat and more like a floating tomb.
On the pier, an old man was mending a net with a needle made of bone. He was as weathered and iron-hard as his vessel, with a face like cracked leather and eyes the color of a winter storm. He didn't look up as Kaito approached.
"The spirit sent you," the man, Hemlock, grunted, his voice like grinding stones. "Said you killed the black water."
"I removed it," Kaito corrected.
"Same thing." Hemlock finally looked up, his gaze sweeping over Kaito, lingering on the staff. "You want to go to Val. Why? To die? The city is a grave. The King is dead. What's left is... hungry."
"To finish the job," Kaito said simply.
Hemlock snorted. "Arrogant. Or stupid." He pointed a gnarled finger at the Leviathan Staff. "That's no normal stick. What is it?"
"A tool," Kaito said, his tone leaving no room for further inquiry.
A long silence stretched between them, broken only by the cry of gulls and the slap of water against the iron hull.
"I'll take you," Hemlock said abruptly. "Not for gold. I have enough of that. You will tell me what you see down there. You will tell me what killed the Coral-King. No stories for the guild. The truth. That is my price."
It was a price Kaito could easily pay. He had no intention of telling the guild anything but the barest minimum. "Agreed."
"We leave at dusk. The sea is less watchful then." Hemlock went back to his mending, a clear dismissal.
Kaito spent the hours until dusk sitting on the rocks, watching the waves. He reached into his tunic and pulled out the Dryad's flower. It still glowed, a steady, reassuring pulse of green life in the grim cove. It was his compass.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in bloody hues, Hemlock gestured for him to board. The boat, named the Abyssal Gaze, was as stark inside as out. There was no cabin, only a sheltered space filled with harpoons, coiled ropes, and jars of pickled things Kaito didn't recognize.
Hemlock didn't raise a sail. He placed his hands on a carved rune on the ship's wheel. A low hum vibrated through the deck, and the Abyssal Gaze slid out of the cove, cutting through the waves with an unnatural, silent speed. They were moving under magical power.
The journey was made in silence. Hemlock was a statue at the wheel, his eyes fixed ahead. Kaito stood at the bow, the flower in his hand. As they moved further from shore, its glow began to intensify, thrumming with a soft energy. It was pulling him, guiding him.
After an hour, the glow was so bright it illuminated the deck around him. The flower was warm, almost hot to the touch.
"We are here," Hemlock said, his voice low. He cut the magic, and the boat drifted to a stop. The water around them was black, a void under the moonless sky. "The city is directly below us. This is as far as I go."
Kaito tucked the glowing flower back into his tunic. He climbed onto the gunwale, the Leviathan Staff firm in his grip.
"Remember our bargain," Hemlock said, his stormy eyes intense. "The truth."
Kaito nodded. Then, he stepped off the boat and plunged into the dark, icy water.