Black Iron Town's silhouette emerged through the morning mist.
It resembled a rust-covered giant beast crouching by the seaside.
In the darkest hour before dawn, Seraphilia and Robin slipped off the battered ship, blending in with a crowd of equally grimy stowaways.
The pirates had plundered everything on board. As for the "rats" in the hold who had paid their way, the pirates impatiently herded them all off after stripping them of their last few possessions.
Their landing point was a desolate beach on the outskirts of Black Iron Town, littered with trash and the wreckage of abandoned ships.
The air was thick with the heavy scent of industrial rust.
The characteristic salty brine of a harbor.
And the sulfurous odor of low-grade coal burning in distant furnaces.
This was Black Iron Town, the West Blue's famous "Grey Port," notorious for illegal ship modifications, underground dealings, and information brokering.
Seraphilia supported Robin, trudging unevenly across the muddy tidal flats.
They avoided the hunched figures scavenging through trash heaps, as well as the wary, scrutinizing gazes.
Robin's arm injury had stabilized somewhat, but her face remained pale after the long journey.
Her pale blue eyes quickly scanned the chaotic surroundings, silently memorizing the terrain and potential dangers.
"We need a place to stay," Seraphilia whispered.
Her gaze turned toward the distant slums, a jumble of crooked wooden shacks, rusted tin huts, and stacked old containers.
"We can't go to a regular inn; they require registration."
Robin nodded.
Days of whispering in the ship's hold and their coordination against the pirates had forged a survival-based understanding between them.
Trust was still a luxury, but the framework for "cooperation" had been established.
Relying on fragmented information and intuition, Seraphilia led Robin through the maze-like alleys of the slums.
They eventually found a partially collapsed two-story wooden building next to a sewage ditch.
There was a room on the second floor with broken windows and a rusted-shut lock, but it was secluded enough and offered a view of the alley entrance.
Using a small piece of wire she'd swiped from the ship, Seraphilia picked the rusted lock in a few quick movements.
The room was filled with dust and cobwebs, containing only a broken bedboard missing a leg and a lopsided cabinet.
But it had one solid wall, a dry floor, and a small, clogged fireplace.
"Here."
Seraphilia said briefly and immediately began cleaning.
Robin joined in silently, using her good right hand to brush away dust and clear a corner where they could sit or sleep.
Over an hour later, the room finally looked somewhat habitable.
With her last bit of money, Seraphilia traded with a vendor for two thin blankets, a cracked clay pot, a small bag of rye flour, and a bit of salt.
This was the extent of their belongings.
"I need to go out and get some money."
Seraphilia filled the clay pot with water and placed it by the cleaned fireplace.
"Your injury needs better medicine, and we don't have enough food."
She paused, adding in a flat tone.
"Besides, we need to prepare for 'accidents'."
She didn't mention the birthday once.
Robin sat against the wall, wrapping herself tightly in a blanket, and looked up at those words.
"How?" her voice was soft, laced with worry.
In a place as chaotic as this, exposing their abilities could be more lethal than poverty.
"I'll use some 'craftsmanship'—the inconspicuous kind," Seraphilia didn't explain.
"You stay here and lock the door. Don't open it unless I return. You can watch the outside through the gap in the window."
She gave instructions as if outlining a tactical plan.
"If something goes wrong, leave through that gap in the back. Remember the alley filled with empty barrels we passed? Wait for me there."
Robin nodded again.
Seraphilia glanced at her, then wrapped her tattered cloak tight, carefully hiding her silver hair, and slipped out the door soundlessly, blending into the shadows like a wisp of mist.
There were many ways for Seraphilia to apply her "craft" in Black Iron Town.
She first went to the dock's unloading area.
Early morning was the chaotic interval between shift changes.
She moved like a ghost through the shadows of the massive cargo containers.
Her target wasn't the cargo itself, but the stray items "accidentally" scattered during transport: a few handfuls of coffee beans, some nails, half a pack of low-grade tobacco.
An extremely faint mist, barely visible to the naked eye, seeped from her fingertips and flowed along the ground like countless invisible hands.
These scraps scattered in corners and ditches were silently "nudged" and "pulled," gathering at a hidden spot she'd scouted.
The entire process was as natural as a breeze blowing through.
She quickly sold the collected scraps to a few middleman dealers in the slum's black market.
In exchange, she got dozens of grimy copper coins and a small jar of genuine anti-inflammatory ointment.
Though her "first pot of gold" was meager, it was crucial.
With capital and medicine, her actions became a bit bolder.
In the noisy fish market, she used her mist to slightly interfere with the airflow as gamblers threw Dice, playing the role of a "lucky" little beggar who helped pick up a Die and received a tip from the winning dealer.
In the alley behind a blacksmith shop, she used condensed damp, cold clouds to cool sword blanks that were about to crack through the gaps, earning a few grateful copper coins and a discarded knife.
She even went to the "junkyard," using her abilities to sense the proportions of copper or tin in metal scraps, sorting them to sell.
These tasks were trivial and time-consuming, with meager earnings.
Seraphilia was like a tireless spinning top, whirling through the crevices of Black Iron Town where the sun didn't shine.
She ate very little, drank raw water, and carefully tucked away every copper coin she earned.
On the third day, she brought back ointment, clean bandages, more rye flour, a small piece of fat, and a few potatoes.
She handed the ointment and bandages to Robin, speaking succinctly.
"Try this."