The voice belonged to an old man in a gray robe—late sixties, maybe older—built like someone who’d spent his life outdoors before the church ever claimed him.
“Hello, Mr. Rhine,” he said, moving to Ethan’s bedside and motioning him to stay down. His hands were gentle but efficient as he checked the bandages.
“This is the Violet Goldenflower Chapel. I’m Bishop Frey—Captain John’s friend.”
Frey.
Ethan remembered John mentioning a kind old bishop in Windrest City, the capital of Storm Island. A man who treated the poor and the sailors, no questions asked. Supposedly every crewman on the Jellyfish had passed through Frey’s hands at least once.
So the captain hadn’t exaggerated. Or if he had, it was in the bishop’s favor.
Ethan offered a careful, sincere thanks.
Frey waved it away. “I’m only answering the call of the Goddess of Wisdom and Life. Carrying out her will in the world.”
As he spoke her title, he lifted his right hand and tapped his chest—left, then right—an unfamiliar but practiced sign of devotion.
He checked Ethan’s wound again, eyes narrowing. “May the Goddess shelter me… Mr. Rhine, I’ve lived nearly seventy years. Outside of war, I’ve rarely seen courage like yours.”
So the crew had talked.
A young man, maybe Pre-Awakened, killing nine pirates—including Awakened—while saving a ship full of sailors wasn’t the kind of story that stayed quiet.
Even with Ethan burying the most dangerous truth, the feat still sounded like a legend. Just… the kind of legend that didn’t trigger immediate suspicion.
He exhaled silently. His choice last night had bought him something useful: a reputation that opened doors without painting a target on his back.
Frey’s expression sobered. “But I need to be honest with you. The Hunter you fought was vicious. This chest wound is serious.”
The bishop sighed. “You’ll need a special herb. This chapel is small, and I’m only a gray-robed bishop—my authority is limited. I’ve written to the monastery in Windrest City to request help from the Grand Diviner.”
Ethan hesitated, but Frey spoke over it, voice softening.
“Child—if you’ll allow me—rest. You’re a hero. No one here will let you leave before you’re well. The Goddess certainly won’t.”
He promised food, supplies, and a listening ear. Whatever Ethan needed, he only had to ask.
Kind, like the captain said. The kind of kindness that made you feel guilty for hiding knives under your sleeves.
When Frey left, morning light climbed the windowpane, turning everything gold.
Ethan replayed the bishop’s words, cataloging details.
Devoted to the Goddess of Wisdom and Life. Low-rank gray robes. Access to rare herbs.
Which meant Frey was almost certainly Awakened himself.
And yet the bishop hadn’t shown the slightest suspicion about Ethan’s injury. He assumed it was the Hunter’s doing.
That part was pure luck—Thea had burned the poison out of the wound before anyone could see it. If she hadn’t, Ethan wasn’t sure he could’ve fooled an older Awakened priest.
One lie always demanded ten more. He needed to keep his stories clean if he wanted to blend into society.
Speaking of Thea… where had that cat vanished to?
She’d promised mithril bullets in twelve hours. Ethan needed that promise to be real.
As if she’d heard him, a message rose along the contract bond—cool, impatient.
Thea: I’m getting the bullets. Twelve hours.
Thea: You owe me ten Water Element Essences.
Ethan’s mouth twitched. Efficient. Reliable, in her own dragon way.
And it confirmed something else: Water Element Essences weren’t junk. They had value.
If he was going to plant roots in this world, value was how you bought your footing.
He sat up slowly and swung his legs off the bed. The wound hurt, but it didn’t own him.
He headed for the courtyard, following the sound of running water.
Water meant fishing. Fishing meant healing—maybe more Essences.
Frey could wait on monastery herbs. Ethan preferred his life in his own hands.
He slipped on his coat and, by instinct, checked his pockets.
Three pouches of gold—taken from the Hunter and the two Veiled—were still there, untouched. His coat had been cleaned; the money hadn’t been “misplaced.”
It bought the chapel a slice of trust.
Outside, the air was dry and sweet—no salt, no damp sea stink. Just plants and flowers in sunlight.
He found a pond tucked into the chapel grounds.
For a “small” chapel, it was surprisingly elegant: neat stonework, graceful water plants, bright red carp moving like slow embers beneath the surface.
Ethan stood in the warmth for a moment, letting his shoulders unclench.
When no one was watching, he pulled out his wooden rod and cast.
***
Windrest City’s inner district rose behind tall walls and heavy gates.
A black cat paused to stare up at the pair of dragon skulls mounted high above the entrance—trophies turned into warnings.
It sprang onto the stones and vanished into a blue-roofed building.
Minutes later, the door opened.
A young woman with black hair—eighteen or nineteen—stepped out, calm as a bell in still air.
A maid waiting outside brightened and bowed.
“Grand Diviner,” she said, “did the reading go well?”