Knock. Knock. Knock.
A middle-aged woman in a long dress answered the gate almost at once.
Mrs. Rupert – Captain John’s wife.
Ethan introduced himself. He didn’t lead with “Ethan Vale.” Out here, the name people knew was Rhine, the one he’d used when he dragged John back from pirates and blood.
Mrs. Rupert blinked, then practically hurried him inside, grateful enough to trip over her own manners. When she saw the produce gift in his hands, she looked even more flustered.
They crossed the small garden into a tidy sitting room. She sat him down, poured tea, and called upstairs before he’d even found a comfortable way to hold his cup.
Captain John Rupert came down like a man expecting a dream to vanish.
“Your injuries – they’re really gone?”
He’d heard the priests say the Goddess had favored Ethan. Seeing it, though, was something else.
Ethan kept it simple. He thanked them for the hospitality, accepted their thanks without false humility, and steered the conversation the way you did in a port city: with polite words and careful distance.
He told them the truth that mattered.
He’d advanced. He was Transcendent now.
The Ruperts stared, then started laughing with disbelief, the way ordinary people did when the world suddenly got bigger than their expectations.
The talking came easy after that. Captain John warmed to him like he’d known him for years, and Ethan let that happen. Connections were currency.
When the moment was right, Ethan slid the ask onto the table.
He wanted onto a hunting ship. He needed real Transcendent kills. He needed to bond his Relic.
Captain John didn’t dodge. If anything, he looked relieved – the request made sense of Ethan’s speed.
“The Jellyfish’s first mate has a cousin,” he said. “A hunting-ship captain. And that ship needs proper Transcendents.”
Ethan didn’t want to wait. John didn’t make him.
“Then let’s go now,” John said, already reaching for his coat.
Mrs. Rupert tried to insist they stay for dinner. Ethan promised he’d return another day, and John promised the same, like the promise itself could anchor the world.
Warm summer air followed them down the street. Rows of attached villas clustered not far from the Ruperts’ home – housing for men who went to sea and came back, if they were lucky.
The first mate lived here.
Captain John stopped in front of a villa whose tiny flowerbed had been swallowed by weeds. Neighbors kept theirs trimmed. This one looked abandoned by choice.
He knocked.
Knock-knock-knock.
No answer.
John waited, frowned, and muttered, “Drinking until midday again?”
He knocked harder.
Still nothing – only the window frame rattling.
As he turned to speak, a fat gray rat squeezed out through a crack by the window, hit the ground, and vanished into the weeds.
“Ah – damn it!” John barked.
He sighed and dug in his pocket. “My first mate. Every time he sails, he forgets to put food away. Rats show up like he invited them.”
He produced a key and opened the door.
On the way in, he explained, almost apologetic: the first mate had lost a child years ago. His wife followed not long after. The man lived alone now – except for a young nephew who still checked on him, keeping him from becoming truly stranded.
“He doesn’t gamble. Doesn’t chase girls,” John said. “Just drinks. And forgets his pantry before a voyage.”
Because the first mate could be away for ten-plus days at a time, he kept a spare key with the Ruperts. Mrs. Rupert occasionally came by to make sure nothing rotted or drew pests.
But the living room and dining space were spotless.
No gnawed corners. No stink of spoiled food. No nest.
John scratched his head and looked toward the window. “Maybe it was just passing through.”
He didn’t like the feeling it left behind, though.
Since the first mate wasn’t home, John took paper and pen, wrote a note – he’d visited, and Rhine wanted an introduction to the hunting-ship captain – and weighed it down with a cup on the table.
They left.
Dusk was settling by the time they stepped back onto the street.
John tried again to drag Ethan back for dinner. Ethan declined, thanked him, and returned to Violet Bloom Church instead.
Hunting-ship work hadn’t locked in today. But Ethan’s night was already spoken for.
He ate quickly with the other clerics, completed evening prayers, then borrowed alchemy tools and a dedicated heating lamp from the church workshop and hurried to his room.
The lamp burned coal gas – a practical little monster that could bring a crucible to life without starting a fire.
Back at the Ruperts’ villa, Mrs. Rupert stitched by lamplight while her daughter leaned in with the shameless curiosity of seventeen.
“So,” Mrs. Rupert said, unable to help herself, “please don’t bother him. He’s the gentleman who saved your father.”
Her daughter, Margaret, propped her chin on her hands. “What’s he like?”
Mrs. Rupert glanced at her and smiled. “Young. Handsome. Polite. And – this is the part you won’t believe – he’s Transcendent.”
“Transcendent? Seriously?”
Margaret turned to her father, eyes bright, eager for secrets.
“Dad – what can a real Transcendent do?”
The question snapped John out of his thoughts. He rubbed his brow and exhaled.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Ever since we left the first mate’s place, I’ve felt… wrong. Like something’s off.”
He looked out at the darkening sky.
“Tomorrow morning, I’m going back. Just to check on him. Something isn’t sitting right.”