The room he was led into was simpler than expected. There was no excessive decoration, no display of wealth—only a wide window overlooking the azure shore, a sturdy desk, and a woman standing with her back turned, gazing out at the ships below.
"You can close the door," she said without turning around.
Atem did so.
When she turned to face him, her red hair caught the light from the window, framing her sharp and clear eyes.
"It's been a while," Lyra looked at him for a moment. "You look like someone who hasn't slept properly in days."
"That's because I haven't," Atem chuckled lightly. "You, on the other hand, look like business has been treating you well."
She smirked faintly. "I already know why you are here. No need to waste time."
Atem's eyes flickered slightly. "Then I'll ask directly—what is Golden Delta Hall's position?"
Lyra crossed her arms.
"If you want my honest answer, then you need to close your shop."
Atem's expression remained steady, though his fingers tightened slightly.
"And if I do?"
"You join us and operate under Golden Delta Hall's protection. In return, I ensure that no one—whether merchant, official, or cultivator—lays a hand on you."
Atem looked at her with surprise.
"Even cultivators?"
"Even them," she replied without hesitation.
He leaned back slightly, letting out a quiet breath.
"That's a generous offer. But it also means Twin Shores disappears."
Lyra shook her head. "Your situation doesn't allow half-measures. If you insist on keeping your shop, the pressure won't stop. It will only escalate."
"So there's truly no way around it?"
She smiled bitterly. "Believe me, this is your best option."
Atem fell silent for a long moment, then stood.
"I expected as much. Thank you for being honest with me."
Without saying anything else, he turned around and left quietly.
---
Golden Delta Hall had not crushed him outright. They didn't need to. They simply offered a cage lined with velvet.
"It seems like this visit to the Middle District was wasted after all," he muttered under his breath.
He hadn't expected much—but even so, the finality of it left a bitter taste.
The walk back to the Tide Line took just under an hour.
---
When the familiar outline of his shop finally came into view, Atem slowed.
Twin Shores.
The signboard creaked slightly in the breeze. For the first time since he'd opened it, he didn't feel the urge to step inside.
Instead, he turned away.
---
The Dock Masters' Union occupied a wide compound near the inner piers, where the largest cargo ships unloaded their goods. The building itself was unimpressive—low, thick-walled, built to endure storms rather than impress visitors. Its gates were always open, and its courtyard was rarely quiet.
Dockworkers lounged in the shade, some repairing nets, others arguing loudly over pay and schedules.
Atem drew a few curious glances as he entered. He was known here—not as a dockhand, but as a kind merchant who liked to help when he could.
"That's Twin Shores."
"It's strange to see him."
"To think he would come here again?"
Atem noticed the glances but didn't slow his pace. He merely lifted a hand in brief acknowledgment, neither hurried nor hesitant, before continuing on his way.
---
Inside the main office, behind a broad desk, sat the Dock Masters' manager—an elderly man with a bent back, sharp eyes, and a beard that had long since turned fully white.
He looked up as Atem entered.
"So," the old man said slowly, eyes narrowing in recognition. "Twin Shores' owner himself. This isn't a social visit, I assume."
Atem smiled faintly and inclined his head. "If it were, I'd have brought wine."
The old man snorted. "Sit."
A thin smile tugged at his lips. "I wondered how long it'd take before you showed your face again."
Atem nodded. "I came because, a year ago, you bet on me once."
Harun's eyes narrowed. "And you're asking me to do it again."
"I can't fool you, old man. I'm out of options here. So what's your offer?"
Harun stood up and walked a few steps, hands clasped behind his back.
"This isn't something I decide alone," he said. "And if I'm wrong, it won't just be merchants complaining."
"I understand," Atem replied.
Harun stopped near the inner corridor.
"Come back tomorrow," he said without turning. "I'll have an answer."
Without saying anything else, Atem left.
---
After Atem left, Harun did not immediately return to his seat.
He stood quietly for a moment, fingers resting on the edge of the desk. Then he turned and walked out, choosing a narrow side passage hidden behind the records room.
The corridor slanted inward, away from the sea breeze. By the time Harun reached the end, the smell of salt and tar had vanished entirely.
He stopped before a plain wooden door.
Harun knocked once and pushed it open.
Inside was a secluded hall, dim and quiet. A single oil lamp hung overhead, its flame steady, as if untouched by the outside world. At the center stood a low table, upon which lay a board carved with intersecting lines. The pieces atop it were finely made—ships with raised prows, tower-like markers, and strange curved tokens that resembled waves.
A man sat on one side of the table.
He looked no older than middle age, his appearance refined rather than imposing. His robe was simple, yet the fabric carried a faint sheen, as if woven from something far finer than mortal silk. His eyes were focused on the board, his fingers lightly pinching a single piece as he examined it from different angles.
He did not look up.
Harun approached and glanced at the board, his brows knitting slightly.
"That move pushes too deep," Harun remarked. "You're cutting straight across contested waters. If the other side reacts, that route collapses."
The man smiled faintly and placed the piece down anyway.
"Only if the other side has the courage to move."
A soft tap echoed in the hall.
Harun drew a slow breath.
"There's a deal I need to consult you on."
The man's fingers paused.
"I'm already aware. Twin Shores."
Harun's gaze sharpened slightly.
"So word reached you already."
"A shop capable of sparking a cultivator's interest doesn't go unnoticed, especially when it involves medicine. It's… intriguing."
Harun hesitated briefly before continuing. "What's your view on it?"
The man leaned back slightly.
"Do what benefits us the most. Is there another answer?"
Harun hesitated before continuing.
"The pressure isn't light. The Star Tower wants his formula and the shop itself. And the new Imperial Consulate—from what I hear, he's personally close to them."
The man's brow lifted slightly.
"And that troubles you?"
Harun frowned. "Those aren't small figures. Wouldn't this mean we're standing against both over a small business?"
A quiet chuckle escaped the man's lips.
"You're still treating this as a question of money."
He gestured at the board.
"The inland people have been tightening control over mortal medicine—distribution channels, approvals, supply routes. For sea people like us, that means dependence. Every shipment we receive passes through their hands."
Harun nodded slowly.
"And Twin Shores offers a crack in that grip."
"But sir," Harun added after a moment, "you're a cultivator. Surely there's another solution."
"There are many, indeed."
Harun's eyes shifted slightly.
"But that path is sealed," the man continued. "Imperial law draws a clear line. Mortals remain mortals. Cultivators remain cultivators."
Harun scoffed. "Rules they enforce on us alone. Meanwhile, they bend them whenever it suits them."
"You're thinking too much," the man replied calmly. "Open interference is forbidden everywhere. It's written into Imperial edict and enforced across all domains."
He moved another piece, cutting off a line of retreat on the board.
"We can interfere only in personal matters."
Harun studied the board for a long moment.
"Then the formula," he murmured, "and the one who created it… they're worth the risk."
"They are," the man agreed. "We've been attempting similar footholds in other cities. Each one is harder than the last."
Harun lowered his voice. "I've heard Azure Crown has begun executions. Anyone caught trading medicine with sea people doesn't last long."
"That's true. Their way of suppressing us—suppression through fear. Their usual approach."
Silence followed.
Finally, Harun spoke. "Then what should the offer be?"
The man closed his eyes briefly, as if the answer required no thought.
"We take overseas distribution while he keeps inland operations under his own name."
"And the split?"
"Fifteen percent of his inland profits come to us," the man replied. "In exchange, he remains independent."
Harun's eyes brightened despite himself.
"And the formula?"
"Select a small group. They should be trusted, agreed upon by both sides, and they must be sea people."
Harun smiled faintly. "The inland races still don't realize how deeply we've blended in. We pass among them without suspicion."
"Good," the man said. "Then proceed. Cultivators won't interfere."
Harun hesitated. "And the boy?"
The man's eyes flickered coldly.
"We'll use him while he's useful. When he's no longer needed… you'll know what to do."
Harun nodded without much reaction.
"Understood."
The man's attention returned to the board, fingers already reaching for the next piece.
"You may go."