The morning light filtered through the small window, casting a warm glow over the simple room. I stirred first, groaning softly as the soreness in my arms and legs reminded me of yesterday. My head felt heavy, but at least I could move without the bone-deep exhaustion that had consumed me before.

Galahad was already awake, sitting on the edge of the bed, lacing his boots. His movements were sluggish, his usual scowl softened into something closer to weariness.

"Morning," I murmured, standing and stretching carefully.

"Morning," he muttered back, not looking up.

I sat up, rubbing the stiffness from my neck. Across the room, Galahad was already awake, perched on the edge of the bed and glaring at the floor like it had personally offended him.

"You always wake up this grumpy?" I teased, stretching my arms.

He shot me a sideways glance, his orange-tinged eyes narrowing. "Don't start."

We made our way downstairs, Galahad keeping a step ahead of me, his hands shoved into his pockets. The bar was quiet, the smell of bread and something savory drawing us toward the counter where Estrid was busy setting out bowls.

"Morning," she said, looking up briefly. "You two look better."

"Feeling better's another story," Galahad muttered as he slouched into a chair.

"Still alive, aren't you?" Estrid shot back, smirking as she placed bowls in front of us.

I stifled a laugh as I sat down. Galahad didn't respond, but he didn't refuse the food either, tearing into the bread with the kind of focus I hadn't seen from him during the battle.

"Eat up," Estrid said, leaning her hip against the counter. "You'll need your strength."

"For what?" Galahad asked, his voice flat but wary.

Estrid disappeared into the back for a moment and returned with two bundles of folded clothes. She placed them on the counter. "First, for looking presentable," she said. "These should fit well enough."

I reached for one of the bundles, running my fingers over the fabric. "Thanks," I said, though Galahad only gave a curt nod before going back to his food.

"And second," Estrid continued, leaning forward slightly, "because our chief, Alfarin wants to meet you."

That got Galahad's attention. He paused mid-chew, his brow furrowing. "Why?"

"He and his warriors came back a few hours ago," Estrid explained. "They were out hunting during the attack. I told him what you two did—how you saved the docks—and now he wants to talk to you."

"Talk," Galahad echoed, his tone skeptical. "Sounds like trouble."

I couldn't help but agree, but I said, "Maybe he just wants to thank us. It's not like we're used to all this... hero stuff."

"Thank us? Sure," Galahad said, crossing his arms. "And then rope us into more chaos."

Estrid raised an eyebrow at him. "He's not the type to force anyone into anything. But you should at least hear him out. Alfarin's a good man, and this island owes you."

Galahad leaned back in his chair, his expression dark. "I don't owe them anything."

"Maybe not," I said quietly, trying to keep the tension from escalating. "But we can't just ignore him. We'll at least listen, right?"

He hesitated, his jaw tightening before he let out a sharp breath. "Fine. But no promises."

Estrid smiled faintly, clearly used to dealing with difficult personalities. "Good. Whenever you're ready, I'll take you to him."

As I absently picked at the food on my plate, I found myself glancing back at him out of boredom. The meal had been quiet, the kind of silence that stretches a little too long, and curiosity got the better of me. Now that everything had slowed down, and the sun cast its soft glow over the table between us, I finally took in his appearance clearly for the first time.

His orange eyes caught my attention immediately—intense and vivid, like molten fire frozen mid-flow. They seemed to flicker with their own light, yet there was a quiet sharpness in the way they studied the world around him, as if nothing escaped his notice. His hair was a wild tangle of red, messy and untamed, glowing faintly in the sunlight like embers scattering in the breeze. Strands stuck out at odd angles, defying any attempt at control, but somehow it suited him. It gave him an air of unpredictability, like someone who didn't quite fit neatly into the space he occupied.

Well, he's a kind of decent—looking guy.

That's when I noticed it—his left eye.

The sunlight caught on a thin, silvery scar that ran across it, a faint line that stood out against his tanned skin. The eye itself was different too, pale and almost cloudy. I'd never paid much attention to it before, but now it caught me off guard. Without thinking, I spoke.

"Your left eye," I said, the words slipping out before I could stop them.

Galahad looked up, his hands stilling as he raised an eyebrow at me. "What about it?" he asked, his tone casual, though there was a flicker of something curious in his gaze.

I hesitated, but curiosity pushed me forward. "There's a scar," I said, nodding toward it. "And the eye... It looks different. Did something happen?"

His lips quirked into a faint smirk, the kind he always used when brushing something off. "Oh, that?" He leaned back slightly, rubbing the back of his neck like it was nothing. "I don't really know how it ended up like this. It's been like that when I woke up. Just... blurry."

Blurry? My stomach twisted a little at the thought. "Blurry?" I echoed, my voice softer. "You can still see, though?"

He chuckled, the sound low and amused, like I'd just asked the most ridiculous question in the world. "Yeah. Better than you, probably."

I shot him a sharp look, though I could feel the corners of my mouth twitching despite myself. "Oh, please," I muttered, rolling my eyes. But I couldn't stop glancing at his face, at that scar, wondering how someone like Galahad could just dismiss it so easily.

"Does it hurt?" I asked quietly, the words slipping out before I could second-guess them.

"Not anymore," he said with a shrug, his voice light but distant. He picked up the whetstone again, dragging it across the blade in a slow, deliberate motion. "It's been like this for as long as I can remember. Doesn't bother me."

I turned my attention back to the fire, the heat brushing against my face. "Well," I said softly, "if you say so."

The stew disappeared quickly, leaving behind only a warm, pleasant heaviness in my stomach. Isla gathered the empty bowls with a small smile. "That should keep you from keeling over, at least. You can go change in the restroom—just don't take all day. The Chief doesn't like to be kept waiting."

I stood, stretching my sore limbs, and nodded. Galahad was slower to move, his expression as unreadable as ever.

"You both look like you could use a good rinse and a change."

I couldn't argue with that. I still felt the grit of salt and dirt clinging to my skin from yesterday's chaos.

"I'll take the restroom," I said, rising from my seat.

"Figures," Galahad muttered, standing as well. "I'll use the room."

Estrid pointed down the hall to the restroom. "Water's in the basin by the window. It's not a bathhouse, but it'll do."

I nodded and headed to the small space at the end of the hall. It was basic—a wooden basin filled with fresh water and a small cloth laid out on the side. The cool water felt like a blessing against my skin as I rinsed off the dirt and sweat from the battle. My hair, still a little stiff from dried seawater, finally felt soft again after a good rinse. I dried off with the cloth Isla had left, slipped into the fresh clothes—a light tunic and trousers—and tied my damp hair back.

When I stepped out, I felt... human again.

Back upstairs, I could hear Galahad's heavy footsteps shuffling around the room we'd slept in last night. By the time I made it back to the main area, he was already downstairs, adjusting the sleeves of a dark, sturdy shirt that suited him far better than the bedraggled outfit he'd been wearing.

"Finally," he said, glancing at me briefly before looking away, his usual scowl back in place. "Ready now?"

"Hold on," Estrid said, her hands on her hips as she looked us over. "You clean up well, both of you. Just try not to undo it all in the next hour."

"Not making any promises," Galahad muttered under his breath.

I gave her a small smile to make up for his attitude. "We'll try," I said lightly, earning a chuckle from Estrid.

With that, she pushed the door open and motioned for us to follow.

Redwake had come alive since the pirate raid the night before. People milled about the streets, patching up damaged buildings, hauling supplies, or chatting in tight-knit groups. Some glanced our way as we passed, their faces a mix of curiosity and gratitude.

"They're staring again," Galahad muttered, his hands shoved into his pockets.

"Can you blame them?" Estrid replied without looking back. "They don't see newcomers often, let alone ones who can fend off a pirate raid."

Galahad grunted but said nothing more.

As we walked, I couldn't help but study the village. Despite the damage, it was clear that Redwake was a place built to endure. Its homes and shops were constructed from weathered wood and reinforced with thick ropes and metal brackets, as though bracing against both storms and raids. Brightly colored banners fluttered above, a stark contrast to the grays and browns of the structures.

Estrid led us down a path toward the edge of the village, where a large wooden building loomed against the sky. It was sturdier than the others, its beams carved with intricate designs that looked like waves crashing against jagged rocks. Two guards stood at the entrance, their spears crossed in front of the door.

"Estrid," one of them said with a nod of recognition, lowering his weapon. His eyes flicked toward us. "These the ones?"

"They are," Estrid said. "The Chief's expecting them."

The guards stepped aside, pushing the doors open to reveal a wide hall. Inside, the air was cooler, carrying the faint scent of damp wood and pine smoke. Sunlight filtered through narrow windows, casting long beams across the floor.

"This way," Estrid said, her voice quieter now.

She led us down the central aisle, past rows of benches and a hearth that crackled softly with low flames. At the far end of the hall stood a man who could only be Chief Alfarin. He was tall and broad-shouldered, his silver hair catching the light. He leaned over a table scattered with maps and charts but straightened as we approached.

"Chief," Estrid began, her tone respectful but not deferential, "these are the two I mentioned—the ones who defended Redwake last night."

The Chief's sharp eyes swept over us, lingering on Galahad for a moment before settling on me. His expression was unreadable, but there was no mistaking the weight of his gaze.

"Welcome," he said, his voice deep and steady. "So, you're the ones who kept Redwake standing while we were away."

The Chief strode forward, clasping his hands behind his back. "Curse those pirates. They've been a thorn in our side for months, raiding our shores and slipping away before we can catch them. How dare they raid Redwake while we were away!" His voice rose, full of indignation, before he let out a sharp breath.

Galahad shifted beside me, his arms crossed. "Bad timing for a hunting trip, then."

Alfarin narrowed his eyes slightly, but his expression didn't harden. "Indeed. Game was scarce today—what little we found was diseased, or it swam off before we got close. Never seen anything like it."

"What does that mean?" I asked, stepping forward.

The Chief's expression darkened. "I fear something is tampering with the seas around us. On our way back, half our ships started leaking out of nowhere. Perfectly sound vessels, yet their hulls were belted with cracks as if by some unseen hand."

I frowned, the implications heavy. "Do you think it's connected to the pirates?"

"Perhaps," Alfarin admitted, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "But it's not just the raids. The ocean itself feels... wrong." He paused, then added, "We considered sending someone to the hermit nearby—an old scholar who might know more about these strange happenings. But after yesterday, I can't risk leaving Redwake undefended again."

"So you're sending us," Galahad said bluntly, his tone more statement than a question.

Alfarin regarded him with a sharp eye. "If you're willing, yes. The hermit lives southeast, in the Jaws, on a small land rock. He's difficult, but if anyone knows what's going on, it's him."

Galahad scoffed softly, glancing at me. "And if we refuse?"

Alfarin's lips twitched, but his tone remained calm. "Then I thank you for what you've already done, and we'll manage as best we can."

I glanced at Galahad, then back at the Chief. "We'll do it," I said, surprising even myself with how quickly the words came out.

Galahad gave me a sharp look but didn't object outright. Instead, he muttered, "Guess we're messengers now."

The Chief's serious expression softened slightly. "Good. Be cautious—the seas and lands have grown unpredictable lately. And prepare yourselves. You may encounter resistance, and I expect you to return in one piece."

He gestured toward the door. "Prepare before you go, it's better when you're all ready. I'll leave it to Estrid to give you the necessary supplies."

As we turned to leave, Alfarin's voice carried after us. "Thank you again. For everything."

After leaving the Chief's hall, Estrid walked us back toward the square. "Here," she said, handing me a cloth-wrapped bundle and passing Galahad a rolled-up map. "Some supplies to keep you steady and a map to help you find the hermit. It's a long trip, so you'll want to be well-prepared."

"Thanks," I said, smiling at her.

"Yeah," Galahad added with a nod, though his tone was as brusque as ever.

Estrid smiled faintly, brushing her hair aside. "I'd go with you if I could, but there's plenty to handle here. If you need me, I'll be back at the bar. Take care of yourselves."

With that, she disappeared into the crowd, leaving Galahad and me standing amidst the bustling square. The village had come alive with activity: vendors hawking their wares, workers repairing damage from the raid, and neighbors exchanging news. The energy in the air felt vibrant, though I couldn't help noticing how tired some of the villagers looked.

"Well," I said, glancing at Galahad, "we should get ready. Supplies, maybe some extra food, and anything else we might need."

"Let's just get it over with," he replied, shoving his hands into his pockets.

As we moved through the market, the aroma of sizzling fish and fresh herbs caught my attention. I turned toward a cheerful voice calling out, "Step right up! Learn to cook like a master today!"

A man in a stained apron stood behind a makeshift cooking station, a skillet sizzling in front of him. My stomach growled, and I couldn't resist.

"Hansen!" I said, grabbing his arm. "Look! A cooking lesson! This could be useful."

He gave me an incredulous look. "You've got to be kidding."

"Nope." I grinned and walked straight up to the station. "Hi! Can I join?"

The chef beamed. "Absolutely! Always room for another student."

As I rolled up my sleeves and started chopping vegetables under his guidance, Galahad leaned against a nearby post, arms crossed, watching with a mix of impatience and exasperation.

"Hey, mister!" a small voice called, tugging on his sleeve.

Galahad looked down to see a little girl clutching a doll. Her wide eyes brimmed with tears. "What?" he asked, his tone sharp but not unkind.

"I lost my mom's necklace," she said hesitantly. "It's gold with a fish charm, and I think it fell near the North of Redwake, can you help me find it?"

He sighed, glancing at me as I happily diced onions. "Fine," he muttered. "Lead the way."

The girl brightened and grabbed his hand, tugging him toward the location where she had last seen her necklace. Galahad followed his expression somewhere between reluctant and resigned.

It didn't take long for Galahad to spot a faint glimmer of gold wedged between two planks. He knelt down, carefully prying the necklace loose with his fingers. The small fish charm dangled delicately from the chain, catching the sunlight.

"Here," he said, holding it out to the girl.

Her face lit up, tears of worry transforming into pure joy. "Thank you, mister!" she exclaimed, throwing her tiny arms around his waist in an impulsive hug.

For a moment, Galahad froze, unsure of what to do. But as the girl stepped back, clutching her necklace with a wide grin, something in her expression tugged at him—a warmth, a familiarity he couldn't quite place.

He blinked, his brow furrowing. It wasn't the hug or the gratitude that caught him off guard; it was the way it felt oddly... right, like he'd done this before. Somewhere. For someone.

"Be careful next time," he said, his voice unusually gentle.

The girl nodded fervently. "I will! Bye!" she called, running off with a wave.

Galahad stood there for a moment, watching her disappear into the crowd, a peculiar weight settling in his chest. He shook his head, brushing it off as he turned back toward the market.

When he returned, I was holding up a plate of grilled fish, grinning. "Done already?"

"Done helping kids," he replied gruffly, though his voice lacked its usual sharpness.

"Good timing!" the chef said, clapping his hands. "Your friend here's a natural!"

I shot Galahad a smug smile, but before I could gloat further, an elderly man nearby waved us over.

"You two look like you've got strong arms," the man said, his weathered face creasing into a hopeful smile. "I've just moved into a house nearby, but I can't lift these crates on my own. Could you lend a hand?"

"Of course!" I said, eager to help.

"Sure," Galahad muttered, though his enthusiasm was noticeably less.

The crates were heavier than I expected, filled with books, tools, and other belongings. By the time we'd carried the last one into the man's modest house, my arms felt like jelly.

"Thank you so much," the man said, pressing a few coins into my hand despite my protests.

"No problem," I said, though I was catching my breath.

"Next time," Galahad grumbled as we stepped back into the street, "let's stick to something less backbreaking."

I laughed, elbowing him lightly. "Admit it—you liked helping out."

He shot me a glare but didn't deny it.

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, the square began to empty. We paused to take stock of our supplies, tired but satisfied with what we'd accomplished.

"Well," I said, stretching my arms, "I'd say we're ready for whatever this hermit throws at us."

Galahad smirked. "Let's hope it's not another cooking lesson."