Chapter 1: Could You Do Me a Favor
Hans had been waiting for the bell to ding for what felt like an eternity. His legs dangled over the edge of the city, and the water beneath him, pushed back by the city's steady movement, seemed to slow down with each passing second. The hours dragged on.
Ding dong. Ding dong.
The bell finally rang, and Hans let out a hefty sigh, his patience wearing thin, his hunger from a skipped breakfast adding to his discomfort. The rusty metal surface beneath him offered no comfort. Pulling his bucket closer, he reeled in his fishing line, whistling softly as he waited.
Suddenly, the line tugged, a force pulling back on him. Whatever he had caught wasn’t another old shoe. He gripped the reel tighter, pulling with all his strength. Finally, the hook emerged, revealing his catch: a spider-like fish. Its eight unsettling eyes stared back at him, and where a tail should be, there were eight crab-like legs.
"This one again," he muttered.
Hans pulled a wooden knife from his pocket and stabbed the creature. White blood splattered as its blue fins flared open, and sharp bone spikes shot outward. The memory of his first encounter with this species flashed in his mind. He shuddered, remembering the pain of handling one without protection.
Undeterred, he cast his line again, determined to keep fishing.
All day, it was the same. By the end of the hour, he had caught six of these strange creatures. The bell rang once more, and the city began to move again. Hans stood up, carrying his bucket, and walked through the bustling city streets. Fishers were scattered about—some bragging about their catches, others heading into shops, bundles of money in hand, ready to trade.
Above him, flags with the symbol of a man clutching a book fluttered in the wind. The large flags were a constant reminder that this city belonged to the Remnants—a group dedicated to preserving the knowledge of the old world after the Great Flood.
The Great Flood, which had occurred during the 21st century, had wiped out much of the world as humanity had known it. No one knew what had caused it, but it brought storms, tsunamis, and floods that were unlike anything in recorded history. The survivors, left clinging to rafts, boats, and ships, had rebuilt. Two million years later, humanity’s survival had been ensured largely because of the Remnants, one of the six surviving human factions. Three of these groups had evolved into entirely new species.
The Remnants prioritized the preservation of knowledge above all else. Their mission had begun with saving the knowledge of the old world. Once they had done so, they shifted their focus to the new world—its creatures, agriculture, weapons, and landmarks.
Hans glanced at one of the many posters hanging around the city. It was a job application for Ydgar Farms. The Remnants, while highly intelligent, were poor at naming things. The better names had been claimed long ago by scavengers, leaving places like Ydgar, Bjut, and Corg to become the names everyone used, despite their lack of creativity. Ydgar was often called the "city in the middle of nowhere," located somewhere in the Nordic Sea, forgotten by most and barely remembered even by locals.
After a long walk, Hans arrived at his home—a tiny, leaky hut made from cheap metal. The roof had holes in it, and the rust that clung to the sides told the story of years of neglect. The door, which lacked a doorknob or lock, was only kept shut by the moss growing on it. Inside, the floor was wet, and a bare table sat against the wall, on which lay a rusty knife and a plate made of prickly wood—a nightmare to clean. A spare fishing hook and an heirloom—a memento of little value—sat nearby.
Hans made his way through the small space, careful to avoid the sharp spikes protruding from the plate. He pulled the fish from the bucket, mumbling to himself.
"Well, time to prepare it."
He set the creature on the plate, carefully removing its shell. As he worked, he thought back to the first time he’d encountered one of these strange fish, and the lessons learned after that painful mistake. Slowly and methodically, he peeled away the tough shell, then winced as fifteen bone spikes shot out of the fish's body, each one about five centimeters long.
"Whew," he exhaled, shaking his head.
After some time, Hans had removed the spiky shell from the five other fish. He placed two of them on the table and left his house, holding his bucket.
He would have been content to keep the fish for himself, but as a citizen of Ydgar and a member of the Remnants, Hans had a responsibility. He had to pay taxes to the government—high taxes, infamous among the city's residents. Hans hated the days when an official would knock on his door, demanding the majority of his earnings. He was expected to hand over 97% of his meager income.
If he couldn’t pay, the punishment was even worse. He’d been beaten before and tied to a light pole in front of City Hall as an example to others.
Shaking off the troubling thoughts, Hans reached his destination: a small shop that looked like two medium-sized houses joined together. The sign outside had a symbol on it.
Colm's Fish and Supplies.
Hans opened the door to the shop, greeted by the smell of fresh fish, spices, and the faint scent of saltwater. Fishing hooks and sacks of fish were neatly arranged on shelves, each species carefully labeled.
Hans walked up to the counter, where Murray, a young man two years older than him, sat behind the counter. His dark blue eyes gleamed, though dark circles under them betrayed his exhaustion. His blue hair was a bit messy, and his shirt—bearing the image of a fin—was wrinkled.
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Murray had a firm bundle of cash beside him. Hans went closer, and Murray looked up, greeting him with a smile that seemed brighter than usual.
"Hey, Murr," Hans said, eyeing the cash.
“What did you bring me today?" Murray asked, rubbing his hands together eagerly.
Hans reached into the bucket, pulling out the fish and placing them on the table.
“You’re the best, Hans,” Murray said, smiling wider.
Hans raised an eyebrow. "I brought these for you yesterday, and the day before that, and last week..."
“I know, no one’s been buying them, but a buyer came in yesterday. Turns out these are worth a lot," Murray said, practically bouncing with excitement. "So I'll give you more compensation this time.”
Hans stared at him. “Who said anything about more compensation? Murr, we’re like family.”
“How many times have you asked me for a bonus before?” Murray responded, grinning.
Hans thought for a moment. He’d been receiving less money from Murray lately, and with taxes coming up next week, he had a bad feeling about what would happen if he couldn’t pay.
“I’ll do any favor you ask of me,” Hans said, a little desperately.
Murray’s smile turned eerie, as if that was exactly what he had been hoping to hear.
“You will do well to respect that vow," he said with a slight chuckle.
Hans felt a pang of unease as he pocketed the cash. A pyrrhic victory, he thought—he had won the money, but at what cost?
Just then, the door opened again, and a burly man in white cloth entered the shop. His shirt bore an X symbol, and he carried an empty sack. Hans recognized him immediately.
"Don," Murray greeted, nodding in his direction.
Hans remembered Don well. He was a slave from the scavengers. After the scavengers attacked Bjut, six slaves had been sent there as an apology, and then Dictator Francis had purchased them, bringing them to Ydgar for reasons no one knew.
Don was often sent to the shop for fish and spices.
“I need all the spices you have, and twenty Erdutlites with thirty Ojytyres,” Don said.
“So that’s the name of the fish,” Hans thought to himself.
"Quite a hefty order you’ve got there," Hans remarked as Don carried a bundle five times larger than the original one he had seen Murray with.
Murray smiled but said nothing, swiftly continuing with the order, packing up the fish and spices without question. Hans couldn’t help but glance at Don, still impressed by the size of the haul.
“The dictator seems to have quite the appetite,” Hans mused.
“He’s going on an expedition to Pacifica,” Don replied.
“Oh, the Sea of the Unexpected? What for?” Hans asked, curious.
“A new species discovery,” Don said flatly.
Murray, already done with the order, handed over the filled sacks.
“Are you sure it’s safe, though?” Hans pressed.
“Huh?” Both Murray and Don replied simultaneously.
“I heard the Freeborn managed to capture an entire city,” Hans said, his voice low and cautious.
Hans blinked, surprised. “How?”
Murray tapped the table as he spoke. "It was in Meeds, the popular backwater city in Pacifica, about two weeks ago. Apparently, it was planned. They attacked using scavenger-based weapons—stolen, according to the Scavengers," he added sarcastically.
Hans couldn’t help but facepalm. Why does he have to say this in front of Don? he thought. Murray, however, was never one to hold back.
“In the middle of the night, the city’s security was poisoned, and it was so sudden, no one saw it coming—traitors everywhere, from citizens to dictators. It was a massacre. By the time the sun rose, it was too late. The remains of Remnant flags were floating at sea, and the city was gone.”
Silence fell in the shop. Both Hans and Murray looked at Don, whose face remained neutral as he carried the hefty bags, seemingly unphased. He stopped, turned, and said with a faint smile, “Don’t worry. What do rats do on a drowning ship?”
He waved goodbye, walking out the door, leaving Hans and Murray in uneasy silence.
“I think that’s the last of him we’ll ever see," Murray said, sitting back down with a resigned look.
Hans was silent, unsure of how to respond.
“Murray!” Hans said suddenly, his voice a mix of concern and frustration. “What do you mean by that?”
“I mean,” Murray continued, clearly unfazed, “they attack backwater towns. And we’re living in one.”
“What do you mean, 'backwater'? This town is mostly unknown—hell, the seekers said it themselves,” Hans replied, trying to understand.
Murray nodded slowly. “Exactly. No one would notice an unknown town going missing.”
Hans fell silent. He didn’t have an argument against that.
After a minute of uncomfortable quiet, Murray broke the stillness.
“About those seekers who landed here,” Murray started, catching Hans off guard.
Hans nodded slowly, unsure where this conversation was headed.
“I know the reason,” Murray continued, leaning in a little closer. “It’s because of a mysterious sound that’s often heard when sailing nearby. They hear a beautiful humming sound, always the same tone, never faltering, staying the same volume day and night. It never stops—even when you’re as far as 70 kilometers out. Our town is the closest to the source of it.”
Hans blinked. "So?"
“So…” Murray’s voice became more urgent. “The Remnants haven’t figured it out yet. They still haven’t found the source of the sound. And that’s why the seekers came.”
Hans could sense Murray's excitement, but he wasn’t sure where it was leading.
Murray seemed to grow more animated. “This is my chance to become a seeker.”
Hans paused, looking at him, a little taken aback. “A seeker? But Murray, you know—”
“I know, I know.” Murray waved his hand dismissively. “Growing up, my parents struggled between education and taxes. They needed me to run the shop after they got too old. My father, Malcom Nill, trained me in everything—trading, bargaining, and sent me to school. I had opportunities most families don’t get.”
Hans thought about this. Murray’s father, Malcom Nill. He’d been well-educated, trained by the best… It was clear that Murray’s family had a better grasp of opportunities than most. However, Murray’s real dream had always been to become a seeker. But that dream had been denied by something out of his control—cost.
“The problem,” Murray continued, “was the tertiary fees. The cost of becoming a seeker was too high for my family. The school required too much—too many resources for a family already barely scraping by with taxes and daily struggles. My father couldn’t afford it. He tried to save what he could, but in the end, it wasn’t enough.”
Hans listened quietly. He could hear the pain in Murray’s voice. The cost of pursuing his dream was something no one had prepared him for. He had been forced to take over the shop, sacrificing everything for the family business. The dream of becoming a seeker, of exploring the unknown, had slipped further and further out of reach.
“But that’s why,” Murray went on, his tone more hopeful, “if I find the source of the sound, I’ll prove myself. The seekers will have to notice me, even if I don’t have all the qualifications. If I can get close enough, I’ll get the attention I deserve. It doesn’t matter if I don’t have the right equipment. I’ll find a way.”
Hans couldn’t help but feel a sense of unease. “Murray, this is madness. You’ll go out there alone, without proper training or gear—”
Murray cut him off, his grin widening. “And who says I’m going alone?”
Hans hated the few extra jounans in his pocket now. He was about to protest when Murray caught him off guard.
“You’d do me that favor, won’t you?”
Hans’ mind raced as he stared at Murray. "You good-for-nothing..." he muttered, his voice filled with frustration. But deep down, he knew the deal had already been struck, and there was no going back now.