The clerk sat behind a thick mahogany desk, eyes buried in a sea of documents projected on the Enterface. His day had been filled with the usual monotony—sifting through endless records, approvals, and registrations.
But as he looked up for a brief moment, his gaze fell upon Ella. He froze, a familiar sense of irritation flooding his expression. He immediately stood, striding briskly toward her with an urgency that spoke volumes about his history with this girl.
“You again,” he muttered, his tone dripping with exasperation. “How many times have I told you that you’re not welcome in this establishment?”
Ella giggled, effortlessly slipping past him with a nimbleness that suggested she had done this many times before.
She dashed toward the mahogany desk, waving at Heletta to follow. Though Heletta had a rebellious streak, she had been raised under a stern master, and her instinct was to offer the clerk an apologetic look before sidestepping around him and rushing to join Ella.
The clerk shook his head in disappointment, glancing down at the timepiece on his wrist. He sighed, realizing how close he had been to finishing his shift before this troublesome girl showed up once more. Resigned, he walked back to his desk, muttering under his breath.
“I see you brought another victim with you today,” he grumbled to Ella, settling into his chair with a look of utter boredom tinged with pity. His gaze shifted to Heletta. “Young girl, welcome to the Blue-Sea Cradle. I assume you’re here seeking entry into the ranking games. But I must remind you, to qualify, you must first possess a Helsuk…”
“I do,” Heletta responded quickly. “My master—a fisher—he, uh, loaned me one.”
The clerk raised an eyebrow, surprised at first, then suspicious. His eyes flicked to Ella, who stood with an innocent smile, betraying nothing.
“Is this your new game?” he demanded. “Please tell me this is the last trick you have up your sleeve. I can't bear to have my time wasted like this.”
Ella’s face displayed genuine surprise, and Heletta, confused, asked what was wrong. Ella turned to her and explained, “A Helsuk is quite expensive. It's not exactly a noble status, but getting one can fetch a pretty penny. It makes fishing much easier, which is why many fishers dream of owning one. Once they have it, their trade becomes so efficient that they can usually afford another.”
A Helsuk is a fishing vessel capable of diving into the heavy, dark depths of the Southern waters, where fish and other aquatic creatures are plentiful.
With its sleek, chrome exterior, it can swim at extreme speeds, making it hard for sea predators to catch. The needle and reel system built into its engine allows it to escape or turn predator at a moment's notice.
When it plunges into the lightless depths, it emits a glow reminiscent of a forgotten technology.
The clerk nodded, still skeptical. “A Helsuk is essential if you want to turn fishing into a life full of danger and glory. So it's quite surprising that a girl of no known reputation would claim to possess one.”
Heletta reached into her pocket and pulled out a seal. The crest bore the image of a serpent, its body curling around a pin that ended in a talon-like grip.
The clerk took the seal, examining it closely. He felt a strong temptation to run a check, but he refrained—not only because he could tell at a glance that the seal was genuine but also because it would be an insult to the sanctity of the branch of Heltrin, to which the symbol once belonged.
His keen eyes quickly noted the seal's age. It was ancient, perhaps crafted hundreds of years ago, when some of Lord Koleson’s children entertained the notion of founding their own house and securing a seat in the Radstadt. A youthful dream that was nearly heretical in its audacity.
In the end, only one of them would attempt to establish a house.
But this seal was not from that house. The clerk, obsessed with technology and history, recognized it instantly as one of Lord Heltrin Gavas’s early creations.
As a young man, Gavas had inscribed this symbol on all his works, hoping that one day, when he was crowned, the symbol would fly on the banners of his hold and adorn his seat on the divine council.
Gavas eventually abandoned his ambitions, choosing instead to serve as one head of the two-headed serpent governing the Kerrasuk region.
Yet, every piece he crafted in those early days bore the mark of his youthful dreams: a serpent coiled around the owl’s feet, symbolizing the union of ancient power and modern wisdom—an emblem of an abandoned dream.
The clerk understood the significance of what he held. This was a relic, perhaps one of the great treasures of the southern regions. And everyone knew that a seal like this was always accompanied by a Helsuk. Especially one that emitted the faint light he saw now.
The clerk knew the stories of Lord Gavas’s first Helsuk—a vessel of legend and infamy, the invention that had transformed and saved the culture of fishing in the South, turning it into a profession for aspiring rankers. It had been missing for centuries.
Could this girl have it? Or perhaps an earlier version? He was deep in thought when a small cough brought him back to reality. Heletta leaned forward, reading the name on the elastic band around his arm.
“Uhm… Mr. Gelvin Heltrin… that’s your name, right?” she asked.
“It is,” he replied, “but I’m afraid I’m no one worthy of it. So, this really is yours?”
“Aye, it is,” Heletta said with a smile. “My master told me he had it for a while. A friend loaned it to him, he said, but the friend never came back for it. Fisher custom states—and it’s real, he said—that it belongs to him now. And so, it’s mine too, because my master is like a head fisher. My head fisher.”
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The clerk noted the term “head fisher,” used to refer to captains of sails or Helsuks, who watched for dangers at sea, pulled in catches with a firm hand, and brought in fish so massive that others marveled at their strength.
A head fisher was rough, yet kind—a guide who made fishers out of ordinary people.
In the Southern regions, "head fisher" was often used as a substitute for father or brother, sometimes even signifying a bond stronger than either.
Who was this Head Fisher of hers? It was all too strange. And then, another realization dawned on him—the pale blue sheen of Heletta's hair, glimmering like sun-touched ocean waves. Now he was genuinely curious.
He glanced at Ella, saw the wheels turning behind her eyes, and realized she might have come to the same conclusion about this strange girl. If his intuition was correct, it would be a great misfortune for a girl like her to end up in Ella’s hands. He thought he might need to save her.
“Look,” he began, “this does seem like the real thing. I’d even hand it back to you—” he placed the seal in Heletta's palm, pressing it gently, almost whispering for her to keep it close “—but I’m afraid it still won’t suffice for admission.”
“Why not?” Heletta asked.
“What’s your name?” he asked, the question simple but weighted with significance. He noticed Ella, too, was waiting for the answer.
“Why?” Heletta countered.
“This is how it works,” he explained. “To gain admission, you need a profile with some level of consensus on the Index Network. A high enough consensus serves as a form of referral, but you don’t look like someone with one.”
“Really?” Ella chimed in, a sly smile playing on her lips. “Are you sure, Mr. Telvin? Aren't you being a bit too presumptive?”
Telvin shot her a sour look before turning back to Heletta, who was growing visibly worried. He felt a pang of guilt but knew he had to do his job. “You still need formal registration,” he continued. “For that, I need to find your profile, which is why I asked for your name.”
“Master says names are important,” Heletta replied cautiously.
“Yes, they are,” Gelvin agreed gravely.
Helletta hesitated, weighing her master’s warnings against her desire to enter the ranking games and the cradle. She would not know it yet, but she would come to regret her choice.
“Helletta Moorest,” she finally said.
“Moorest?” The name was unfamiliar to both Telvin and Ella. Telvin felt a wave of relief. For a moment, he had feared that the girl's turquoise hair might mean something more than just an unusual genetic trait or a cosmetic choice.
His relief solidified when he searched the Index Network and found nothing under her name. It was as if she didn’t exist, which should have raised alarms, but he wasn’t in the mindset to question it further.
Gelvin had chosen this job despite his heritage because he wanted a simple life. For a moment, he felt he had narrowly avoided something too large to handle.
When he delivered the news to the girls, he couldn’t help but do so with a touch of satisfaction. However, his sense of relief was short-lived. His receiver beeped, and a notification appeared on his screen. An incoming transmission.
Gelvin accepted it, and a voice came through—gentle yet rough. “I approve,” it said.
Gelvin recognized the words, a stand-in for a referral, usually spoken from someone of high nobility to their peers.
“If I may ask, who are you, sir, to provide such approval?” Gelvin inquired nervously.
“Moorest,” the voice replied. “More precisely, Helfellyn Moorest Whydit.”
Gelvin froze. That was no ordinary name. “And the girl,” the voice continued, “her name is Severidt. Severidt Helletta Whydit. She’s boisterous and rude. Frankly, she just stole my Helsuk despite not being able to catch a single fish. Don’t worry; I’m quite sure she’ll be as useless a ranker as she was a fisher. Do watch over her, though. She can be unpredictable.”
Gelvin stood paralyzed.
Lord Koleson Whydit, Sovereign of the Kerrasuk, had seven children, known as the Seven-Headed Serpents.
These seven were the foundation of the entire Whydit family lineage. Among them, Lord Helturna Vaingrace Whydit, Lady Hayazaki Kerrasidt Whydit, Lord Heltrin Gavas Whydit, and Chief Helfellyn Moorest Whydit were the most notable.
The Chief, however, had been missing for two hundred and fifty years after his only daughter had died.
And now, here stood a girl bearing his name and his daughter's—a new serpent peeking out with expectant, hungry eyes, filled with so much hope that she could not yet understand the weight of it.
How unfortunate, Gelvin thought. How truly unfortunate to bear the name Whydit, to carry the curse of the serpent.
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A man stood at the edge of the rocky shore, gazing out to sea. His skin was tan, olive-toned, and his features were youthful, but his eyes carried the weight of years, as if they had seen too much, too soon.
He wore a loose tunic, its fabric rippling in the brisk sea breeze. The tunic was held in place by three belts cinched tightly around his waist, each belt decorated with small metal charms that clinked softly as he shifted his stance. The fabric of his tunic bore a bright motif of fishes, their scales glimmering in vibrant blues, reds, and greens against the otherwise drab backdrop of the morning.
The sea stretched out before him, a vast expanse of slate gray, mirroring the heavy, overcast sky above. The water was still, almost unnaturally so, like a great glass sheet reflecting the muted colors of a world stuck in a moment. The landscape seemed suspended, waiting, as if bracing for the storm that surely must be coming. The wind was low but steady, carrying with it the taste of salt and the promise of rain. The seagulls, usually noisy and energetic, seemed quieter today, their cries distant and muffled, lost in the thick, damp air.
Another man approached, his footsteps crunching on the gravel shore. He stopped beside the first man, his expression serious. His hair was long and turquoise, caught in the wind, twisting and fluttering like seaweed beneath the waves. He waited for a moment, the wind whistling softly past them, before speaking.
"Some of my sailing crew found the corpse of a corrupted sea beast," he said, his voice steady, “floating on the water, past the enclosure."
He fell silent, his gaze fixed on the man beside him, as if expecting a response. But the first man said nothing, his eyes remaining on the horizon, searching the line where the sea met the sky. The turquoise-haired man seemed to hesitate, then continued.
"They found a girl, too,” he added, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant. “Fishing by herself in that region."
The man with the fish-patterned tunic finally turned. His name was Heltrell, and he looked over at the other man, Moorest, his expression hardening slightly.
"I told you to keep her safe," Heltrell said, his tone sharp, “and away from trouble, all those years ago.”
Moorest did not flinch. He turned to face Heltrell fully, his eyes steady, his voice calm, almost too calm.
"And you were a coward when you brought that child to me," Moorest replied. "Afraid of the tides that were coming. You forfeited the right to be upset about how I'm raising her. You should return to running the guild with your twin brother and pretend nothing is happening."
His words were gentle, but there was something underneath them—an undercurrent of restrained anger, or perhaps disappointment, or even something closer to sorrow. His tone never wavered, and yet it carried layers of emotion, carefully balanced and measured.
Heltrell was silent for a long moment. He stared at Moorest, struggling to find a response, knowing there was some truth in what he had said. He took a deep breath, feeling the sting of the words settle deep within him, and finally spoke.
"After all this time," Heltrell said, his voice soft, almost reflective, "you still bear a grudge."
Moorest did not respond immediately. He turned his gaze back to the horizon, his eyes tracing the line where the sky seemed to meld with the water, both heavy with a storm that threatened but had not yet broken.
“The sky always looks like it’s on the verge of breaking,” he murmured, his voice distant, as if he were speaking more to himself than to Heltrell. “Always threatening a storm, holding it back... But perhaps, this time, a real storm will pour down on the whole southern region.”
Heltrell followed Moorest's gaze, watching as the waves began to ripple under the force of a growing wind, feeling the tension in the air build. He knew Moorest was right; he could feel it in his bones, the way the air was charged with energy, the way the sea seemed to tremble with anticipation. He couldn't help but feel Moorest was correct.