Nyx was worried.

  Nigel had left in the dead of night after what seemed like a particularly intense nightmare, and he still hadn’t returned.

  Now, with the first rays of sunlight creeping over the horizon, the city of Hizuru began to stir awake. The scent of the sea drifted in through the inn’s open windows, mingling with the faint aroma of breakfast. Soon, they would meet the other members of the Coalition.

  It felt like a crossroads.

  On one hand, Nyx believed that Nigel was slowly opening up to her—small moments, unspoken gestures, hints of trust forming between them. But on the other, the weight of his past still loomed over him, holding him back. She didn’t know whether to push forward and try to break through his walls, or to keep her distance, afraid that one wrong move might worsen his already fragile state of mind.

  As she wrestled with indecision, Layla’s voice rang through the inn.

  “Breakfast is ready! I made a traditional Hizuru morning meal—miso soup!” she announced cheerfully, balancing an enormous bowl in her hands. But as she glanced around the table, her expression faltered.

  “Wait a second… we’re missing someone.” She furrowed her brows, trying to recall the name. Then, with a snap of her fingers—“Nigel! Where’s Nigel?”

  Right on cue, the inn’s front door swung open. The room fell silent.

  For a moment, no one spoke, no one moved. All eyes locked onto the figure stepping inside, as if seeing him for the first time.

  Yesterday, Nigel had looked like a ghost of himself—ragged, exhausted, as if he had been dragged through hell and left to drown in a lake. But now?

  He was unrecognizable.

  His black hair, once messy and unkempt, now fell smoothly over his forehead, neatly cut and framing his sharp amber eyes. The rough edges of exhaustion that had dulled his features before were gone, revealing striking, chiseled symmetry beneath the soft morning light.

  He was wearing traditional Hizuru attire—a dark, tailored yukata with subtle silver embroidery, its fabric draping effortlessly over his athletic frame. The colors contrasted perfectly with his fair skin, the fit emphasizing the broadness of his shoulders and the leanness of his build. There was an effortless elegance to him, a quiet confidence that hadn't been there before, as if he had stepped out of another life entirely.

  Nyx let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, and across the table, Sam caught her reaction and gave her a knowing smirk.

  Layla, watching the exchange with quiet curiosity, set the large bowl on the table and began ladling miso soup into individual dishes, passing them around.

  Dovak was the first to break the silence.

  “Well, would you look at that. Yesterday, you looked like death itself. Today? You might actually scare death away and take his job.” He let out a low whistle of admiration.

  Contrary to what the others expected, Nigel didn’t brush off the comment. Instead, he smiled—just barely, but enough for them to notice.

  Without a word, he walked past Dovak, pulled out a chair, and sat down.

  He picked up a bowl, took a slow, deliberate sip of the steaming broth, letting the warmth settle before he finally spoke.

  “Yeah… maybe I do feel that way.”

  “That’s the spirit!” Dovak grinned, delivering a hearty slap to Nigel’s back.

  Nigel barely flinched, but before he could respond, Layla clapped her hands together, drawing the group’s attention.

  “Well then, a round of applause for our first breakfast together as a team! And to make it even better, let me introduce the rest of the Coalition.” She gestured toward a nearby table, where four individuals sat.

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  “First up, someone you’ve already met—Lars!” Layla pointed at a man who looked like he was in the middle of battling a vicious hangover. “A true all-rounder. Balanced offense and defense, and the longest-standing member of our little family.”

  Lars merely lifted a hand in acknowledgment before returning to his half-hearted attempt at eating.

  Layla, unfazed, moved on. “And over here—” she motioned to a woman slightly older than Nigel, short and stocky, with features similar to Jin’s.

  “Mitsuri Edda,” the woman introduced herself with a small bow.

  Layla nodded approvingly before shifting her attention to the next person—a young man who bore a striking resemblance to William, except with chestnut-brown hair and glasses even larger than his.

  “James Barney,” he said, his voice quiet but composed.

  Layla huffed, placing a hand on her hip. “Come on, people, a little more enthusiasm wouldn’t kill you.”

  Without waiting for a response, she turned to the final member—a woman with light brown skin, sharp almond-shaped eyes, and high cheekbones.

  “Lawan Bunsi,” the woman said, her voice smooth, measured.

  With the introductions complete, Layla beamed at the group. “And that’s everyone! Welcome to the Coalition.”

  The group continued eating, though the atmosphere wasn’t what Layla had hoped for. An uncomfortable silence settled over the table.

  James exchanged glances with Dovak and William, as if searching for something unspoken between them. Meanwhile, Edda and Lawan’s eyes lingered on Nigel, observing him with quiet interest.

  Nyx mulled over possible conversation starters, but nothing seemed right. Claire, on the other hand, paid no mind to the awkwardness, focused entirely on her food.

  The silence stretched—until Sam finally broke it.

  “Beer in the morning?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at Lars, who was nursing a large mug of ale.

  Lars barely looked up. “Got a prrroblem with that?” he slurred, rolling the ‘r’ with lazy defiance.

  Sam smirked. “Not at all. But since you seem like a seasoned drinker, how about a little challenge?” He grabbed a full pint from the table, tilting it slightly in invitation.

  Lars’ tired eyes sharpened. Then, with an exaggerated gasp, he slammed his hand on the table. “Listen to this brat! Challengin’ me, Lars Laswood? Alright then, kid—first to finish two pints wins!”

  Excitement rippled through the room as everyone turned their attention to the unfolding challenge. Layla hurried to pour the drinks, setting two foaming pints in front of each competitor.

  All eyes were on them as someone started the countdown.

  Three…

  Two…

  One—Go!

  Both men grabbed their pints and downed the first one in a single gulp. But while Lars had experience, Sam had speed. Before the old man even finished his first, Sam had already slammed his second empty mug on the table.

  Lars blinked. Then, realizing what had just happened, he scowled. “Dammmmit!” he groaned. “You lil’ punk… ya got guts.”

  Sam shot him a victorious smirk. “And you’ve got a slow liver.”

  Lars let out a booming laugh, wiping the foam from his beard. “I like ya, kid.”

  The tension in the room eased instantly. Conversations started up, laughter rippling through the group. The ice had been broken.

  Even Nigel, though still reserved, found himself answering the occasional question between bites of food.

  At first, he felt a flicker of something—an urge to join in, to let himself be part of the moment. The laughter, the camaraderie—it was different from what he was used to, unfamiliar yet… tempting. But then, a voice in the back of his mind whispered.

  This isn’t for you.

  Stay focused.

  You don’t need them. You have a goal.

  The moment soured. His shoulders tensed, his grip tightening slightly around his bowl. The warmth he had started to let in was slipping away, replaced by the cold weight of instinct, of old habits reminding him to keep his distance.

  Layla, perceptive as always, caught the shift in his demeanor. Her cheerful expression faltered, and she took a step toward him, about to say something—

  Then, without warning, a sharp chime rang through the air.

  A holographic message displayed above everyone’s wristbands, glowing letters flickering into existence.

  Silence settled over the group as they read the message.

  Layla was the first to speak, her tone losing its usual lightness. “Looks like our next mission has been decided.”

  Her eyes flickered with something unreadable—anticipation, maybe, or the weight of understanding that whatever lay ahead would be far from simple.

  Nigel exhaled slowly, his earlier thoughts momentarily pushed aside. A legendary warship. A weapon of untold power, and dangerous journey beneath the surface.

  It wasn’t just another task. It was a challenge.

  And for the first time in a long time, despite himself—despite the voice in his head—he felt the faintest flicker of something familiar.

  Not fear, not hesitation, but excitement. The fire inside him was starting to burn more, little by little.