From its name and the descriptions he’d heard in Pillarforge, Kai had pictured the Cloud Port as a grand, bustling harbor—a nexus of trade with a forest of masts, crowded docks, and the constant clamor of merchants and sailors. But this was Northend, a land defined by its isolation and harshness. The reality reflected that.

  Cloud Port was less a port city and more a tiny, tenacious fishing village clinging to the rugged coastline. It comprised maybe three dozen houses, all built so closely together they seemed to huddle for warmth and protection against the vast, grey expanse of the sea.

  The architectural style was immediately distinct from the farming hamlets inland. While every structure in the Northend was built for warmth, here there was a second, more urgent priority: keeping the water out.

  The houses were covered in a dark, tarry, waxy material that smelled of brine and pine resin, a waterproofing agent that gave the entire village a sleek, glistening appearance, especially under the misty coastal sky. Most striking was the village itself; it was built entirely upon a massive, raised platform of sturdy, salt-weathered timber, lifting it several feet above the rocky shore. It was a clear defense against the fierce tides that must crash against the coast, ensuring that a high storm surge wouldn't simply wash the entire community out to sea.

  Overall, it seemed an utterly normal fishing village. At least, that was Kai’s first impression as he walked across the creaking wooden platform that served as the main street.

  Then he saw the drying racks.

  Or rather, the processing yard. His gaze traveled past the smoking sheds and landed on a series of massive, crane-like wooden structures, their timbers thicker than a person. They weren't holding normal-sized fish. They were hoisting leviathans.

  Giant hooks, forged from black iron, were sunk into the flesh of monstrous sea creatures that hung like scaled banners. A series of ropes and pulleys strained to hold them aloft. Kai counted at least five fish that were over twenty feet in length, their bodies thicker than he was tall. Their scales were the size of dinner plates, and their gaping, glassy-eyed mouths looked large enough to swallow a man whole without a second thought. The fishermen, looking like mice working on a felled giant, were perched on scaffolding, using saws and blades nearly as long as they were to carve huge, ruby-red chunks of meat from the carcasses, which were then tossed into waiting barrels or fed into the smoking sheds.

  The sheer scale of it made Kai stop in his tracks and gawk, his mind struggling to reconcile the quiet village with the gargantuan harvest. He had grown accustomed to the oversized wildlife of the Northend's forests, but he hadn't considered that the same rule would apply to the sea. Because, of course it did.

  “Guess even the fish are giant here,” Kai mumbled under his breath, a statement of profound and unsettling realization. The scale of everything in this land was simply… more.

  This tiny, isolated village wasn't just feeding itself; it was likely processing enough meat from these catches to supply fish for the entire Cloud Coast for a season.

  “Got it!” a voice yelled, echoing off the weathered pilings of the dock.

  Kai turned from his observation of the village and looked down toward the rocky beach below. There, Gin was wading knee-deep in the churning, ice-cold surf, utterly focused on his task. He was using a massive, hollowed-out gourd—one he’d presumably been saving for a special batch of brew—to scoop up the seawater. He filled it to the brim, the water sloshing over the sides as he lifted the heavy vessel with a grunt of effort. He held it up, squinting at the water as if assessing its quality, gave a satisfied nod, and then hammered a stopper into its opening.

  With the practiced move of a man accustomed to carrying unbalanced loads, he hefted the sloshing gourd and slung it over his left shoulder, counterbalancing the large, already-full gourd of liquor that perpetually hung on his right. Now symmetrically weighted, albeit considerably heavier, he trudged out of the surf and jogged up a steep, rickety set of stairs that led from the beach back to the main dock, coming to a stop beside Kai with a pleased expression.

  Kai had originally planned to bring Lu Bu for this supply run to Cloud Port. But Gin had practically insisted on coming along, his motivation far removed from any interest in trade or exploration. He’d been unusually specific, explaining that he desperately needed seawater for a new concoction he was developing.

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  Normally, Kai would have dismissed such a request out of hand, chalking it up to another one of Gin’s obsessive brewing experiments and telling him to fetch his own water. But the dynamic between them had shifted.

  The drunkard had revealed himself to be a master alchemist, and he had been immensely helpful lately. He was finally pulling his weight, contributing something of tangible value to their community. The revolutionary medicine he’d crafted had, just yesterday, very likely saved a man’s life and salvaged a family. That kind of contribution bought a significant amount of leeway.

  And so, the disciples had been left behind at Azure Sky Haven to continue their training, and it was just Kai and Gin—with the ever-patient Snow waiting hidden far down the coast—who had made the trip to Cloud Port.

  As Gin approached, the fresh gourd sloshing at his side, he gave it a proud shake, the sound of the captured sea echoing within.

  “Got that seawater I’ve been looking for,” Gin announced to Kai, a grin spreading across his face. “The mineral content here is perfect. This’ll give the new batch a real kick.”

  “Won’t that just make whatever you’re brewing taste like a mouthful of ocean?” Kai asked, eyeing the sloshing gourd with a skeptical frown. The idea of intentionally salting alcohol seemed like a surefire way to ruin a perfectly good batch.

  “Maybe!” Gin replied, his enthusiasm undimmed by Kai’s doubt. “But that’s why it’s called an experiment. You gotta be willing to try all kinds of weird combinations, walk right up to the edge of terrible, if you ever want to stumble across something truly amazing. Most of my best brews started as mistakes.”

  “Whatever you say,” Kai said, his tone dismissive as he turned his attention back to the village, clearly unconvinced.

  Gin gave him a look of genuine disappointment, his bushy eyebrows knitting together. “You know,” he began, a note of challenge in his voice, “since you’ve got all these memories from a past life in another world, I would’ve thought you’d be more interested in this kind of thing. You said your past self worked at a place that made alcohol. I figured a fellow brewer would appreciate the art.”

  Kai shook his head. “I was more of a chef than a brewer. I just worked at a microbrewery. My job was to prepare food that paired well with the drinks, not to make the drinks themselves. I left the alchemy… I mean, the chemistry… to the actual brewers.”

  “Huh,” Gin grunted, the new information slotting into place. “So that explains it. You’ve got otherworldly recipes stuffed up in that head of yours. No wonder you’re so good at cooking.” He then brightened, his train of thought inevitably returning to his stomach. “Speaking of cooking, were you able to pick up some salmon? It’s one of my favorite fishes. A nice, pan-seared fillet with a crisp skin…”

  “I did,” Kai confirmed, patting a large, damp wrapped bundle in his pack. “Along with the salt I came for. They fortunately had some salmon already portioned. I bought some to take back home.”

  Gin’s eyes lit up with a gluttonous gleam. “I hope you got a whole salmon. My appetite’s no joke when it comes to that fish, especially after a long trip.”

  “Are you kidding!?” Kai blurted out, his voice laced with utter disbelief. He gestured wildly at the sheer scale of the operation around them. “There is no way we are lugging a whole salmon home on Snow’s back. It’s completely impractical!”

  To emphasize his point, he pointed toward one of the massive crane-like structures where a freshly caught salmon hung, waiting to be butchered. It was a leviathan, at least ten feet long from nose to tail, its silvery scales gleaming like shields.

  Gin followed his gaze, his expression shifting from hunger to dawning comprehension. “Right. The fish here are massive too. Forgot about that.”

  “The ‘few pieces’ of salmon I got,” Kai explained, “are steaks cut from a fish that size. A single one of those pieces is the equivalent of a dozen regular salmon fillets. So, trust me, you’re getting more than enough salmon to last us a while.”

  “Hmm,” Gin mused, scratching his stubbled chin as he stared at the monstrous fish. “Still surprising how big everything is here. But, I guess it’s not that surprising when you think about it. The rivers do all flow out into this ocean, after all.”

  Kai turned to him, intrigued by the seemingly offhand comment. It sounded like Gin was connecting dots he hadn’t considered. “Why would that matter?” he asked. “What do the rivers have to do with the size of the ocean fish?”

  Gin paused, his usual boozy bravado replaced by a rare, focused intensity. He stared out at the vast, grey ocean as if the answers were written on the waves, his brow furrowed in deep thought as he considered how to explain a discovery that had been simmering in the back of his mind for weeks.

  After a long, silent moment, he finally turned back to Kai, his expression uncharacteristically serious. “I think… I might have figured out why everything is so damn big in the Northend.”

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