Chương 123: Chapter 121. A Whole New World

Harlin's boat cut through the water with surprising speed for its age, the weathered hull responding to each wave like it had memorized the sea's patterns over decades of use. Adom sat near the stern, one hand on his pack, watching as the old sailor consulted a compass that had started behaving oddly over the last hour.

"Damn thing," Harlin muttered, tapping the glass face of the instrument. The needle spun lazily, paused pointing southwest, then continued its rotation.

"That's how you know we're getting close." Adom nodded. He'd been expecting this.

"The mana interference."

"Exactly." Harlin put the useless compass away.

"Don't need it anyway. I know these waters by feel." They'd been traveling for nearly six hours. Adom had managed to sleep for five of them, his [Primordial Body] instantly shifting into recovery mode the moment he'd decided to rest. Harlin throttled back the engine until they were barely moving forward.

"This is as far as we go, boy." Adom stood, stretching his limbs. His muscles felt perfect—no stiffness, no fatigue, just pure readiness.

"You're sure we're halfway?"

"Sure as death and taxes." Harlin pointed toward the horizon where a hazy outline was just barely visible.

"That's the edge of the Highlands. Another three, maybe four hours by boat, but my girl's not built for what comes next."

"What comes next?"

"The currents change. Water gets thick, like you're sailing through honey. Then come the random whirlpools. After that..." Harlin made a popping sound with his lips.

"Floating rocks. Fog that burns your lungs. All manner of unpleasantness."

"Sounds charming."

"Doesn't it just." Harlin chuckled.

"You sure about this, Ghost? No shame in turning back." Adom checked his pack straps one final time.

"I'm sure. I'll meet you back at this spot in five days. Say, midday?"

"I'll be here." Harlin tilted his head.

"Though I admit I'm curious how you plan to—" Adom began weaving the mana pattern for [Flight], a spell he'd cast so many thousands of times that it felt like signing his name. The air around him stirred, then condensed, creating invisible platforms beneath his feet.

"Oh," Harlin said, impressed despite himself.

"That's handy." Adom rose slowly, careful not to destabilize the boat. The wind picked up as he ascended, catching Harlin's worn hat and nearly sending it into the sea.

"Sorry about that," Adom called down. Harlin secured his hat with one hand.

"Just make sure you come back in one piece, boy. I don't want to explain to your fans why the Ghost went missing."

"Five days," Adom confirmed, now hovering twenty feet above the boat.

"Midday." At this height, he could feel it clearly—the mana density increasing the closer he got to the Highlands. The air felt thicker, almost syrupy against his skin, but in a way that made his spell work more efficiently rather than hindering it. Like trying to swim in a perfect-temperature pool after practicing in cold ocean water. Below, Harlin's boat was already turning, heading back toward Northhaven.

Ahead, the hazy outline of the Highlands grew slightly more distinct—a massive landmass that seemed to shimmer oddly at the edges, as if it couldn't quite decide where it ended and the sky began. Adom took a breath, adjusted his trajectory slightly, and poured power into his spell. Fwoosh! The air split around him as he accelerated to a speed that would have made most flyers black out from the pressure.

But his [Primordial Body] simply adapted, his vision remaining crystal clear despite the wind, his lungs extracting oxygen efficiently from the rushing air. So convenient. Less than an hour to reach the shore, Adom calculated. At this rate, he'd have plenty of daylight left to get oriented and begin his search. As he flew, the water below began to change—patches of unusual color appeared, swirling patterns that didn't match the natural movement of waves.

In some places, the sea bulged upward as if something massive was pushing from below. In others, it seemed to curve unnaturally, defying gravity in ways that water simply shouldn't. The Giant Highlands were already making their presence known. Adom adjusted his flight path slightly higher, not wanting to discover what happened when one of those strange water formations encountered a passing mage. He had a mission to complete, and it didn't involve being swallowed by a whirlpool.

The mana grew denser with every mile. Adom landed on the rocky shore with surprising lightness, his feet touching down with less impact than he'd expected. He took an experimental hop and found himself rising a few inches higher than he should have, then descending more slowly.

"Huh. Gravity's about eighty percent of normal," he noted aloud. The Giant Highlands looked... disappointingly normal. Adom wasn't sure what he had expected—floating mountains, perhaps, or trees that grew upside down—but the shore where he stood was just a standard rocky beach giving way to ordinary-looking forest. The trees were tall pines mixed with broad-leafed varieties he recognized from the mainland, though perhaps a bit more vibrant in color.

A well-worn path led from the small dock area where tourist boats normally unloaded their passengers. A weathered sign read "WELCOME TO THE GIANT HIGHLANDS - PLEASE REMAIN ON MARKED TRAILS." Adom snorted. The sign had clearly been repainted multiple times, each iteration slightly more emphatic than the last. The Giant Highlands were one of the only pre-First Age locations not fully mapped or explored. Which was strange, considering how close they were to the mainland.

You'd think in thousands of years, someone would have gotten around to a proper survey. The problem wasn't access, exactly. Special boats with reinforced hulls and mana-dampening arrays could navigate the strange waters surrounding the islands. Every year, a modest number of tourists paid exorbitant fees to say they'd visited the Highlands, only to spend a few hours walking the same half-mile "nature trail" before returning to their ships with overpriced souvenirs.

Adom walked past a shuttered gift shop that sold "authentic Highland crystals" (which were just regular quartz with color dye) and "giant tooth necklaces" (definitely not from giants). A small restaurant stood nearby, closed for the season, its menu still advertising "The Biggest Sandwiches in the World!" The tourist area was a sad affair—just enough infrastructure to justify the expense of the journey, but not impressive enough to ever become truly popular.

Most visitors came simply to claim they'd been to the Highlands, not because there was anything particularly interesting to see in the safe zone. The real mystery of the Highlands lay beyond the marked trails. Adom pulled out his map and oriented himself. The Giant Highlands weren't just a single island but an archipelago stretching over two hundred miles from east to west. The portion visible from the mainland—where the tourist areas were located—represented maybe fifteen percent of the total landmass.

The rest remained largely unexplored. It wasn't for lack of trying. Over the centuries, numerous expeditions had attempted to map the interior and the western islands. Most returned with limited information and missing personnel. Some didn't return at all. The geography itself was part of the problem.

Beyond the familiar eastern shore, the Highlands transformed into increasingly bizarre terrain—dense forests where the trees grew so close together that no path could be maintained, valleys where the fog never cleared and compasses spun uselessly, mountains with slopes that seemed to shift angles when you weren't looking directly at them. But the real issue was the mana density. The further west you traveled, the more saturated the air became with magical energy.

For most people, this created disorientation, hallucinations, and an inability to maintain directional awareness. Mages had it even worse—their spells would work, but with unpredictable amplification or distortion. A simple light spell might create a blinding flash visible for miles, while a carefully prepared transportation crystals might send you fifty feet in the wrong direction.

Even with modern equipment and experienced guides, most expeditions couldn't penetrate more than twenty miles beyond the safe zone before becoming hopelessly lost. That left about eighty-five percent of the Highlands completely unknown. And then there were the stories about the giants. It was said that on quiet nights, if you ventured just beyond the safe zone and listened carefully, you could hear their footsteps—massive, rhythmic impacts that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.

Giants were widely considered to be extinct, having disappeared not long after dragons, phoenixes, and umbras vanished from the world. According to the old texts, they were among the first beings to manipulate mana, predating even the elves in magical sophistication. Most scholars believed that humans, elves, and dwarves all shared a common ancestor in giants, having branched off from them in the Primordial era.

The evidence was circumstantial but compelling—all three races could use magic in similar ways, all had comparable lifespans (before the Sundering altered things), and ancient skeletal remains showed structural similarities that suggested a shared evolutionary path. If any giants had survived into the modern era, the Highlands would be the logical place to find them. Still according to the ancient texts, the Giant Highlands weren't just a geographical anomaly.

They were supposedly the remnants of Giantholm, the last kingdom of the giants during the Primordial Era. If the texts were accurate, every foundational rune used in modern human magic originated here, carved by giant hands into stone and taught to the smaller races as either an act of generosity or condescension, depending on which account you believed. Finding these ruins would normally be like hunting for a specific grain of sand on a beach—theoretically possible but practically impossible.

No maps existed of the uncharted regions, and those who ventured beyond the safe zone rarely returned with coherent information. But Adom had an advantage most explorers didn't: a conversation with Mr. Biggins.

"I went there once," the dragon had told him, absently polishing his glasses as they sat in a cluttered office at the store.

"About fifteen thousand years ago, give or take a century."

"To the Highlands?" Adom had asked, trying not to sound too eager.

"Mmm. After the last of my kin had gone." Biggins had longingly stared into his teacup.

"I was searching for my place in this new world. Thought I might find some solace in a place old enough to remember when my kind ruled the skies." According to Biggins, he had managed to penetrate deep into the uncharted regions, far beyond where any human expedition had reached. There, he'd found evidence of a vast civilization—primitive by dragon standards but impressive for beings bound to the earth.

Ruins of massive stone structures, castles with doorways thirty feet high, ceremonial circles where the remnants of magical workings still lingered in the stones.

"But I went looking for answers about dragons, not giants," Biggins had admitted.

"Didn't pay much attention to the runes and such. Perhaps I should have, in retrospect. Fate has a funny way of making you regret the things you don't study, especially when you have millennia to dwell on your oversights." He had, however, remembered enough landmarks to give Adom a fighting chance of finding the most substantial ruins. Adom paused at the edge of the forest, considering what lay ahead.

The safe zone ended about half a mile in, marked by a final warning sign that looked like it had been torn down and replaced multiple times. Beyond that, the mana density would increase exponentially with each mile. He reached into his storage ring and withdrew two metallic objects that glinted in the sunlight. Wam and Bam, his battle gauntlets, slid onto his hands with the satisfying click of perfectly fitted equipment. Master Kern and her apprentice Fili had outdone themselves with the latest upgrades.

The new runes etched along the knuckles channeled mana with twenty percent greater efficiency than the previous design. More importantly, they'd been specifically reinforced to withstand consecutive Thunder Shrimp punches without damage—at least five per gauntlet before needing repairs.

"Five each," Adom murmured, flexing his fingers inside the metal casing.

"That's pretty impressive." Most equipment couldn't handle the strain of even one, which was why previous versions of the gauntlets had needed constant repairs. Adom was curious if his [Primordial Body] could actually perform the technique without gauntlets now, but he wasn't quite ready to test that theory. With the gauntlets securely in place, Adom closed his eyes and centered himself. Inhale. Exhale. The familiar tension in his core built rapidly—a sensation like a spring coiling tighter and tighter. Shhhhh.

White Axis emanated from his body in waves of pure energy, visible only as a slight distortion in the air, like heat rising from sun-baked stones. This was, according to Biggins, the stabilized form of it. Unlike normal mana—blue, chaotic, responsive but ultimately wild—Axis was structured, organized, and infinitely more controllable. This had been Biggins' theory.

The ancient dragon wasn't sure if he'd successfully navigated the Highlands because of his draconic constitution or because he'd already mastered Axis by then.

"The mana density confuses normal magical senses," Biggins had explained, eating a chocolate bar he bought from himself.

"It's like trying to hear a whisper in a hurricane. But Axis might act as a filter. Chocolate?" Adom could feel the difference immediately. This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience. This stabilized version of the Axis circulated through his system with remarkable speed and efficiency—purer, more responsive, and significantly more powerful than standard mana and Fluid.

His theory was that Axis created a sort of buffer zone around his body, a membrane that processed the ambient mana before it could overwhelm his senses. The air around him suddenly felt lighter. His breathing eased, and the subtle pressure that had been building against his eardrums dissipated. Colors sharpened, and the faint buzzing that had been present at the edge of his awareness faded completely.

A notification appeared in his field of vision: [[Primordial Body] is absorbing uniquely dense mana and converting it to Axis] [Mana Pool: 1029/2001] [Mana Pool capacity increased by 1] Adom smiled. One mana point might seem insignificant, but the implications were enormous. His body was adapting to and benefiting from an environment that drove most people to hallucination and madness.

"What exactly are you?" he murmured, not for the first time wondering about the true nature of his [Primordial Body] trait. He'd asked the system directly, of course. Multiple times. The response was always the same: [Information unavailable] Even Biggins had been baffled.

"The term 'primordial' generally refers to the original three races," the dragon had said.

"Dragons, phoenixes, and umbras. But you show no characteristics of any of them." Adom had examined himself exhaustively. No scales had appeared on his skin, ruling out potential draconic evolution. No feathers or unusual heat resistance, eliminating phoenix traits. And he could still cast his own shadow, which immediately disqualified umbra heritage. Yet here he was. This journey was as much experiment as adventure.

The Highlands represented the perfect testing ground—isolated, saturated with unique magical energy, and containing ruins that might hold answers about the origins of human magic. If his [Primordial Body] responded anywhere, it would be here. Adom approached the limits of the safe zone.

"Let's see what secrets you're hiding." Adom moved efficiently through the forest, his enhanced body allowing him to leap from tree branch to tree branch with precision that would make most elven scouts envious. Each jump carried him fifteen, sometimes twenty feet—the reduced gravity turning what would normally be dangerous acrobatics into something almost leisurely. Jump. Land. Push off. Jump again. The rhythm became hypnotic after a while.

Trees blurred past—pine giving way to broadleaf, then to species he didn't recognize with bark that spiraled up the trunks and leaves that seemed to track his movement like curious eyes. While at it, his mana pool kept increasing. now at [1003/2002] Two hours in, he paused on a particularly large branch to check his bearings. According to his calculations, he'd covered nearly twelve miles. Well beyond where most expeditions managed to reach before turning back. And yet it was still just... trees. More trees.

Occasional clearings. A few streams with water that flowed just a bit too slowly to be natural. But otherwise, unremarkable wilderness.

"So much for ancient ruins," he muttered, taking a swig from his water flask. That's when he noticed the first body. It hung suspended about thirty feet away, dangling in mid-air as if invisible rope held it aloft. The corpse wore the tattered remains of what might have been expedition gear, the fabric rotted away to reveal bones and leathery skin beneath. The face--what remained of it--was gaunt, sunken. Classic signs of starvation. Adom frowned, a heaviness settling in his chest.

He continued forward, more cautiously now, and soon spotted another. This one more recent--a woman in mage's robes, perhaps two months dead, her body curiously well-preserved despite the humid environment. Her arms were outstretched as if reaching for something, and she too hung motionless in the air. A small knife was still clutched in one hand, dried blood visible on her wrists. The cause of death was pretty clear.

"Peace be upon your soul for what you've endured," Adom said quietly. The further he went, the more corpses he found. Some ancient, mere skeletons with fragments of clothing still clinging to yellowed bones. Others disturbingly recent, their flesh in various states of decomposition. All suspended at different heights, all frozen in different positions. The pattern became clearer with each body he passed. Some had clearly starved, too disoriented by the mana density to find their way back or identify safe food.

Others showed signs of poisoning--likely from consuming unfamiliar plants in desperation. A disturbing number bore self-inflicted wounds, their minds eventually broken by the hallucinatory effects of prolonged exposure to the intense mana saturation. These were almost certainly the remains of previous explorers who had ventured too far into the Highlands and succumbed to the most predictable fate: disorientation leading to poor decisions leading to death.

They probably had families waiting for them, colleagues who wondered what became of them. They'd come with the same curiosity and determination that drove him, but without a [Primordial Body] or Axis to shield them from the mana's effects. What had taken him hours to traverse had likely taken them days, their minds gradually unraveling with each step deeper into the unknown. Leaving them hanging there felt wrong. Disrespectful.

"You deserve better than this," he said, setting down his pack. Adom spent the next hour digging graves using targeted earth magic, creating deep holes in the soft forest floor. One by one, he used [Levitation] to gently lower each body into its final resting place. With each burial, he placed one of the anti-mana crystals he'd brought along—insurance in case his Axis failed—to ensure the strange gravity wouldn't pull the bodies back up.

The smell had been noticeable—a pervasive, sickly-sweet odor of decay that hung in the still air—but Adom worked through it, feeling it was the least he could do. He sighed deeply as he covered the final grave and marked it with a stone.

"If I find anything worth discovering here, I'll make sure the world knows what you were looking for." A moment of silence, then he moved on. Equally puzzling was the complete absence of monsters or wildlife. Biggins had specifically mentioned fauna—not all dangerous or hostile, but present nonetheless. The dragon had warned him to expect at least some confrontations. Yet three hours in, Adom hadn't seen so much as a squirrel. No birds called in the trees. No insects buzzed around the corpses.

The forest was utterly silent except for the soft sound of his own movement and breathing.

"This doesn't make sense," he said aloud, more to break the oppressive silence than anything else. He continued onward, more alert now, scanning not just for threats but for any sign of animal life. The floating corpses became more numerous in some areas, clustered in what almost looked like deliberate arrangements. In one clearing, five bodies formed a perfect pentagon, each equidistant from the others. He had to stop and bury them as well, then resumed his journey. [Mana Pool: 1002/2007], it kept increasing.

The absolute stillness of the forest was beginning to feel oppressive. Even the air seemed reluctant to move, hanging heavy and unmoving around him. His own breathing sounded unnaturally loud in the silence.

"Come on, Biggins," Adom muttered.

"You said there'd be monsters. Where are they?" As if in answer, a faint sound finally broke the silence—a soft rustling from somewhere ahead, so subtle he almost missed it. Adom paused, every sense on high alert.

"Where are the monsters," he said — in that dumb voice people use when they're quoting themselves being an idiot. Now there were noises. So. That worked. The rustling grew louder as Adom pushed through a particularly dense section of underbrush. The trees suddenly gave way, and he found himself at the edge of an enormous valley that stretched at least five miles across. He froze, one hand still gripping a branch, as his mind struggled to process what he was seeing.

"What the—" The valley floor was alive with movement. Enormous beasts unlike anything in Adom's considerable magical education lumbered across the landscape, their massive bodies dwarfing the trees that surrounded them. Nearest to him, a creature with legs like tree trunks and a neck that extended impossibly high into the air was calmly stripping leaves from the top of a tall conifer. Its body alone must have been thirty feet long, with skin that appeared leathery and gray-green, patterned with subtle spots.

The neck added another twenty feet, terminating in a relatively small head with placid, cow-like eyes. Farther out, a herd of quadrupedal giants moved in formation, their backs adorned with plates of bone that stuck up like the sails of ships. They grazed methodically, heads lowered to the ground vegetation, their tails swinging lazily behind them. Near a small lake, creatures with three horns protruding from their massive heads drank in a neat line, their bodies easily the size of three wagons placed end-to-end.

Adom had read accounts of large creatures in ancient texts, but nothing had prepared him for the sheer scale of what he was witnessing. Everything here was big—not just larger than normal, but operating on a completely different order of magnitude. It was as if the world had once been built for inhabitants ten times human size, and these beasts were the last remnants of that era.

"This is incredible," he whispered, careful not to make any sudden movements. The long-necked creature nearest to him shifted, turning to reach for a different branch, and Adom got a better view of its full proportions. It moved with surprising grace for something so large, each step measured and deliberate. Adom observed their behavior carefully. They all appeared to be plant-eaters, their movements focused on tearing leaves from trees or cropping vegetation from the ground. That was a relief.

He decided to risk a closer look, sliding down from his perch at the forest's edge and moving slowly toward the nearest long-necked giant. The creature continued eating, seemingly unaware of his approach. When he was about fifty feet away, Adom used his Druidic ability. He focused, extending his consciousness toward the creature, feeling for the familiar pattern of awareness that all living things possessed.

The connection formed more easily than he expected, suggesting these beasts had minds more complex than the average forest animal.

"Hello?" Adom projected tentatively. The effect was immediate and dramatic. The long-necked creature's head jerked up so suddenly that it crashed into a branch, sending a shower of leaves raining down. Its eyes widened, and it let out a trumpeting sound somewhere between a bellow and a squeal. The noise sent a ripple of panic through the valley. The plated creatures broke into a surprisingly fast gallop. The three-horned beasts by the lake formed a defensive circle, heads pointing outward.

Dozens of smaller creatures Adom hadn't even noticed scattered from the underbrush, chirping in alarm.

"Oh no—sorry! Sorry!" Adom projected hastily, holding up his hands in a universal gesture of peace.

"I didn't mean to startle you. I'm just passing through." The long-necked creature stared down at him, its initial panic subsiding into wary curiosity. It blinked several times, then lowered its head until it was about twenty feet above Adom.

"What... are... you?" came the response. The mental voice was slow, deliberate, with a rumbling quality that matched the creature's size. Adom's Druidic ability didn't rely on shared language—it worked at a more fundamental level, allowing mind-to-mind communication where each participant perceived the exchange in whatever form was most natural to them. To Adom, it sounded like words. To the creature, it was likely something quite different.

"I'm a human," Adom replied, keeping his mental voice calm and steady.

"My name is Adom."

"Huuuu-man," the creature echoed, the concept clearly unfamiliar. Its massive head tilted slightly to one side.

"What manner of creature is this? Where do you come from, small one?"

"I'm from across the sea," Adom replied.

"From lands where creatures like you don't exist anymore." The beast considered this with slow deliberation.

"Why does tiny human come to this place? What do you seek?"

"I'm looking for ruins," Adom said.

"Ancient buildings made by giants—tall beings who walked on two legs, like me, but much larger." At this, the creature's entire demeanor changed. Its neck straightened sharply, and its consciousness flooded with a complex mixture of emotions—recognition, wariness.

"You seek the Stone-Singers?" it asked, the mental voice now vibrating with intensity. Adom's pulse quickened.

"You know where they are?"

At the same time... The boat bumped against the rickety dock just as night was falling, the last streaks of orange disappearing behind the silhouette of the Giant Highlands. The fisherman—who had introduced himself as Willem during the journey—secured the vessel with practiced efficiency.

"Well," he said, straightening up, "welcome to the ass-end of nowhere." Sam stepped onto the dock first, followed by Eren with Zuni's carrier. The others disembarked in silence, each taking in the looming darkness of the unfamiliar shore.

"Not many boats can make this crossing," Willem continued, gesturing to his vessel.

"Special hull reinforcements, mana dampeners, the works. Cost me a fortune, but the tourist traffic pays for it. During season, anyway." He gave them a pointed look.

"And this isn't season," Naia observed, carefully testing the stability of the dock with her foot.

"No, ma'am, it is not." Willem scratched his beard.

"Which is why I want to be very clear—stay in the safe zone. It's marked with blue lanterns. Beyond that, the mana density gets nasty. Even specialized compasses stop working, people get disoriented, sometimes they don't come back."

"How fascinating," Karion said, not sounding particularly concerned.

"Two days, then?" Mia asked.

"That's what we discussed on the way over," Willem confirmed.

"I'll be back at noon." Damus, who had been utterly silent during the entire journey, suddenly spoke.

"Harbinsky said Adom was returning in five days." All eyes turned to Sam, who shifted uncomfortably.

"I don't recall saying anything like that," he muttered. Damus stared at him with flat, unblinking eyes.

"Five days," he repeated. Willem looked between them.

"I can come back in five days if that's what you need. But are you all prepared for that long? I didn't see much baggage except on Red and his friend there." Damus held up his hand, displaying a storage ring.

"Survival kit. Enough for a month."

"Huh." Willem nodded.

"Practical."

"I'm prepared as well," Naia added, touching her own ring.

"Same," Karion said. Gus simply nodded, Luna mimicking the motion. Willem looked them over once more, then shrugged.

"Your funeral. Just don't get me in trouble. Like I said, it's not tourist season, and I'm doing you a favor."

"We appreciate it," Mia said.

"Five days," Sam said reluctantly.

"Noon." Willem climbed back into his boat.

"Remember—blue lanterns. Stay inside their perimeter. Beyond that..." He made a slicing motion across his throat. They watched as he maneuvered away from the dock, his boat soon becoming just a dark shape against the darkening sea.

"Well," Karion said brightly, turning to face the island, "here we are." The air felt different—heavier, almost pressurized against their skin. Sam took an experimental breath and found it oddly satisfying, like drinking water when you didn't realize you were thirsty.

"The mana density is incredible," Mia murmured, holding up her hand as if she could physically feel it between her fingers.

"It's denser than any dungeon I've been in," Gus noted quietly, watching Luna shift through a series of unusual colors.

"Actually," Sam said, unable to resist the opportunity to explain, "it's approximately four times denser than a Level S dungeon in the safe zone. But in the deeper areas, records suggest it behaves like an SS or even SSS environment. The density increases exponentially the further west you go."

"Which is why most expeditions fail," Naia added.

"The human mind isn't designed to process such concentrations."

"Mages go mad first," Karion said cheerfully.

"Our sensitivity to mana becomes a liability."

"How encouraging," Eren muttered. They followed the path from the dock, guided by the blue lanterns Willem had mentioned. The tourist area looked abandoned—a gift shop with shuttered windows, a small restaurant clearly closed for the season, a few informational placards that were too faded to read in the dim light. Damus suddenly stopped walking and turned to face Sam directly.

"The deeper zones," he said flatly.

"Don't tell me that's where he went." Everyone turned to stare at Sam, who felt his resolve crumbling under the collective weight of their expectation. Naia's eyebrow arched slightly. Mia crossed her arms. Karion looked positively gleeful at the prospect of danger.

"I—" Sam began, but was interrupted by an indignant squeaking from Zuni's carrier.

"Oh," Sam said, grateful for the distraction.

"I forgot." He turned to Eren.

"Zuni hates being in a cage. Actually, he hates the concept of cages in general. It offends him philosophically."

"Do not change the subject," Damus said, his monotone somehow managing to convey irritation. Sam ignored him, crouching to open Zuni's carrier. The quillick emerged with a series of indignant chirps, his spines flexing in what was unmistakably an expression of quillick outrage.

"Hey buddy, you've been asleep for so long." Sam said, reaching for Zuni, who hopped back with another sharp chirp.

"I know, I know. Sorry. We just didn't want you falling off my head or shoulder during the boat ride." Zuni's spines flattened slightly, but his big eyes remained accusatory. Damus sighed—the sound so unexpected from him that everyone turned to look.

"Harbinsky. Answer the question."

"Yes, Sam," Karion chimed in, eyes practically gleaming in the lantern light.

"Did our mutual friend venture into the dangerous, unexplored depths of a legendary mana-saturated death trap? Because if so, I'm only more determined to follow."

"That would be incredibly irresponsible," Mia said, but there was a note of uncertainty in her voice.

"Adom wouldn't just... walk into an S++ mana zone without preparation."

"Wouldn't he, though?" Karion countered.

"That's exactly the sort of thing he'd do."

"He's not suicidal," Naia observed coolly.

"Merely curious to a fault."

"He's survived worse," Gus added quietly. Sam raised his hands.

"Look, I really don't think we should—" Zuni's chirping suddenly changed pitch, becoming more urgent. The quillick wriggled violently in Sam's grip.

"Whoa, what's gotten into you?" Sam tried to hold onto him, but Zuni slipped free and dropped to the ground.

"Make your thing calm down," Damus said flatly. Zuni responded with a particularly shrill chirp, his spines briefly extending to their full length as he scurried toward the shore.

"He's not a 'thing,'" Sam protested, starting after the quillick.

"He's a sentient—""Wait," Gus interrupted, his normally reserved voice unusually sharp.

"Luna is sensing something." The group fell silent, turning to see the shimmerscale. Luna had gone completely still, her scales cycling through deep, dark blues and purples.

"What is it?" Naia asked, her hand slipping toward a concealed pocket in her robes. Gus frowned.

"She's picking up a significant mana signature. Something... large." Karion's hand went to his sword hilt.

"How large are we talking?"

"Look," Eren said, pointing toward the shore where Zuni had stopped, his small body rigid, spines fully extended. They all turned. At first, there was nothing—just dark water lapping against the rocky beach. Then, about fifty yards out, the surface bulged upward. A massive shape broke through, water cascading off scales as black as midnight. In the dim lantern light, they could make out an elongated form, easily the length of three fishing boats placed end to end.

A row of spines ran down its back, each one glinting like polished obsidian. The creature rose higher, revealing a serpentine neck that supported a wedge-shaped head. Yellow eyes, each the size of dinner plates, reflected the lantern light as it regarded them with what could only be described as ancient intelligence.

"Is that..." Eren whispered, his voice barely audible over the gentle lapping of waves.

"A leviathan," Mia finished, her usual confidence replaced by hushed awe.