The Divine Chosen was true to his word. Not long after he left, Nova received clean clothes and a noticeably softer bedding.
Dressed, the dark-haired youth pushed open the door—only to be smacked in the face by a fluttering streamer. Squinting as he brushed it aside, he jolted in shock when a strange creature rolled right past his toes.
Was that… a juvenile ground-fire dragon?
It was about the size of a calf, with four sturdy, agile claws, a tail tipped with a bulbous knot, and a body covered in rust-colored rough scales—except for a row of bright orange spines along its back, and a pair of tiny wings.
It had been chasing the fluttering streamers with its claws when it tripped, rolled a few times, and came face to face with a frozen, dark-haired stranger. The young dragon lowered its body, tilted its head, and began creeping toward Nova in a hunter’s crouch, letting out an eager clicking growl.
“Dada!”
A Natalin standing nearby barked the name sharply. The dragon snorted in protest, its gemstone-like golden-red eyes glaring frostily at the two humans.
Soon, a child ran over and latched onto the reluctant dragon’s neck, dragging it away by sheer force.
Nova was still in a daze when the nearby Natalin spoke to him.
Coincidentally—or not—it was the same warrior Nova had seen when he first woke. The man had introduced himself as “Ramda”… or was it “Ramla”? Maybe “Ramnah”? The professor chose to transliterate it his own way. So far, the average Natalin he’d encountered seemed unfamiliar with Common speech, which only made the Divine Chosen’s fluency more unusual.
Ramda led Nova to a larger, sturdier stone-and-earth building. Above the arched doorway hung the skull of a one-horned leviathan, its yellowed, needle-like teeth still glinting faintly—faint echoes of the sea king’s former might.
Inside, the lighting was dim, and the smell… difficult to describe politely. The place bustled with activity. Some led shaggy goats, others carried sacks of potatoes or hefted tools. One elderly ground-fire dragon lay belly-up beneath the counter, dozing. Ramda tugged Nova through the crowd toward a wooden counter—on top of which lay a grotesquely large sea fish. A Natalin beside it was proudly slapping its side and speaking animatedly.
With more onlookers gathering, the man sliced off a delicate piece of pale pink flesh and held it high for all to admire the fine marbling.
Nova watched, intrigued. At least three buyers seemed to want the fish. After some debate, the shopkeeper behind the counter—a woman—divided the fish into three portions, keeping the head and tail for herself.
As for the demonstration piece, the elderly dragon lazily snatched it away. The Natalin didn’t seem to mind; apparently, this was a common occurrence.
“Oh, don’t worry. Old Kaz is very friendly—most of the dragons that live in the valley are. Little Dada was just unfamiliar with your scent.”
Ramda offered Nova a few more reassurances. The young man looked at him, nodded slightly, and then let Old Kaz sniff the hem of his pants before the dragon plopped back down with a snore.
“Hey, Ramda!” The shopkeeper—having dealt with the fish head—approached with a satisfied grin, eyeing the dark-haired youth curiously. Even in traditional Natalin clothing, Nova looked completely out of place.
“He’s another one of those folks the Divine Chosen pulled out of the sea?” asked another Natalin nearby, forgetting his bag of potatoes to join in.
“Yup! I’m the one who brought him back to life myself!” Ramda declared proudly.
More people gathered. Even among those used to the Divine Chosen’s beauty, many had to admit: this outsider was striking in his own way.
Ramda was cheerful at first, answering questions with gusto, but soon became overwhelmed. He pushed through the crowd and shouted to the shopkeeper: “Aunty Bana! Three silverback fish, one sack of maam fruit—and oh, a bottle of sprain ointment too!”
The woman grinned. “Putting it all on your tab?”
“No problem!” Ramda pounded his chest with pride. “Hunting team did well this week—I got a big payout in points!”
“Yeah, and it’ll be gone in three days—traded for mead, no doubt.”
A cold female voice cut in. The other Natalin chuckled and stepped aside, making way for a red-haired female warrior.
“Ramina…”
Ramda chuckled sheepishly and scratched his head.
The female warrior ignored him, scanning the room sternly before raising her voice: “The hunting team will be back soon. Stop crowding around and get back to your tasks!”
Despite her youth, her words carried authority. The crowd quickly dispersed, and Ramina grabbed both men, dragging them to a quieter corner of the trading post.
Ramda tried to make small talk, easing the tension. “Ramina, didn’t you go out with the hunting team today? Where is everyone else?”
“There was an incident. I returned early,” Ramina replied with a snort. She crossed her arms, gaze cold as she scrutinized the dark-haired noble standing behind her brother. He leaned against the wall with one hand, clearly unwell, but still calmly met her gaze.
“What are you doing bringing this guy to the trading hall?”
Her eyes never left Nova’s face.
“I brought him to get food and medicine. He hurt his ankle—”
“What I mean is—why did you bring him here,” Ramina snapped, emphasizing bring with unmistakable disapproval.
“Uh, didn’t the Divine Chosen say it’s okay to let him out?” Ramda mumbled, voice growing faint.
He snuck a glance at the black-haired youth—who immediately turned his gaze toward him, sharp and unblinking. Under those smoky gray eyes, even knowing Nova couldn’t understand them, Ramda still felt guilty as hell.
“Letting him out doesn’t mean letting him wander around freely, you—” Ramina was still lecturing her unruly brother when she suddenly heard someone speak up, voice awkward and off:
“Sea… rescued… person?”
“…?!”
The siblings whipped around in sync, staring at the black-haired youth.
The culprit, oblivious to how shocking it was that he was suddenly speaking, stared expressionlessly at the two similar-looking warriors and repeated: “Sea. Rescued. Person.”
This time he spoke more smoothly, even tacking on a new word: “Where.”
The two still didn’t reply. Nova began to wonder if he had misinterpreted those words—only for the red-haired warrior to suddenly lunge, slam him to the ground, and press a cold, curved blade to his throat.
“You do understand our language!” Ramina hissed, pressing the blade closer. “Why pretend otherwise? What do you want?!”
“Wait, Ramina—calm down!” Ramda urged, panicking. “This has to be some kind of misunderstanding—you’re gonna kill him—”
“Where. Sea. Rescued. Person.”
Even while sprawled helplessly on the ground, the dark-haired youth’s expression remained steady unchanged. He repeated the phrase, and something clicked for Ramda. He grabbed his sister’s arm and pulled her back.
“Ramina. He doesn’t speak our language.”
“You’re kidding me—he just—”
“He’s mimicking,” Ramda said quietly. “Listen. That our accent—hear it?”
The black-haired youth propped himself up and coughed weakly into his hand. It wasn’t unreasonable for the Natalin warriors to fear he might keel over any second. His faintly wavy black hair only made his skin look more sickly pale; his lips were nearly colorless, and a fine line between his brows suggested he’d spent years frowning.
Worse, he had a pair of piercing smoke-gray eyes—eyes that cut like precision scalpels. They reflected a detached, analytical gaze—bluntly observational in a way that defied social norms. It gave him an undeniably striking face… and made him nearly impossible to approach.
Honestly, it was unnerving—especially considering that, in under five minutes of chaotic chatter, he’d extracted and reproduced useful words from an entirely foreign language.
Suddenly, Ramina began to understand why the Divine Chosen was so intrigued by this man.
….
In the end, the Natalins still brought him to see the detained sailors. The three were locked up together. No one had been mistreated—aside from some shock, they looked perfectly fine.
“Professor Brody!”
Captain Scarbough scrutinized the young, lean noble with black hair. Seeing no extra injuries, he let out a relieved sigh.
“Those damned savages, those damned dragons!” he growled, the skin under his eyes bruised and dark. “There was a dragon clawing at the door all night—I yelled for ages, but no one came. I thought I’d never see daylight again!”
“No one came to check on you?” Nova looked at him thoughtfully. Upon receiving a negative answer, he blinked slowly.
“I think this has something to do with me,” he said, unusually slowing his speech and choosing his words with care. “I need some evidence.”
They might take their anger out on his fellow sailors, and a normal person would feel guilty enough to act with caution.
Captain Scarbough, unable to follow the professor’s strange thought process, immediately called alert. “…Wait, what are you planning?”
This time, the response came quickly: “To confirm some suspicions—but I can’t tell you for now.”
“…Will it be dangerous?”
“Maybe,” Nova replied calmly. “Because in the Natalians’ eyes, we’re a unit. But I have a plan—I’ll teach you how to threaten them in the worst-case scenario, and there’s a good chance they’ll let you go. No need to worry too much.”
“That’s not what I meant, Professor. I’m worried about your safety,” Captain Scarbough sighed. He didn’t know whether to mock the idea that four half-dead people could threaten an entire tribe of warriors and one terrifying Windstrider, or to question what the hell a “ Natalin” even was.
“You saved my life, so I don’t want you to throw yours away here.” He opted for the bluntest expression possible.
“…I see.” The black-haired young man managed to open his mouth, then fell back into silence.
