"Those two," he muttered. "Of course."
He hesitated. The anger didn't vanish, but it deflated—like he'd been carrying it for too long, and it had worn him down more than he wanted to admit.
"Look," he said quietly, "I know what you're thinking. But… there's nothing to be done. Gunlaug won't care. He barely listens to anything that doesn't benefit him directly." He exhaled sharply. "I've tried. I've tried everything short of fighting them myself, and that'd just get me executed for starting trouble."
He shook his head, shoulders slumping.
"I appreciate everything you've done. Really. But this is where it ends."
"Mm," Sasrir murmured behind me.
I glanced back. He wasn't frowning, wasn't scowling. In fact… he was smiling.
A slow, dangerous, familiar smile.
Kai noticed it too. "What? Did I say something wrong?"
Sasrir didn't answer. Instead, he gave a casual little tilt of his head toward the door.
"Come with us," he said.
Kai blinked. "To the Castle? Now? I… I can't. I can't leave Mira like this—"
"She'll live," I said, tone gentle but firm. "And you said you wanted to repay us."
Kai grimaced, struggling. His protective instinct warred with his sense of obligation. He looked back at Mira, then at me, then at Sasrir—who still hadn't stopped smiling like someone who already knew the ending.
Finally, Kai let out a slow breath.
"…Alright. I'll go."
Sasrir nodded once, satisfied.
I turned toward the door, pushing it open and stepping out into the dim, fog-draped street. Kai, still visibly conflicted but determined, followed. Sasrir brought up the rear with that same infuriatingly calm air.
The shack door shut softly behind us.
And just like that, the three of us headed back toward the Bright Castle.
Sasrir didn't waste a second.
The moment we stepped back into the outer courtyard, he strode directly toward the front gate Guard—the same man from earlier—and stopped so close the Sleeper had to crane his neck upward just to meet Sasrir's eyes.
"We are here," Sasrir said, voice low and perfectly level, "to present a criminal case before Lord Gunlaug and request formal judgment."
The Guard's expression froze.
His mouth opened. Nothing came out.
Beside me, Kai stared at Sasrir like the words simply didn't compute. The idea of asking Gunlaug for justice—in the Forgotten Shore—felt like insanity. No one did that. No one even imagined doing that.
But Sasrir did not blink. He did not repeat himself. He simply waited.
After a silent, suffocating moment, the Guard swallowed. Hard. Then, trembling slightly, he nodded and scrambled inside, almost tripping over his own boots in his haste.
Kai leaned close to me and whispered, "Is he serious? You're not actually planning to—"
But before he could finish, Sasrir spoke without turning around.
"Patience," he murmured. "You will understand soon."
Kai fell silent.
We waited. The air grew tense and heavy, guards at the walls keeping their eyes carefully elsewhere so as not to meet ours. Even the wind felt like it didn't want to make noise.
After several minutes, the original Guard returned—and he wasn't alone.
Four more Guards marched behind him in a tight formation, armed to the teeth. Not the usual ragged spears and machetes either—proper polearms, reinforced armor, face masks. The kind of heavy mobilization reserved for outbreaks, rampaging abominations, or the rare, unthinkable occasion when Gunlaug felt threatened.
They were afraid of Sasrir. All five of them.
Kai's breath hitched at the sight.
"I… I think this was a bad idea," he whispered.
I laid a hand on his shoulder briefly—not to reassure him, but to keep him from bolting.
"Relax," I said. "If we intended violence, no one here would be standing right now."
That didn't seem to relax him at all.
The Guard captain cleared his throat, voice cracking slightly as he spoke:
"Lord Gunlaug… will hear your petition."
They fell into formation around us—two in front, two at our sides, one behind. A full escort. Or a full containment squad depending on how you looked at it.
We began walking.
Through corridor after corridor, torches burning bright against carved stone, the footsteps of our escort echoing like drums. At first, people greeted us warmly—waves, friendly nods, cheerful calls of "Morning, Adam!" and "Sasrir, you're back early!"
But then they noticed the armored guards.
They noticed where we were headed.
Smiles faded. Conversations stopped. People stepped away from the walls to watch in silent curiosity or whispered worry. Some even moved to follow us, like drifting boats caught in the wake of a storm.
By the time we reached the inner hall, a small crowd trailed behind us—settlers, Sleepers, even a few Hunters and other Guards. Not close enough to cause trouble. Just enough to see something rare, something unheard of:
People daring to defy the decadent order imposed by the Bright Lord and his sadistic Lieutenants.
Then the doors opened.
The throne room of the Bright Lord was already lit, already waiting—and Gunlaug himself sat upon his elevated seat, draped in his armour of liquid gold, his heavy gaze locking onto us the instant we stepped in.
And I could tell despite not being able to see his face-He was smiling.
But it wasn't pleasant, or amused, or even curious.
It was the smile of a man who already smelled blood in the water.
"Welcome," Gunlaug rumbled, his voice echoing off the walls. "I hear you have… grievances to bring before me."