Deckard glanced over at Redbeard, who stood motionless, giving him space to decide.

  He shifted his gaze to Ratu, perched awkwardly on Redbeard’s shoulder. He’d expected the fisherman to be ecstatic—cheering, maybe even tearing up in joy. Instead, Ratu sat stiff and silent.

  Odd.

  Deckard frowned. Was the poor guy just in shock? Or was something else going on?

  He shook it off. Right now, he had to focus on the choice before him.

  Redbeard’s hoard of legendary cards was tempting—some of them almost too tempting. But cards were the easiest thing for him to acquire, especially with his class. If he could figure out where gorillas roamed, he could hunt one down and earn this card the right way.

  The quest item was a harder call. He had no other leads on the Zulmers’ enemies—unless Ronan’s friend in the city decided to help. That was a thread too thin to count on.

  Then there was the tricorn hat. A quick search online confirmed that growth items were incredibly rare. Most hits were for the Rise of the Alien King event from a year ago, when players could trade event points for a full growth armor set. Their stats were posted everywhere online and they were incredible.

  Moreover, this hat didn’t have a level requirement and directly boosted attributes, instead of adding stats. That was a perfect fit for him. Too perfect to pass on.

  Decision made, he stepped forward. “I’ll take the tricorn hat and the alien ray gun.”

  You’ve received [Fracturer] and [Tidal Tricorn].

  Both items appeared in his inventory.

  He picked the [Fracturer] first. The weapon’s form was jagged and wrong, with barrels twisting at odd angles. Alien etchings crawled across its surface in a script his mind refused to read. Holding it made his fingers itch as if it hummed at a frequency not meant for human ears.

  Creepy, he thought, slipping the gun away and reaching for the hat.

  The tricorn was plain, weathered by time and sun. Its faded gray fabric was frayed at the edges, with uneven seams. It smelled faintly of sea salt and old rope.

  He placed it on his head. The wide brim settled low, casting a faint shadow across his eyes. Oddly enough, it made him feel taller. Sharper. A little more critical. A little more illustrious.

  “These are your choices?” Redbeard asked. Relief crept into his voice, even as he tried to hide it.

  Deckard’s lips twitched. He thought I’d strip him of his legendary cards. “Yes. They are.”

  “So be it.”

  The dimensional pocket around them shivered, then unraveled in a shimmer of light. Redbeard turned, feathers ruffling, already preparing to vanish.

  “Hey!” Deckard called out. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

  The parrot froze mid-step but didn’t turn. “You have your two treasures, human!”

  “What about Ratu? You promised to set him free.”

  A pause. Then Redbeard turned back slowly, his beak drawn tight. For a moment, it looked like he might protest—wings twitching, tail flicking in annoyance. But then he clicked his tongue and let out a sharp breath through his beak.

  “Fine. So be it.”

  With a reluctant shrug, Redbeard tossed his shoulder, and Ratu tumbled unceremoniously to the ground. The fisherman blinked, dazed, then scrambled upright and rushed toward Deckard. He dropped to his knees, clutching at Deckard’s leg, tears streaking down his face.

  “Thank you! Thank you!” he cried. “He block my mind—I no could speak, no could remind you! You save my life.”

  Deckard shifted uncomfortably, trying to peel the man off without hurting his feelings. “Uh… it’s fine. Really. You’re welcome. Just… yeah. You’re welcome.”

  You’ve saved Ratu, the Fisherman.

  It takes real character to help someone who wronged you.

  +30 righteousness

  +100 reputation with the villagers of Stiltwave Village

  Deckard blinked. So this was how you earned alignment points. By performing extraordinary acts of kindness.

  And saving Ratu had been one. It was by far the most gallant thing he’d done in AstroTerra so far. The guy had been nothing but a headache—loud, rude, and ungrateful. And he’d landed himself in this mess by borrowing cards from a pirate loan shark. Deckard had no obligation to help him.

  But he had anyway.

  It felt good to be recognized for it. The numbers were nice, but more than that, the system noticed. It rewarded decency. Or maybe it was just the Tidal Tricorn’s doing—its passive effect making it easier for actions to be rewarded with alignment points.

  Either way, the message was clear. If he wanted to keep progressing with this growth item, he couldn’t just chase power. He’d have to choose compassion. Mercy. Kindness.

  He let out a slow breath. That was… a lot to think about.

  Redbeard lingered at the edge of the undergrowth, his feathers half-blending into the jungle’s shadows. He wasn’t leaving—not yet. His eyes tracked Ratu with an unsettling focus, head tilted just slightly, like a hawk sizing up prey. The pirate’s stance was patient, too patient, as if waiting for Deckard to turn his back... waiting for one slip, one second too long.

  Ratu noticed too. He kept his eyes glued to the pirate, edging sideways and always staying just behind Deckard—positioning him like a human shield.

  Redbeard’s beak clicked, slow and deliberate. His eyes flashed. Then, with a low, threatening caw, he spread his wings and finally vanished into the brush, rustling through the leaves like a warning carried on the wind.

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  Ratu flinched, yelped, and bolted. He scrambled toward the shore, never once looking back.

  Deckard watched both of them go, then gave the jungle one last glance.

  “Alright,” he muttered. “Let’s go.”

  *

  Deckard was back in the backroom of Ronan’s shop.

  Ronan hunched over the alien gun, turning it carefully in his hands. “And the parrot had this, you said?”

  “Yes. I took it from him,” Deckard admitted.

  “Heeee… heeee…” The wheezing noise was half-laugh, half-snort—undecipherable Zulmerian body language.

  Ronan’s narrow pupils scanned the weapon. “To think They have managed to make such a portable version of this wicked machine… They are fine-tuning the Fracture. The monsters.” He paused, then added, “Thank you for bringing this to me. You did well.”

  Deckard blinked. Since when was Ronan this polite? He’d even said thank you.

  Could this be because I now have the [Friend of Zulmers] title? His relationship with the Zulmer race had passed the 100-point mark. If the villagers had grown warmer toward him after becoming friends with them, maybe Ronan had too. That would explain the sudden shift—less scorn, more accommodation.

  The Zulmer carried the Fracturer over to his worktable and opened a drawer, sifting through a small deck of cards.

  “Not this one. Not this one either. Ha! Found it.”

  He laid the card on the table and tapped a command on his wrist console. The card flared to life, bursting into light. A toolbox solidified in its place with a soft thunk of metal. The air crackled faintly in its wake.

  “Whoa. You can do that?”

  Ronan chuckled. “Of course. Subdimensionalization would be meaningless without dimensionalization.”

  “Cool,” Deckard murmured.

  Ronan opened the toolbox and pulled out a tool shaped like a screwdriver. He began prodding the weapon’s inner workings.

  “Hmm… I see… so that’s how they did it.”

  “What? What?”

  “Made a Fracturer this small. The letter I gave you—hand it over.”

  Deckard grinned. I knew it. There’s something special about his friend in the city.

  Ronan scribbled a quick note onto the paper and pressed it back into Deckard’s hand. His fingers lingered for a moment—just long enough to feel deliberate.

  “Show this to my friend in Aquascape. Be discreet.”

  Deckard nodded. “Wait, but you still haven’t told me who They are, or what you mean about fine-tuning the Fracture—”

  “I understand you have questions,” Ronan said. “But your job is to keep saving the creatures of your planet. Leave this matter to us Zulmers.”

  Deckard gulped. “Fine.”

  “Now go. I will study this device further.”

  Deckard turned toward the door. As he reached it, he hesitated—then glanced back. “Bye, Ronan.”

  Ronan didn’t look up. “Farewell.”

  Deckard let himself out and headed for the teleportation platform.

  At the platform, he paused to take in the island one last time. Moonlight shimmered across the ocean. The scent of coconut oil drifted from the lamps. Somewhere in the dark, a gull’s cry echoed.

  He’d had good moments here. But the next chapter of his adventure was waiting.

  He selected the first destination on the list—Aquascape—and triggered the teleport.

  Light swallowed him.

  Then faded.

  *

  In the blink of an eye, Deckard found himself standing in the heart of a vast square.

  The platform beneath him was massive—at least ten times larger than the one he’d just teleported from. It pulsed faintly with residual energy. Around him, other players shimmered into existence or vanished just as quickly, caught in the platform’s constant hum of travel.

  Six broad avenues led into the square, each carved from the same dark stone. There were no seams, no joints—just clean lines and smooth curves. The surrounding buildings rose from the ground in that same material, their surfaces seamless and flowing, as if coaxed from the rock itself. Everything had the graceful contours of something shaped, not assembled. The city didn’t feel constructed—it felt grown.

  Not all of it was stone, though.

  Colossal shells were embedded into walls and rooftops, their iridescent spirals gleaming in the soft light. Coral branches framed archways. Even bones—massive ribs and vertebrae from sea creatures long dead—had been repurposed into bridges, staircases, and fountains.

  Then he looked up—and stopped.

  The city sat beneath a gigantic dome of stone, high and rounded, like the inside of a mountain turned hollow. Most of it was solid rock, seamless and immense.

  But not all of it.

  One enormous section of the dome—like a single wedge carved out of an orange—was made of glass. The angle and shape gave the impression of an open eye gazing up. The rocky dome formed the lids. The glass—wide, clear, and curved—was the eye itself.

  Beyond it, the ocean loomed. Dark and deep. Pressed right up against the other side of the glass.

  Clusters of luminous jellyfish drifted near the surface, their translucent bodies pulsing with soft, bioluminescent light. The glow filtered down into the city below, casting everything in a gentle shimmer—like moonlight seen through moving water.

  So this is one of the cave cities, Deckard thought.

  These subterranean cities were what gave this world region its name: The Water Caves.

  The disorientation of teleportation finally began to fade. Everywhere he looked, there was something strange and majestic demanding his attention, but he forced himself to focus. He scanned the square, then spotted it—a familiar building from his research.

  It loomed at the convergence of several major streets, its structure echoing the grandeur of an ancient Greek temple. Towering stone columns of sandstone supported an impossibly heavy roof. Barnacles formed in spirals up their length.

  Even more striking than the architecture was the constant flow of players entering and exiting its broad, shell-framed doors. The movement was constant. It gave off the feel of a busy shopping mall on a rainy Sunday—crowded, restless, alive with activity.

  That has to be the auction house, Deckard thought. Perfect. I’ll dump my loot there and see what the card market looks like.

  Further into the city lay the Gaming Parlor, which he wanted to visit too—but one thing at a time.

  Relieved to have made a decision—something to anchor his focus—he set off toward the building.

  As he crossed the square, weaving through a crowd of players and NPCs alike, Deckard passed a woman heading toward the teleportation platform. She wore a robe laced with golden thread. A slender staff was strapped to her back, crowned with a luminous pearl that glowed softly. Her red hair was tied into a neat bun, with only two delicate strands framing her face.

  Her gear screamed, You’re such a noob, Deckard, but that wasn’t what caught his attention.

  There were slits along her neck—three on each side—narrow, pulsing slightly as she breathed.

  “Are those… gills?” Deckard asked before he could stop himself.

  The woman halted mid-step and turned, one brow lifting. “Never seen an Oceanling before?” she asked, a smile tugging at her lips.

  Deckard’s face went hot. He hadn’t meant to speak aloud—definitely not that loud.

  “I—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude.”

  Her smile widened. “Relax. Here. Feast your eyes.” She gave a playful twirl, her robe flaring out in a shimmer of golden thread.

  Deckard cleared his throat, unsure where to look. “Right. Uh, thanks.”

  The veteran laughed, clearly amused. “Look it up when you get a chance,” she said, already stepping away. “Oceanling’s an easy transformation. Real handy in this region.”

  She waved over her shoulder and vanished through the teleportation gate in a flash of pale light.

  He stood there, awkward. “Real smooth, Deckard.”

  Still, he was intrigued. Oceanling? Was that one of the game’s playable races?

  When he’d first started, the only options had been Human, Lizardman, or Skyling. There definitely hadn’t been a fourth.

  Before heading to the auction house, he pulled up the browser and typed: “Oceanling.”