Chapter 1: Could you do me a favor

  How long had Hans been waiting for the bell to ding? He pondered this as his legs dangled over the edge of the city. The water beneath him, pushed back by the city's movement, seemed to slow down at a steady rate.

  Ding dong. Ding dong.

  The bell finally rang, and Hans let out a hefty sigh. His patience had been running thin, and his hunger from skipping breakfast didn’t help. The rusty metal he sat on offered no comfort. Pulling his bucket closer, he reeled in his fishing hook, whistling absentmindedly as he waited. Suddenly, a force yanked on the line. Whatever he had caught struggled against him, signaling it wasn’t another old shoe. He gripped the reel tighter, pulling with all his strength.

  Finally, the hook emerged, and Hans saw what he had caught: a spider-like fish. Its eight eyes glared at him, and instead of a tail, it had eight small crab-like legs. He sighed.

  "This one again," he muttered.

  Hans pulled a wooden knife from his pocket and stabbed the creature. White blood spewed out as its blue fins opened, sharp bone spikes shooting outward. He winced, remembering his first encounter with this species and the mistake of handling one bare-handed. The scars on his palm served as a permanent reminder. Shaking off the memory, he cast his line again and resumed fishing.

  All day, it was the same breed. By the end of an hour, he had caught six of them, whatever they were called. The bell dinged again, and the water began flowing outward as the town resumed its slow movement. Hans stood up from the cold artificial shore, carrying his bucket. As he walked through the bustling city, other fishers scattered about—some gathering in groups to brag about their catches, others heading into shops with bundles of money ready to trade.

  Flags bearing the image of a man clutching a book to his chest fluttered above, the largest standing like great masts across the city. They were a constant reminder that this city belonged to the Remnants—a group determined to preserve knowledge after the Great Flood.

  The Great Flood had occurred during the 21st century. No one knew what caused it. Weather patterns spiked, bringing storms, tsunamis, and floods unparalleled in history. The only safe places were air and sea. Rafts, boats, and ships became humanity's lifeline. When it all ended, humanity had barely survived, while many animals that failed to adapt went extinct. Two million years later, the only reason humanity hadn’t forgotten its roots was because of the Remnants—one of the six surviving human groups. Three of these groups had evolved into entirely new species.

  The Remnants prioritized knowledge above all else. Their original mission was to protect the knowledge of the old world. Once they had discovered all they could in their circumstances, they turned their focus to researching the new world—its creatures, agriculture, weaponry, and landmarks. Hans glanced at one of the many posters scattered around the city. It was a job application for Ydgar Farms. As knowledgeable as the Remnants were, their knack for naming things left much to be desired. The better names had been claimed by scavengers long ago.

  Ydgar was so obscure that it sometimes went unnoticed. Occasionally, stray seekers would land on its shores for supplies and ask where they were. The answer was always the same: they were either in Bjut or Corg—again, not the best-named places. Even locals struggled to remember when Founder’s Day was, ironically cementing Ydgar’s identity as the "city in the middle of nowhere" in the Nordic Sea.

  After a long walk, Hans reached his poor excuse for a house. Leaky spots dotted the roof, a testament to its lack of maintenance. The small hut, made of cheap, poorly constructed metal, was one of the worst in a district already infamous for housing the lowest-income earners. Hans pushed open the door, which lacked a lock or doorknob. The only "security" was the moss and rust clinging to the building.

  Inside, the bare and wet floor doubled as his bed at times. A single table sat against the wall. On it lay a rusty metal knife, a poor-quality plate made of prickly wood (washing it was another nightmare), and a spare fishing hook—his pointless heirloom. Nearby, a small, cracked toilet stood in the corner, a government provision meant to prevent disease outbreaks. Hans proceeded to the table, carefully avoiding the spikes, and pulled the dead fish out of the bucket.

  "Well, time to prepare it," he muttered.

  He set the creature on his plate and started removing its shell, cutting with strength and precision. After slowly and carefully peeling off its shell-like skin, he mentally prepared himself. Poking the now soft yet firm meat, he swiftly pulled his hand away as bone spikes protruded—fifteen in total, each about five centimeters long.

  "Whew," he exhaled, shaking his head.

  He glanced at the four others waiting in the bucket, contemplating the task ahead. Eventually, he finished preparing the fish, setting two aside and placing the others back in the bucket. Holding it tightly, he left his house.

  Hans would have been glad to keep the fish he’d caught, but as a citizen of Ydgar and a member of the Remnants, he had to pay taxes—the poor’s number one enemy. All Remnant cities were infamous for their high taxes, necessary to sponsor the Remnants’ research and activities. Hans hated the thought of the day an official would bang on his door, demanding 97% of his earnings. If he couldn’t pay, he’d face public humiliation and punishment, often tied to a headlight at city hall.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  Shaking off the daunting thought, Hans reached his destination—a shop the size of two medium houses. A sign in front bore the symbol:

  Colm’s Fish and Supplies

  Hans opened the door. An array of fishing hooks and spices surrounded him, while labeled sacks of fish sat neatly along the walls. Behind the counter, a young man—two years older than Hans—sat with a firm bundle of cash next to him. His blue eyes glistened brightly, contrasting with the dark circles beneath them. His unkempt blue hair and a shirt depicting a fish fin added to his slightly chaotic look. Noticing Hans, the man smiled wider than usual.

  “Hey, Murr,” Hans greeted, stepping closer.

  “What did you bring for me today?” Murray asked, rubbing his hands together eagerly.

  Hans fished through the bucket and dropped the spider-like creatures on the counter. Murray’s eyes lit up as he examined them.

  “You’re the best, Hans,” Murray said.

  Hans frowned. “I brought these yesterday, the day before that, and last week too.”

  “I know,” Murray said, grinning. “But a buyer came in yesterday. Turns out, these are worth a lot.”

  “So, I’ll get more compensation?” Hans asked, hopeful.

  Murray’s grin widened. “Who said anything about more compensation?”

  “Murr, we’re like family,” Hans argued. “And family should share the profit.”

  Murray leaned back, his expression smug. “Family shouldn’t have a problem with the same amount as before.”

  Hans’s frustration grew. Taxes were coming up, and without a bonus, he wasn’t sure he’d make it. He hated the thought of the public cleaning punishment awaiting him if he couldn’t pay.

  “I’ll do any favor you ask,” Hans said, a bit desperately.

  Murray’s smile turned eerie, as though this was exactly what he’d been waiting to hear.

  “You’d do well to respect that vow,” he said.

  Hans didn’t know what he’d gotten into. Murray carried half the bundle and dropped it in front of him. Whatever wonders this money could bring him would pale compared to whatever twisted favor Murray might demand. Hans smiled halfheartedly as he pocketed the money—a Pyrrhic victory at best.

  At that moment, the door opened once more. A buff man wearing white clothing entered, an “X” sign imprinted on his shirt. He carried an empty sack over his shoulder.

  “Don,” Murray said, looking in his direction.

  Hans remembered Don. He was one of the slaves sent to Bjut as an apology after the scavengers had attacked. Six of them had been given to Bjut, but Dictator Francis had purchased them and brought them to Ydgar for unknown reasons. Don had become his errand boy, frequently visiting the shop for fish and spices.

  “I need all the spices you have and twenty erdutilites with thirty ojytyres,” Don announced.

  So that’s what the fish were called, Hans thought.

  “Quite a hefty order you’ve got there,” Murray said.

  Don placed a bundle of money on the counter—five times larger than the bundle Hans had seen earlier. Murray’s eyes lit up as he began fulfilling the order without a single question. Hans looked at Don curiously.

  “The dictator seems to have quite the appetite,” Hans remarked.

  “He’s preparing for an expedition to Pacifica,” Don replied.

  “Oh, the Sea of the Unexpected? What’s the purpose?” Hans asked.

  “A new species discovery,” Don said simply.

  Murray had already finished packing the order. The sacks were full, lined up neatly on the counter.

  “Are you sure it’s safe, though?” Murray asked.

  “Huh?” Don and Hans responded simultaneously.

  “I heard the Freeborn managed to capture an entire city,” Murray said.

  Hans blinked. “How?”

  Murray tapped the table thoughtfully as Don began lifting the hefty sacks.

  “It happened in Meeds—that popular backwater city in Pacifica—about two weeks ago. It was a planned attack, apparently. They used scavenger-based weapons… stolen, so the scavengers claim,” Murray added with sarcasm.

  Hans face-palmed. Why does he have to say this in front of Don?

  Murray was never considerate about what he said, always speaking his mind. Don didn’t react visibly but seemed to be paying close attention.

  “In the middle of the night, the city’s security was poisoned. It was so sudden, no one saw it coming. Traitors everywhere—from citizens to officials. It was a massacre. By the time the sun rose, it was too late. Remnants of the flags were floating at sea, and the city was gone from its position,” Murray recounted.

  Silence fell between them as Hans and Murray glanced at Don worriedly.

  “Don’t worry. What do rats do on a drowning ship?” Don said, trying to reassure them. He waved goodbye as he left the shop with his load.

  Hans turned to Murray, who had slumped back in his chair with a resigned look.

  “I think that’s the last we’ll ever see of him,” Murray said passively.

  “Murray!” Hans exclaimed.

  “In fact, I’m not sure this town is safe,” Murray added.

  “What do you mean?” Hans asked.

  “They attack backwater towns. We’re living in one,” Murray explained.

  “This town is mostly unknown. Even the seekers said so,” Hans countered.

  “Exactly. No one would notice if an unknown town disappeared,” Murray replied.

  Hans fell silent, unable to rebuke the statement. After a moment, Murray shifted the conversation.

  “About those seekers who landed here recently,” Murray began.

  Hans nodded, unsure where this was going.

  “I know the reason they’re here,” Murray said.

  “What is it?” Hans asked.

  “It’s because of a mysterious sound often heard when sailing nearby. They’d hear a beautiful humming, consistent in tone and volume, day and night, audible even from seventy kilometers away. Our town is closest to the source of the sound,” Murray explained.

  “So?” Hans asked.

  “The Remnants haven’t found the cause to this day,” Murray said.

  “And?” Hans prompted.

  Murray looked annoyed. “You seriously don’t get it? This is my chance to become a seeker!”

  Seekers were Remnant adventurers who explored the world, searching for knowledge and unknown species. Hans knew how much this meant to Murray. Growing up, Murray’s parents had struggled to provide him with an education, balancing it with the crushing taxes of Ydgar. His father had trained him in trading and bargaining, eventually passing down the shop to him. Despite this, Murray had always dreamed of becoming a seeker.

  “If the seekers couldn’t find it, how would you? Alone and without proper equipment?” Hans questioned.

  “Exactly! If I find something, the seekers will have to notice me. They’ll give me a position, even if it’s a small one,” Murray said, grinning.

  Hans smacked his forehead. Murray’s smile widened.

  “And besides, who said I’m going alone?” Murray added.

  Hans groaned, cursing the few extra jounans in his pocket. “You’d do me that favor, wouldn’t you?”

  “you little piece of *****” Hans muttered.