Halvic stepped out of the tavern without looking back.
The door shut behind him with a clean, final sound, cutting the warmth and noise into something distant and irrelevant. Inside, the tavern hesitated—like it had lost its center of gravity for a moment—then slowly resumed itself.
Voices returned in pieces. A laugh. A chair sliding.
A glass being set down too carefully.
Shura remained near the entrance.
The letter was still in his hand.
For a few seconds, nobody spoke to him. Then a man at a nearby table tilted his head slightly.
"…You're really following him?"
Another leaned back.
"That's Halvic. Kid's either brave or already dead and just doesn't know it yet."
A third added, almost casually:
"He doesn't like being followed."
Shura didn't respond immediately. His gaze stayed on the door Halvic had just used.
Then, quietly:
"I'm delivering a letter."
A short pause followed that, like the sentence didn't quite belong in the room.
Then someone laughed under their breath.
"Yeah. That'll do it."
The interest faded almost immediately after that. Not because they believed him—but because he wasn't the main story anymore.
Outside, Halvic was already walking down the wooden path.
He moved as if the path had already been agreed on.
Shura followed.
He didn't close the distance, and he didn't let it grow too wide. Just enough space that Halvic's shape stayed clear between lanternlight and shadow.
The tavern glow behind them shrank into warm fragments reflected on the lake.
The path widened as they moved away from the clustered buildings. Wooden boards gave way to rougher planks, then to simple dirt reinforced by scattered stone.
On the left, the lake opened fully—dark water shifting under soft wind.
A few dockworkers were finishing their work. Ropes were being coiled. Boats checked. One by one, people began leaving the shoreline as if some invisible timing had reached its end.
Shura slowed slightly.
"…Is something changing?" he asked under his breath.
No answer came from Halvic.
The man didn't even turn.
They continued walking.
The docks grew closer now, extending into the water like long ribs. Several small boats were tied loosely, bumping gently against wood with each wave.
One boatman stood nearby, finishing his work.
He looked up as Halvic approached.
"Late," the boatman said simply.
Halvic stopped at the edge of the dock.
"I didn't ask for punctuality."
The boatman snorted once.
"No, you never do."
A brief glance passed between them—familiar, uninterested in explanation.
Then the boatman's eyes shifted past Halvic.
To Shura.
"That one with you?"
Halvic didn't look back.
"No."
A pause.
Then, without changing tone:
"Unless he insists on being a problem."
Shura stepped forward onto the dock without hesitation.
The boatman sighed.
"You picking up strays now?"
"I don't pick anything," Halvic said. "I arrive."
The boatman stared at Shura for a moment longer.
Then shrugged.
"Fine. Get in."
The boat rocked slightly as Shura stepped aboard.
He moved carefully, choosing a seat at the far side—not facing Halvic directly, but not hiding either. A position where he could see everything without interrupting it.
Halvic sat near the center, leaning back.
The boatman untied the rope. Wood loosened from wood. And the boat pushed away from the dock.
The lake accepted them without resistance.
The surface rippled softly under the boat's weight, spreading slow circles that faded into darkness.
Behind them, Tapola began to shrink—lanterns thinning into scattered light along the shore.
The shorelights broke apart behind them, losing their shape as distance swallowed them.
Ahead, only water.
For a while, no one spoke.
Only the sound of wood and water filled the space between them.
The boatman guided them with steady, practiced movements. The oar dipped, pulled, and released in a rhythm that didn't need attention.
Halvic stared outward.
Shura watched him instead of the water.
The silence stretched long enough to become natural.
Then Halvic spoke, without turning.
"You're persistent."
Shura answered after a moment.
"I was assigned to this."
A faint exhale—almost not a laugh.
"That sounds like someone trying to survive paperwork."
Shura blinked once.
"I am."
That earned a brief glance from Halvic. Not curiosity. Just measurement. Then silence again.
The boat continued forward.
The shoreline was now far enough that the town looked flattened—lights smeared across water like faint marks rather than structures.
Wind moved more openly here. Cooler. Less controlled.
Shura's hand rested on the edge of the boat.
"…Where are we going?" he asked.
Halvic didn't answer immediately.
The boatman did.
"Depends how long you follow him."
Shura looked toward the boatman.
"That's not an answer."
The boatman smiled slightly.
"It usually isn't."
Halvic shifted slightly, adjusting his position. Not sleep. Not rest. Just a change in awareness.
"You still have the letter," he said.
Shura nodded.
"Yes."
"That's why you're here?"
"Yes."
Halvic was quiet for a moment.
Then.
"That's not a good reason."
Shura didn't respond. He didn't have another one. The boat drifted deeper into the lake.
The water grew darker, less reflective, as if it was no longer interested in mirroring anything above it.
Shura finally spoke again.
"The people at the tavern said you don't like visitors."
Halvic gave a small shrug.
"I don't like interruptions."
A pause.
Shura looked down at the letter.
"…This is an interruption?"
Halvic's gaze flicked briefly toward it.
"Yes."
Then, after a beat.
"But not mine."
That line stayed in the air longer than the others.
The boatman glanced between them once, then focused forward again.
Halvic leaned back slightly.
For a while, he didn't speak again.
Neither did Shura.
The boat continued its slow movement across the lake, cutting through water that didn't seem to care whether they arrived anywhere at all.
Halvic's eyes closed again—not fully asleep this time, but resting in a way that still kept him present.
His breathing slowed, steady enough to suggest this was familiar, not accidental.
And Shura watched.
He wasn't watching Halvic. He wasn't watching the water. He was watching the distance between them.