"Well I'll be damned," Torren muttered. "That's a beast."
Jessa leaned forward, eyes bright. "Is that a Fenrir?"
Damien nodded once.
"You selling?" someone joked.
Fenrir growled—low, dangerous.
"No," Damien said flatly.
That settled it.
Despite the initial surprise, the crew's reaction shifted quickly to admiration.
"That wolf could tear a demon apart," one deckhand said.
"Look at the size of it."
"And the slime—what is that thing?"
Luton pulsed proudly.
Friendly comments. Curious questions.
Damien answered very few.
He moved to the side of the deck, resting a hand on the railing, eyes fixed on the horizon. Fenrir remained close, body tense, tail stiff.
The ship soon began to move.
Ropes were loosened. Sails unfurled. The Grimhorn pulled away from the dock with a creak of wood and a chorus of shouted commands.
The city slowly receded.
The moment the ship fully left the harbor, Fenrir's agitation intensified.
