The harbor smelled of fish and smoke. Kino sat on the planks, shivering as water dripped from his hair into his eyes. Men moved around him without much concern—hauling nets, gutting fish, shouting prices. A few gave him a glance, then returned to their work.
No one asked who he was. No one asked where he had come from.
He tried to stand. His legs trembled, weak as reeds. The storm had left every muscle sore. His hands were raw from clinging to the deck. His throat still burned with salt.
The island felt like a dream now, washed away in the night. Rose's hand on his cheek, Cisco's stern grip, Kaiji's laughter—gone. The man's green hair, his calm voice, the wooden swords—they seemed further still, as if the sea had swallowed even his memories.
Kino staggered along the dock, past piles of nets and barrels of fish. He needed to reach the capital. The sailors had said the canals led there, winding like rivers through the land. But he had no coin, no map, no one to guide him.
Children darted between the stalls—thin, quick, barefoot. One of them stopped a few paces ahead, watching him. A boy, maybe his age, maybe younger. Dark hair cropped close, sharp eyes set in a face too clever for its years. His clothes were patched and torn, his feet bare on the planks.
"You look lost," the boy said, grinning like he'd found something valuable.
Kino froze. "I… the capital. How do I get there?"
The boy tilted his head, sizing him up. "You don't sound like you're from around here. Or anywhere near here."
Kino's silence seemed to amuse him. He stepped closer, hands tucked into the folds of his ragged tunic. "Name's Kilsa. You're lucky I found you before someone else did. Strangers don't last long in these docks."
Kino frowned. "I don't need luck. Just a road to the capital."
Kilsa laughed, a quick, sharp sound. "Roads? No roads from here. Only canals. And the men who run the boats won't take you for free."
Kino's stomach sank. He had nothing. Not even the wooden sword he used to train with.
Kilsa must have seen the despair in his face, because his grin softened into something almost kind. "Come on. You look like you'll fall over any minute. I'll take you somewhere safer."
Kino hesitated. He had been told all his life not to trust strangers. Yet the boy's eyes weren't cruel like the sailors' had been. They were sharp, yes, but alive, filled with a restless spark.
"Where?" Kino asked.
Kilsa leaned in, lowering his voice. "The Church of Black and White. They'll give you food. Maybe a place to sleep. Maybe even work, if you're lucky."
The name chilled Kino, though he didn't know why. The way Kilsa whispered it made it sound like both a promise and a threat.
Still, his body ached, his throat was dry, and the world beyond the docks was nothing but noise and strangers. He nodded.
Kilsa's grin returned. "Good. Follow me."
The alleys beyond the harbor twisted like roots, damp and narrow. Shadows clung to every corner. The smell of fish gave way to rot, to smoke, to the stink of too many bodies pressed together. People huddled in doorways, their eyes following Kino with suspicion. Kilsa moved quickly, weaving through the maze with the ease of someone born to it.
"Keep up," he called over his shoulder. "This isn't the kind of place you want to get lost."
Kino hurried, though each step made his sore muscles protest. He felt the weight of eyes on him—hungry, calculating. His fine cloak, though damp and torn, marked him as someone who didn't belong here.
"Why help me?" Kino asked when he caught up.
Kilsa shrugged. "Because you look interesting. And interesting things usually mean coin. If not now, then later."
Kino frowned. "So I'm just a gamble to you?"
"Everything's a gamble," Kilsa said lightly. "But you'll thank me once you've had bread in your belly and a roof over your head."
The alleys narrowed further, until they spilled into a small square. At its center rose a building of stone, dark and heavy, its twin doors painted black on one side and white on the other. The walls bore no banners, no symbols, yet the place radiated weight, as if the air around it were thicker.
People passed by quickly, eyes downcast, giving the building wide berth.
"The Church of Black and White," Kilsa said, his voice tinged with mockery and reverence both. "They'll take anyone. Even you."
Kino stared at the doors. His heart beat faster. He thought of the forbidden library, of scrolls snatched from flames. Of secrets whispered between Rose and the man. He had always been on the outside of hidden things. And now he stood before another one, vast and waiting.
Kilsa nudged him. "Go on. Knock. Or wait out here and starve. Your choice."
Kino swallowed. The sea had taken everything from him. The island was gone. The man was gone. All that remained was forward.
He stepped toward the black-and-white doors.