Portugal. Rural Outskirts. Three Days Later.
By the third day of his stay, Shin had adjusted to the rhythm of the quiet town. Morning fog drifted through the hills. Local merchants opened their stalls with practiced ease. Chickens wandered freely on cobbled roads.
He liked the quiet.
He hadn't trained seriously in days. Only light exercises. Observation. Passive sensing.
The divine power inside him hadn't faded—but it had settled. Like lightning now asleep, waiting for the storm.
Out of curiosity, he began something small.
Language.
Shin had never studied Portuguese. But now, with Lightning's gift subtly humming inside his nervous system, he tried something new. He pushed—slightly—at the edge of his mind, like coaxing a new muscle to flex. The result was sharp focus, faster pattern recognition—and a dull pressure behind his eyes.
Over the next three days, he read quietly in street cafés. Scanned online texts. Listened to conversations. Watched how locals gestured when they spoke.
By the fourth day, he was starting to understand.
By the fifth, he could follow street talk well enough to get by—and that's when he overheard the story.
A pair of older women were gossiping beside a fish stall, their voices sharp enough to cut through the market's hum. "—and I swear, Maria, he lifted the whole side of the road like it was nothing! I nearly dropped my eggs." The other snorted. "Pfft. Must've been a sinkhole." "No sinkhole throws rocks back up, I'm telling you."
Shin lingered nearby, pretending to check the fruit piled neatly on the corner table. Their chatter slipped easily into the air, too careless to notice the stranger listening. They bickered about "the foreign boy" who'd saved a child, about the ledge that didn't crack after all, about how it must've been "the saints or something." Shin filed the story away without expression, deciding it was worth checking.
Later that afternoon, wandering closer to the district the women had mentioned, Shin spotted a young boy at a bread stand—thin arms, curious eyes, the right age to have been there. He bought a few sweets from a vendor and approached slowly. "You were near the cliff last week, weren't you?" The boy froze, then gave a cautious nod. Shin offered the sweet, his voice low but steady. "Can you tell me what you saw?"
It didn't take much coaxing. The boy couldn't recall the name precisely—"I think… someone said Thommo?"—but other details came more easily. He was a foreigner. Sometimes he helped with work and the farms. His sister was louder. Nicer too. The formed picture was hazy, but enough to give a rough location—and more importantly, a pattern. Still, it was insufficient to be sure, so he didn't act immediately.
Over the next few days, Shin allowed himself to drift through the rhythm of the town. He ate in small cafés, asked idle questions at food stalls, circled back to the plaza where the older women had gossiped. Each return trip gathered more detail. Thommo was a foreigner—Australian, most agreed. He had repaired a vineyard wall last week. He didn't talk much, but everyone who met him liked him.
One vendor claimed he had stopped a runaway goat cart with his bare hands; another swore her husband had nearly fallen into a ditch and Thommo had hauled him back up like it was nothing. The stories blurred, exaggerated perhaps, but Shin read the pattern clearly: a potential dajin wielder.
Still, without a face, there was no way to find him. That changed on the fourth morning, when laughter carried across the fruit stalls. A young woman with dark hair and a not-quite-local accent was chatting with a vendor as she counted out coins. "Thommo's like that," she said with fond amusement.
"He pretends he doesn't care, but he can't help fixing things when no one's looking." The vendor, a tanned woman with a warm voice, chuckled. "Thommo is such a good boy. He helped my husband last month with the olive terrace. Didn't ask for anything."
Shin's ears sharpened. The woman—Anna, as the vendor called her—smiled as she adjusted the load in her arms: two heavy baskets, one hooked beneath her elbow, the other balanced awkwardly against her hip.
Shin waited until she turned toward the slope path out of the market. Then, adjusted the wind around her.
Just a tiny nudge.
A gust of wind swept past the vegetables and caught the corner of her overloaded basket, spilling several carrots and a bundle of green onions to scatter across the cobblestones.
"Oh, damn it," she muttered, dropping to her knees as one basket slid sideways.
Shin stepped forward calmly. "Need a hand?" She blinked up at him, surprised, then offered a quick smile. "Oh! Thanks, I—"
He crouched, gathering a few of the vegetables before handing them over. His gaze flicked to the other basket, still brimming at her side. "It's a lot to carry. Want a hand with the second one?"Anna hesitated, then gave a slight nod. "Thanks. I guess it's a bit much today. But I live a little far, so—"
"I've got time," Shin said simply. "Let me carry that." Her hesitation cracked into a smile. "Sure, I won't say no."Behind them, the vendor grinned and wiped her hands on her apron. "Ohh, Anna. Seems you got lucky today. A pretty boy offering to take you home."
Anna laughed lightly. "It's not like that."
Shin didn't respond, but his ease with holding the basket in one hand betrayed the truth. His features had always been clean, but weeks of divine resonance had reshaped him further. His frame had filled out, his shoulders grew broader, every movement grounded with strength that didn't need to announce itself. Strength that wasn't just visible—it emitted presence.
Anna glanced at him once as they walked.
"…You're not here for olives or tours, are you?"
"Not really," Shin said, tone even. "I like quiet places. And I'm curious about this town."
She didn't press further. When they reached a small stone house near the slope's edge, Anna pushed open the door and called inside, "Thommo? We've got a visitor."
Shin stepped over the threshold. His eyes fell on the one he had come to find. Another vessel. A quiet force that had slipped beneath the radar.
Thommo Gurra.
Finally.