When Melita and her companions streaked across the Holy Spirit Plain under the (forced) accompaniment of Death Metal, Gawain in Cecil City far to the south had already learned that this special delegation would soon be arriving.
The news had first come from Northport. The sirens returning to the continent had been the first to restore contact with the Empire's Neural Network, bringing intelligence of the dragons' visit. It had then received official confirmation from Grand Duke of the North Victoria Wilde.
After learning from the briefing of the bizarre experiences Cassandra's expedition team had undergone over the past many days, even the well-informed Gawain was astonished.
In the study of Cecil Palace, Gawain had just set down his pen after reviewing documents. He looked up at Tir, who was curled up dozing in a corner of the room, and could not help asking, "Is your siren sense of direction... more or less faulty?"
Tir lazily shifted her tail and drowsily lifted one eyelid. "That's prejudice... We sirens are all born travelers. An occasional poor sense of direction is an extremely rare exception—you only know how many sirens, anyway..."
"...I can understand a poor sense of direction, but swimming all the way across the Storm Sea and straight to Tarlonnd is still a bit absurd," Gawain said, shaking his head. He could not help sighing. "And swimming the wrong way and ending up directly in the Human Civilization... that goes beyond merely having a poor sense of direction, doesn't it?"
Tir gave a huge yawn, apparently finally finishing her third or fourth makeup nap of the day. She shook her head, propped up her upper body with her serpentine tail, then used the advantage of her length to reach around the bookshelf and poke her head out before the map