Father's handwriting

It took us four days to reach Zant Port.

In those four days, we took three commissions: we wiped out a nest of rock lizards, escorted a caravan through a mountain pass, and helped a village repair a levee damaged by a flood. The money we earned was just enough to cover food and lodging on the road, with nothing left over.

Zant Port was much livelier than I'd imagined.

Masts crowded the docks, looking like a forest of dead trees from a distance. Ships big and small flew different flags: some bore the blue cross on white of the Holy Country of Millis, others the golden griffin of the Asura Kingdom. There were several I didn't recognize, probably belonging to oceangoing merchant ships. Porters hurried back and forth with sacks on their shoulders, beads of sweat glittering in the sunlight. Someone was calling out at the fish market, loud enough to be heard from half a street away. The air reeked of fish, tar, and the mustiness of wood soaked in seawater, the mingled smells sharp enough to sting my nose.

A row of stone warehouses stood beside the docks, their iron doors half open, wooden crates piled high inside. Several adventurers in leather armor leaned against a wall, gnawing on bread. They gave Eris and me a second look as we passed, probably wondering what two young people were doing at the port.

Would Paul have left a message here? If I were him and my family had been separated, what would I do first? Of course, I'd leave missing-person notices at every Adventurers' Guild. Paul was usually carefree, but when something mattered, he cared more and was more reliable than anyone.

"Let's go to the guild first," I said.

Eris nodded.

We walked side by side down the main street by the docks. She was on my left, half a step ahead of me, the sword at her waist swaying with each stride. It was her habit: she always walked on my left, with her right hand ready to draw her sword. Rujierd had taught her that.

The Adventurers' Guild stood at the end of the harbor's main street, a two-story stone building with an iron sign bearing crossed swords and an anchor over the entrance. I pushed open the door. Inside, it was bigger than the guild I'd visited before. There were two counters, each with a line of about ten people. Commission notices covered the walls, layered one over another, the paper at the bottom yellow with age.

The air smelled of ale and ink, leather and sweat. A few deeply tanned sailors sat in a corner with empty mugs on their table, talking in low voices.

I walked up to the unoccupied counter.

"What are you looking for?" Behind the counter stood a thin, middle-aged man with a black mole on his chin and a quill in his hand.

"Mister, we're looking for someone. Do you have a register of missing-person notices?"

He glanced at me, then hauled a stack of books out from under the counter. The pages were yellowed and their corners curled. The top book even had a ring-shaped wine stain on it.

"Look through them yourself." He shoved the books across the counter.

I opened the first one. Commissions, missing-person notices, caravan recruitment, monster-slaying jobs-it had everything. I turned the pages one by one, running my finger over every line. But Paul Greyrat's name wasn't there.

Eris stood beside me and leaned over for a look. She didn't know many characters. After turning two pages, she frowned and pushed the book back to me.

She can't read much. I taught her on the Demon Continent, but her reading level... she can probably make out menus and the numbers on commission sheets. Anything else is a struggle.

The second book had nothing.

Neither did the third.

My fingers were covered in dust and ink stains. The middle-aged man behind the counter poured me a mug of ale, but I didn't drink it.

In the fourth book, my hand stopped when I reached page thirty-seven.

A missing-person notice.

The handwriting was crooked, but the strokes were heavy. The writer's hand had been shaking, yet he had been afraid the writing wouldn't be dark enough for anyone to see. It was in the Human Tongue.

This handwriting...

I recognized it.

Paul's.

Whenever he wrote, he always got the letter p backward, and he could never break the habit. When he taught me to write as a child, I'd teased him about it. Master Roxy would also give a wry smile and say, "Mr. Paul, you've written your p backward again." Every time, he'd laugh it off and say, "What does it matter? You can read it, can't you?"

I stared at the page. Every word, every stroke on it, had been written by Paul.

"To my son, Rudeus Greyrat. If you see this, come to Milishion in the Holy Country of Millis. I'll be waiting for you all there, no matter how long it takes. Paul Greyrat. Spring, year 420 of the Armored Dragon Calendar."

I read it once, then read it again.

Paul had been here. He had sat at this counter, picked up a pen, and written those words. Then he had pushed the register back, walked out of the guild, and gone on looking for his family.

There's one notice in just one register at this guild. What about the other guilds? How many towns did Paul visit, and how many messages did he write? Twenty? Thirty? Every one of them had my name on it. Each time, he sat down and wrote it with hope, then left for the next town and wrote it again.

My nose stung, and my eyes burned.

Don't cry. Don't cry in a place like this.

I took a deep breath, pulled my gaze away from the page, and stared at the ceiling for a while. A crack wound across it from the corner of the wall to the lamp fixture, like a dried-up river.

"What is it?" Eris leaned closer.

"I found it," I said, my voice hoarser than I'd expected. "My father is in Milishion, the capital of the Holy Country of Millis. He's waiting for us there."

Eris's eyes lit up.

"How far?"

"A long way. We'll have to cross the sea and travel across the Millis Continent. We might run into a lot of danger on the way."

"So?"

"I'm just saying, you don't have to force yourself."

Eris's brows drew together. She pressed her lips tight for a moment, as if swallowing something back.

"Are you an idiot?"

She paused.

"Rudeus's family is my family. Let's go."

Rudeus's family is my family.

I looked at her. Her crimson hair gleamed dark red in the lamplight, and her eyes were fixed on mine without a trace of hesitation.

When Paul sent me to the City of Roa to be Eris's tutor, she had been a short-tempered young lady who threw punches at the slightest provocation. Now she stood before me, saying my family was hers. She had grown gentler.

Then she hugged me from behind.

She said nothing, just held me. Both arms wrapped around my waist, her face pressed against my back. I could feel her warm breath through the fabric of my robe.

I could feel it: she was comforting me in her own way, though she was trembling.

Is she trembling? It probably isn't because she's cold. It's warm in the guild. Is she afraid? Or is she happy? Maybe both.

I placed my hand on her arm, and she held me tighter.

We stood like that for a while. People came and went through the guild, and no one looked at us.

After about ten seconds, she let go, took a step back, and lowered her head, pretending to adjust the sword belt at her waist.

Her ears were red.

I didn't say anything either.

Thank you, Eris.

I pushed the register back to the middle-aged man behind the counter. He gave me a second look as he took it, probably startled by the expression I'd had on my face.

"Um... thank you," I said.

He waved a hand in response.

It was already getting dark when we left the guild. Lanterns along the harbor lit up one after another, swaying in the sea breeze and casting circles of orange light. The sea had turned deep gray in the twilight, and the lamps atop the masts flickered like a string of fireflies stretching into the distance.

The fishy smell in the air had faded somewhat, replaced by the savory, charred aroma of grilled fish. The stalls by the docks were starting to close, and someone tipped unsold fish into a wooden barrel with a clatter.

Without thinking, I tightened my grip on the wand in my hand-the Aqua Heartia. It was a birthday present from Eris, and the pattern on its head had long since worn smooth. As my fingers touched the shaft, I felt something raised.

I looked down.

A line of small words had been carved into the shaft near the grip. The letters were crooked and shallow, but every stroke had been made with force, pressing hard against the wood.

"Rudeus, Eris will protect you from now on."

Eris had carved it.

When had she done it? At the inn a few days ago, while I was asleep? Carving words into the wand with the tip of the nameless sword must have been difficult. A little too much force would split the wood, but too little wouldn't cut into it. How many times had she tried before she managed to carve that crooked line?

I didn't ask her.

That's probably the most heartfelt thing this girl could say.

I read it again, and warmth seemed to fill my heart. I couldn't help smiling.

She was walking two steps ahead, her crimson hair fluttering in the sea breeze. She turned to look at me.

"What are you smiling at?"

"Nothing."

I gripped the wand tightly. The raised letters pressed hard against my fingertips, but they were warm.

The Holy Country of Millis lay across the sea, and Paul was waiting for us there.

I quickened my pace and headed toward the docks.